#and you’re doing a lot better and are a lot less hopeless stuck and broken than you believe you are right now.

[saphirered]

Hi there, I love your blog! Your writing is so good and feels so in line with the characters, if your request are still open I was wondering if you can do general hcs for vax? Nothing in particular just romantic dates or hanging around the keep or in battle etc. Bonus points for how the rest of vox machina treats vax x reader :) lots of love 💜

I hope this one’s to your liking 😘

Your first date was less of a date and more of a mission that turned into a date. Vox Machina had been employed to shadow some noble possibly involved with some kind of possibly dangerous cult. You had to blend into high society and couldn’t simply rely on the shadows Vax felt most comfortable around. Even though he may have been raised among respectable society in Syngorn, high society like the one you had to blend into was more your specialty. You were their ticket to the circles they needed to meddle with. Dressed to the nines you were quite the sight to behold managing to take the poor man’s breath away, among others. Vax made it a point to entwine his arm with yours whenever he had the chance and stick to your side for the whole event. After you proved the noble you were sent to watch innocent you stayed to enjoy the part. Such an invitation shouldn’t go to waste after all… At least that’s what Vax claimed. You’re pretty sure he appreciated the time away from the others.

More lowkey invitations found their way to you from Vax. An invitation to take you on a walk around town, some fun out in a less restricted setting than the high society parties, dinner and dancing, and even a night under the stars, made its way to you. You were more than happy to accept. Just as promised each and every date was perfect in its own way purely because you got to spend more time together. 

You had to find out the hard way Vax had been making excuses to the rest of Vox Machina why he was going out or didn’t come back to the keep some nights. You understood but would have preferred a heads up so you could get your stories straight before you were caught by Grog and Pike one night in the tavern. It took a Modify Memory spell to make Grog think he only saw the two of you together in some kind of drunken stupor. Pike was a bit easier to persuade to keep your ‘thing’ a secret and knowing her well enough, the both of you trusted her to keep the secret until the two of you were ready to figure out where this ‘thing’ was going. 

Defining what you were to each other was easy. You had feelings for each other. Love even and you could see yourselves spending your days together, however long that may be. Vax has a tendency to get stuck in his own head when it comes to planning a distant future but you put no pressure on him. No need for talks of getting married, having children or even grandchildren. You take it day by day acknowledging that every relationship has his ups and downs but as long as you have each other’s backs through it all and are supportive of each other you’re more than satisfied with what you have going. You bring each other happiness. 

You’re each other’s support system knowing you can trust on one another when the world looks bleak and the odds hopeless. You acknowledge that yes sometimes space and time is what the other needs to process, but you’re never far and know how to read each other’s tells when you do need support, be that a heartfelt conversation, a reality check, or a shoulder to cry on. You’re there for each other no matter what. 

Vax would often come back from far travels with a little gift he brought back for you wherever he went. A beautiful feather from a bird, a jewelled necklace, an odd trinket would be presented to you upon his return. Each one with a meaning, and every single one of them as valuable as the next. They held a special place in your heart as much as in your home. 

The siege of Emon happened. It was a terrifying experience but you knew how to handle yourself. Capable and resilient, your magic helped you bring several people to safety. You lost Vox Machina in the fray but knew they could take care of themselves. You had others to protect and get out of the city before it was too late. Gathering who you could you made your way to Greyskull Keep. You got there when the gates opened, people flooding in.

Seeing Vax among the crowd trying to organise the crowd you were relieved he was alive and well. Rushing over he kissed you the moment he saw you, caught up in the moment not caring who saw. Your reunion was cut short by the arrival of an ancient white dragon. Vax initially dragged you along behind a tree but you come in hot and the moment the dragon comes within range hit it with a Disintegrate spell. Your next actions show Vax very clearly you know exactly how to handle yourself. Though, from the corner of your eye you can see him cringe when you do get slammed into a wall and to the ground. You avoided getting frozen and get back up into the fight.

The aftermath Vax looks you over to make sure you’re alright. It took a lot to assure him you were fine. Even after getting thrown into a wall slightly bloody and bruised, you’d live. He helped clean up the blood and got Pike to heal your heavier injuries. He spent as much time at your side as he could and after he deemed you well enough let you come with him and help carrying heavier things for the people seeking refuge at the Keep. He got quite worried you might be overexerting yourself which gave you a good glimpse into his protective side. 

After some dragon hunting and things eventually calmed down you finally had more time to spend together, going back to your usual habits. Slowly but surely the two of you found you were ready to fully let the other’s know about your relationship, though some may have had suspicions before. You didn’t necessarily tell them directly. It started with you showing up for your little ‘date night’ with Vax and neither of you sneaking around or making up excuses anymore. Gradually the others caught on to what this meant. You’d be staying over at their place more often and while the two of you had managed to avoid the awkward conversations for the longest of times 

Sitting at the breakfast table one morning, Vax sitting down next to you and pressing a kiss to your temple with an ‘I love you’ may just have been a little too much for some of them. 

Pike of course was happy for you that you finally felt secure enough to share this news and made a little comment that how as a cleric of Sarenrae she legally would be able to officiate a wedding, with an all too innocent smile. 

Keyleth was very happy for the both of you gushing how you made the perfect couple and asking you if you had noticed all the ‘annoying little things’ Vax does and what you thought of them. She bombarded you with questions about how your relationship stared, how romantic it was until you told her you would gladly tell her in moderation or you might just run out of your ability to speak.

Grog didn’t get what was going on until Vax spelled it out for him. Grog came to the realisation that the time you used Modify Memory on him, a spell that had since faded, wasn’t a drunken vision after all and really did happen. He told you you could entrust him with all secrets, is an expert ‘silencer’ (his words) and wouldn’t have to use magic to get him to keep quiet anymore. 

Percy congratulated the two of you on not conforming to the norms of society and actually having a healthy happy relationship not based on the merits of politics and encouraged you to no longer try and bribe the Castle Whitestone staff when sneaking around because they’ll tell him all your dirty little secrets no matter how much you offer them, all jokingly of course. 

Scanlan, oh, Scanlan. How the both of you wished the earth would swallow you whole. Scanlan was being typical Scanlan congratulating for you pulling the stick out of Vax’s ass and loosen him up a bit, complimenting the wonders you must have showed him and speculating the things you must have done to get Vax much more at ease, not without ludicrous and inappropriate innuendoes and hand motions. 

Vex, throughout all of that breakfast hadn’t said a single thing and instead stared at you coldly, arms crossed. When Vax asked her to stop regardless of her opinions towards you or your relationship with her brother you stepped in saying that whatever she felt was valid but that you had no intend on replacing her place in his heart nor getting between them. She’d remain at his side and you from now on would just be on the other side. After that, a death threat followed, telling you you better not break Vax’s heart or a broken heart would be the least of your worries. You made sure that would never be your intention and you really did love her brother as much as he loved you. This seemed to ease her up with it. Over time she grew more accepting towards you to the point where you could call her a close friend, sister even. 

[lyssismagical]

can you do 14 with reid and a person of your choice?

14 laying your head on someone’s shoulder

Spencer Reid & Luke Alvez (Post S12)

tw canon-typical violence, past-drug use

They didn’t talk about whatever it is between them.

Luke had been there through the worst year of Spencer’s life, stood with his hands wrapped around the bars of the Mexican holding cell, threatened people to keep Spencer safe, had carefully applied arnica to the bruises littering his skin after getting out of prison.

It wasn’t like Spencer could go to anyone else. Morgan was too far, JJ had her boys, Tara and Rossi would get uncomfortable in the face of his trauma – not their fault, of course, but he wouldn’t do that to him – Garcia was the opposite problem, she would probably cry and coddle him and suffocate him, and Emily… she had enough on her plate, as is.

Luke was nearby and kind and Spencer knew he’d be up when he ended up outside his door at just past midnight.

He wasn’t even sure how Luke would help him, all he knew was that he couldn’t spend another second in his apartment, walls caving in.

He doesn’t hesitate to knock, but he freezes up when the door opens. It’s too vulnerable, his skin crawls at the idea of letting another person in only to get heartbroken all over again. He doesn’t know if he can handle that on top of everything he’s been through.

“Spencer?” Luke looks exhausted, blinking blearily through the crack of the door. Roxy whines behind him. “What are- Do we have a case?”

“No,” he says but doesn’t elaborate. He shifts on his feet, prepared to turn and disappear at any sign.

Luke stares at him for another long moment, profiler eyes sliding over Spencer’s body. And finally, he opens the door a little wider, stifling a yawn. “Come in.”

Roxy stays back, pacing the floor as she waits to be allowed to sniff Spencer.

“You want a coffee? Tea? Something to eat?”

Spencer tugs at the ends of his hair as he follows into the kitchen. Luke was clearly about to go to bed, wearing a pair of loose plaid pyjama pants and a tight white tank top, and now Spencer’s here, interrupting and ruining his night and god, he hates himself.

“I should go home,” he blurts.

Luke pauses, sets down the mug he’d pulled from the cupboard, turns on Spencer. “Do you want to go home?”

“No.” It’s not like he could lie to Luke.

“Okay. Do you want some tea?”

It’s that simple to Luke.

It almost makes Spencer feel small, childish, like his insecurities and nerves makes him less than Luke somehow.

He accepts the mug that gets pressed into his hands nonetheless, barely reacting when Roxy gets impatient and starts sniffing at his shoes.

“It’s been a long time since I’ve asked for help.”

He knows that’s not where he should start, but he needs Luke to understand how much trust he’s putting in his hands, just how precious it is that he’s holding.

“I know.”

Spencer folds himself into the corner of the couch, cradling the warm mug against his chest. He doesn’t look at Luke, can’t bear to see him.

“I don’t exactly have a good track record of the people I care about sticking around.”

“And that makes it hard to let yourself care about others and even harder to let others care about you.”

Roxy comes around and sits by Spencer’s side of the couch, resting her chin on his feet.

He doesn’t know what he wants, what he needs, what to ask for.

“I’m not going anywhere, Spencer,” Luke says.

“I never thanked you for everything you did for me this past year… You saved my life by talking to Shaw. You helped get me out of there. Thank you. I don’t know- I wouldn’t have made it much longer in a place like that.”

He’s getting choked up, just thinking about all those months spent behind bars, scared and alone and hopeless. A bit of tea hits his chin when his hands tremble, and he quickly takes a few sips to cover it up, savouring the burn in the back of his throat.

“You don’t have to thank me for trying to take care of you.”

“You were the only person this whole year that’s treated me like a human being.”

Spencer sets the mug down on the table to curl into himself a little tighter, hugging his arms around his waist to try and provide himself some comfort.

“You deserve a lot better than you’ve been given.”

“I was addicted to heroin, Luke!” He doesn’t know why he’s so upset. Luke doesn’t get it, doesn’t understand what he’s trying to say. “I killed Nadie Ramos. I stabbed myself to get solitary confinement. I nearly let my mom die because my anger got the best of me. What makes me better than every other man behind those bars?”

Luke looks almost scared and he’s so hesitant when he says, “You don’t really believe that, do you?”

“What am I supposed to think?” He’s on the verge of a complete breakdown, one that he’s scared he’d never recover from. “That I’m better than them because I got special treatment for making some guy happy?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I was friends with Gideon’s son long before I got into the academy. I got special treatment from Gideon for convincing Stephen to try talking to him. So because I have some stupid badge, I’m better than every other criminal? I committed crimes, Luke. I killed an innocent woman, I was high and carrying illegal substances… And because I was friends with someone at CalTech, I get off free?”

Luke’s face falls in horror. “You earned your spot on the team just like everyone else, Spencer. You’re a genius, but more than that, you’re selfless and kind-hearted and honest. You were targeted by an unsub who manipulated your perception with drugs.”

“So we can brush off the heroin this time because it wasn’t my fault, but what about ten years ago? I was addicted to heroin, nobody was making me take it.”

“The unsub got you addicted to his drug of choice. How is that your fault?”

“It’s my fault I didn’t stop! It’s my fault that I, a federal agent, had a drug dealer on speed dial for over a year. It’s my fault that I was stupid enough to walk into his trap in the first place, to not be able to get out on my own. It’s my fault I was in Mexico, vulnerable, and alone.”

Luke shakes his head imploringly. “You know it’s not like that. If you were profiling yourself like any other victim, is that really what you’d come up with?”

Spencer flinches at the word victim. Never, not even when he was twelve and tied naked to the football post, not when he was held hostage by Hankel, not when he was stuck in that church with Cyrus, not when he was shot in the knee, not when he was beat half to death in prison, never did he consider himself a victim.

He’s inches away from falling into a dark inescapable abyss.

“What you went through, what you survived, doesn’t and will never make you a bad person.”

It’ll take a lot more than one conversation on Luke’s old grey couch to make him really believe any of it is true. It’ll take a lot more than this for Spencer to open-up to him without one foot out the door. It’ll take more than this to fix what’s broken.

But the least Spencer can do for tonight is allow himself the one thing he’s been craving.

Slowly, carefully, like he’s afraid of being rejected, he shifts closer to Luke and lets his head fall down onto Luke’s shoulder, hiding his face away as his shoulders shudder.

Luke gently wraps an arm around his shoulders, hesitates, and then pulls him closer. “You know it’s okay to cry. I won’t judge you.”

And he does, tears wetting Luke’s shirt and skin, shoulders wracking under Luke’s hands, breath hitching in his chest. And he cries, feeling safe for the first time in too long.

[jengajives]

Needed some emotionals so I rewrote Beleg’s death scene

A gathering thunderstorm was perfect weather for a rescue. Nice and dark, with the distant rumble in the sky drowning out any less-than-stealthy noises. Gwindor was very much less-than-stealthy, but Beleg couldn’t really blame him, and a well-trained elf’s poor stealth was still much quieter than anything a Man could manage- or, Valar forbid, a dwarf.

And it wasn’t Gwindor’s fault he walked with a very loud limp, and no one was near enough to hear them anyway.

The orc-camp was still, with the sentinels dead and all the soldiers passed out in varying states of inebriation.

The two elves crept to the far side of camp uninterrupted, and at last Beleg got to look on Túrin’s face again.

The Man’s face was stark and hollow, his skin clammy as he lay there limp against the withered tree trunk he’d been chained to with black iron. He still wore the simple clothing he’d had on that night so long ago on Amon Rûdh. It felt as though a lifetime had passed since then, all of searching, desperate and nearly hopeless, and yet here Beleg knelt, with Túrin alive and whole before him.

“Túrin,” he said softly, reaching up a hand to brush the tangles of dark hair from his motionless face. “Melethen. Can you hear me?”

He tried not to look at the blades stuck into the cracked wood around where Túrin slumped, or the bruises and blood smeared across the Man’s face, or the grey at the sides of his unkempt beard. He didn’t want to imagine how Túrin had suffered alone.

Beleg tried again. Túrin’s face was feverishly hot when he took it into his hands and raised it.

“Melethen, wake up.”

Just behind him, Gwindor cowered at a sudden crack of thunder. His dark eyes darted, terrified, back to the pile of snoozing orcs not too far away.

“Cúthalion,” he whimpered. “They won’t stay asleep forever...”

“He’s sick.” Beleg pressed a hand to Túrin’s forehead and muttered some simple mantra he’d heard Luthien using once. The only reaction was a slight stirring beneath the eyelids, but that was all. Túrin remained limp and unresponsive, and his breathing came slow but steady. Beleg turned his attention to the chains.

“You’ll have to help me carry him,” he said softly, drawing Anglachel from its sheath as quietly as he could. The black blade seemed to flash in the night darkness, stars wheeling upon its blade. No doubt it would be sharp enough to cut through.

The wind lifted, washing the scent of rain over the camp. As Beleg pried at the chain wrapped around the tree trunk, and slowly the metal began to bend.

Gwindor looked up again, panicked, when one of the guards snorted. His icy fingers gripped Beleg’s sleeve.

“We need to go now.”

“We aren’t leaving without him.”

Finally the first chain snapped and rattled lifelessly to the ground, but there was still the matter of the cords around Túrin’s wrists and ankles. Beleg was stooping to begin cutting these when at last, the long-threatened rain began to fall.

Gwindor let out a sound like a punctured bellows and gripped tighter.

“Cúthalion...”

Beleg didn’t provide a direct answer, because he was too busy getting his arms around Túrin’s torso to try and lift him.

“Get his legs.”

Despite the way he was trembling, Gwindor did so, and together the two of them hefted the unconscious man and started the short trek out of camp. The hills were not so steep here, but still it was difficult to get far in the slick of rain, carrying such a burden; despite his captivity thinning him considerably, Túrin was still quite dense and very heavy. They couldn’t have carried him long even in the best conditions.

Still, Gwindor gave a terrified hiss when Beleg stopped at the top of the nearest foothill and lowered Túrin gently to the ground.

“This isn’t far enough! They’ll find us, and they’ll take us back to Him-“

“Gwindor,” Beleg said in his warmest, calmest voice. He met Gwindor’s wavering brown eyes with a simple confidence. “I won’t let anything happen to you.”

For a moment in the rain there was stillness, and Gwindor’s face slowly softened as the warmth of those eyes filled him.

Then, on the ground at their feet, Túrin made a sound like a light moan of agony, and Beleg’s calming gaze immediately snapped downward.

“We cannot bear him further,” he mumbled, distracted now, as, he dropped to his knees and, again, tried his hardest to rouse the Man. “If I can wake him, he might have the strength to follow us beyond the foothills. That’s our best hope.”

“Hurry,” Gwindor said, glancing over his shoulder again. Beleg didn’t respond. He pressed a hand to Túrin’s cheek, a horrible mix of relief and fear twisting gleefully in his stomach. Túrin was alive and safe, but if he didn’t wake up, Beleg might not be able to keep him that way, and the three of them could all very well be dragged to Angband and broken. What was Beleg supposed to do then? If he led these two poor souls back to torment, he wouldn’t ever forgive himself.

Again, Beleg reached up and grasped Anglachel’s hilt, drawing the sword carefully from his back. He lifted Túrin’s bound wrists and very cautiously began to slide the blade through the thick cords holding him, cursing himself now for want of a dagger.

As soon as his wrists were free, Beleg moved down and put a hand on his calf, holding it gently in place as he brought his sword around, a nervousness settling into his belly, because the idea that Túrin wouldn’t wake up at all had just crossed his mind.

He wiped the rainwater from his eyes and mumbled, more to reassure himself than Túrin.

“Don’t worry, melethen. I’ll take care of you... You’re going to be fine.”

Thunder rumbled across the sky like the toll of an awful bell. Gwindor covered his ears and threw himself to the ground as the deafening crackle broke over their heads.

Beleg’s hand slipped, just a bit, as Anglachel came through the cords, so it caught skin on the way out.

A little gash on Túrin’s ankle, already beginning to drip a watery pink.

The blade seemed to flash with some unseen light as Beleg cursed softly, pushing the cut bonds aside so he could get a better look at what he’d done, but before he got too far, he felt a distinctive shift beneath his hand.

Túrin was moving.

A delight flooded Beleg’s mind so quickly it made him dizzy.

The images of the two of them going south again, finding safe and familiar woods, played eagerly before his eyes. Beleg tending to his sweetheart until Túrin’s strength returned and his torment was forgotten. Returning to Menegroth together, and Túrin reclaiming what he’d abandoned, and becoming an honored and beloved prince again. Beleg properly asking Thingol for his foster son’s hand.

The two of them living the life they were meant to live, defying the shadow.

There was a giddy smile on his face when he turned towards Túrin. It was easy for him to see through the gloom, but his companion might not be able to, so Beleg reached down to touch Túrin’s face and reassure him with a familiar touch.

Only, the expression he saw through the darkness was a mask of terror and rage, and before his smile even had time to soften, Túrin had grabbed him, same remarkable strength in his hands even after all this time, and pushed him into the muddy ground, holding him there as fingers grasped madly for the sword in Beleg’s hand.

He could not recognize Túrin’s face.

The sword was wrenched from him, but he followed and caught wrist, and a weird sort of panic set in when he saw the mania in those black eyes. The rage of someone who thought he was defending his life against some awful foe.

The panic and the pity swirled around together in his head. Imagining the pain Túrin must have endured to look as feral as he did now, thoughtless to anything but his own defense. It was only surprise in his voice though, when he finally got a word from his faltering throat.

“Túri-“

Abruptly then, there was no more space for air in his lungs, and his brain alerted lazily to a pain in his chest that it didn’t seem too keen on processing.

The panicked, frenzied breathing overhead did not slow, but Beleg heard a rather strange gurgle from his own throat, and then the pain twisted inside him, and the ability to make any sound at all left him.

Túrin knelt over him, heaving with the effort of breath, clutching Anglachel’s hilt. The blade passed directly through Beleg’s heart, with the tip buried six inches into the mud beneath his back.

Such madness in those familiar eyes. A snarl where a loving smile ought to be.

Beleg’s chest made an odd crackling when he tried to breathe, and when he tried to raise a hand to Túrin’s face, it only made his fingers twitch weirdly.

He realized he was dying only when he found he could no longer close his eyes.

He could not recognize Túrin’s face.

But he saw the terror squirming in his eyes like rot, and he understood, before the end, and he forgave.

When the flash of lightning came at last, Gwindor already knew Beleg was dead, because he’d heard the last breath leave through mangled lungs, and nothing else return.

He didn’t want to see what the body actually looked like because he didn’t think he’d be able to look death in the eyes again, and he also did not want the Man to see and kill him too.

But when the white light came, Gwindor did carefully raise his head, though when he saw the expression on Túrin’s face, he wished he hadn’t.

Beleg had said quite a lot about Húrin’s son since he first found Gwindor and roused him from his despair. He’d heard of the courageous and hardy companion-in-arms, and the careful strategist, and the lover, kind and gentle as could be.

But in that moment Gwindor saw only an animal wounded and afraid, and a Man who had committed the unspeakable.

The gaunt, horrified look on his face was probably the most horrible thing Gwindor had ever seen outside of Angband. The slow dread of looking down at Beleg’s face and realizing he had done this and there was no going back, no changing it, and the horror of that realization would not leave his eyes, nor would the rage with himself, with his imagined foes, or the terror planted there in the root of him as the orcs howled far below, but no expression could make more headway than that of pure despair.

It was so awful than Gwindor lowered his head again and tucked his arms over it to try and block out whatever he could.

He didn’t know where to go without Beleg. What to do. There wasn’t a chance for them alone with all those orcs searching- soon enough they’d both end up dead, and all of Gwindor’s suffering would be for naught.

He waited until his heartbeat was somewhat steady, then he slowly lifted his head just enough to see if Túrin had run off in his madness yet.

He hadn’t. In fact, he hadn’t moved at all. His face had barely shifted.

“Túrin,” Gwindor breathed, cautiously reaching out a trembling hand until a lightning strike made him hastily pull it back.

The hills lit up stark white. Far below, orcs were swarming about themselves like terrified insects. The sight made his stomach crawl.

“Túrin, we need to move,” he whimpered, and this time he did properly reach out and touch the Man’s shoulder as gently as he could manage. “They’ll find us here...”

There was no reaction. Túrin hadn’t turned from Beleg. When Gwindor chanced a glance down at the body, he saw a bloody hand resting against Beleg’s cheek, and the thumb slowly stroking back and forth, methodical. The soft green eyes were wide open and stared up at the thunderclouds darkening the sky.

When he looked very closely, Gwindor could see Túrin’s eyes darting to and from different parts of the dead elf’s face, searching desperately for something he wouldn’t find.

Gwindor tightened his grip and gave the shoulder a pull.

“We need to go!”

Still Túrin didn’t stir. He hadn’t even acknowledged yet that Gwindor was there.

For a brief moment, Gwindor considered fleeing up into the highlands alone, but the idea disintegrated when he looked down again at Beleg.

The first face to show him kindness in who-knew-how many years- kindness he didn’t even deserve. The hands that had carefully lifted the net of despair from his mind and returned him to hope- hope for this Man, who Cúthalion had treasured above all else.

Gwindor couldn’t leave him here like this. He couldn’t leave Beleg, nor could he leave Túrin, for Beleg’s sake.

The last thing Cúthalion wanted to do was keep Túrin safe, so Gwindor would be the one to do it.

If he could never really feel clean touching the hands that took Beleg Cúthalion from this world, then so be it.

Slowly he got to his feet and limped to the edge of the dell so he could keep a better eye on the orcs down below.

Behind him, Beleg and Túrin were still as two statues in the downpour.

[comphersjost]

Not With You ➸ Rafe Cameron

man honestly, idk, im sorry

You’re Kiara’s cousin from California, and you try to end things with Rafe when you visit this time around.

word count: 1.4k

warnings: angst!!!!! lots of smut, overstim maybe? daddy kink for sure, slight double penetration, slight anal, slight dub con w the anal, rafe is kinda,,,,, a mean dom, also fluff at the end, it’s sinful tho, enjoy

as per usual: masterlist

The pain in Rafe’s voice almost makes you reconsider your decision to end things. But you couldn't go back on it now. This had to happen. 

“What the fuck do you mean, ‘it’s over’ Y/N?” Rafe sounds lost, hopeless. 

“I mean, this isn't working out, Rafe,” you can't bear to look at him when you speak. “I’m sorry, Rafe, but we can't do this anymore.”

Rafe sputters, not knowing what to say, how to make you stay with him. 

“Y/N, wait, please,” he cups your face desperately, making you look at him. “Y/N, please don't do this. I love you.” 

You furrow your brows. “You can't.” 

“What?” Rafe pulls back away from you slightly in surprise, and you pull the rest of the way away from him. 

“My life isn't here Rafe,” you wave your arms wildly, trying to make him understand. “I’m here every summer because Kiara is my family, Rafe, but this isn't my home. My life is in California. My life isn’t ‘kooks’ and ‘pogues’ and it’s not Figure Eight and The Cut. My life is coffee shops and libraries and the shitshow that is the Berkeley campus. It’s my dumb friends, and Sproul Hall and the best white mocha I’ve ever had from the Greek coffee place. It’s crazy, but it’s my life, Rafe. I don't belong here. My life is there. Not here. Not with you. 

Rafe recoils as if he’s been slapped, voice broken and cracking when he speaks. “Am I not a part of your life?” His words are quiet, almost as if he doesn't want you to hear because he's afraid of the answer. His fear comes true when you do hear him, and respond. 

“Not a big enough part for me to give up everything else,” you murmur. “I'm sorry Rafe, I really am. But it's over.” 

Rafe could feel the rage flooding him. He knew you hated it when he lost control when he was angry. But he also knew that you loved it when he channeled the anger into...other activities. 

“Strip.” Rafe’s voice is dark and cold, and your panties are instantly flooded with your slick. 

“What?” 

Rafe takes a threatening step towards you, curling his hand around your throat. “I said. Strip, slut. I won't tell you again.” You can't help the way you rush to shed yourself of all your clothes like he said. You glow at the praise when he murmurs “good girl”. You don't hesitate when he tells you to get on your hands and knees on the bed, presenting your ass to him like he likes it. 

You can hear Rafe unbuckling his belt behind you, and you shiver in anticipation. 

“Not a big enough part of your life huh?” Rafe growls as he tosses his pants to the side. “Not a big enough part of your life?” Rafe climbs onto the bed, slapping your ass roughly and knocking your legs wider apart. “I’ll show you something big enough, sweetheart, don't you worry.” 

Then without warning or prep, Rafe slides his entire length into you in one slow thrust. The scream you let out is ear piercing, earning you another slap to the backside. 

“Shut up.” 

Rafe fucks into you like an animal, one hand holding you down by your neck and the other gripping your hip. He forces you to take everything he gives you, spanking you when he thinks you're being too loud. “That’s it baby,” he groans, “Take this dick, Y/N, take it all in this tight pussy. Who’s pussy is this baby? Tell me!” His words are accompanied with an especially harsh thrust and two slaps to your ass. 

“Yours daddy!” you choke out, barely able to formulate words with the way he's fucking you so deep. “This pussy is yours!” 

“That's right sweetheart,” Rafe coos mockingly, grabbing you by the throat and forcing you up so that your back is arched against his chest. “You take daddy’s cock so good baby, look at you taking it like a slut. You're such a good slut for.” 

You whine desperately, begging him to let you touch yourself. Rafe growls and pushes you back to face down on his bed. You cry out and reach towards your pussy to rub your clit desperately. Rafe pushes against your hole and pops his thumb in beside his cock, soaking it with your slick. 

“Daddy!” you gasp, “Daddy, please, too much!” Rafe laughs darkly, withdrawing his thumb. 

You can't believe he’s giving you a break, until his thumb, wet from your pussy, into the entrance to your ass. “Rafe, wait-” 

“You're gonna cum like this,” he snaps, delivering sharp thrust with his words, pushing his thumb deeper into your ass. “I’m gonna make you cum on my cock with my thumb in your ass, stupid slut. Cum for me, Y/N, come on baby, cum all over me.” 

It’s all too much, you have no choice but to do what he says, screaming as you spasm and clench down on his cock and thumb in your ass. Rafe let's out something just short of a roar as your clenching cunt makes him spill his cum into you. Rafe keeps fucking into you as he paints your walls white with his cum, your desperate moans and cries keeping his orgams going. 

You feel like you've just been ripped apart and put back together again when you become aware of things again. Rafe slides his thumb out of your ass and gently pulls his cock out of your pussy, shushing you gently when you moan from the sparks of pain shooting from your pussy as he drags his cock out of your walls. You feel like you can't move, stuck in a bent over position until Rafe disappears into his bathroom and comes back with a damp washcloth. 

You let him clean you up and wipe you down, and basically manhandle you so that he could maneuver you under his bed covers. You watch, wide eyed, as Rafe gets ready for bed, having dated him, but never really seeing such a domestic side of him. You watch as he cleans himself up and changes out of his clothes, putting on a pair of boxers and helping you slip one of his t-shirts from over his head. 

Rafe climbs into bed on the other side of you and switches the light off. His arms find themselves around your waist and he pulls you close. Knowing that there's no way you'd be able to drive, much less walk to your car, you let him pull you into his chest. It's unsettling, but there's butterflies in your stomach when you realize the pounding you're hearing isn't your own heartbeat, but Rafe’s. He’s nervous around you. You've never seen Rafe nervous. 

Just as you're trying to figure out what to say, Rafe beats to it and speaks. 

“I think about you all the time,” his words are quiet, but they feel so loud to you in the dark room, moonlight streaming through the window. “I miss you when you're gone, I start missing you the second you leave. Kie has stopped hating me because all I talk to her about now is you. You’re such a big part of my life, Y/N, you don't even know. I would leave the Outer Banks for you.” You breathe in sharply at his confession, shifting to look up at his eyes. 

“Leave the Outer Banks, Rafe?”

Rafe chuckles, leaning down to kiss you gently. His next words are whispered against your lips. 

“I’d do anything for you, Y/N. I’d leave the Outer Banks, I’d move to California. Besides it won't be a problem with my parents if I transferred to UC Berkeley with you.” 

“Rafe, I-” 

“Y/N, I would follow you anywhere you wanted to go. WIll you let me?”

You pause for a moment. 

“Rafe….” Rafe looks at you, eyes hopeful in the moonlight. “You, you're just one part of my life that's not there.” His face falls. “Rafe you’re fucked up, and you're addicted to cocaine, and I can't introduce you to the rest of my life like that. You're like my own addiction and it needs to end here.

“Y/N, please,” Rafe pleads with you, holding you closer. “Please, I swear all of that shit, the coke, the kook and pogue stuff and shit, I’ll do better, please let me be with you. It’s always worse without you.”

You knew the risks but - 

“One chance, Rafe Cameron, if you fuck this up -”

You've never seen Rafe so happy. 

And you know, when he presses his lips to yours, that you're going to be the happiest you've ever been with Rafe by your side in California too.

[magioftheseas]

Kazuichi & Yasuke

Summary: Souda Kazuichi’s FTEs in the SDR2 Protagonist Matsuda Yasuke AU. It’s also half and half but for more unfortunate reasons.

Rating: PG

Warnings: Language and references to violence.

Notes: For REASONS, I ended up writing Souda’s FTEs when I initially intended to write Sonia’s. I’m disappointed in myself too, but...hm. I enjoyed writing these. I think it’s fun (?) to write social events where the two parties just don’t get along and that doesn’t change by the end. It’s played seriously, and I’m curious how people will take it. But I wrote these close to the heart!

Read this fic among others HERE

Main story is HERE

Commission? Donate?

“Blue skies! Beautiful beaches! Babes! By all accounts, this should be a dream come true! So, why—why, why, why, why, WHY does a guy like YOU gotta be here?!”

“That’s fucking rude,” Matsuda scoffed. “All I’m doing is reading.”

“You keep staring!” Souda accused, shaking his fist in frustration. “And I can feel ya judging, too!! Are you EVER in a good mood?!”

In reality, Souda had been the one to constantly steal glances instead of looking at his own damn magazine. Matsuda, subsequently, had gotten annoyed by it. He really had thought if he focused on his own manga, it’d be fine even with the dipshit mechanic present, but he was a fool. He was a real fucking fool.

Although not as much an idiot as this guy...

“You’re judging!” Souda screeched. “I know you are! Why do you have it out for me?!”

“I don’t,” Matsuda grumbled. “I barely consider you at all.”

“T-That’s hurtful, man! Real hurtful!” Souda even sniffled, he was so hurt by it. “This is why you don’t have any friends!”

...I could leave. I could just...leave. He’s not going to follow me. I could just leave and go someplace quiet.

But, because there wouldn’t be any events if he just left, he was stuck.

Great...

Souda was still glaring at him. He was glaring pretty hard, but also pretty...desperately.

“Even if your face freezes like that, it won’t make you more intimidating,” Matsuda muttered. “Actually no matter what you do, you can’t change that.”

Souda froze immediately. Matsuda gives him a look, but before he can say anything more, the guy flees the scene.

Had the line being broken?

Guess I hit a nerve.

Souda had even abandoned his magazine. Matsuda doubted the guy had the brain capacity to retrieve it later, although he himself hesitates before plucking it off the ground. Thankfully, while it was a little crumbled, it wasn’t sticky. Or oily.

Hm.

He should probably return it.

--

The first thing Souda did upon opening the door was let out a shriek. The second thing he did was slam it in Matsuda’s face.

This fucking guy...

Matsuda took a deep breath and knocked once more on the door.

“Nobody’s here!” Souda’s voice came through muffled. “A-And even if there were somebody—you’re not welcome!”

“For fuck’s sake—I’m just here to give you back your magazine, not because I...” Matsuda bit his tongue, kneeling down. “You know what, I’ll just shove it under...”

“Wait-wait-wait!”

The door was almost flung open, Souda now looking frantic.

“Don’t do that!” he exclaims. “You’ll wrinkle it! You’ll mess with the illustrations! Hasn’t anyone taught you how to treat a magazine?!”

Matsuda straightened up, handing it over without much more fanfare. Souda does take it, but he continues to grumble.

“Seriously, you’re such a slob. That’s like, super unsexy to women. H-Haven’t you heard?”

Matsuda wordlessly glances past into the mechanic’s cottage. There are some miscellaneous gears and gizmos scattered across the floor. Some bottles of what looked to be motor oil. It certainly stank of motor oil.

“Oh, this old thing?” Souda asked, mistaking his staring for interest. He grins suddenly and it might’ve been the first time he’s smile like that at Matsuda. “It’s a lil vroom-vroom I’m working on! Pretty spiffy, huh?”

...spiffy? That’s...something only elderlies would use... Not to mention that’s not even the correct usage?

“I guess you mean it’s neat,” Matsuda muttered.

“I know right?!” Souda exclaimed excitedly. “It’s real neat! It’s gonna be a real wham bam when I’m finished!”

“Right...”

“Right, right!” Souda agreed, nodding frantically now. “You get it, you get it! I guess even a jackass like you still has a right eye for this kinda thing, Matsuda. Just this once, I’ll let you have a closer look! Come in! Don’t be a priss!”

He worked himself up as usual, but I guess this time he at least did so positively.

Mortifyingly curious as to how far this could go, Matsuda does step inside. Souda eagerly gestures to the lump of metal on the ground. Matsuda looks at it closely and—yet.

It’s a lump...of metal. Incredible.

“This baby is gonna go places when it’s done,” Souda sighs happily. “I won’t be able to test it—but I’m sure of it. It’s gonna go far, kid!”

Show him how to lie. You’re getting better all the time.

“I’m sure it will,” Matsuda replied, doing his best to give a decent nod of approval. Souda does preen, but just like that—Souda realizes himself. And he realizes Matsuda.

Specifically, he re-realizes that he and Matsuda don’t have the best relationship.

“You’re not just saying that to make fun of me, right?! You almost got me going, too!”

Although he still seems confused about the intricacies of said relationship.

“It’s nothing like that,” Matsuda waved his hand, shaking his head for good measure. Souda seemed unconvinced, much to his annoyance. “I was just curious.”

Except he really wasn’t. He was the kind of guy who had about as much interest in cars as he did in answering surveys. Souda’s eyes narrowed sharply in suspicion and, seriously, where did this guy get off on presuming so much shit about him?

Matsuda sighed.

Whatever. I delivered the magazine back.

“If I’m not welcome here, I’ll leave.”

He’s not sure what he expected when he turned on his heel. He might not have expected anything, and indeed nothing really happened. He walked out of the cottage, shutting the door behind him, and walked the rest of the way back in silence.

Pretty uneventful overall, but it was still something.

--

“H-H-Hey! Matsuda!”

He supposed he wasn’t really expecting to be called out. When he turned, however, he was already prepared.

“What is it? You better clarify because you’re on a different frequency than I am.”

“Eh? Come on, dude, it’s not like we’re speaking different languages here!” Souda huffed, shoving his hands into his jumpsuit pockets. “I’m just...trying to get yer attention. It’s...like...”

He’s slurring his words a bit.

“You made me feel bad, y’know,” Souda grumbled. “With the way you left. I’m just checking because the last thing I need is you having another reason to...”

“You really are convinced I have something against you, huh,” Matsuda droned, unimpressed. “Would you believe me if I told you that I really don’t care?”

Souda groaned, rolling his eyes.

“Of course you don’t care. You’re a jackass.”

He’s not wrong...but he’s also not right. Not caring goes both ways.

“Hm.” They’d just go in circles at this rate, so it was best to change tactics. “You’re...”

Aah, what to say? Not my type? Not really understanding? This guy...

“You’re here because you say you felt bad.”

“I thought you were supposed to be a genius or something,” Souda huffed. “Like...a brain guy, right?”

“Right.” That doesn’t mean I understand every irrational, idiotic choice a person makes. “I understand the physical sciences. Psychology, however, is its own thing.”

“I mean, I know that,” Souda said, sounding completely unconvincing. “It’s like—the difference between fixing and programming. I can fix a computer, but when it comes to all the typing, clicking, and trouble...finding... I don’t get that stuff.”

“Troubleshooting,” Matsuda corrected.

“Computers aren’t my thing anyway,” Souda went on, unbothered. “I’m more of a vehicle guy!” He lit up so easily. “Like! Vroom, vroom! Wham bam!”

He made other engine noises for that matter.

Matsuda would lie if he said he didn’t find it mildly amusing.

Any moment the two could have had was quickly ruined, however.

“Anyway! There! I spoke to ya!” Souda twisted away. “We’re good, then!”

...it’s not like I’m expecting an apology, but what a shitty fucking thing to just say. And to say loudly, at that.

“Argh! Not good?!” Souda flinched, cowering. “You’re giving me that awful judge-y look again! What is your PROBLEM?!”

For once, the glare was intentional and only intensified, making Souda crumble and whimper.

“C-Cut it out, seriously...! You’re going to make me cry!”

“Is that really my problem?” Matsuda asked coolly. “This is just how my face looks a lot of the time. I can’t control that but you could be less of a fucking coward.”

“I’m not...a coward,” Souda muttered, pulling down his beanie. “I-I’m not! You’re just... You’re such an ass! Seriously! Seriously! How the hell is someone like you—?!”

“Someone like me?” he prodded, eyes half-lidded. Souda recoils whenever he makes any attempt at coming closer. Sure, this dipshit is easily spooked and intimidated, but...

Is there more to it?

“Q-Quit it,” Souda squeaked. “S-Stooooop...”

It’s not...my appearance, is it?

Matsuda backed off anyway, playing with his hair to stave off the irritation. Fidgeting could only do so much.

“I really don’t get it,” Souda said, then, and it sounded almost morose. “It pisses me off so much that you’re the kind of guy that’s just...popular with girls.”

Matsuda pinched a lock of hair hard enough to dig his thumbnail into his finger pad. The pinch did little to soothe his nerves.

I’m more or less hopeless when it comes to tech. A wrench in my hand would only ever be used as a weapon. But, this guy...

“That’s definitely not my problem.”

He’s incredibly basic.

“Maybe you should just take more showers?”

“LIKE YOU’RE ONE TO TALK?!”

A basic bitch for sure.

“Hmm.”

“NO COMEBACK?!”

Matsuda stuck his tongue out, Souda screamed in frustration.

The rest went about as well as anyone could expect.

--

“This really is just the wooooorst,” Souda laments, sounding dangerously close to a sob. “For my first field trip ever, to have it be such a bust is just the woooorst.”

“First time?” Matsuda asked, only feigning curiosity as he flipped the page. He didn’t care, but any conversation was better than listening to more whining. All Matsuda did was sit down to read and he was too spiteful and stubborn to leave when he hadn’t done anything. “Skipped the one in middle school?”

The reason I didn’t go was to study, but for a guy like this...

“Huh? Oh, yeah...” Souda shrugged. “I uh, faked being sick and stayed home instead. Not like I could go with how poor my folks were—not like I wanted to go with how shitty my boring asshole classmates were. My old man was pissed though. Beat the shit out of me.”

“I guess overcompensation ran in the family,” Matsuda muttered, but Souda hadn’t heard him.

“He knew we couldn’t afford it, too,” he just went on. “We had this bike shop but like—not super, uh...”

“Profitable?” Matsuda guessed, to which he nodded along.

“Yeah, people just wanted to fix tires and pump air. We barely sold anything.” Souda sighed loudly before grinning and pointing to himself with a jerk of his thumb. “But! Yours truly still turned out to be a genius mechanic! From bikes to cars! Toys to appliances! You got it, I fix it!”

“You’d make a lot more money as a mechanic than a bike salesman,” Matsuda noted. “It’s a well-paying and sought-after service.”

“I’ve been taking apart and reconstructing things since I could walk,” Souda said proudly. “Even though my old man is just—hopeless!”

“Hopeless,” Matsuda echoed disinterestedly.

“That said, I was still looking forward to this trip,” Souda sighed again. “It sounds nice to go on a trip with friends and stuff, but...you and I are like...the furthest thing from friends.” He does perk up when he remembers, “I guess Hinata’s alright. He’s kinda cool. A real soul bro. Soul pal? Soul friend!”

In that case, why aren’t you seeking his company?

Matsuda’s not quite that petty. Not to mention how childish it’d make him sound while asking that aloud. It’s not like he has a problem with Souda and Hinata getting along.

Although...

Hinata has a thing for Komaeda. That might end up complicating that soul bromance or whatever down the line.

Not that it had anything to do with him.

“I have an unlikeable personality,” he just reminded Souda sardonically. “I didn’t come to Hope’s Peak expecting or wanting to make friends.”

The idea is just...absurd. I haven’t been able to connect with peers in over a decade, why the hell would that change now?

“I know!” Souda groused. “Which is why! A guy like you just shouldn’t be LIKED by girls! Who knows how you’d treat them! If you don’t watch yourself, your alarm clock’s gonna get modified into a ticking time bomb!”

“Try it, coward,” Matsuda snapped, making him falter back. “I fucking dare you.”

“E-Eep...! W-Why do you have to make such a scary face, Matsuda...?!”

“...it’s just how I look.”

Haaaah. This is exhausting. So...exhausting.

“Bad looks and a bad personality, but even you can admit I’m a genius, yeah?” Matsuda turned away. “When you’re smart, people flock to you either as a crutch or a springboard. Especially when you’re young.”

“I mean, I’m a genius too,” Souda grumbled. “I actually could just...modify clocks into bombs if I...really wanted to...”

“I want to change the very scope of neurology,” Matsuda went on, ignoring him this time. “I’m going to make it so that no person will ever be lost to us again.”

“Wait...you’re gonna like...cure death?” Souda asked, gawking. “T-That’s...dude...!”

Matsuda couldn’t help but smirk, all too aware of the growing alarm in the mechanic’s eyes.

“If you could just upload a person’s consciousness to a computer like a program... That’d change more than just our understanding of the brain. It’d challenge our understanding of humanity itself.”

Souda went pale.

“T-That’s, uh...”

“Of course it’s pretty unlikely,” Matsuda said, shaking his head. “And so absurdly sci-fi to the point of fantasy.”

But... It could have been possible at Hope’s Peak. Not on this stupid fucking island though.

“It was a joke. You’re supposed to laugh.”

Souda was left in stunned silence.

“I guess it was a bad joke,” Matsuda admits grumpily.

“Y-You know, I, uh... I just wanted to make a rocket ship someday,” Souda says, slowly and stupidly unsure. “But, you, uh... Your ambitions are fucking scary. Count me out.”

Just like that, Souda stood up and left. Without another word.

That was more or less what Matsuda learned to expect.

--

I really do just have a bad personality.

He knows this already, obviously. But it’s a fact that gets hammered in sometimes. Especially right now, when he sees Souda chatting amicably with Hinata. Souda’s wearing a smile that’s only been directed at Matsuda a couple of times. Even when Souda falters, Hinata ends up saying something that makes him perk right back up.

Hinata’s not that social of a guy in the first place.

The two of them banter with ease even when it’s clear that Hinata still gets exasperated by the other’s antics. Then—something is said. Souda’s expression changes into one of frustration and unease. Hinata’s worried, but when Souda excuses himself, Hinata makes no move to follow him. Likely to give the other space. Be respectful. All that.

Matsuda does trail after Souda, however. He’s not a considerate or patient guy. It’s why he doesn’t have any friends.

“Urgh, hate this, hate this, hate this,” Souda’s muttering under his breath through gritted teeth. “Seriously, why did this have to happen? There’s no escape...the ships and planes are useless...no engines... What the hell can I even do...?!”

“Boo.” Matsuda blew into the mechanic’s ear. “Gimme your lunch money.”

Souda screamed loud enough to blow off mountaintops. Matsuda thankfully had the foresight to cover his ears.

“M-M-M-MATSUDA?!” Souda yelped. “What the actual FUCK was that?!”

“A prank,” is his droning response. “You can laugh now.”

“THAT SHIT WASN’T FUNNY!” Souda screeched back. “Y-You, you, you—! Fucking watch it! I’m not in any mood to be messed with!”

Matsuda waved his hands.

“Alright, alright.”

Souda gave him a withering look. After a while, he backed up even more.

“...why are you here? A-Are you here to...?”

Matsuda waved his hands again, shaking his head for good measure.

“If I were, I wouldn’t have gotten your attention.”

“T-That could just be part of the trap!” Souda sputters. “Y-You... You’re not playing with me, are you?!”

...I was, but not because I wanted to murder you. Jeez. I like to think I’d be more pragmatic.

“You’re free to scream, then,” he said simply. “Scream as loud as you can. It can even be my name if you want.”

Souda shuddered.

“U-Urgh...dude, seriously... You’re just messed up,” he groans, burying his face into his hands. “What I’d give for a vehicle to get as far from you as possible. Even if I get sick afterward, it’d be worth it.”

“Haha,” Matsuda droned without a hint of mirth. “Sure.”

“Come to think of it, if anyone would be tempted to be the one to escape at the expense of everyone else...” Souda does raise his head to give him a look.

Matsuda stared back.

“You don’t know me,” he said. “You don’t know shit about me.”

“I-I don’t know,” Souda huffed, feigning assurance. “I think I’ve been around ya long enough to get a good idea of your character. And you’ve got like—scary ambitions.”

I’m not a considerate person, nor am I patient. I know I should be. It would ultimately make my life a lot easier.

“By that logic, I must know you pretty well in return,” he said.

Souda scoffed.

“Yeah, right. You’re just trying to psyche...”

“Dyed hair. Contacts.” Matsuda gestures to the entirety of him. “The way a person chooses to look says a lot about them.”

Souda’s mouth immediately shut, all blood draining from his face. It was easy. Too easy.

“Wonder what happened? Was it just bullying? Or a betrayal?” Matsuda went on. “People who change their natural appearance like that usually have something deeper to throw away.”

“Don’t—talk about shit you have no idea about...!” Souda growled. “It’s none of your damn business!”

He’s so basic.

It’s true I don’t know what I’m talking about, but you’re still falling for it, aren’t you?

“I’m not the traitor,” he says simply. “If I were, I’d manipulate you to like me. You’re about as easy to play as a cheap kazoo.”

Being a little cruel, aren’t you?

His head’s starting to hurt. For some reason—he himself feels sick. And Souda, well...

Souda’s already sniffling. In tears. Whatever he tries to say just comes out as blubbering. It’s pitiful. So much so that Matsuda pulls back with a groan.

His head really, really hurt. He rifles through his pocket, pulling out a handkerchief and a pill bottle. He lays the former on top of Souda’s quivering head before prying open the bottle. As he turns on his heel, he pops a couple into his mouth and swallows them dry with a groan.

He needed a nap after all that, thus he’s on his way.

--

“Hey. You.” Souda jerked his thumb off to the distance. “We’re going. We need to have a talk.”

“Huh. Kay.”

Once they got to the beach, Souda took several deep breathes. Psyching himself up for what was to come.

There really were only a number of ways things would culminate. A simple exchange of words was not going to be it.

“Y-You—!”

At the same time, when Souda spun on his heel—

“OOF! L-Let go! Let go!”

Matsuda was a bit surprised that Souda had the gall to throw a punch first. Not so surprised that he lacked the reflexes to dodge, to seize the mechanic by the arm. He threw the mechanic down, pinning him down front-first into the sand with Matsuda sitting on his back. Souda yelped when his arm was twisted in Matsuda’s grip.

“L-Let go,” he choked out, slapping the sand. “U-Urgh... Urgh...!”

His eyes were screwed shut, likely to keep the sand out.

“S-Seriously?! You couldn’t let me throw one punch for what an asshole you’ve been?!”

“I mean, if you want to upset the princess, that’s your prerogative,” Matsuda hummed before pulling back. “Unfortunately, I don’t like getting punched if I can avoid it.”

“T-Then what about—?!” Souda ended up coughing. The idiot must have inhaled some sand. Feeling bad for him, Matsuda helped him to his feet. Souda’s still coughing pitifully. “Urgh... You’re suuuuch a piece of wooooork.”

“I carry scalpels around,” Matsuda reminded him, making him freeze. A look of fear and then—that fright melted into exasperation.

“Alright,” Souda sighed, rubbing his forehead. “Alright, I get it. You really like flaunting, don’t ya? You’re the worst.”

Matsuda hummed, but Souda went on.

“Y’know...you’re scarily good at reading people, too. You were right about me. I changed my appearance to throw my old self away,” he admits. “I used to be a cowardly loser who thought highly of anyone who bothered to give me the time of day. Even if they lied to me...even if they betrayed me. I was just too much of a wimp to admit that I was being taken advantage of.”

I was just guessing, Matsuda internally admitted. And I still think you’re a coward and a loser. But for different reasons.

“Accepting vulnerability is the first step,” he ended up saying. “You can’t just say you’ll change even if you’re dramatic about it.”

“W-Well, a lot did change when I...changed...” Souda trails off.

“But not the kind of positive change you were hoping for,” Matsuda guessed again. “Were you uncomfortable?”

Souda blanched.

“God, I hate to admit it, but...you’re too sharp for your own good.”

Matsuda said nothing.

“You’re smart. You’re really fucking smart.” Souda gritted his teeth and met his gaze head-on. “That’s why—I’m gonna keep my guard up around ya.”

“That’s fine,” Matsuda replied, shrugging. “There are people you can relax around, and people you can’t. I don’t blame you at all.”

“You’re fine with it,” Souda reiterated as if he wasn’t sure. “Even if...I never trust you...or believe in you... You’re just...fine with it?”

“I’m fine,” Matsuda repeated. “Are you?”

Souda flinched.

“I... Geez! Playing those sick head games with me again!” He shook his head furiously, covering it with his hands as if that’d be a good defense. “W-Well! I won’t let ya! Better fucking watch yourself, Matsuda! Don’t even THINK of trying anything funny!”

“Got it,” Matsuda droned with disinterest. “Would you like to shake on it?”

“K-Keep away from me,” Souda yelped, nearly tripping over his own feet. “Just—just stay the hell away from me! I’m gonna keep an eye on you, but... I don’t want to have to deal with you if I don’t have to!”

“Alright. Fine.”

Souda gave him a suspicious look. He got flustered and quickly turned away. Without looking at Matsuda, he blindly threw back the handkerchief. It only fluttered to the ground, landing in the sand.

“Save your pity,” Souda muttered darkly. “Goodbye.”

When Souda left, it was with an air of finality. Matsuda decided to just leave things like that between them.

Kneeling down to retrieve his handkerchief, Matsuda did pause for a moment. He shook the sand off the fabric.

“...I don’t plan on betraying anyone, not even you,” he spoke slowly and stupidly. “I do in fact...care about lives and I don’t want to see them lost.”

Would that have really been so hard to say?

He really did have such an awful personality. Even if it wouldn’t have worked out for him, it wouldn’t have hurt to have tried.

There are people you can relax around and people that you can’t. There are people you can be friends with and people you that can’t. People you should trust and people that you shouldn’t. You can’t always control which one you’ll be, because it all depends on how others feel. You can’t control that. Even if that’s technically true...

He feels like he’s making excuses. It feels bad.

His head hurting doesn’t help. As he gripped that handkerchief, he took notice of a crab burying itself in the sand down below.

I should do better. I should be better. Maybe if I tell myself enough times, it’ll happen.

[overclockedroulette]

- requested by @scottygemini

- kinda fun

- do Not get used to me writing fluff. it took everything i had not to turn this angsty.

~~~

“Mochi, dear, you look ridiculous.”

Vega reeled a little. The first words Avarice spoke to him, the second he walked through the door and placed down his bag, and he was making fun of him? Really? He supposed he shouldn’t be surprised - Avarice being Avarice, and they weren’t exactly friends to boot - but he’d expected at least a little tact before going in with blatant insults. And it wasn’t like he was wearing anything particularly tacky-looking, or even new, that he could think of: Avarice was just being an asshole. Which was nothing new.

“Excuse me?” he snapped back, agitatedly drumming his fingers on the table as he sat down. “What’s your problem, mutt?”

Avarice choked back a laugh, resting the back of his head on his crossed arms and leaning back on his seat so far that Vega was praying he’d tip backwards and collapse in a cocky fucking heap. That’d take the prick down a peg. “Just what I said. You look ridiculous.” He nodded towards Vega’s hands, which - he remembered - didn’t have gloves on, since he had tried (maybe a little less successfully than he would have liked - and, for the record, not in the slightest inspired by the black polish on Avarice’s left hand) to paint his nails just before showing up: a dark shade of grey, since he hadn’t been able to find anything else. His cheeks flushed a little, and he quickly moved his hands below the table - which prompted another laugh from Avarice.

“That’s- that’s hardly any of your concern, now is it? This is a work environment-”

“Sure, but it’s bugging me.” He waved his hand nonchalantly, returning to a semi-normal position in his chair (at least, one that didn’t constantly look like he was about to fall and break his neck) and staring at the area where Vega’s hands had been resting, drawing small circles on the table’s surface with his metal right hand. There was a long pause, broken by Avarice standing up abruptly. “Alright, we have time. Stay put, sweetheart.”

He walked out the door with all the grace and airs of a particularly irritated peacock, leaving Vega bewildered in his seat. His nails weren’t that bad, were they? Sure, they were a little messy, but he hadn’t assumed they were that visible. Although, it was also very possible that Avarice was the only one who noticed, since nobody else had brought it up, and he did tend to be fairly detail-oriented (and easily annoyed).

It took Avarice a good few minutes to come back, and, when he did, it was with several bottles of nail polish and brushes. Vega raised an eyebrow, about to speak, but was quickly interrupted by Avarice grabbing the back of his chair and turning it to face away from the table, so just focused on passing off the surprised squeak that came out of his mouth as a weird cough.

“Alright, give me your hands,” he demanded, kneeling down on the floor so that he was more level with Vega’s seated form. “I’m fixing your mess.”

“I’m-” Vega was blushing again, mostly due to sheer confusion. He tried not to bring attention to it, but there was a definite blue flush to his cheeks. “I’m sure there’s something more productive we could be doing,” he insisted, although he didn’t physically protest when Avarice pulled his right hand into his lap and started removing the messy coat that he’d worked on himself.

“And I’m sure that your nails look atrocious right now, and if I don’t fix it, it’s going to bug me for the rest of the day. Other hand, now.”

He sighed and held out his other hand: he had learned by now that arguing with Avarice was inevitably pointless, and besides, what harm could it really do?

Scratch that. It was Avarice. Probably a lot.

But it’s not like he could stop him, and he wasn’t sure even Avarice had the balls to commit a murder via... poisoned nail polish, or something, in the middle of Redglass’s castle, in broad daylight. And, besides, despite literally everything about him contradicting the thought, Vega was fairly sure Avarice wasn’t going to hurt him. So he just rolled his eyes and let him get on with whatever he was trying to achieve.

“This one matches your eyes the most, right?” he mused to himself after a long pause, holding a small, cyan bottle up against his right eye - one that matched the colour almost perfectly - and removing the lid, satisfied. “Hold still.”

“Why does the colour even matter so much?” he complained, albeit obediently staying as still as he could. “Grey was fine.”

“Because, Mochi, my dearly beloved, grey is plain. The brighter colour brings out your eyes: it makes them less of a singular focal point and more of an accent colour. It makes you more interesting to look at - since your choice of colour seems to be fairly monotonous otherwise. I said hold still.”

“I’m holding perfectly still, maybe your hands are just shaky. And my choice of colour is fine, thank you very much.”

Avarice paused for a moment to laugh, and then continued. “See, that’s the problem. It’s just fine. You can do better than fine looking like that, pretty boy.”

Vega blinked.

“Also, for the record, both of my hands are controlled primarily by magic, so I sincerely doubt I’m having involuntary tremors. But nice try. Now please hold still.”

“No, wait, what did-”

“I’m adding more design now, so please try to refrain from any unnecessary movement, or I will start over from scratch and that isn’t an empty threat,” he announced, as if Vega hadn’t said anything at all. “Alright, honey?”

Vega sighed. He clearly wasn’t getting anywhere, and Avarice could be unbearably stubborn.

“Alright. Fine.” He paused. “And- ah- you’re not too bad yourself.”

Now Avarice was the one who looked confused. His hands stopped moving for just a moment, so short that Vega barely caught it, but he definitely looked thoroughly lost for a second before catching himself and falling back into that cocky smile.

“I know, sweetheart,” he responded smoothly, and Vega didn’t bother commenting on that aside from a disbelieving laugh, because that expression before was definitely a victory, albeit a small one.

As it turned out, Avarice was a surprisingly skilled nail artist. The process took a while, of course - definitely longer than it needed to, but what was Avarice Kiriatta but a hopeless show-off? - and there were definitely more productive things they could have been doing, but even Vega had to admit that they looked good. What’s more, they suited him: a bright, eye-catching cyan interspersed with tiny flecks of white glitter, and darker shades of blue in spiralling wisps throughout. Not that he’d say so out loud - the conceited jackass certainly didn’t need an ego boost, and, going by the smug look on his face, he knew exactly what Vega thought of his work without needing to be told.

“So?”

“They’re alright,” he stuck to, curtly turning his chair back to face the table and finally sorting out his bag. “Entirely unnecessary, though.”

“Oh? My apologies,” he smirked. “I’ll just keep to myself next time, shall I?”

“...We have work to do,” Vega decided on, after a short pause. “You can show off your artistic prowess later.”

Avarice laughed, seating himself on the tabletop and leaning over to where Vega was sitting, taking one hand by the wrist - which prompted an insulted scowl, but no verbal or physical objection - and admiring his work.

“Sure. It’s a date.”

[mork-lee-bee]

Broken Lovers VI

Summary: Y/n is a hopeless romantic in love with someone who will never love her back and Jaehyun is helplessly in love with someone who only continues to hurt him over and over again, sounds like a match made in heaven right?

Pairings: CollegeStudent!Jaehyun X CollegeStudent!Y/N X CollegeStudent!Jaemin

Warnings: cursing, 

Genre: angst/fluff/smut

Word count: 2.6 k

Masterlist

Previous

Next

“Hey, ____?” Miyoung smiles sweetly and you know she wants something so you start to pack your books into your bag.

“I didn’t even say anything yet!” She defends but you knew what she wanted.

“No, but I know you, so just call me when you’re done,” you laugh and a deep red color floods her ears in embarrassment.

“Maybe I was just gonna ask you to go with me to get coffee!” She pouts but she was too dressed up for even coffee, she had a dark red lip and her eye shadow was a dark smokey eye.

“Just please don’t have him here too late, the library closes at 9,” you explained hoping she wouldn’t lose track of time and you’d be stuck having to figure something else to do until 2 am like a few nights in the past.

“I’ll try,” Miyoung smiles making sure you leave the building safely before she’s back upstairs getting ready. You were severely under-dressed for the colder weather at night as you could feel the cold air engulf your entire body, You shiver as you start to walk in the direction of the library on the campus. You and Miyoung happened to be in the newer dorms which were a blessing for the better facilities but were also further from the library. The cold air had a visible effect on you as your arms and legs were covered in goosebumps. 

“She owes me,” You mumble under your breath almost jogging to try and keep semi-warm, which turned into an awkward cold sweat that just brought discomfort by the time you got to the Library after being exiled.

It was cold inside almost as cold as it was outside and without any hoodie or sweater you were miserable as you find a quiet corner to set up for studying, there weren’t many people but those that you saw were stressed and cramming or almost passed out trying to study.

Just as you got relaxed you could hear someone sobbing from behind a bookshelf, you could either move or try to ignore it, out of pure laziness you dig through your bag trying to find your headphones only to remember that you left them on your desk at the dorm. You wanted to bang your head on the table at how stupid it was but you resisted instead leaning back at staring up at the ceiling, the library wasn’t huge but it was decently big although it was filled with a bit of cold dead space.

You figured that you wouldn’t be able to focus with the sobs of the girl behind the shelf so you might as well look for a book to help with studies getting up and looking around at the shelves that towered way above you. You were in the History section by the looks at it as most of the books read something about-

“Oh shit,” You hear after bumping into someone and you falling backward extremely hard to the point the breath in your lungs is no longer there.

“Wait… _____?” You can barely see the person through the gathering tears in your eyes but the voice is very familiar as you attempt to blink the tears away while coughing and trying to regain your breath the sharp pain hard to get through.

“I’m so sorry,” The person bends down to your level on the ground and you could feel them mindlessly draw soothing circles on your back trying to help you calm down as he coaches through breathing.

“Fuck- That hurt,” You manage to get out through the breaths, coughs, and slight wheezing. You wipe the tears away that had gathered.

“I didn’t see you,” They try to explain which only makes you laugh slightly at how bad they felt.

“Honestly, it’s fine,” You promise placing your hand on theirs and finally looking over to see who had taken your breath away, literally.

“Jaehyun?” You manage to make out his features easily as a shy dimple smile crosses over his lips.

“You’re correct,” He pats you on the back as you’re slowly starting to be functional again.

“What are you doing here?” You manage to ask and in hindsight, it was a dumb question, a public library on a school night. clearly, he was here to study.

“Can’t a guy go to the library to read about…” He looks at the bottom shelf grabbing a book off the lowest shelf and reading the cover.

“The in-depth History of Psycho by Red Velvet,” Jaehyun scratches the back of his neck before placing the book back on the shelf.

“I mean, if that’s what you read about, I’m not judging,” You finally get to feeling better but your back was still in a bit of pain as Jaehyun gets up from right next to you.

“It’s not my favorite thing to do but, school work is school work,” He stretches lightly glancing down at where you’re sat on the ground looking up at him an all too familiar feeling pounding in your chest as you quickly scramble to stand with him although still in a bit of pain.

“What brings you to the library?” Jaehyun pulls you out of your thoughts but noticed how you reacted smiling to himself as you try to straighten yourself out fidgeting with the bracelet on your right wrist

“Roommate kicked me out for her own… business,” You try not to explicitly say oh you know my friend is getting laid so I’ve been exiled to the library to suffer.

“That’s something I like about having my own room in the frat,” Jaehyun admits and you can’t help but follow him around the maze of bookshelves like a lost puppy enamored by his personality. 

“Yeah I can only imagine, the beauty of privacy,” You hadn’t had that in a while it felt like as on more than one occasion Miyoung loved to walk into the bathroom without knocking.

“And no one kicking me out of my room,” Jaehyun aimlessly walks occasionally running a finger along the spines of the books more focused on you of course as you let out a groan of jealously at the thought of being able to relax, while you did love Miyoung her presence could suffocate you with her constant late-night talks on the phone.

“God that sounds wonderful,” You pout thinking of the things you took for granted before.

“I mean sometimes it can be a bit… smelly,” You raise an eyebrow in confusion but a bunch of guys in one place is bound to create some kind of odor so you scrunch your nose in disgust.

“Every place has its ups and downs I guess,” You shrug not paying attention as Jaehyun stops suddenly which you run into him almost falling over again but he catches your arm keeping you held up before dragging you in the opposite direction you were headed suddenly, a bit confused but you follow regardless figuring he remembered why he was there and just dragging you to the correct section.

“Okay, where are we going now?” You question as he looks behind him occasionally as if trying to find something or someone else behind you, his eyes wouldn’t find yours as he looked past you almost like a ghost was there.

“Jaehyun?” You tug at his arm and planting your feet to the ground stalling him and dragging him out of his thoughts that seemed to cloud his mind and every single one of his senses.

“Sorry I was just…” His voice trails off as you see the worry in his eyes.

“Are you always so in your head? You don’t seem to be thinking in the present,” You offer a small smile as he touches the back of his neck nervously as you spot his ears redden slightly.

“Not usually,”

“Come on, let’s go get some ice cream,” You suddenly announce finally taking the lead and letting Jaehyun follow you which he does as he raises an eyebrow in confusion at the sudden change in action.

“Why?”

“Well, Ice cream makes everyone feel better, well at least that’s what my nephew says,”

“But don’t you need to study,” You laugh at this, any excuse not to study was the best.

“Originally, but I’m not in the mood to anymore,” You smile as you get to the spot where you had set up still untouched as you start to place things back into your bag to leave. 

“Okay…” He watches you sling your bag over your shoulder before grabbing his hand and pulling him towards the exit, whatever reason he had come to the library in the first place was now completely out of his mind.

You hadn’t realized how long you were actually in the library as you push the heavy door open to reveal the darkness of night, when you had arrived the sun was setting but now it felt colder as the slight breeze hit your exposed arms because of your t-shirt.

“Cold? We don’t have to get ice cream, we could get coffee or something warmer,” Jaehyun offers while letting your hand go and starting to take his hoodie off as soon as he noticed how your hands reached for your arms to warm yourself up.

“Nah, I’ve had way too much coffee today already,” You admit while he finishes slipping off his hoodie leaving him in a basketball Jersey which was even less coverage than you had.

“If you insist,” He hands you the still warm hoodie which you hesitate to take seeing he would be cold.

“Take it,” Jaehyun sees your hesitation insisting that you take it as you slowly grab it from him looking up at him with sad eyes.

“Won’t you be cold?” You point out sadly to which Jaehyun laughs smiling and ruffling your hair.

“You’re sweet for being so concerned but I’ll be fine it’s not a long walk to my car,” He assures you and it was obvious he wouldn’t be taking any no’s so you carefully slip on the dark grey hoodie suddenly engulfed by Jaehyun without him actually hugging you. The Orange smell hit your nose causing you to smile and the warmth engulfed your body with the soft fabric clinging to your body.

“Thank you,” You say before taking a step towards him and wrapping your arms around him hugging him which he returns setting his head on top of yours for a minute just enjoying you.

Eventually, you pull away as he takes the lead walking over to where he’s parked in the parking lot, dimly lit by the overhead street lights that would occasionally flicker.

The music on his playlist was nice, it was the type of music perfect for a calm relaxing night to yourself as he focused on driving humming along to the music lightly as if you weren’t even there sitting in the passenger seat staring at his side profile, his relaxed features made him look kind and approachable which brought you back to when you first met him, he was so angry and seemed so unlike the man in front of you now.

“Why?” You ask, a simple unfinished question as he glimpses over at you raising an eyebrow out of confusion.

“Why what?” He answers with another question, 

“Why were you so mad when we met at that party?” You didn’t expect him to spill his entire life story or anything to you when you asked the question and he tensed, his once relaxed hands on the steering wheel held a tighter grip and you could see his veins stick out slightly more as you observed the gears turning in his head on an answer almost like he was looking at some kind of word search looking through the jumble of gibberish to find the right words.

“I was having a bad week and I didn’t feel in the mood for partying…” He admitted loosening up a bit and shaking his head as he pulled into the parking lot of Wayv Ice Cream Parlor Miyoung loved it because YangYang worked here but someone else was working tonight as Jaehyun opens the car door for you.

The little bell rings to alert the staff someone entered as soon as you pull Jaehyun into the small shop that felt all too familiar as you spot the person working look up and smile immediately. 

“Kun!” You excitedly run over to the counter, the place was dead empty so it was nice to see a familiar friendly face as Jaehyun made his way over next to you as Kun start to make your usual request.

“Where’s Miyoung?” The man you had gawked at when you had first seen him working because of his visuals asks.

“She decided to stay at the dorm, this is Jaehyun,” You look over to the quiet guy next to you and nudge him to give his order as you take your card out to pay for the two ice creams.

“I didn’t know you had a boyfriend,” Kun speaks candidly as your eyes widen as you turn to correct him.

“Oh, no we’re just friends,” You explain as Kun sets the two desserts down and pulls up the amount due.

“Yeah, we’re just- Hey!” Jaehyun notices how you’ve taken out your card to pay grabbing your wrist lightly to stop you as he slips his wallet out of his back pocket but he’s too late as you switch the hand the card is in and insert the chip watching as the transaction starts.

“Dang that’s too bad you’d be cute together,” Kun wiggles his eyebrows at you which Jaehyun doesn’t notice as he’s too bust shooting glares in your direction as you type the pin in.

“Thanks,” You smile at Kun before picking up the two ice creams and going to sit at one of the two people seating arrangements setting the two ice creams down and smiling at Jaehyun who still looks at you angrily.

“Jae, why are you so mad?” You sit down leaning forward head resting in your hand as you look at him.

“I should have paid for it,” Jaehyun pouts as you roll your eyes and hold up three fingers for the three points you’re about to make.

“One, it was my idea, two you drove, three you let me borrow your hoodie. The least I could do was pay for the ice cream,” You point out before grabbing your plastic spoon and digging in smiling at the sugary taste.

“Fine but next time I’m paying,” He determines as your mind starts to think about his word choice Next time? There’s going to be a next time?

“We’ll see,” You wink sticking your tongue out before another spoonful of ice cream causes you to grip your head in pain at the sudden brain freeze. 

“What kind did you get?” You look over to the ice cream he got trying to finger it out, could it be rocky road? Coffee? Chocolate? There are so many flavors it makes it difficult. Yours was obvious with the bit of Oreo crumbs that sat on top.

“Guess,” He smiles as he picks up another spoonful holding it out for you to taste as you lean forward and eating the small spoonful of Ice cream before thinking and contemplating the taste.

“Chocolate?” You tilt your head trying to guess.

“Yup!” he says proudly.

“You’re basic,” You roll your eyes before taking a bite of your own ice cream happily.

“Can I enjoy ice cream without being harshly judged?” Jaehyun glares before digging his spoon into your ice cream and taking a bite letting out a small Mmmmm at the delicious taste.

“No!” You glare holding your ice cream closer to you he can’t steal anymore.

“But it’s good!” He pouts as your phone dings with a notification which you check and see Miyoungie Pop up with the message You can return now! 

“After we’re finished can you take me back to my dorm?” You plead with Jaehyun who agrees to as long as you let him eat more of your ice cream to which you groan in response.

“FINEEEE,” You pout as he smiles his dimples very prominent as he steals another bite.

----------

it may be late but it’s done :)

Next chapter up on 8/19

Tag List (Let me know if you want to be added):

❤️ @yourchasingsunsets​ ❤️ @Justineasian ❤️ @Captainsjoongs ❤️ @theworld-accordingtocasey​ ❤️ @yee-hawwwwwwww​ ❤️ @renjunstarlight​ ❤️ @soothingjae​  ❤️

I had a job interview today and I’m nervous to find out if I got the job or not and i do updates are gonna be less frequent :/

[diamcndgirl]

under the ‘read more’ you will find a full interview about the one and only penelope hainline.

BASIC QUESTIONS

first name? penelope.

surname? hainline.

middle names? bernadette (after the broadway legend bernadette peters).

nicknames? penny (most common) and miss piggy.

date of birth? may twenty-eight, 1998.

age? twenty-three.

PHYSICAL / APPEARANCE

height? 5′2.

weight? 120lbs.

build? athletic/small.

hair colour? blonde, but known to wear different wigs.

eye colour? bright blue.

glasses or contact lenses? glasses for fashion and fashion only.

distinguishing facial features? her big eyes and tooted up nose.

which bodily feature is most prominent? chest. while she lost most of her weight her chest is still relatively large for her size.

make up? penny loves make up, spends almost as much time doing her make up as she does picking out her outfit.

type of clothes? all types of clothes! she loves clothes but is known mostly for her high fashion looks. she creates her own outfits from time to time. but she loves high fashion and designer clothes.

how do they wear their clothes? penelope has an outfit for literally every occasion. basketball game? she’s got a jersey with her name bedazzled across the back in pink. painting? she’s got a total get up and special painting beret. her clothes are an extension of herself. she loves having fun with her clothes.

race / ethnicity? white.

are they in good health? over all, yes. she’s slimmed down and is in a lot better shape. she does karate/kick boxing to keep in shape but honestly she still eats like a pig.

PERSONALITY

what words or phrases do they overuse? “excusze moi”, “moi”, “thank yoooou.”, “oh dear..”, “totally”, “shut up!!”.

are they more optimistic or pessimistic? hmm, is there a middle ground? honestly, overly optimistic about her own talents and overly pessimistic of other’s. she is absolutely positive she’s perfect at everything she does.. but as for other people? it’s all their fault anything goes wrong.

are they introverted or extroverted? extroverted, extroverted, extroverted!

do they ever put on airs? literally all the time. like i said penelope thinks she’s perfect at everything straight out the gate... doesn’t matter if she’s done it before or not. which means she always puts on a front like she is great at everything.

what bad habits do they have? not many, her mother was good for breaking bad habits young. but, the ones that stuck are: emotional shopping, emotional eatting, sleeping in, and interrupting people.

what makes them laugh out loud? a lot. penny laughs at everything and anything.

how do they display affection? physical touch and gift giving... she’s always been one for big displays of affection. so she’s one for holding hands, kissing in public, and showing out with big gifts.

how do they want to be seen by others? perfect. she wants to be seen as perfect. anything less is just a no.

how do they see themselves? not so perfect. while she acts like it on the inside she is constantly nit picking herself, the way she dresses, and every little thing about herself.

strongest character trait? tenacious. she’s got a strong grip on herself and her life.

weakest character trait? overly confident. while she’s got a go and get it personality she also has a tendency to over over board and think bigger than her ability.

how competitive are they? extremely.

do they make snap judgments or take time to consider? snap judgments all the time with everything. then it takes a good while to convince her she’s not correct about it.

how do they react to praise? highly. she loves praise. anything to hear that she’s as wonderful as she thinks. “oh please. you’re so silly.. tell me more.”

how do they react to criticism? not good.. she hates being told she could be better at something.

what is their greatest fear? failing. be it in her career choice or relationships. to fail means her mother was right and so were all the kids when she was younger.

what is their philosophy of life? go big or go home.

what will they stand up for? their friends. what they believe in. people with smaller voices than her own.

are they indoorsy or outdoorsy? indoors.

what is their sinful little habit? kissing strangers when she’s tipsy.

what sense do they most rely on? her sixth sense-- or at least that’s what she says. penelope picks up ‘vibes’.

what quality do they most value in a friend? loyalty.. and a good fashion sense.

what do they consider an overrated virtue? forgiveness. you don’t always have to forgive someone.

if they could change one thing about themselves, what would it be?

what is their obsession? fashion, rupaul’s drag race, kylie minogue, and fancy chocolate.

FRIENDS AND FAMILY

is their family big or small? who does it consist of? small. there are only three members: her mother bonnie a retired model, her father jim a business lawyer, and herself.

what is their perception of family? she loves her parents. they gave her everything she could ever want.. but they did let her down in a lot of ways. so it’s a tad screwed.

do they have siblings? none that she knows of. her father wasn’t a very faithful man and neither was her mother.

describe their best friend. penelope had a best friend growing up. kaiden russel. sadly, after going into high school the pair didn’t stay connected and she moved onto a more popular crowd and hasn’t truly had a ‘best friend’ since then.

ideal best friend? hm, someone who can keep up with her all the while keeping her in line. someone who listens and doesn’t mind her rambling. also they’ve got to have a great fashion sense and killer personality.

describe their other friends. penelope has loads of friends. while she may be a bit of a mean girl she doesn’t have trouble making friends. especially since moving to elias. she’s been able to calm down on the venom and let friendships grow.. she still worries about people not

do they have any pets? back home she has a biscon friese named pinky. she’s trying to convince her land lord to allow the dog to stay.

who are their natural allies? wally, georgette, daphne, and buzz.

who are their surprising allies? rita. they’re very much opposites attract and have a surprisingly great friendship. while they’re an odd pair penny has her back just like rita has pen’s.

PAST AND FUTURE

what was your character like as a baby? as a child? loud, chubby, and a little too in your face.

did they grow up rich or poor? rich. her parents wouldn’t have it any other way.

did they grow up nurtured or neglected? right in the middle. one parent nurtured with gifts and the other neglected with words.

what is their greatest achievement? prom queen, except it was a fluke. next would be getting into walt academy.

what was their first kiss like? hm, not great. it was with the smelly boy on the back of the bus because the cool kids dared her.. she was promised to sit at their lunch table then got tricked.

what is the worst thing they did to someone they loved? she told her mom she hated her.. like multiple times.

what are their ambitions? become a fashion mogul and build a huge empire.

what advice would they give their younger self? don’t listen to axel.. ever.

what smells remind them of their childhood? chocolate and tears.

what was their childhood ambition? be the next britney spears.

did they have an imaginary childhood friend? she didn’t have many friends besides kaidan. so she created friends from her stuffed animals.

when was the last time they were crushed with disappointment? besides being stood up.. probably being told her latest design wasn’t good by her teacher.

LOVE

do they believe in love at first sight? yes, she’s a hopeless romantic.

are they in a relationship? clearly not.

how do they behave in a relationship? she’s a fun partner. but she’s very about herself. while she’ll cover them with attention and love.. she’ll always be her first priority.

when did you character last have sex? it’s been a hot minute. penny isn’t big on hook ups. she wants to be in love.. or in ‘really like’ before she puts that out there.

what sort of sex do they have? again she wants to make love not have sex. she’s more about pleasing and being pleased. and she just really loves kissing and cuddling.

has your character ever been in love? nope, she doesn’t even know what it feels like.

have they ever had their heart broken? her feelings hurt but her heart wasn’t broken by axel. just hurt really bad.

CONFLICT

how do they respond to a threat? with a bigger threat back. penelope is very confrontational.

are they most likely to fight with their fists or their tongue? tongue, girl has a mouth and can say very hateful and mean things.

if your character could only save one thing from their burning house, what would it be? her diary. she’s kept one since she was a child. it’s important to her.

what are their phobias? spiders and bugs in general.

what is their choice of weapon? her purse and the taser she keeps in it.

what living person do they most despise? axel and his band.

have they ever been bullied or teased? yeah, her whole childhood.

where do they go when they’re angry? to cry in a pillow then to the gym to punch away her aggression.

WORK, EDUCATION AND HOBBIES

what is their current job? jobless socialite student.

what are their hobbies? fashion design/sewing, karaoke, and karate.

educational background? she’s currently in college for fashion design.

intelligence level? she’s about a 8/10 on the intelligence scale. she has always done well in school but def isn’t a valedictorian.

do they have a natural talent for something? sewing. she can make an outfit in under an outfit and it will be perfect.

do they play a sport? are they any good? kick boxing, doll. she’s great. and karate. she’s a black belt you know!

FAVORITES

what is their favorite animal? her pup. but she likes flamingos strangely enough.

which animal do they dislike the most? spiders.. and bats.

what place would they most like to visit? paris. again and again and again. she hopes to live their one day. but as far as new place to visit would be london.

what is the most beautiful thing they’ve ever seen? can she say her own reflection?

what is their favorite song? love at first sight by kylie minogue or the call by the backstreet boys.

music, art, reading preferred? ooo, this is hard for her because fashion is art to her but she loves singing. we’ll say art to be safe.

what is their favorite color? pink, all day everyday.

POSSESSIONS

what is in their fridge? lots of leftovers and food prep. penny doesn’t cook very well.

what is on their bedside table? a picture of her puppy, her phone, a ring dish with her everyday jewelry, and a cute lamp.

what is in their purse or wallet? junk on top of junk and things she needs to clean out.

what is their most treasured possession? her diary and her grandmother wedding band.

SPIRITUALITY

who or what is your character’s guardian angel? she’d believe it’s her father’s mother but then again with her fate she doesn’t think she has one.

do they believe in the afterlife? yes. but she’s not sure it’s like the ‘good book’ says.

what are their religious views? believes in a god but is not practicing any strict religion.

what do they think heaven is? heaven would be a happy life where she’s treated like a princess on a throne.

what do they think hell is? reliving prom night over and over again.

are they superstitious? a bit. she wont place her purse on the ground, doesn’t step on cracks, and little things like that.

what would they like to be reincarnated as? hm, a butterfly.

how would they like to die? in their sleep.

what is your character’s spirit animal? a peacock.

what is their zodiac sign? gemini sun, gemini moon, cancer ascending.

VALUES

what do they think is the worst thing that can be done to a person? murder.. or having their heart broken.

what is their view of ‘freedom’? she’s not sure... it seems like there isn’t such a thing these days.

when did they last lie? she told her teacher her outfit was cute.. it wasn’t. it was tacky and she hated it.

what’s their view of lying? penny doesn’t lie often.. maybe fib and tell little white lies.. but never about anything major.

when did they last make a promise? hm, she doesn’t really make promises because it’s hard for her to keep them.

did they keep or break their last promise? again.. she probably broke it.

DAILY LIFE

what are their eating habits? awful. she works out to keep off the pounds.. but penny has never ate healthy and probably never will.

describe their home. chic chaos? clothes and accessories everywhere, pictures of herself and pup everywhere, her sewing station a hot mess.. lots of color and fun.

are they minimalist or a clutter hoarder? clutter hoarder.

what do they do first thing on a weekday morning? drink water and write in her dream journal.

what do they do on a sunday afternoon? her weekly skin care routine.

what do they do on a friday night? a night on the town. she’s probably dragging a friend to karaoke or on a ‘friend date’.

what is the soft drink of choice? she’s a mountain dew girl.

what is their alcoholic drink of choice? sangria or margaritas. she’s simple.

MISCELLANEOUS

what or who would your character dress up as for halloween? probably wanda from wanda vision.. she has no idea. or she’ll try to get a date and force them to be her vision. or maybe princess peach.

are they comfortable with technology? very much so. social media queen.

if they could call one person for help, who would it be? probably howl.. she just learned about magic.. that has to fix everything.

what is their greatest extravagance? her princess tiara, her father bought when she turned sixteen. it’s diamond encrusted and also has pink diamonds.

what is their perception of redemption? obviously she think shes got the greatest redemption story of all time.

what would they do if they won the lottery? give it to charity for publicity... whoops.

what is their favourite fairytale? the twelve dancing princesses.

what fairytale do they hate? princess and the pea.

do they believe in happy endings? yes, and she hopes she gets one.

what is their idea of perfect happiness? honestly, a good marriage and sucessful career.

what would they ask a fortune teller? who she’s going to marry and if he’s loaded.

if your character could travel through time, where would they go? to meet anne boleyn and tell her what’s going to happen.

what sport do they excel at? karate.

what sport do they suck at? anything with a ball.

if they could have a superpower, what would they choose? super strength or flying.

[clumsyclifford]

i know that you’re so afraid

and it’s getting late, 'but i'll stay 'til you come down.

Luke lets himself in and is met with wreckage and a scream that is so guttural, so primal, that for a moment he feels truly afraid. (Or, Ashton's never been like this, and he's falling apart.)

TW mostly for lots of angst and crying and such. however also contains ashton yelling for a moment so if men yelling is something that triggers/upsets you then maybe skip this one. title from come down by noah kahan.

part 1 (tumblr) // part 2 (tumblr)

read it on ao3 here

~

Luke lets himself in and is met with wreckage and a scream that is so guttural, so primal, that for a moment he feels truly afraid.

Then there are sobbing sounds, the gut-wrenching kind that only ever happens when you’re home by yourself and everything has gone wrong, and Luke thinks maybe he understands a little better.

Gingerly, he steps over the throw pillows discarded in front of the door, picking them up as he goes. The living room is in a state of total disarray. Every blanket, pillow, and cushion they’ve ever had on any couch has been yanked off and unceremoniously tossed into a different corner; there are shreds of paper like oversized snowflakes littering the ground. In the middle of it all, on his knees, chest heaving and body shaking with his face in his hands, is Ashton.

“Ashton?” Luke says softly, and Ashton doesn’t look up. He makes a noise, though, a groan that sounds helpless and despairing.

“Fuck,” Ashton says, in a trembling voice. He rubs his hands furiously over his face and pulls one through his hair, which is unruly, like he’s been moving around a lot and hasn’t checked his reflection yet. “Fuck, you — you weren’t —”

“We finished early,” Luke says calmly. “What happened here?”

Ashton shakes his head. “Leave and come back, I’ll — I’ll clean up.”

“Don’t worry about cleaning up,” Luke says.

Ashton grunts viciously and pushes himself to his feet. “Go, please go,” he begs, “I’ll — please.”

He sounds scared, and that makes Luke scared. There are tear tracks all down Ashton’s face, glistening over angry red scratch marks, like he’d tried to claw the tears off. “Take a deep breath.”

“Don’t fucking tell me to take a deep breath!” Ashton shouts, and then his face falls into his hands again. “Luke, please, I’m not like this, I don’t want you to see me like this. Please leave. Please.”

“I live here too,” Luke says. “And I’m not leaving you like this.”

Ashton presses the heels of his palms into his eye sockets. “I don’t want this. Please go away.”

Luke moves gently towards Ashton. “You won’t hurt me.”

“Of course I won’t,” Ashton says helplessly, “but look at the fucking state I’m in —”

“Don’t stop on my account,” Luke says. “Keep throwing shit. Scream all you want.”

Ashton shakes his head, and a sob escapes through his lips unbidden. “Luke, I just need to be alone.”

“I don’t think you should,” Luke says carefully, stepping closer and closer. Ashton doesn’t move until Luke is within arm’s reach, until Luke reaches out hesitantly to touch his shoulder, and then he collapses into Luke, crying harder than Luke’s ever heard anyone cry. The sound tears at Luke’s chest, tugs mercilessly at his heartstrings.

“I’m sorry,” Ashton cries into his shoulder, “I’m so sorry, this is the worst of me.”

There’s nothing to say, really. This is the worst of Ashton, and Luke doesn’t love him any less for it. “It’s okay,” he whispers, holding Ashton tightly, like that will keep him from falling apart any more. “It’s okay. I know. I’m here, I’ve got you.”

Ashton won’t stop apologizing, and he also doesn’t stop crying for a good five minutes. Luke scans the living room over Ashton’s shoulder as he gently cards through Ashton’s hair. It looks like a tornado has ripped through the place. Something really, truly upsetting must have happened. More than one thing, maybe. In all the years they’ve known each other, Luke has never known Ashton like this.

“What happened?” Luke says quietly, when the broken sobs have turned into irregular whimpers and Luke feels exceedingly warm from Ashton’s body heat, numb from Ashton’s weight clinging to him. “Is there anything I can do?”

Ashton sniffs. “Mum called,” he says weakly. “Lauren’s in the hospital. Tripped and cut her leg and she had to get stitches.”

“Oh, Ash,” Luke breathes. It hurts Luke to know that Lauren is hurt; he can’t imagine how bad it must feel for Ashton.

“I can’t be there for her,” Ashton says, sounding angry and hopeless and defeated all at once. “I can’t go. I’m stuck here. Even if I left the minute I got the call, by the time I got there she’d be out.” Luke presses a kiss to the junction between Ashton’s shoulder and neck, and the tension seems to drain a bit from Ashton’s body. “I miss her, and I miss Harry and my mum and — and I miss Sydney so much, don’t you miss home, Luke?”

Luke nods. Generally he tries not to think about how much he misses home, tries not to think about how even after all this time, home is still Sydney, not LA. It hurts, all the more because there’s not a lot Luke can do to remedy it. He can visit, sure, but if he wants to sustain this career he has — if he wants to live his dream — the chances of him ever moving back home are slim to none.

“You can still go,” he tells Ashton, rubbing rhythmic circles into his back, over the rough cotton of his shirt. “And she’ll be okay, you know. It’s going to be okay.” Ashton shakes his head and pulls away from Luke, unreadable from all the emotions flitting across his face.

“I know she’ll be fucking okay, Luke, but I can’t be there when she’s not!” he snaps. Luke tries not to flinch. He’s not scared of Ashton, but he can see how someone could be, in a moment like this. Ashton notices anyway, because Ashton always notices, and he squeezes his eyes shut, fresh tears trekking down his face. “Fuck, I’m sorry. I’m — I told you I didn’t want you —”

“Ashton, Ashton, no,” Luke says, bringing a hand up to Ashton’s face and tilting their foreheads together. Ashton’s erratic breath leaves staggered puffs of air against Luke’s face, and Luke thinks he might cry, too, except he can’t, because Ashton is crying. They can’t both fall apart; there’d be no one to pick up the pieces. “No. I’m not scared of you. You’re upset. You’re allowed to be upset. Your sister’s in the hospital.”

“I can’t be like this with you,” Ashton whimpers. “You’re all I have, and I’ll scare you off —”

“I’m not all you have, and you could never scare me off,” Luke interrupts. The tears on Ashton’s face are tracing the outline of Luke’s thumb as they make their way down his cheek; Luke cradles Ashton’s face as delicately as he can and wipes the tears away. “We can both go. Even if you get there after she’s out, she’ll be happy to see you.”

“I’m useless,” Ashton says hoarsely, “can’t do anything, can’t even be there to hold her fucking hand while they stitch her up —”

“They wouldn’t let you be there for that anyway,” Luke says. “Ashton. Ash. I’m — I’m sorry. I’m really, really sorry.”

Ashton breaks down again, falling limp against Luke, and Luke lets him cry it out. He doesn’t say anything. There’s nothing that bears saying. This news is poison, and Ashton needs to flush it out.

“Aren’t you scared?” he murmurs brokenly into Luke’s neck. Luke exhales.

“Of you? Never.”

“I am,” Ashton whispers. “I don’t want this to be me, but I think it is.”

“This isn’t you,” Luke says firmly. “If it were, I’d have seen it a lot sooner. You’d have done it a lot sooner.”

“I tore up my songwriting notebook,” Ashton confesses, sounding terrified to say it out loud. “After I hung up with my mum, I tried to write — I thought maybe — if I could put it in words, but — I can’t. I couldn’t. I was so angry I just — I just ripped it in half. Tore up all the pages.”

That’ll be the scraps of paper all over the floor, then. “It sounds like you needed to rip something up.”

“What kind of person am I that I need to break something when I’m upset?” Ashton says, horrified.

“Don’t do this,” Luke says, tracing arbitrary lines and shapes into Ashton’s back as if he’ll unlock the pattern to make Ashton feel better. “You weren’t just upset. You’ve had a bad day. Bad week. And you haven’t done anything about it. It built up. That’s normal.”

“But what if you’d been here?”

Luke doesn’t know. What if he had been here? Would Ashton have kept it to himself, retreated to his room to cry in solitude? Or would he have screamed anyway, filled the house with heart-wrenching cries, demolished the living room as Luke stood by and watched?

Luke wonders which would be worse.

“Don’t do that either,” Luke says. “I wasn’t here. I am now. You went a little crazy. You’re allowed.”

Ashton huffs, and Luke thinks maybe, just maybe, there’s a laugh hidden somewhere in there. “That’s a nice way of putting it.”

Luke leans away and presses a kiss to Ashton’s forehead. “Can you breathe?” Ashton nods. “Want me to look up flights to Sydney?” Ashton nods again, leaning his head heavily against Luke’s, rough hands wrapping around Luke’s neck like a lifeline, like a noose, like both. Luke thinks he would die for Ashton, if it came down to it; not figuratively, but actually trade Ashton’s life for Luke’s own, and of all the scary things of today, that one is the biggest. He takes a deep breath. “Okay. I can do that. We’ll clean this up later. How about we order pizza for dinner, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Ashton mumbles. “I’m so fucking sorry, Luke.”

“Don’t be sorry,” Luke says. “You have nothing to be sorry for. I know this isn’t you, and I know you feel badly, but you don’t have to be sorry, not to me.”

“But I am anyway.”

“I forgive you,” Luke says, even though there’s nothing to forgive. Ashton closes his eyes and breathes out like someone’s just released pressure on his chest. “Please don’t be sorry anymore. You haven’t done anything that bears forgiving. I forgive you for nothing.”

“Thank you anyway,” Ashton says, deathly quiet. “I’m so — I don’t know what I would do without you, Luke. I really don’t.”

“Lucky for you, you never have to find out,” Luke says, pulling Ashton into a hug. “I’ll find a flight and we’ll bring a bunch of ridiculous presents to Lauren, and we can stay for a little bit. You’ll see them soon. It’ll be good for you.”

“As long as you’re there,” Ashton says softly. “You keep me together.”

You keep me together too, Luke doesn’t say, even if they both know it’s true. That’s the deal, I think.

He closes his eyes and listens to Ashton’s breathing, finally steady, counting the seconds between each inhale. It’s more soothing than the ticking of a clock, and it washes over Luke. This should scare Luke, but it doesn’t: if he could, he’d measure his own breaths against Ashton’s, so when they stopped, so would his.

[youngster-monster]

New eyes and extra colors

 “Why do you go away? So that you can come back. So that you can see the place you came from with new eyes and extra colors. And the people there see you differently, too. Coming back to where you started is not the same as never leaving.”

― Terry Pratchett, A Hat Full of Sky

Haru has changed. Not that much, considering. She just seems… calmer. More sure of herself. More mature. More punctual. But she’s gotten weirder, too, in a way that would be unnoticeable to anyone but Hiromi, her very best friend in the whole world.

It wouldn’t be so jarring if the change hadn’t occurred basically overnight. As it is, Hiromi finds it so odd, she starts keeping a list of all the weird little things Haru does, starting with not caring that her long time crush has broken up with his girlfriend.

-

Machida isn’t an isolated event. Haru just doesn’t seem to care about boys anymore.

“I don’t know, I guess they don’t seem that interesting anymore, compared to...” She drifts off. “Anyway, I think I’m a little young to be in a relationship.”

“It’s not like you’re going to marry any of them- wait, compared to who?” Haru doesn’t reply, but her blush gives her away. Did you get into romance novels?”

She giggles. “Something like that, I guess.”

Well, if her new romantic ideal is a prince or a gentleman saving her from danger, it’s true that she doesn’t have much to hope for in teenage boys.

-

She stops when she meets a cat. She’s always found them cute, and of course she did throw herself into traffic to save a cat last week. Even Hiromi stops to pet friendly cats sometimes. But Haru does it constantly, even when they’re late, greeting them politely as if they’re acquaintances or neighbors. She bows to the few cats who won’t let her approach. She asks the strays if they need anything.

They don’t tell each other everything, but surely she’d have noticed if Haru had been that much of a cat person before.

-

She buys food for the strays around the neighborhood. Sometimes, when she finds particularly young or sick strays, she buys fish-shaped cookies for them. It’s a lot of money to waste on a cat that’s not even her own, but when Hiromi voices that opinion she simply replies,

“That money doesn’t mean a lot to me, but you never know how much a good meal means for them.”

-

It’s not just cats, though. She keeps nuts and dried berries for when they find crows, and thanks each and every one of them when they come to eat her offerings. Hiromi can never tell what she thanks them for.

-

When they go out for sushi, Haru stares at the chef cutting a whole fish behind the counter and looks… thoughtful for a second. When asked about it, she says,

“I forget we eat raw fish, sometimes.”

It doesn’t make any sense — who forgets sushi is made of raw fish? — but she still eats plenty of it, so it can’t be that important.

-

Jelly, on the other hand, she refuses to touch. It’s not as if they eat it often, but her faint look of queasiness whenever they encounter any in a shop’s window or an ad is enough to be of note.

-

When she doesn’t want something, she doesn’t pretend otherwise. She refuses, politely but clearly, and doesn’t leave any doubt whatsoever.

She says it’s easier than dealing with the consequences of people misunderstanding her hesitance as tacit agreement. Hiromi wonders what kind of consequences she faced in the past.

-

When Hiromi aces the test she spent weeks studying for, Haru brings chiffon cake with homemade whipped cream to celebrate.

“It’s good,” Hiromi says around a mouthful, surprised. “I didn’t know you could bake.”

Haru licks cream off her fingers and says, conspiratory, “I got the recipe from a friend.”

-

She gets really into miniatures. Hiromi has an aunt who collects them and makes incredibly detailed dollhouses with them, so she knows a few shops who sell them from past gift-buying efforts.

“I just think they’re cute,” Haru tells her after buying a collection of small tea tins with colorful patterns painstakingly painted on them.

Hiromi never sees any of them when she comes to her house. She doesn’t ask what Haru does with them — maybe she gifts them to a relative as well.

-

Sometimes she looks at sculptures and says, “Someone put a lot of heart into this one.”

She’s right, most of the time. They’re not always the most perfect or beautiful works of art there is, but they’re always painfully earnest and very well loved — you can tell if you truly look at them. There’s a sense of lifelike energy in them that’s lacking in less passionate works.

Hiromi never knew her to have an eye for art, but maybe she never found the kind of art that speaks to her before now.

-

When they go to the park, Haru always takes a moment to sprawl in the grass. She always looks a bit disappointed for a second, like she expects it to feel softer and nicer than it actually does.

-

When she doesn’t know how to get out of a bad situation — when she realizes she forgot to study for today’s test or when the school’s bullies turn their attention to her for a moment — she doesn’t panic. Instead she sits down calmly, and she waits.

“Things are never as hopeless as they seem,” she says. “Sometimes, they get better on their own.”

Sometimes, they do. If not, she gets back up, and she does her best to fix things herself.

-

She runs up stairs like there’s a prize waiting for her at the top. At least it’s good cardio for Hiromi when she has to catch up with her.

-

When a ball or a frisbee gets stuck in a tree, she’s the first one to climb up walls and nearby roofs to get to it.

“Couldn’t you just take a ladder?”

“Where’s the fun in that when there’s always another way up?”

-

Hiromi is afraid of heights. Haru, when she tries to help, tells her to look down.

“It’ll be alright,” she says, “Just look down. You’ll be fine.”

It’s still terrifying, but she knows Haru would never let her fall, so it’s easier.

-

Sometimes, Hiromi meets her at the Crossroad and finds her sitting next to an enormous white cat. In light of recent development (read: her sudden transformation into a cat lady), it’s not that out of character. But she talks to it. That’s the weird part.

Once or twice Hiromi got close enough to listen to what she was saying, and just stood there, increasingly dumbfounded as Haru told this cat about her day. It’s always sleeping, or it seems to be, but its eyes are perked up, like it’s listening to her. Then it gets up, jumps off the chair it was sleeping on, and waits patiently for her to rummage through her bag and takes out a small box. It’s definitely from the bakery down the street, the one they go to for special occasions because it’s not posh but it’s definitely not cheap either. And she gives that box to the cat.

“Tell Baron and Toto I said hi, hm?”

The looks it gives her is downright unimpressed, but maybe it’s just what its face looks like. Then it takes the decorative bow in its mouth and takes off, surprisingly quickly for such a fat cat.

Hiromi walks up to Haru and greets her as if she hasn’t seen anything out of the ordinary, mostly because she’s not sure any of it really happened. Maybe she’s the one going mad. She just says,

“Was that your cat?”

“No, he’s just a friend.”

That clears up absolutely nothing. At this point, she doesn’t know why she asks.

[luci-in-trenchcoats]

Follow Me Home (Part 2)

Summary: Dean and the reader travel to Seattle to learn more about her father and what led her to ending up in Kansas...

Pairing: Cop!Dean x reader

Masterlist

Word Count: 4,900ish

Warnings: language, kidnapping

A/N: Enjoy!…

______

“Thank you,” said Dean when he got off the phone a few hours later. He sat down in his chair with a sigh, running his hands over his face. You crossed your arms in the chair across from his desk, Dean groaning for a moment before moving his hands away. “Apparently you called your boss first thing Monday morning and said you weren’t feeling well and were taking the next few days off. Seattle PD will be interviewing people you know but your boss was adamant that he spoke to you directly and that you sounded normal.”

“So either I didn’t feel good, was playing hookie for fun, or I was getting out of Seattle for some reason,” you said.

“Seattle PD did mention one thing. They said you’ve mentioned family before at work. A father,” he said.

“My father died before I was born,” you said. “I thought that’s what my old file said.”

“Possibly. Or possibly we have a prime kidnapping suspect. It would make sense why a smart little girl wouldn’t put up a fight if she thought that was her long lost dad,” said Dean.

“My own father stole me?” you asked.

“A majority of the time when a kid goes missing, they’re with a family member. I’m not saying that’s what happened. It’s a possibility though,” he said. “Right now we just have to wait and see.”

“Yeah?” said Dean into his phone, halfway through dinner at his place that night. You slurped up some spaghetti across from him at the table, Dean pursing his lips. “Are you...I don’t...hey. I’m not some dumb hick cop...yeah well why don’t you...I ain’t sending some memory-less girl halfway across the country...yeah...tough shit...oh don’t you...on the condition I am with her at all times, got it?...fine...yeah, we’ll let you know when we land,” said Dean as he hung up. “Asshole.”

“We going to Seattle?” you asked, twirling another forkful.

“Apparently. The police chief, dickhead named Broch, his uncle works in congress so they got assloads of money and are sending a private jet to get us up there. He thinks this will be some big case that makes his career,” said Dean, stabbing his food. 

“Should we go?” you asked.

“...Yes. I’m still not comfortable with the idea. You’re on me like glue up there, understand? The police found some stuff in your apartment they’re hoping you can explain,” he said.

“What kind of stuff?” you asked.

“They think you were figuring out that this ‘father’ figure in your life wasn’t your dad. I don’t know how but that’s all they were telling me over the phone,” he said.

“So do I have a boyfriend?” you asked.

“Nope. As single and hopeless as the rest of us apparently,” he said, giving you half a smile. “Y/N. You don’t have to go anywhere if you don’t want to.”

“I want to remember...and to find out what happened,” you said. “Just, watch my back?”

“That I can do,” said Dean.

The rest of dinner was quiet, Dean washing up the pots and pans, thanking you as you helped dry them off. He left you alone for a little while as he packed up a quick bag for the trip, eventually poking his head in your room.

“Hey. I uh, made up a bag for you to bring up tomorrow. Toothbrush, some more of those hanes shirts and underwear we bought for you before,” said Dean.

“Thanks,” you said, giving him a half smile as you sat back against the headboard. Dean set the backpack down by the door, smiling as he took a seat on the end of the bed. “I’m okay, really.”

“Can I get you anything?” he asked.

“I could go for cuddling a puppy,” you said with a laugh. Dean held up a finger and left the room, returning two minutes later with his hands behind his back. “You have a dog?”

“No but I got this,” he said, pulling a stuffed animal dog out, waving it in front of you. “It’s deputy Doug.”

“Deputy Doug?” you said, Dean sitting down again and handing him to you.

“We all keep a stuffed animal in our cars or cruisers for if there’s an incident with a kid. It helps with the shock,” said Dean.

“I’m not in shock though,” you said. Dean stared at you and nodded.

“You’re in limbo. I think that might be worse,” said Dean. You looked at the dog, playing with it’s ear for a moment. “Y/N.”

“I don’t know what I need,” you said, setting the dog aside. Dean nodded, your gaze going to your lap.

“Do you want to watch a movie? Something funny?” asked Dean.

“Why?” you asked.

“Because we both look like we could use a laugh,” he said. You smiled and followed him downstairs, Dean making sure you had a blanket before he stuck on a comedy. You knew you’d seen it before, even if you couldn’t quite remember where. About halfway through you found yourself sitting closer to Dean, eventually resting your head on his shoulder.

You let out a deep breath, Dean putting his arm around your back. 

“You’re okay,” he said quietly, rubbing his hand up and down your back as he let his head rest against yours. 

“Why’s that feel good?” you mumbled.

“Comfort after trauma always helps. Even if you can’t remember the trauma,” said Dean. “I’m actually kind of shocked you haven’t cried yet.”

“I don’t want to cry. I just want to remember,” you said.

“You’re tougher than I am then,” he said.

“I like you, Dean. You’re sweet,” you said. 

“I like you too, Y/N,” he said, flipping off the movie. “We got an early flight I’m not looking forward to. We should head up to bed.”

“Dean?” you asked as you stood up, getting a soft smile from him in return. “Thank you, for making me feel normal for a little while.”

“It’s no problem, Y/N. We’ll get to the bottom of what happened. I promise.”

“Dean?” you asked when you landed in Seattle the next day around lunchtime. You poked his arm and he jumped straight out of his seat. “Sorry.”

“S’okay,” he said, pulling down his noise cancelling headphones and opening his eyes again. “We there?”

“Yeah. You know, we can totally rent a car and road trip it back to Kansas so you don’t have to fly again,” you said.

“I’m fine,” he said.

“Yeah. You look right as rain,” you said.

“At least I remember my birthday,” he said.

“I know my birthday,” you said, rolling your eyes.

“I’m just teasing,” he said. 

“I know, Dean. I’m messing with you,” you said. “Relax. I’m basically hopeless on my own so it’s just a little nice to see super cop be a little human.”

“I’m super cop?” he smirked.

“Shut up,” you said. “You’re a dork. I’ve seen your house Winchester. No one owns that many batman movies and isn’t a fanboy.”

“I am not a dork, dork,” he said.

“Nice comeback,” you said. “Well after you un-traumatize yourself at the hotel, can we get some lunch?”

“Mhm. We’ll meet up with the police chief after.”

“Dean?” you asked, knocking on the door between your rooms an hour later. 

“Come in,” he said. He was tugging on his raincoat, glancing at you. He gave a sad smile, peeling off his coat and holding it out to you. “It’s pouring out there.”

“It’s okay. I”m sure they sell umbrellas down in the hotel gift shop,” you said.

“Well after lunch we’ll get with the police so we can get in your apartment, get you in something better than that hanes t shirt and a pair of jeans that don’t fit,” he said. You glanced down, Dean stepping in front of you, putting a finger under your chin. You looked up wearily, Dean smiling back at you. “You want my pullover? It’s cool outside.”

You nodded, Dean pulling his jacket back on before he went to his backpack, pulling out a quarter zip up. It was a bit big on you but it was fleece and warm.

“What kind of life do I have that no one reported me missing,” you said as Dean pulled up the zipper. “What kind of person am I?”

“Well the Y/N I’ve gotten to know is pretty smart and she’s pretty great at being brave,” he said. You rolled your eyes but he caught your arm. “I’m serious. I can’t even imagine how scary it must be not being able to remember anything and yet you’re still insisting on helping. You’re tough. I know you probably feel pretty alone right now but I got your back, remember?”

“You have to hang out with me,” you said. “You don’t have a choice.”

“I have to do a lot of things as part of my job, Y/N. Traveling halfway across the country on the off chance you remember something in your apartment? I could have sent anybody to do that,” he said.

“You’re scared of flying, aren’t you,” you said.

“Yeah, well, I like you. Sue me,” he said with a smile. “Plus you think I’m cute.”

“I never said that,” you said.

“Yes you did,” he teased. “I’m hot according to you.”

“Can we go get something to eat before it gets even more awkward in here?”

“Alright. I got a feeling my wallet’s about to take a dent in this town.”

“Nice apartment building,” said Dean when you walked inside. You spotted some police officers in the lobby area, Dean nodding for you to approach them. “Chief Broch?”

“Chief Winchester,” said one of the men, stepping over with a hard smile, shaking hands with Dean before turning to you. “You must be Jane.”

“My name’s Y/N,” you said quietly. He stared at you, nodding for Dean to follow. You went with him and the two other officers, the five of you piling into the elevator.

“You get any memory back?” asked Broch.

You shook your head, Dean rubbing a hand up and down your back.

“Well let’s see if we can jog it,” said Dean. You quietly rode up to the sixth floor, following the officers around the corner and down the hall, stopping outside a door with police tape hanging from it. The officers let you go inside first. 

It was cute and clean. It was a little plain and the furniture looked like the apartment probably came with it but the place smelled new so maybe you hadn’t lived there too long.

“Anything?” asked Broch.

“Let her look,” said Dean, the officers quietly following you further inside until you got to your kitchen and living room.

You looked over the counter, spotting some glass next to the sink.

“We found a broken glass in the trash can,” said Broch. You lifted your hand, staring at the little cuts on the palm you thought had been from the woods. The officers waited in the living room as you went back to the bedroom with Dean and Broch.

The room was covered in papers, some torn, some official looking. Your eyes landed on an overturned notebook with DAD written on top.

“What’s it say in there?” you asked.

“You started it a few months ago if your dates are correct. Your father, or the man claiming to be your father, let something slip at a dinner that concerned you. You started to piece things together. The last date was from Sunday where you said you would be confronting him about what you found,” said Broch.

“What did she find?” asked Dean, furrowing his brow.

“She bought one of those DNA test kits and somehow discreetly took her father’s DNA and her own to get them tested. It was a match,” he said.

“Where is my father now?” you asked.

“It took us a bit but we got a name on him,” said Broch.

“Did you arrest him?” asked Dean.

“No.”

“Why not?” you asked.

“He died on Monday morning. County Hospital. He was diagnosed with an aggressive form of cancer a few months ago,” said Broch.

You crossed your arms, heading back out to the living room.

“The doctor’s said it happened early in the morning. You didn’t find out until you got there around nine,” he said.

“The son of a bitch went and died before…” you said, tilting your head back. You felt a pit in your gut like you’d just gotten bad news, your head aching for a few moments. “I broke the glass. I was pissed and upset when I got home on Monday.”

“What we need to understand is how you wound up in Lawrence, Jane,” said Broch.

“My name is Y/N,” you snapped at him. “I don’t care that he was my real father. He stole me. If he wasn’t already dead I’d kill him myself.”

“Ms. Jones-“

“Back off,” said Dean, holding up a hand. “Give her a minute.”

“Well I don’t remember anything so what do you want? Why I went to Lawrence? I got no clue. I don’t know. If I figure it out, I’ll let you know but until then, leave me alone,” you said. You plopped down on the couch, Broch saying something to Dean before the apartment grew quiet. You heard the door shut softly, the floor creaking once as Dean took a seat beside you.

“Y/N. I won’t even pretend to know what to say. We can stick around and try to jog your memory or we can go back to Kansas. It’s up to you,” he said.

“I don’t like this apartment,” you said, turning your head. “I want to go back to the hotel.”

“Alright. We can go back.”

“Y/N?” asked Dean, knocking on your hotel door after you’d packed up some clothes for you at your place. You hummed and he came in, finding you sat on your hotel bed with your notebook. “It’s getting to be dinner time if you want to grab a bite.”

“I’m not very hungry,” you said, forcing a smile. “Go on ahead. I got my purse now. I can get something on my own.”

“I thought I told you I had your back,” he said. 

“Dean-“

“Y/N,” he said, sitting on the end of your bed. “Let’s get out of here, go do something fun.”

“I loved him for so much of my life...and he is the reason my mom is dead. I hate him,” you said.

“Sweetheart. I’m sorry. I am. It’s okay to hate him,” said Dean.

“I’m glad I can’t remember. I don’t want to remember him. Ever.”

“I want you to try and remember a little when you’re up for it,” he said.

“Why?”

“Because you were hurt and scared when I found you a few days ago half-naked on the side of the road. I don’t know what happened and if someone tried to hurt you, I have to figure that out,” he said. “I want you to feel safe.”

“I feel confused and alone,” you said, your stomach deciding to rumble. Dean put a hand on your head, running it over your hair gently. “Maybe not entirely alone.”

“It’s on me,” he said, holding out his hand. “Well technically it’s on the Seattle PD so let’s go have a kickass dinner. Please?”

You sighed but grabbed his hand, Dean immediately pulling you to your feet and headed for the door.

“Dean,” you laughed during your appetizer. “You’re gonna be stuffed before we even get our dinner.”

“Is that a challenge? We are so getting dessert by the way. I saw pie on the menu,” said Dean, smiling as you took a sip of your beer. “How’s the head healing?”

“Okay, I guess. Not really on the list of concerns right now,” you said, smiling when your waiter came over with your meals.

“This steak looks amazing,” said Dean, cutting into his and taking a bite by the time you picked up your fork. “Tastes amazing too.”

“It must be good if you’re gonna moan like that,” you laughed, cutting off your own bite. You chewed and swallowed it down, head going fuzzy for a moment, Dean staring at you when you blinked again.

“You okay?” he asked.

“I’ve eaten here before,” you said. “It’s not a memory but...I know I have.”

“Well you got good taste in food at least,” he said. He made small talk throughout dinner and dessert, talking about his job mostly, his family a bit. Apparently after you’d gone missing years ago, the school went through a stranger danger program and they came up with a neighborhood watch.

“Hey, Dean. You could like look up if my dad was a bad guy, right?” you asked. He pursed his lips but nodded. “Do you know if he had a record?”

“I don’t know, sweetheart. Most of the time, the guys or gals that pull this, they tend to be deadbeats or people who didn’t get custody rights. Your mom was the only one on your birth certificate. Judging by your degree, your job, your apartment...you did well for yourself and obviously had a relationship with your father. This doesn’t sound normal at all,” he said.

“Was my mom bad?”

“Huh?”

“What if...what if she was bad and he took me to keep me safe?” you asked.

“I don’t know, Y/N. It’s possible,” he said, giving you half of a smile before holding out a piece of pie to you. “Want some? I don’t offer just anyone pie either.”

“Only the pathetic brain trauma victims, right,” you said.

“No. Just my friends,” he said, holding it out still. 

“I don’t have friends.”

“What am? Chopped liver?” he scoffed, putting a hand on his heart.

“I have a friend,” you smiled, Dean returning it as you took a bite of the pie. “It’s really good.”

“I know, right?” he said. You tried to forget about the reason you went to Seattle in the first place and instead enjoyed the rest of your meal, Dean insisting on taking a walk around downtown before it got too late out. The city was nice and you enjoyed it more than you thought you would. You’d liked being in Lawrence, liked how Dean lived on a quiet street, neighbors around but everyone had plenty of space to themselves. You were starting to understand though why you kind of liked Seattle. It felt cozy in way. Then again, it was surrounded by nature so maybe that was it.

You and Dean turned down a street, lampposts lighting up the wet sidewalk, a light drizzle in the air that no one seemed to notice as they milled about.

“Dean. What do you think I should do?” you asked.

“What do you mean?” he asked.

“Should I stay here, should I go back to Lawrence, do I keep going by Jane since all my documents and everything is in that name…” you said.

“Whatever lawyer crap needs to happen for all your legal stuff, don’t worry about that right now. It’ll all get taken care of,” he said, grabbing your hand when someone bumped into you. “You alright?”

You took a deep breath and shook your head, Dean pulling you around the corner of a building and giving you a hug.

“I don’t even know why I’m upset,” you said, resting your head against his chest, taking a few more shuddering breaths.

“Yeah you do,” he said, resting his chin on your shoulder. “Let it out. You’re long overdue.”

“Can we go back to the hotel?” you asked.

“Of course, sweetheart.”

Fifteen minutes later you were in your room, still fighting back tears as Dean locked up behind you. 

“Come here,” said Dean, spinning you around as you took a deep breath. He put both of his hands on your cheeks, staring at your wet eyes. “Why don’t you pick out some pajamas and take a hot shower and then come in next door when you’re all set, okay?”

You nodded and did as he said. After crying a bit in the shower and letting the bathroom steam up, you felt quite a bit better. You changed into your pajamas and put on Dean’s pull over, quietly knocking on his door before you walked inside.

“Hey,” said Dean with a smile. “Perfect timing. I just ordered mac and cheese and hot fudge sundaes from room service.”

“We ate like an hour ago,” you laughed.

“There’s always time for comfort food,” he said, patting the other side of his king bed. You crawled on top of it, Dean taking a seat beside you. You shifted closer, Dean smiling as he threw his arm around you. “You look a little better.”

“Long day,” you said. “The shower helped, super cop.”

“All in the line of duty,” he said with a chuckle. You rested your head against him, Dean rubbing your arm. “Can I ask you a personal question?”

“Odds are high I don’t know the answer but shoot,” you said, looking up at him. 

“Why do you like me?” he asked. “You’re pretty...defensive around other people which I completely understand. You and me don’t seem to have that though.”

“It’s cause you bought me McDonald’s,” you teased, Dean chuckling, his whole body rumbling with it. “I don’t know. You’re...have you ever been on a pool float? Just sitting in the water floating around?”

“Yeah. Why?”

“It’s kind of how I’ve felt since Tuesday morning when I woke up in the woods. It’s like I’m floating. I can’t get a hold of anything and I can’t control where I’m going. But whenever I’m with you, I feel like my feet are on the ground again. It’s easier to grasp at memories, to feel normal. It’s probably some stupid psych crap with a fancy name or something,” you said.

“I think it’s the pancakes,” he chuckled.

“I mean, any man who shares an affinity for breakfast foods will easily win me over,” you said.

“Huh. Is that all it takes?” he teased.

“Being cute helps,” you said.

“I bet you like tall guys,” said Dean.

“Who doesn’t?” you laughed, wrapping an arm over his waist, stilling a moment before you pulled it back.

“S’okay,” said Dean quietly, grabbing your hand and putting it back. 

“Sorry for being…” you said with a shrug.

“Want to know a secret?” he asked. “I know I’m such a tough guy and all but I do like to partake in cuddles too.”

“You’re a regular dreamboat, aren’t you?” you said, Dean laughing to himself. “You said last night that it’s...normal to…”

“There’s a reason we give people shock blankets and stuffed animals when they’ve been through a trauma. It helps with the physical shock obviously which can get dangerous if it’s not taken care of, but it helps emotionally as well. I have seen grown men calm down the second they get wrapped up tight in a big orange blanket,” said Dean with a smile. “It’s human nature to want to feel embraced.”

“Why don’t you shove me in a blanket so I don’t bother you then?” you asked quietly.

“Because you don’t bother me and I think we both like doing this,” he said. “Whatever you feel most comfortable with and makes you feel safe is good with me.”

“I think that’s why I like you,” you said, taking a deep breath.

“Friends have each other’s backs, right?” he said.

“Yeah,” you said. “I wasn’t gonna say anything but you’re in the running for my best friend at the moment.”

“I hear it’s a stiff competition,” said Dean.

“I know. There’s you…” you said, Dean ruffling your hair. “I guess you’re the winner by default.”

“Ah, the best kind of victory,” he laughed, moving your hair out of your face. “That may be a clue you know.”

“Or I’m just a lonely person,” you said.

“There’s a lot of lonely people in the world, sweetheart,” he said. He turned his head towards yours, giving you a half-smile. “I’m not the best at having friends either.”

“Who’s your best friend?” you asked.

“My brother. I got a few buddies I grew up with but we don’t hang out as much as we should. But I got another new best friend now, don’t I?” he said.

“You’re a loser, super cop,” you said.

“You’re the loser, loser,” he said. 

“Oh, good comeback,” you said, a knock coming to his door. 

“I think that’s our feast,” he said, hopping out of bed, returning a minute later pushing in a cart with some covered platters. 

“Cheese and chocolate. You’re not doing half bad in this best friend department,” you said, Dean grabbing a plate and handing one over to you, chuckling as you climbed back on the bed.

“So what do you want to do now? Stay up and talk about boys?” he teased.

“Well it is Thursday. I was thinking football if it’s on?” you asked. 

“Have I told you how awesome you are?” he said, joining you on the bed and flipping on the TV.

“Oh, he has a cute butt,” you said, Dean groaning as you giggled. “And he’s a pretty good tight end. Get it? Tight end.”

“You’re such a dork,” he said, taking a bite of his mac and cheese.

You both picked at your food as you watched, the game ending not long after ten that night. Dean set the dishes back on the tray to get picked up, giving you a hug before you headed through the open door back to your room.

“Hey, Dean?” you asked as you paused in the doorway. “Can…”

“You can stay. Bed’s plenty big enough,” he said.

“I was gonna ask if I could just leave the door between our rooms open,” you said. You saw the blush crawl onto his cheeks even if he got rid of it quickly. “I mean, I could...stay…”

“No, no. I gotta catch up with Sam anyways and do a little digging, see if I can’t find anything out for us,” he said. He rubbed the back of his neck, giving you a quick smile as you hovered by the door. “But you can totally leave the door open.”

“Alright,” you said, nodding as you spun around and went back to your room. You turned off the light and crawled in bed, looking across the way where Dean was settling on top of the bed with his laptop. You saw his gaze flicker over the top of the screen and you looked away, settling down into the sheets. You rolled over once, sighing as you turned back and stared at the ceiling.

“You okay in there?” he asked.

“My own father kidnapped me as a child from my mother, raised me under a different name halfway across the country and he’s not even alive anymore for me to tell off,” you said. “Oh, and I can’t remember anything. They should make a lifetime movie after me.”

“You remember more than you realize,” said Dean. He was quiet for a few minutes, watching you turn a few over more times. “Do you feel like you’re floating?”

“Yeah,” you said quietly.

“Then get your butt in here,” he said. You threw back the covers and walked into his room, Dean pulling back the sheets for you as he turned off the light. “My computer won’t bother you?”

“No. Like you said, it’s a big bed,” you said. You looked back over your shoulder, Dean giving you quick smile. “Goodnight, Dean.”

“Goodnight, Y/N.”

______

A/N: Read Part 3 here!

[seekingseven]

The Most Sincere Kind of Lie (Ch4)

Chapter 4 of my Linked Universe fanfic! Also available to read here on AO3

┍━━━━ ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ━━━━┑

Legend woke up to the sound of humming and the disturbing sensation that the fabric of reality was being torn from underneath him. He sputtered and sat upright in the bed, promptly smacking his forehead into Sky's chin.

"Oh dear, I'm sorry! I didn't mean to wake you up," Sky said with a half-lidded smile. "It's just that the lady wanted to wash this bed sheet and I offered to help her out. Somehow Hyrule got cream all over it and she said it'll make the linen go bad." The bleary, confused look on Legend's face was met by a gentle chuckle from the other hero. "You can sleep on one of the other beds, though, if you'd like. We’re not going to be leaving for another half an hour or so.”  

It smelled like morning and clouds and screaming, weeping demons. Legend felt his muscles spasm and his eyes roll to the back of his head.

"Woah! Legend, Legend! It's alright. It's alright, look, it's just me. Look, hey! Look here. Look! Listen to me, Legend! Legend! It's me, it's Sky. You know me. It’s alright. It’s okay. Calm down, you’re safe. It’s just me."

The cool metal of the Lens of Truth and the Magic Mirror pressed up against the bones on the underside of Legend's fingers. The skin of his knuckles stretched tight over his bones, and the artifacts’ handles shook under his grip. Everything was blurry. Everything was red. Everything smelled like burning clouds and tears and crippling guilt.

That voice, though...

He knew that voice...

His femur crunched against the bone of his hip socket as his chest tipped forward. He was falling…

Falling..

Falling...

"Hey, I've got you,” Sky cooed. “It's alright. Whatever happened was just a dream, okay? You're okay. It's okay." Unfamiliar fingers ran through his hair. Legend squinted at the blurry form in front of him and, upon recognition, nearly crumpled in relief.

Sky. Oh, it was just Sky. Oh, thank Hylia. It was just Sky. Just the happy, lazy, vaguely irresponsible Sky, who had blue eyes, not orange ones, who had blond hair, not red. Legend’s temple rested against Sky's collarbone for just a moment longer before he pulled himself out of the embrace. His heart wasn't pounding anymore. Legend blinked quickly and got to his feet, trying to walk off the pins-and-needles in his legs, deaf to the words falling out of Sky’s mouth. So many words were said, words of the comforting, meaningless, cliche sort, words he didn't really hear. There was mention of breakfast and travel and laundry and red and green and a blue sword and a broken-hearted hero with a soul so wracked with grief it found no relief outside of self-flagellation. And then the world was black and grey and Legend was left with the sinking, sinking hopelessness that came with knowing you had no control. His breath became short. He blinked quickly. The world came back. Sky kept talking, a confused, sluggish smile creeping back on his face as he mistook the Legend's blank stare for attentiveness. Words, words, more words, and Legend found himself breaking the brief lull in their one-sided conversation.

"Hey, I can take those from you," the veteran heard himself say.

"The bedsheet?" Sky wondered aloud as Legend took the bundled linens out of his hand, "Oh! That's quite nice of you. Are you sure? You don't look too good."

"Mmmm, don't worry about it." The prickly, uncomfortable conviction that he should say more tugged at the hairs at the back of his neck. Sky, clearly baffled but not one to argue about having mundane household chores lifted off his back, shrugged and smiled. The veteran found himself walking downstairs and out to the backyard, where a small tin tub and block of soap stood waiting.

He didn't realize he'd taken the lens and mirror along with him until he dumped the sheet into the tub and heard the tell-tale clank of metal on wood. Oh no. Oh no. Every half-decent mage knew that magic and water rarely mixed: the artifacts’ enchantments were liable to dissolve if left in there for too long. Blood screamed in the small matrix of veins behind his ears, and his hands shot forward into the tub. He pulled both artifacts out of the water before his heart had taken another full beat and neurotically dried them on his tunic. A hot glob of air stuck itself in his throat. Legend coughed dryly. Praise Hylia, both artifacts looked fine.

A demonic, curious part of him hummed with relief.

"Mr. Legend!" a feminine voice cried out behind him, "please don't worry yourself about the linens! Sir, please. I can't have a guest do housework in good conscience." The Wise Man’s daughter crept up next to him and fiddled awkwardly with the corner of her apron. Her face was set in a tight, uncomfortable grimace.

"Ma'am," Legend began with a smile, "please believe me when I say these chores are more of a pleasure to do than anything else. I've been traveling for a long time. It's nice to something normal like this every now and then." His eyes lingered on the white, frothy suds drifting lazily on the top of the water. He turned to face the woman. "However, would you mind terribly if I did ask you a favor?"

"Oh, of course not!"

"Sky and Wind. You know them?"

The woman nodded slowly, a thoughtful look on her face. "Wind is the little one with the blue shirt, and Sky is the, uh..."

"The sleepy, lazy one, yeah." Legend smiled as the woman giggled into her hands. His focus drifted to the blue mountains in the distance. "May you please, if possible, give them something sweet to eat? A pastry, perhaps, or maybe something cold for the journey? I understand if it's not possible, I really do. But, well, don't let them know I told you this, but they've...been through a lot lately. Maybe this would cheer them up a little bit."

The woman's face brightened at the idea. She started to say something, but second-guessed herself and quickly hurried off towards the house. Legend's heart was warmed by her eagerness. It was a good thing to know that people didn't necessarily need the blood of the hero to be altruistic and compassionate. He turned his attention away from the woman and back to the laundry in front of him. The water swirled and burbled happily as Legend gently cleaned the bedsheets. There was something soothing in the repetitive, mindless movements. Scrub, press, check for stains. Repeat. Scrub, press, check for stains. Repeat. Repeat. Watch the cream stains fade and surrender, watch the cloth darken with water. Scrub, press check for stains. The mountains looked so pretty from where he was sitting. Repe--

"Legend!"

The veteran turned around, not at the sound of his name, but at the loud, uneven footsteps he would recognize anywhere.

"....morning," Legend said, suspiciously eyeing the bottle Hyrule carried in his hands. Brownish, clumpy water sloshed around within, and the murky silhouette of what looked like a dead fish floated inside.

"Good morning," Hyrule cheerfully responded. "I got you breakfast!"

"Where is it?" Legend questioned, trying to distract himself from his growing dread.

"Right here!"

Of course.

The bottle.

Legend opened his mouth slowly, carefully picking his next words. "What is it?"

"Fesikh," Hyrule answered. "You've never seen it?"

"Can't say I have."

"It's something like, uh, pickled fish. It's really good, a delicacy, even! The Wise Man’s daughter and I made it just for you!" The excited grin on Hyrule's face started to slip when he saw how Legend shirked away from the bottle.

"Thanks, but I don't think I'll be able to eat that. I haven't -- uh -- I'm not really hungry. Maybe something lighter? Do you guys have any bread and cheese?" The skin of Legend's hands had started to wrinkle and bloat in the soapy water.

"Oh, uh, I think Wild made omelettes. He's in front of the house with the other guys -- Time went out to ask the townspeople if they needed help with anything and we're just waiting for him to come back before we head out."

"Sounds good. I'll be there in a few minutes."

Legend turned back to the soaked bed sheet, which looked mostly clean at this point. The sound of Hyrule's footsteps faded behind him as the veteran hung the sheet up on the laundry wire. He'd done a good job cleaning it; not even a memory of the whipped cream could be found. Legend knelt down in front of the tub and washed his face and neck with the leftover water, scooping the less-sudsy bits of water into his hands and combed it through his hair. It trickled down his neck and along the ridge of his spine, leaving wet spots behind on the back of his tunic. Oh, that felt so much better. He stood up and strung the lens and mirror to his belt. Now that the bedsheet was clean, he might as well go and get breakfast.

The smell of cooked eggs and steamed vegetables was almost too much for Legend's empty stomach to bear. He found himself sprinting around the house and over to Wild and barely refrained from tearing the proffered plate from the latter's hands. There was no doubt in anyone's minds that Legend would have eaten the whole thing with his hands if Four hadn't cautiously extended a set of utensils to him. A wet breeze skittered above the grass. Legend admired the small, careful clusters of horsetail grass that skirted the nearby river as he stuffed his face with breakfast. The other heros chatted quietly amongst themselves, drifting in and out of the house to collect and assemble their things. Warriors dropped off Legend's stuff on the step behind him, muttering something about only doing it because the veteran looked a little bit preoccupied.

A witty response was already building itself on the tip of his tongue but was cut off by the low, authoritative rumble of Time's voice. The Old Man had returned, and the tight look on his face betrayed the fact that he didn't come with good news.

"Alright, boys. From what I could gather, everyone in Saria Town is relatively happy and healthy. However, the River Man said something about a certain Darunia Town seeing a higher frequency of monster attacks than usual. From his description, they seem to be of the infected sort, and some of them have made their way to the city bounds."

Hyrule's eyes went wide at the news. Everyone turned to look at him, this was his Hyrule, after all, and he was the only one who could properly gauge how bad this situation was. And, if the ghostly pallor on his face meant anything, things weren't good.

"We'd better get going quickly, then," Hyrule began. "Darunia Town is in East Hyrule -- we'll have to cross the sea to get there and the closest dock is at least half a day's walk from here."

"Does the town have a militia to fend off the attackers until then?" Four wondered aloud as the group of heros began to pack up.

"Not exactly a militia, more like one knight. He's a very talented knight, of course, but I don't think he can protect the town by himself. The thing that worries me most is that Darunia has more children than any other town in West or East Hyrule."

"They need all the help they can get, then." Twilight asserted. The entire group nodded in agreement. Legend picked himself up off the step and tried not to heave -- this was exactly what happened when one ate too much too quickly -- slinging his bag over his shoulder as he hopped off the porch.

Just as they were all about to leave, the front door swung open and the Wise Man hobbled out.

"Gentlemen! A moment, please. I'm so sorry to disturb you all," the Wise Man apologized as he made slow, unsteady steps down the stairs. "I just need to speak to Mr. Legend about something. Is he still here?"

Legend, who was straggling behind the rest of the group, stuck his hand in the air. After a few seconds of deliberation, the group moved on without him, leaving the veteran with the warning to join them as quickly as the conversation was over. Slowly but surely, the Wise Man made his way over to where Legend stood. A yellow scroll, flaking at the edges, was bundled in his withered hand.

"I wrote the fusion spell down on this scroll, in case you wanted to attempt it once again," the Wise Man explained.

Legend took the scroll in his hand and casually unfurled the edges. He was half-inclined to give it back and explain that he couldn't read (he could, of course, just not anything written in Hyrule's Hylian) but the words died immediately in his throat.

Every word was written perfectly in his Hylian.

"It is a very ancient spell," the Wise Man continued, "so if you think you might have trouble reading it, I've got a dictionary right here that translates Modern Hylian to the Ancient variant."

"It's alright, sir. I can read this just fine."

"Of course, I should have expected no less from a young mage as talented and well-versed in magic as yourself."

Legend's throat burned. His stomach clenched. His fingers shook with adrenaline and his obsessive curiosity rejoiced with him.

"Thank you," Legend heard himself say, "but I don't think I'll have a chance to use it."

He cringed at his own blatant lie.

━━━━━━━━━▲━━━━━━━━━

The beach's pink stand crunched loudly underneath the multitude of leather boots. Hyrule stood alone on a tiny dock -- not even a dock, really, more of a pathetic outcrop of rotted wood -- and stared at the crystal blue waters ahead.

"Is something wrong?" Sky questioned.

"Yes." Hyrule confessed. "I mean, uh, kind of. I realized just now that my raft probably won't be big enough for all of us." The thin, wiry brunet stepped aside from the doc to reveal a Hyrule-sized wooden raft bobbing in the water. "And the sea isn't safe to swim in...unless you're a River Zora with a, uh, magical force field or something, you won't be able to make it across."

For some reason, this earned a chuckle from Time.

"I mean, we could just make another raft," Wind suggested.

"I've got a few extra bundles of wood with me, as well as some rope. It’s pretty flimsy, though, so if anyone has got binding materials that are a little tougher it might be a good idea to use those instead," Wild said.

"Perhaps we should buy some rope," Warriors mused. The captain turned to Hyrule. "Do you know if there's any place nearby where we can find some?"

"They might sell some sort of fishing rope over in Mido Town," Hyrule said, pointing to the distant shadow in the vague shape of a town. "We can also get lunch from there, since Wild would be using most of his firewood to make the raft."

"Mido Town?" Time mumbled to Legend. "What an odd name."

"I dunno, 'The Water Town of Saria' was also pretty weird."

"I suppose you're right," Time conceded with a wistful smile.

Wild, with Twilight's help, had already laid out a rough raft scaffolding. Four suggested that they just head into the nearby woods to cut down a few trees and expedite the process, but Wind pointed out that the forest was too unfriendly for exploits of the kind.

"Ah, you remembered what I told you about the forest?" Hyrule sheepishly asked Wind.

"Of course. I listen to you when you talk, Hyrule."

This only made the traveler smile wider, but the sailor had already gotten himself knee-deep into a squabble with Warriors.

"Please, Wind, I think I can handle something as simple as overseeing the construction of a raft," Warriors asserted, chin pointed loftily over his shoulder.

"I'm an islander and a sailor!" Wind protested. "I know a thing or two about rafts. I can handle being in charge for three seconds, you know!"

Legend watched the entire exchange with a bitter taste in his throat.

“Wind, just go help Four untie that bundle over there,” Warriors sighed, waving away the indignant sailor glaring up at him. The captain turned his eyes to the rest of the group. “We’ll need two people to go into town to get rope and lunch. Wind, Sky, that will be you guys.”

Legend grinned. This was the perfect opening.  

“Hey, Wars, d’ya think I could swap out with Wind?” the veteran questioned off-handedly.

“What, scared of a little hard work? Wait, no, let me guess, you’re scared of rafts? Is that right?” Warriors teased, obviously a little more than irked at the constant questioning of his leadership.

The veteran chuffed at Warriors’ comment and shrugged, blinking slowly and lazily. “Nah, not quite. I haven’t been feeling too good lately, Sky can testify to that,” he said, jerking a thumb towards the smiling Skyloftian, “and I think a little walk would help clear my head. You know? And also, I think the sailor’ll do a much better job of overseeing this than you think. Don’t forget that this guy literally stuck the Master Sword in Ganondorf’s forehead.”

The Links were silent.

Legend smirked so hard that his cheeks hurt.

Wind looked like he couldn’t decide if he wanted to cry or crush Legend into a massive hug.

“So, what’ll it be, pretty boy?” Legend quipped.

Warriors rolled his eyes, but there was a resigned scarlet flush on the tip of his ears. Legend was sure it wasn’t from the heat.

“Okay, sure, whatever. Wind can supervise. I’ll supervise his supervising. Is that better?”

Everyone nodded in casual agreement, and Wind let out a wild whoop . His eyes met Legend’s for a brief moment, sparkling with gratitude.

For some reason, even this victory wasn’t comforting. It was too temporary of a fix. Legend broke eye contact and looked away.

“Uh, everyone? I-In regards to lunch, do you guys want to know what they sell in Mido Town? I spent a lot of time there during my journey -- they’ve got really good food. If you guys want to, uh, want to choose, I can tell Sky what they have, and he can write a list. Then you guys can choose what you like.”

Everyone was grateful for the diversion Hyrule supplied and crowded around the traveler without a second thought. It was only a matter of minutes before each hero had decided what they wanted, and more than one Link was watering at the mouth at the prospect of lunch.

“So,” Sky began, reading the finalized list out loud, “Time, Wars, and Wild want meat rice, Twi and I want salad, Wind and Four want shrimp, Legend wants, uh….bread?”

“Hey, I‘m not a picky person. Carbs are good for long term energy storage, anyway.” Legend explained. Four hummed in quiet agreement. Sky shrugged and continued on.

“And finally, Hyrule wants...oh dear, I can’t read my handwriting. Hyrule wants… H-A-L-V-A?” Sky said, the questioning inflection thick in his voice.

“Halva!” Hyrule replied cheerfully. “It’s like a really sweet paste. Don’t worry, there’s only one food vendor in the whole town, and he sells all of this stuff. You won’t be able to forget anything even if you tried.”

Sky and Legend looked at each other and shrugged, waving goodbye to the group as they veered off the path and made their way to Mido Town. The thwack of wood-on-wood and the high-pitched shout of Wind’s instructions faded as the two heroes walked on. The sun beat down relentlessly, glinting off the glassy sand and burning into the lacy hair on their heads.

Mido Town was even hotter and quieter than the path leading to it. A sun-baked wind blew through the shells of abandoned buildings, pushing around the crumbled remains of brick and mortar. Pink sand hovered in gritty clouds. It fluffed and plumed up to their waists every time the two heroes took a step. The faint imprints of their footsteps were swept away by a floor-length wind.

The villagers eyed them quietly. No one smiled. No one waved. Blinds closed. Doors shut. If it weren’t for the suspicious, life-weary eyes peering at them through darkened windows, Legend and Sky would have assumed the place to be abandoned.

Was this the kind of treatment Hyrule received during his journeys?  

“Are you alright?” Sky queried, only half-looking for the vendor Hyrule had mentioned.

“Mmmm. It’s a great thing to see that this is the world I left behind for Hyrule. Nice to see that this is the fruit of my labors.” Legend’s voice was deadpan and flat despite the obvious ire in his words.  

Sky said nothing. Grief flickered across his face.  

“This is the world I left behind for all of you,” Sky mumbled to himself. His voice was barely audible over the humming of sifting sand.

“Ugh, Sky, you aren’t to blame for any of this,” Legend said. “And anyway, there isn’t a point in looking for someone to blame. It’s, it’s not going to fix anything. Beating yourself up for something you can’t control isn’t...uh...it isn’t a very smart thing to do.” His voice and thoughts and confidence began to trail off, but Legend forced himself to continue. “Let me just say that you’re so much stronger than you think you are. I, uh, I think Hylia made a wise choice.”

Legend turned to his companion and rested a hand on Sky’s shoulder. He had no more words left to say, nothing left inside his brain but the overwhelming conviction that he should be doing more. Should he confess? Should he tell Sky that he knew -- that he knew so much more than he should? That he knew everything Sky was trying to hide?

His soul fragmented under the weight of his guilt.

Sky gently curled his fingers around Legend’s wrist. His thumb rested on a vein on the underside of the veteran’s arm, and his breathing slowed to keep time with the blood’s calm thrum. A tear dribbled off Sky’s face and landed in the hot dust below, darkening and clumping the fine grains together. Eyes, dark and dull and unbelieving and flashing with ghostly wisps of orange, glittered with tears. Legend squeezed Sky’s shoulder and pulled away, lost for words and lost in thought.

┕━━━━ ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ━━━━┙

[kusunogatari]

[ ObiRyū October | Day Twenty-Two | Domino Effect ] [ @abyssaldespair ] [ Uchiha Obito, Suigin Ryū, Jiraiya ] [ Verse: Best Years of Your Life ] [ Vulgarity, blood ]

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Sometimes, a single, seemingly-innocuous action can begin a chain of events that no one could have predicted.

She begins the day so nervous, it feels like she’s going to throw up.

It’s only been three weeks since they moved here. Three weeks to adjust to a new city, new neighborhood, new house...and now, a new school. Ryū hasn’t even unpacked all of the boxes in her room. But today she starts the final year of her high school experience knowing absolutely no one, and dreading having to start completely over.

A knock sounds on her door, and she spins around to it, immediately feeling foolish for being so jumpy.

Catching the movement, her father perks a brow. “...everything okay in here?”

“Yeah, just…” Her arms lift in a gesture of general hopelessness. “...y’know.”

Jiraiya softens into a warm smile. “I know this is cliche to say, but...it’s gonna be fine. Rough at first, I’m sure. But you’ll find a niche eventually. ‘Just be yourself’ and all that stereotypical fatherly advice, hm?”

She gives a flat snort. “...I guess so. I guess I just wish it wasn’t so close to the end...feels like it’ll be over before I even settle in.”

Sighing, Jiraiya rubs at his neck. “I know, I’m sorry honey...but wherever work calls, you have to follow. I know your mother wasn’t sure about this move, but…”

“But, that’s how it goes,” Ryū finishes quietly, having heard the sentiment more times than she can count since word of her mother’s relocation was broken to her. “I’m not...mad or anything. I know there wasn’t any choice. I just have so much to...start over with now, and when I already have a new phase coming up in just a year with college.”

“Believe me, your mother and I talked about it for weeks when this whole thing came up. She didn’t want to go, either. None of us did, really. But you’ll get it figured out. I know it’s a shakeup you weren’t expecting. But it’ll work out in the long run. Just keep your head up.”

“...I will.”

“Well...I’ve got breakfast all ready. Want any?”

Ryū’s face turns a bit queasy. “I...dunno if that’s a good idea. I don’t feel so good, and...I’d rather not give my stomach any ammunition.”

In spite of himself, Jiraiya laughs. “That’s fair enough. You sure you don’t want me to take you?”

“I’m a big girl, Dad...I can handle it.”

“All right. Well...I’ll be ready for you to sob on my shoulder when you get home.”

“...thanks.”

Fetching her stuff, Ryū heads out to her car and tosses it into the passenger seat. She still has plenty of time to park, head in, and find the right classroom for her first period class. Thankfully she and her parents got a tour a few days ago, and it...mostly stuck.

Now to put her memory to the test.

The parking lot at the end of the building is mildly empty, and she finds a decent spot. Doing her best to blend in with the crowds heading inside, Ryū tries to look far more nonchalant than she’s feeling.

Whether or not it works...she can’t really tell, too focused on staring straight ahead and going over her mental map.

First thing is first: find her locker, put away anything unnecessary, and then head to first period. Should be simple enough, right? It’s crowded, but she knows the number, eyes flickering between the plates on the doors and her path to avoid bumping into anyone.

Once in place, it’s a matter of recalling the combination. Or, rather...looking to her palm where she’s scribbled it: one less thing to have to memorize quite yet. It opens at her urging, and she shrugs her bag off her shoulder just as her neighbor shows up.

And oh gosh...what a neighbor they are.

She gives a glance, and then does a double take. This guy is huge! Tall, bulky, and from her position to his right...she can see a pattern of scars along the side of his face.

For a moment, her eyes go wide in shock. What could have happened to -?

“Heads up!”

Behind them, someone barrels into the pair of them...or rather, mostly into her neighbor, clipping her in the process.

“Hey!” she cries out at the impact, having to catch herself as not to end up in her locker.

Beside her, the guy isn’t so lucky. A book, notebook, and several utensils clatter to the floor in a racket. Immediately, laughter breaks out.

And Ryū forgets where she is.

Puffing up like an angry bird, she calls, “Watch it, jerkface!” Of course by then the perpetrator is too far away to bother responding, but...it makes her feel better. Under her breath, she mutters, “What an asshole…” before taking a knee beside her companion and picking up his things just as he kneels to do the same.

They both pause, each with a few items in hand. While Ryū’s expression is clearly surprised, his own is heavy with suspicion, wariness, and a clear expectation of being treated poorly.

“...I’m sorry about that,” she then mumbles, handing over his things. “That was so rude…”

“You better get used to it.”

His blunt reply sees her stagger for a moment. “...y-yeah, I...guess so. I’m Ryū, by the way. Are you a senior, too…?”

For a moment he doesn’t reply, going back to gathering up his things. Seems he’s...maybe not so friendly…?

“...uh -?”

“Obito. Senior,” he then offers, and again she’s taken aback by his clipped response.

“Oh, well...nice to meet you…?”

He just scoffs, turning his back and leaving.

Ryū, left in the wake, just...blinks.

A domino falls.

...well that was odd. Mulling the interaction over for a moment, Ryū just sighs before fetching her things and heading to her first class.

Not a good first start, but...hopefully it’ll get better.

Class, however, isn’t exactly a great time to make friends. Teachers give their lessons, students either pay attention or slack off...and then they’re shuffled off to the next one.

Come lunch, she hasn’t had a chance to say a complete sentence to anyone else.

And now for the hardest part...finding a place to sit in the lunchroom.

Thankfully she’s early enough she finds a mostly-empty table, sitting and simply eating her food. And then -

“You’re in my spot.”

Almost choking on a bite of rice, Ryū stifles a cough as best she can looking up to see...the boy from earlier? “S-sorry. Was just, um -?”

Rather than complain further, he just...sits next to her.

She blinks.

With rather obvious gusto, he starts shoveling food into his mouth. Guy must have an appetite, though...with his size, she can understand why. Must take a lot of fuel to keep him going. Suddenly feeling rather small and a bit intrusive, she pokes nervously at her own tray. The nervous indigestion she felt when she woke up threatens to make a second appearance.

“Thanks for this morning.”

She flinches a bit at his words before the meaning registers. This morning…? Oh! When his stuff fell! “Y...yeah! Sure. Nothing got lost, did it…?”

He shakes his head, mouth full.

“...o-okay. Well that’s...that’s good.”

...she gets the feeling this guy doesn’t talk much. Or if he does, it’s not usually pleasant. So the thank-you brings a little hopeful flutter to her chest. Maybe she made a good impression…?

“You’re new, huh?”

...is it that obvious? “Yeah, I...just transferred. I moved three weeks ago.”

Obito gives her a glance, expression a bit calculating. “Senior year...that sucks.”

Her shoulders wilt. “...yeah. My mom had to move for work, so...the rest of us followed.”

“Have a lot of friends back where you came from.”

“Um...a few. I really miss them now, though…” She tucks a few stray locks behind her ear. “...not very fun being the new kid this late in the game. You’re...the first person I’ve really talked to yet.”

“Lucky you.”

Her brow gives a slight furrow of confusion.

In response, he nods his chin out from their table. Ryū follows the gesture and then balks.

While not everyone, a fair number of people are giving their table a glance, whispering and looking concerned.

“You might be able to guess, but...I’m not very popular. Sitting next to me might not be the best decision if you want anyone else to talk to you.”

“...but…?” She looks back to him, now far more confused. “Why would anyone dislike you?”

“I’m not a very nice guy.”

Ryū studies his face for a moment. “...you’ve been pleasant to me.” Blunt, sure...but not rude, or mean.

“You helped me this morning.”

“Well of course! Why wouldn’t I? I don’t know anything about you. I’m not going to make any assumptions. You needed help. I gave it. It’s really not very complicated.”

It’s Obito’s turn to look her over, chewing one of his last bites. “...you’re pretty naive, aren’t you?”

She sniffs. “I know there’s bad people. I’m not denying that. But more often than not, bad people are just someone mistreated who need the kindness the world has yet to show them. Being bitter and throwing that bitterness back at what made you that way doesn’t make you bad. It makes you unfortunate. And that can always change. Very few people are stuck being as bad as others make them out to be.”

He blinks.

Another domino falls.

Lunch ends without much further surprise, Ryū making her typical pitstop at her locker as Obito does the same. Neither of them speak to each other, but the tense, awkward air of this morning seems to have lifted. Between each of their last few classes, the same silent camaraderie falls over them.

And then the day ends.

Shoving things into her bag (by some grace, she’s avoided any major homework on her first day: just some reading to do before Wednesday), Ryū shuts her locker door with a small sigh.

“So...how would you rate your day?”

Ryū hums in thought at Obito’s question. “I’d say...a seven…?”

“That high?”

“Well...nothing bad particularly happened. So I can’t count that against the score. But not much good really happened either, so it’s mostly neutral. Except one thing.”

“And that is?”

“I think I might have made a friend.”

Obito blinks, eyes widening just a few degrees in surprise. “...you sure that’s one of the good things?”

“A friend is always a good thing, right?”

“...depends on the friend.”

Another hum. “...well, I guess we’ll have to see. But they’ve made a pretty okay impression so far.”

“You might not want to hold your breath on that.”

A smile threatens to lift her lips. “Guess that’s up to them then, isn’t it?”

He just scoffs, turning and heading down the hallway.

Ryū, however, gives a little laugh to herself before taking another exit closer to the parking lot.

“Sooo...how’d it go?”

Barely in the door, Ryū blinks as her father questions her. “Uh...okay, I guess.”

“Not catastrophes?”

She snorts as she shuts the door behind her. “Not really, no. I might’ve made a friend.”

“Oh really! Is she nice?”

“He is...um…” A pause, nibbling her lip. “...I’m not sure yet. But his locker is next to mine, and we ate lunch together.”

Jiraiya perks a brow at he. “...I see. And by ‘not sure’ you mean…?”

“I mean I’m not sure. He’s a bit...strange. Kinda closed off. I think he doesn’t really have any friends, so maybe he’s kinda new to it.”

A wariness colors her father’s face, but he doesn’t voice any concern...yet. “...huh. Well, could be worse, I suppose. Get your homework done if you’ve got any and we’ll start dinner before your mom gets home.”

“Okay!”

A few days later, Ryū arrives at the lockers first. Admittedly she’s a little early, so...she not-very-subtly lingers, deciding she’ll wait to see if she can say good morning to Obito before they have to get to class.

But something else happens first, instead.

With a loud bang, a body is flung against the lockers just to her left, and Ryū feels her heart leap to her throat, entire form tensing in fight or flight. Stumbling back, she spots Obito, teeth gritted as he’s pinned against the metal doors. Across from him is another student she doesn’t recognize.

Clearly, they’re having a...disagreement.

“Fuck you, man! Keep your creepy comments to yourself, no one gives a shit!”

Gripping his agitator’s wrists, Obito spits back, “I dunno, seems you give enough of a shit to do this…!”

“You think you’re a tough son of a bitch cuz you can rile people up? Guess what, asshole? All that’s gonna do is make sure you end up sad and alone. Maybe if you stopped being such a prick, you’d actually -!”

“Hey!”

Both of them turn to Ryū. Her face is hardened into a glower, grey eyes steely. “The hell you want?”

“For you to let go of him and go cool off. Keep this up and you’re both going to end up in detention or suspended. If you want to fight, save it for after classes.”

“This has nothing to do with you, so fuck off y’dumb b-”

With a grunt, Obito launches forward and slams his brow into his opponent’s, forcing him to reel back with a pained cry. Straightening and fixing his rumpled shirt, he offers, “Watch your mouth when you’re talking about my friend.”

The word earns a jolt, Ryū losing her edge with a sound of surprise. He...he said -?

“If she’s really gonna sink to your level, that’s her decision. Anyone dumb enough to put up with you deserves what’s coming to them.” Steadying himself, the other teen staggers off, the gathered crowd starting to disperse.

“...do I want to know what that was about?” Ryū decides to ask, giving Obito a glance.

“Misunderstanding,” is his only explanation, turning to his locker.

“...are you hurt?”

“No. And next time, you might want to keep your mouth shut. He was right, that was none of your -”

Ignoring his rebuke, Ryū pushes a shoulder to get him to face her.

“What are you -?”

“You’ve got a split in your brow,” she cuts in, reaching into her backpack for a small first aid kit her mother insists she take with her. “It’s going to drip on your clothes, so hold still.”

“I don’t have time for -!”

“It’ll only take me a minute. My mom’s a doctor, I know what I’m doing.” Taking out a sanitizing wipe, she cleans off his brow, ignoring his flinch as it stings along the split. Gauze then presses to the wound, a few checks given to ensure it’s stopped bleeding. Then out comes a butterfly bandage to pinch it shut. “...there. See? Quick and painless.”

He tries to reach to touch it, but she bats his hand, making him balk at the rather forward action.

“Don’t touch it, your hands probably aren’t clean. Leave it alone.”

“Bossy, aren’t you?”

“I told you, my mom’s a doctor. I got my bedside manner from her,” she replies, giving him a cheeky glance. “...besides, I’m not about to let my friend walk around with a split forehead. Try not to headbutt anyone else today, okay? I’d rather not have to do that again.”

Rubbing a spot away from where it split, Obito watches her quietly as she replaces her kit.

“What was that really about?”

“Nothing. I said something stupid, and he got mad.”

“What did you say?”

“You’re really nosy, aren’t you?”

Her arms cross. “I’m trying to figure out why someone would want to beat the tar out of you. And what possessed you to do whatever it is you did. You realize there’s better ways to get attention, right?”

Something in her words makes him scowl. “Technically I didn’t start it. He did.”

“And…?”

He seems to weigh his options. “...I was supposed to graduate last year. I’m a year behind. People give me crap about it, it pisses me off, so I mouth off back.”

Ryū blinks, not...expecting that. “...you were held back?”

“Kinda hard to keep up when you spend six months of a year in a hospital, and another two in physical therapy. Not everyone cares about that particular detail, though. They just assume I’m stupid.”

Understanding slackens her face. Hospital…? Is that where the scars…? “...he was mocking you about your repeating a year?”

“...yeah. So I jabbed back. Surprise, he didn’t like it. Go figure.”

“...well I can’t really condone fighting fire with fire, but...it does sound like he started things.”

“I don’t like just sitting and taking anyone’s shit.”

“And what did mouthing off get you? Besides a mild beating? Was that really satisfying enough to make you feel better?”

He doesn’t have a retort, so...Obito reverts back to scowling.

Ryū heaves a sigh. “...there will always be jerks. But picking a fight with every single one is only going to get you into deeper trouble, Obito. You know the truth about your grade, Don’t pay anyone else any mind about it. Just finish up your last year, and then you can put it behind you. No one will care once you’ve graduated, okay?”

“Tch…”

She softens, laying a hand on his arm. “...I don’t want to see you get hurt again. Next time someone gives you crap, then...tell me.”

His eyes drop to her hand, and then lift to her face. “...what -?”

“And then I’ll give them what for myself.”

“...you? Really?”

“Yes, really. What?”

He studies her for a moment, and then snorts. “...yeah, okay.”

The third domino falls.

“Hey...can you give me a ride?”

Turning from her locker a few weeks later, Ryū gives Obito a glance. “Sure. Where do you need to go?”

“...I’ll give you directions.”

Brow furrowing slightly in concern, Ryū nonetheless leads the way to her car, Obito in the front seat and directing her where to go.

...they end up at one of the city’s cemeteries.

For a moment, Ryū sits in her seat, uncertain. But Obito gets out without a word, and she has little choice but to either sit and wait...or follow.

She tries the latter.

They trek a ways inward before he stops at a small plot. Four graves bear the Uchiha name. And judging by the dates...they would be Obito’s parents and paternal grandparents.

As Ryū looks closer, she stiffens. The matching death dates for his mother and father...are eighteen years ago today.

It’s the anniversary of their passing.

Obito doesn’t say anything. He just clears away some old dead flowers, replacing them with new ones from his backpack. Then he just...stands there, seemingly lost in thought.

Ryū can’t help but feel a bit...intrusive. But he doesn’t tell her to leave, and as she quietly steps up beside him, he doesn’t flinch as she gently leans against him. She doesn’t speak, knowing there’s not really anything to say.

A domino tilts dangerously far.

Trying to think of a kind sentiment, Ryū hesitates for a long moment. As one comes to mind, she tilts her head up and over to look at him.

Just as he tilts down and over to look at her.

Suddenly their faces are only a breath apart.

Both of them freeze, eyes wide and expressions slack in surprise. Ryū finds a heat building in her cheeks, suddenly flustered.

It’s Obito who moves first, reverting his posture with a clearing of his throat.

Ryū in turn tucks back down, trying to calm the tapdancing of her heart.

“...thanks for...taking me. It’s way too far to walk.”

“Of course...I’m glad I could help.”

A silence blooms and grows, neither sure what to do next.

“...well, I...should take you home. I’ve got chemistry I need to get done…”

“Yeah…” Obito turns, heading back toward the car with Ryū right on his tail.

...and after a moment, she gently takes his hand without a word.

Silently, he squeezes it.

The domino topples with a clatter.

     I....really struggled with this so idk if it really worked, but...I tried? Meg wanted bully!Obito so...this is my attempt xD Little interactions building up to something bigger. idk my brain is dying ahaha      It’s late and I’ve got a busy day tomorrow, so...I’ll stop there =w= Thanks for reading~

[dixbolik-lovers]

Hi hi!!! Thank you so much for the detailed request! You clearly put a lot of thought into this, so I’ll do my best to answer it well! :D I hope you continue to enjoy my blog~ 

Also, this is not a nice ask. I’m writing the boys at their worst, with a “house pet” who they have absolutely no attachment to. 

Shuu:

-At first, he’s just happy that you’re being quiet and staying out of the way. There’s no reason why he should care about the wellbeing of what amounts to the pet, so he stays well out of it. After a while, though, the utter lack of life in you starts getting to him. It’s nice to be feared and to have you compliant, sure, but this is the first time any prey he’s had has become quiet this broken. 

Reiji:

-From the start, he’s rather displeased. Obedience is one thing, but someone who has no initiative and drive to improve is just unpleasant. Reiji gets tired over the overly-compliant behavior somewhere around the time you quit doing anything for yourself, and from there, will change his behavior to try to coax something resembling life out of you– for his benefit, of course. 

Ayato:

-How boring! He gets sick of the stupidly compliant behavior real quick, and actually winds up yelling at you for acting too skittish and lifeless. He wants to see some spirit again, but his way of getting that is to bully you into responding again, which is very likely to backfire. He enjoys your fear at first, but he quickly gets bored of you just plain not doing anything interesting or reacting right. 

Kanato:

-Oh, he enjoys it. Now that you’re finally not resisting him, you can be the perfect little doll. He enjoys the compliance and delicate, lifeless behavior to a disturbing extent, and actively encourages you to be as doll-like as possible. He has no problem with you behaving like a toy, and it brings a smile to his face every time the tears start slipping down your face when he’s with you. 

Laito:

-He’ll take advantage of the increasingly compliant behavior for a while, but quickly gets bored. It’s not as entertaining when you don’t have any spirit left in you, and if trying to coax some life back into you fails, Laito will truly get tired of dealing with it all. If even his best attempts to get you to be fun again fail, he’ll either pass you off onto one of his brothers or dispose of you altogether. 

Subaru:

-He takes the whole situation as obvious proof that he’s a monster, and quickly gets sick of dealing with you. It was clear from the beginning that you were going to be broken. This is just the course of things when you became stuck with monsters like him and his brothers. He tries very, very hard not to feel anything over your breaking, but guilt settles inside of him nonetheless. 

Ruki:

-On one hand, it’s good that you’ve finally learned your place. On the other hand, things may have gone a little too far. For a while, he’s fine with you behaving so compliantly, but when the obedience turns to empty fear, Ruki gets sick of it. He’ll try to instruct you to behave like a person again, disciplining you into more appropriate actions and less of your broken, disgraceful appearance. 

Kou:

-At first, he’s fine with you knowing how to behave around him. So long as you’re acting just the way he wants you to, he’s not going to bother with saving you from whatever despair you’re falling into. He’ll get bored of you acting so lifeless eventually, but by that point, it’ll be far too late to turn back. He’ll probably wind up passing you off to another when he gets too frustrated. 

Yuuma:

-Ugh, you’re hopeless. He gets sick of you acting like you haven’t got any life left in you before long, and tries to force you into acting like you have some spirit again. He doesn’t like it when all you do is cry and sit there like you’re dead, but he doesn’t know how to get you to stop, either. Tired of the situation, he’ll either kill you himself to put you out of your misery, or hand you off. 

Azusa:

-He doesn’t understand why you’re acting so strangely. Did he do something wrong? Azusa’s solution is to give you pain until you start smiling again... which obviously doesn’t happen. He’ll take good care of you while you’re broken and lifeless, by his definition anyway, and he has no problems with that. You’re just not feeling well, surely. All he has to do is make you happy again. 

Carla:

-As much as he had wanted you to be obedient, this has gone a little too far. He tries to convince himself that it’s better this way, that it’s better to have you cooperative and compliant, but there’s a sense of dissatisfaction in him that won’t go away. He’ll keep you regardless of your behavior, but will grow increasingly distant when you refuse to recover in in any way. 

Shin:

-How boring. He gets sick of you acting like some broken doll in no time, and starts getting angry with how lifeless you’re behaving. He’ll taunt you and push you around, trying everything to force some spirit out of you again, but when all that gets him is more tears and silence, he just gets rougher. He’ll probably wind up killing you on accident while trying to get you to respond. 

Kino:

-He doesn’t like you behaving so empty at all. You’re boring when you’re so lifeless, so you just have to go back to normal. As much as he likes the idea of you being under his control, this crosses a few lines that even he doesn’t like. He’ll hand your care over to Yuuri to try to get some results, but will grow increasingly frustrated when you prove too broken to be fixed again. 

[seeaddywrite]

overcome by shame, can i ever change?

part 3/6: five times Alex stopped Michael from doing something stupid, & one time Michael returned the favor.

warnings: for this part – grief, allusions to depression, alcohol abuse, self-loathing, abuse of a police officer’s position, the usual. 

you can also read/follow on AO3, if you prefer. (the formatting is 110x better & includes italics where they are supposed to be!) i’m not making any promises about having the next part up tomorrow because this work week may kill me, but i’ll get it up asap. 

Less than a month later, Michael’s slumped against the wall in the Chaves County Sheriff’s station. The view from the cell hasn’t changed since the day Michael and Isobel gave Max hell for healing Liz Ortecho in front of it, and the sight gives Michael a painful expectation of seeing his brother walking through the door at any moment, uniform and disappointed scowl in place, self-righteous lecture at the ready. But that’s not going to happen, so Michael’s swollen eyes are closed. The feeling of loss eases, if only a little, and keeping his eyelids shut helps against the steady throb in his cheek and ribs, too. 

It also allows him to ignore the look burning into him from the desk across the room, where his arresting officer sits. The young man is new, desperate to prove himself -- fuck, it actually looks like he’s shined the badge on the front of his uniform. He’s wet behind the ears, too goddamned eager to show how much better he is than guys like Michael. 

Michael knows that’s why he’s still sitting here. Sheriff Valenti would’ve let him go by now, shaking her head at him in wordless disappointment, just as she had the last few times he’d found himself in here after Max’s death. This guy doesn’t give a shit about Michael’s grief, though. Doesn’t even know about it, since only a few have been told the truth. Kyle’d insisted on bringing his mom into the loop after Caulfield and discovering his father’s role in it, and Michael and Isobel had been too numb to argue for more than a few minutes. 

The sense of those eyes on him starts to chafe, and Michael forces his eyes open to meet the Deputy stare-for-stare. He knows the picture he paints: the black cowboy hat perched haphazardly on his head, the insolent tilt of of his chin and shoulders, the sprawling pose he’d adopted against the wall with his legs crossed in front of him. It’s an image he’s cultivated for the last decade of his life. The rebel. The drunk. The outcast, challenging anyone who dares to get too close. 

Most people never bother to look beyond the facade, and Michael usually prefers it that way. Today, though, it rubs him the wrong way. He’s used to Max being the one to pull him out of the drunk tank in the morning, accustomed to the lectures and the insistence that Michael is worth more than this, more than the booze and the fights and the disappointment in everyone’s gazes when they looked at him. Those damned speeches had always made Michael homicidal; Max never seemed to understand that what they’d done to Rosa had killed any chance of a future for him just as surely as it had killed the girl herself. To Michael, Max had always seemed unaffected, infuriatingly numb to the truth of the crime they committed and immune to the consequences, and his insistence that Michael deserved to move forward, simply because he had, only ever made Michael resent his brother.

Finally, the Deputy seems to have enough of their staring contest. Michael’s eyes flicker open at the scraping of a chair leg on the floor, and he watches with a blank expression as the man strides across the floor with the sort of bow-legged strut used men with more ego than common sense. He tips his chin back to meet the man’s gaze, squinting through the swelling around his eyes, but doesn’t move otherwise, letting the man come at him first, instead.

“So,” he says, and Michael’s eyes dart to the too-shiny badge on his chest. Simmons. The name is vaguely familiar, like all names in a town this small, but Michael doesn’t care enough to try to figure out where he’s heard it before. It’s not like it actually matters. “Your third bar brawl in two weeks. I’d be impressed, except that’s nothing for you, is it?”

The sneer in his words is expected, and Michael only rolls his eyes. “Slow week,” he drawls in reply, ignoring the shooting pain caused by moving his jaw. “I’ll make sure to throw a few more punches next week just for you.” 

Simmons huffs a disdainful laugh, and reaches back to take a stack of paperwork from his desk. “Unlikely,” he says, flipping a page in a file. “I know that you’re used to special treatment, Guerin, but I’m not Valenti. I don’t have a soft-touch for hopeless cases.” 

Michael snorts. “Yeah? You want to go tell her she’s a soft-touch to her face?” He doesn’t think much of the law, never has, but he knows that Michele Valenti is far from gentle. She’s fair, and usually pretty by-the-book, if Max is to be believed, but she’s as tough as nails when needed, and if Simmons hasn’t learned that yet -- well, Michael’s pretty sure the Sheriff will enjoy showing him how wrong he is. Michael can only hope he’s around to see it. 

Apparently, Simmons doesn’t like Michael’s flippancy. His brows draw downward into a pinched, angry expression, and he leans in close, close enough that Michael can see every carefully steamed inch of his impeccable uniform. The image jolts something loose in Michael’s mind, dragging unwanted memories of Max’s first days on the force to the front. 

Isobel had insisted on re-ironing Max’s slacks so they wouldn’t be wrinkled for his first shift. Michael’d been at Max’s for god-knew what reason, since he hadn’t even been able to look at his brother that soon after Rosa’s death -- but Michael had been there as Max put that uniform on for the first time, watched as determination filled his expression and inflated his chest and shoulders. Determination to make up for the wrongs he’d done, to atone for the sins he’d committed by helping others, as if he could somehow undo the horrible thing they’d done with good intentions. 

Michael had burned with fury at Max’s naivete, with jealousy, for his ability to move forward when Michael himself was stuck, suspended in that moment, day after day. 

It’s funny. Michael had always thought that the year after Rosa’s death was rock bottom -- yet here he is, still trapped, still furious and heartbroken, with no one to blame but himself. 

“You’re going down this time, Guerin. Assault, at the very least. That guy you were beating on had broken ribs, and there’s no way he’s going to drop the charges -- and I will personally see to it that someone claps you in cuffs and throws you in a cell to rot.” Simmons slams his hand against the bars, hard enough to make the entire cell rattle, and Michael blinks away the remnants of the memory to look back at Max’s replacement, lips curled in a sneer. Blood trickles from a split that hadn’t quite closed, yet and down his chin, but Michael doesn’t move to wipe it away. 

“That what gets you off? Guys in handcuffs?” he drawls. “I’m flattered, officer, but you’re not really my type.” And that is an understatement. In fact, comparing Simmons to Alex is an actual insult, as far as Michael is concerned -- not that he should be thinking of Alex right now. Or ever. 

Simmons’ face flushes with anger, and Michael allows himself a small, triumphant smirk. He knows he’s signing his own arrest warrant with his behavior, but he’s known that for weeks. Eventually, all of his sins would catch up with him, and he’s done trying to outrun them. 

Much to Michael’s regret, Simmons gets ahold of his temper quickly; his hands clench at his sides, and there’s a vein throbbing visibly beneath his carefully tousled blond bangs, but his voice is calm, almost cloying pleasant, when he speaks again. “Ah, well that explains things, doesn’t it?” he muses, and the knowing tone in his voice makes Michael wants to punch him hard enough to break that Colgate smile. “I knew Evans was disappearing your paperwork - every time someone tried to prosecute you, it would all just vanish, or the plaintiff would just suddenly withdraw all charges. It was obviously Evans -- I just hadn’t been able to figure out why he’d risk his career like that on a nobody like you.”

Michael struggles to make sense of that information, tries to fumble it into the schema of his and Max’s relationship for the last decade, but the pieces don’t fit. Max had always been the goody-two shoes, so by-the-book in dealing with Michael’s indiscretions that it is impossible to believe that he’d literally been tampering with the paperwork to keep him out of jail. Michael had always just thought Max had pulled in favors with Valenti, or used the ‘old friend’ card over and over -- but this? Had Max really gone to such extreme lengths to keep Michael out of jail?

“But if you two were fucking before he skipped town, well. That makes a hell of a lot more sense, doesn’t it?” 

White-hot rage greys out Michael’s vision, and he’s on his feet against the bars before his mind catches up with the instinct. The feeling is senseless; the insane assumption should be something he laughs at, uses to deride Simmons’ detective work, but Michael can’t summon any humor or snark to throw at him. Hearing Max’s name from his asshole replacement is too much, and Michael’s had all he can take. Power builds in his hands where they’re pressed against the cold metal of the bars, humming through him and causing a ringing, metallic buzz to echo through the small room.

He can’t do this. He has to stop, needs to push the power down and keep it hidden, but Michael’s so removed from his own body in that moment that he can practically look down at himself and see the tension turning into a wavering aura of power in the small cell. 

“That’s enough,” a harsh voice snaps, and both Michael and Simmons’ attention shifts immediately to Alex Manes. He’s looming in the open doorway, blocking all view to the administrative section of the office, an air of authority around his camo-covered shoulders that makes Michael’s breath catch in his throat.

In some ways, Alex is as familiar to him as the parts of his truck, or the smooth surface of the ship fragments he spends his nights with, but while he wears that uniform and that particular expression -- the one that not only demands instant obedience but expects it -- Michael can’t help but feel like he’s staring at a stranger. And after years of limited contact and heartbreak, that’s likely how it should be. Michael almost wishes it could be that simple. Instead, he’s fairly certain that despite everything, he could still pick Alex out of a crowd of millions from miles away. Something in his chest always thrills to Alex’s presence, drawing Michael’s gaze to him even when Alex is the last person he wants to see. 

“What the hell are you doing back here, Manes?” Simmons demands, crossing his hands over his chest and straightening his shoulders in an obvious effort to look intimidating. He’s got an inch and several pounds of muscle on Alex, so it should work, but in comparison to Alex’s hard expression and relaxed but ready body language, Simmons is nothing. Alex certainly doesn’t think so; he stares fearlessly back at the Deputy and raises an eyebrow, a challenge inherent in the minuscule movement. 

“That’s Captain Manes, actually,” Alex corrects definitively. “And I’m here because the guy he hit—” Alex nods toward Michael. “— is Air Force. He’s being reassigned effective Monday morning with a black mark for excessive drinking and brawling in public, so he won’t be pressing charges.” 

Alex presents a set of papers to the Deputy with a flourish, a hint of the attitude Michael had fallen in love with a decade ago shining through in the movement. Simmons gives him a long, hard look, then snatches the papers from his hands, all but tearing them with unnecessary force. While he reads, Alex looks around him to Michael, a silent query on his face.

Michael blinks slowly, taking stock of his body and the energy that has receded somewhat at the sight of Alex. He’s sober enough to wonder, this time, if he’ll always have this reaction to the other man -- if he’s doomed to only ever feel calm and safe around someone who’s so tangled up in some of the most negative, traumatic experiences of his life that Michael doesn’t know how to separate Alex’s comforting grip with the vice around his heart when he thinks of Caulfield. Of his mother.

Right now, he can almost convince himself it doesn’t matter. Michael’s too relieved to see Alex, too grateful for his intervention, to feel anything else.Taking a long, slow breath, Michael peels his fingers away from the bars of the cell and takes a step back. The metallic hum in the room stops completely, and as long as Alex gets him out of there without Simmons making any more comments about the kind of man Max was, Michael thinks he can avoid this situation turning into more of a disaster.

“The military doesn’t have any jurisdiction in Roswell,” Simmons says a moment later, his chest once again puffing out in righteous indignation. “Guerin’s been picked up three times in the last two weeks for the same offense. We don’t need your guy to press charges; I’ve got plenty of evidence to keep him in lock-up.” 

Alex’s eyes narrow, and Michael almost feels sorry for Simmons. Almost. 

“Really.” The word is flat, loaded with insinuation. “So this has nothing to do with the fact that you lost out on the  position at this station to Max Evans? And then lost out on the last open position for Evans’ partner because he said he didn’t want to work with you?” Alex’s expression is carefully blank, but Michael can read him well enough to know that he’s ready to go for the throat. 

It shouldn’t surprise Michael that there are large chunks of Max’s life he knows nothing about. The two of them hadn’t been able to get past what happened to Rosa and the way it was handled, and that crack had led to nearly complete fragmentation in the intervening years. There’s no chance of fixing it, now, no way of knowing if they could have regained the closeness they’d shared for so long, because Max is dead -- but somehow, Michael is still learning things about his brother that make him want to put his fist through a wall. How many times had Max risked his career for Michael by destroying documents and evidence? How many people had he run off from the position as his partner to protect Michael? And why had he done it? Protecting their secret is one thing, but fuck, how is Michael supposed to take that information in stride?

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” Simmons blusters, but Michael can tell the Deputy knows that he’s been beaten. Alex doesn’t go to battle without all of the facts on his side, without an ironclad plan, and Simmons had lost before they’d even begun. 

Alex snorts. “Sure I don’t,” he says amicably. “Why don’t we ask Sheriff Valenti, then? If all of your evidence on Guerin is by the book? I’m sure she’d be happy to back up one of her deputies and kick me out, if that’s the case.” 

Michael doesn’t know if Alex is bluffing, which almost certainly means Simmons can’t tell, either. He waits, aware that he should be more concerned about the outcome of this grudge match than he is, until Simmons growls, “Fine. Get him out of here. But the next time --” 

“You’ll throw him in cuffs and leave him to rot, yeah, I got it,” Alex interrupts, his tone suggesting that if he weren’t in uniform, he’d be rolling his eyes. “Keys.” 

Simmons slaps the keys to the cell into Alex’s extended palm and stomps out of the room, slamming the door behind him. Michael watches, silent, as Alex allows his airman persona to fade back into the gentler, less composed version of himself. “I hacked the cameras before I came in, just in case,” he says, and gestures at the lock on the cell. “You still need me to let you out?” 

A moment later, Michael has released the latch on the cell with a tendril of thought and stands in front of Alex, chin raised daringly as dark eyes take in his injuries. “We should go before that guy comes back,” is all he says, and Michael trails him out of the precinct and into the cool night air. Michael takes a deep breath and slouches back against the wall, eying Alex. He’s not sure what he’s supposed to say or what’s expected of him now; hell, he doesn’t know how to interact with Alex on a good day, anymore. 

“You didn’t need to do that,” Michael says after a moment, the words stiff. Anger would have been better, but Michael can’t seem to summon it back now that it’s gone. “It would’ve been fine.” 

Alex shoots him a skeptical glance, but doesn’t argue. “I’m going to take that as Guerin speak for, ‘thanks for getting me out of jail,’” he snipes, and hits a button on his keychain, making his SUV blink its lights from a block down. “Come on. Your truck is still at the Pony, I’m guessing? I’ll give you a ride and you can pick it up tomorrow.” 

There isn’t much chance to argue, or Michael’s too tired to try. He trails Alex into the SUV, grateful despite himself for the unwavering presence at his side. His brain is still trying to process the fact that Max, despite ten years of distance and resentment, had still been protecting him. It’s a bizarre juxtaposition with the assumption that Max had only ever done anything to protect him in order to protect their secret. Max had fucked up so many times over the years: he’d left Michael alone and scared in foster care, had only listened as Michael whispered confessions of pain and fear of the families he lived with as a child, had pushed him into taking the blame for Isobel’s crimes and allowed him to give up on the one chance at a future he had -- 

Michael hates looking backward, and hates the fact that he understands Max so much better now that he’s gone. His brother had never been human, but he was as flawed as any of them, and yes, he had made mistakes. But how many of those mistakes had seemed unforgivable because of Michael’s own unhappiness? How much of his resentment toward Max had sprung from Max falling from the pedestal Michael had put him on? 

The hand that had, until recently, been numb and scarred, flexes against his thigh. Michael will never know what Max was thinking, that night. He’ll never be able to ask questions, or try to mend the rift that he’d helped created between them. 

Michael will never have a brother again, and the loss feels fresh, now, as if the experience with Simmons had ripped a new wound over the infected one still oozing in his chest. 

“Michael,” Alex says quietly, catching his attention more effectively than if he’d stood up and yelled. It’s rare to hear his first name from Alex, rarer still to hear it in a tone that borders on affection. They’ve avoided that sort of relationship for years, both aware that they’re in the middle of a balancing act, and one wrong move could send them careening over the edge into a world of hurt. “You’ve got to stop doing this. I’m not going to be able to use the same tricks next time, and . . .” he trails off, his fingers tightening around the steering wheel as he psyches himself up for whatever else he has to say. “And Max isn’t here to stop them from making sure you end up in prison.”

The words emerge in a rush, so quick that Michael has to let them process before he understands why Alex is so nervous. No one who mentioned his brother had walked away unscathed, lately; it was a surefire way to send Michael spiralling. 

But it hurts less, somehow, hearing the truth from Alex. Maybe because he knows that Alex understands grief, understands the feeling of anger that follows in the wake of abandonment, or because he knows Alex isn’t throwing words around to hurt him. So Michael doesn’t react; he simply turns his head to look out the window and watches the New Mexican desert fly by. 

It’s clear that Alex doesn’t know how to read Michael’s silence. He rushes on, obviously determined to get the words out before Michael loses his temper. “Think about it, Michael. If they get you in a jail cell, how long is it going to take before your cellmates, or a guard, or someone realizes that there’s something different about you? What if you get hurt and sent to medical? Who’s going to stop them from doing tests and figuring out that you’re not human? My father would love that kind of opportunity, Guerin. Please, for the love of god, don’t give it to him.”

Michael swallows, an old fear rising in his gut as he considers the scenario Alex spins for him. Jesse Manes. Experimentation. Tortured, like his mother and the rest of those poor souls hidden away at Caulfield prison. He shudders, hands digging into his jeans hard enough that his nails score the tender skin beneath. 

There’s a beat of silence, and then Alex’s hand is resting over the back of his left one, a gentle slide of skin that makes it easier for Michael to breathe. He almost misses the tremble in Alex’s fingers, caught up in his own emotions, but it’s there, and impossible to ignore. Michael glances up at Alex, surprised to see an anxiety nearly matching his own on his face, and wonders how often he’s ignored the way the people around him are feeling in favor of drowning in his own feelings. 

Michael flips his hand and squeezes Alex’s back, and triumph sparks in his chest when he catches the barest hint of a smile flash across full lips. 

“I know you don’t want to talk, okay, I get it. Believe me, I get it.” Alex’s words, when he speaks again, are full of rueful self-recrimination, and again Michael is struck by his own selfishness. He’s not the only one mired in trauma and hurt. But despite his own pain, despite the way Michael has treated him, Alex has been there when MIchael needs him. Every damn time. 

“But the way you’ve been acting lately -- shit, Guerin, it’s fucking terrifying. The drinking is one thing, but the fighting? The total disregard for your own health and well-being? That’s not what Max would’ve wanted for you. Do you think he spent the last decade of his life bailing you out of jail because he wanted you to rot there? Do you think your mother died convincing you to run because she wanted you to die out here instead?”

Michael’s fists clench in his lap, but his powers don’t react. This is Alex, after all, the calm in the middle of his storm, and something in Michael refuses to allow anything that might bring him harm. He grits his teeth against the spiral of guilt and shame that threatens at Alex’s words, and reaches for the door handle, ignoring the fact that the car is still moving. Alex shouts and slams on the breaks, leaving them both startled and staring at each other across the console between their seats. 

“I just want to help, Guerin,” Alex says, obviously biting back a furious comment at Michael’s stupidity. “I’m not asking you to love me, or date me, or whatever it is you’re so set against. I just want to make sure you don’t end up dissected or left to rot in one of my father’s torture chambers. Can’t you just let me?” 

The fight rushes out of Michael with a long breath, and he slumps back in the car seat. His head tips to one side, and he looks straight at Alex with a resigned, wary expression. “That’s the problem, Alex,” he says dully. “I do love you.” As much as he could love anyone at the moment. “But I can’t do anything about it. Not right now.” Maybe not ever. 

Alex’s face is washed pale yellow in the headlights of an oncoming car, and Michael doesn’t miss the hurt etched into the lines of his face, though it’s gone in a moment. 

“I’m not asking you to do anything about it,” Alex says quietly. “I’m asking you to come back to my place tonight, get some sleep, and eat an actual meal in the morning. We can figure out where to go from there.” One large hand rests on the gear shift lever, waiting for Michael’s go-ahead before he puts it into drive. 

Michael hesitates, part of him determined to climb out the door and trudge back to the Airstream to suffer through another night alone. But fighting Alex never gets him anywhere, and Michael’s tired of trying to stand on his own. If Max’s loss has taught him anything, aside from the fact that he does care about the self-sacrificing dumbass, it’s that Alex meant it, when he called Michael his family. And maybe, on a night like tonight, it’s not so wrong to want that support, no matter how selfish it feels.

So instead of following his instincts to run, Michael catches Alex’s eye and nods.

[missblissy]

Could I get 09 clean for Arthur and reader cleaning his injuries?

((I can’t find the prompt post fmglsjkdfhgsdfg.. SORRY THIS TOOK FOREVER TO GET TOO. THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR REQUESTING!!!!!!!!! :’D Please forgive me for holding onto this for so long))

*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_

It burned. It stung. It throbbed. It did a lot of things. But feeling good wasn’t one of them. He knew he wasn’t going to come out of this mess looking pretty or by any means better than when he walked in. Yet he did it anyway. What a stupid man.

“This is what you get,” You said quietly, “I told you not to take that path.” 

Arthur flinched and winced as you plucked another thorn from his leg. He had to have at least a hundred thrones still left to pry from his skin. On top of that, he was cut up and every thorn left a little red spot the leaked a droplet of blood, “How the hell was I gonna know they were rose bushes? They didn’t even have roses on them!”

You pinched a thorn between your finger and thumb. It was stuck deep in his calve. You gave a small tug and Arthur grunted out a sound of discomfort, “Because,” You paused then plucked another thorn, “I told you they were roses bushes,” You said in a snotty tone, “And you didn’t listen to me!”

The two of you sat alone by a small and flickering fire in the middle of a forest. The day was nearly gone, all wasted on the stupid map that Arthur had found. It was an old and torn treasure map. He was going to chuck it in the wind until you insisted on finding the treasure. That was earlier today. Now the sun was setting and you made little to no progress on finding any kind of treasure. 

Somewhere scattered and lost in this thick and thorny forest were four rocks in the shape of a square. Under the rock closest to the sunset would be the treasure. No one told you that this forest was overrun with rose bushes, making it impossible to see any rocks on the ground.

You took a roll of cotton bandages from the little tin medical kit you always kept in your horse’s satchel for times like these. You dabbed away the little pricks of blood and then poured a little splash of some alcohol you had. Arthur sucked in a sharp breath as he ignored the burning. He was lucky that he was wearing jeans because that saved a good thousand thorns from embedding themselves in his skin. The majority of them got knocked down into his boots and wedged themselves in there. Smaller and sharper thorns weaved through the fabric of his jeans and straight into his legs. 

“You’re useless,” You told him, “Totally and completely useless,” You were shaking your head as you spoke.

While you nursed his wounds, Arthur watched you as he leaned back onto his hands for support. He stole the bottle of alcohol you used seconds before and took a swig. He cringed and shivered, making a sour face as he drank it, “Ugh,” He scrunched up his nose, “I never liked gin,” He set the bottle back down and gave you a sneaky side glance.

You let out a small and single chuckle, “It’s imported,” You never looked up at him and he was glad you didn’t. He didn’t want you to catch him staring, “Straight from London,” He watched a smile form on your lips and it made his heart flutter into his throat. 

Arthur swallowed his heart back down, fighting the lump that stole his voice. He quickly tore his gaze away from your face and decided to look into the flames of the fire behind you. He could barely notice the small stings as you plucked thorn after thorns. The awkward pounding of his heart blocked out everything. 

He drifted into a mindset that he knew he should avoid at all costs. But he couldn’t stop those thoughts even if he wanted too. As he stared into the flames and as the flames glared back, Arthur thought about how much he loved you. Despite his best efforts to keep that to himself and to ignore those feelings, Arthur knew he was hopeless, and totally and completely useless. On top of that, he wasn’t the smartest person in the world either. He had no idea how you felt about him, if you felt the same, or if you didn’t care at all. 

Watching the fire dance across the logs, Arthur could remember how he swore off love. Too many people ruined that for him, there was no reason to take risks or chances. His life was perfect the way it was. Lonely, simple, dangerous, and only slightly chaotic. See? As perfect as could be. It was so perfect that Arthur had convinced himself that he never wanted to marry, he never wanted to have children, he never wanted to settle down and live a quiet life. Why? Well… He didn’t deserve it. He was a bad man, an awful man. He had killed more people than he could count. He stole from more people he could remember. He was not worthy of anyone’s love, not even his own.

It only felt like seconds, but it must have been almost an hour of him sitting there, silent and stoic and still as he stared into the flame’s heart. You were content with the sound of silence mingling with the pops of embers. It made it easier for you to focus on all the thorns left in Arthur’s legs, and you didn’t mind that neither of you spoke. But it bothered Arthur. It made him uncomfortable, it made it want to say something. He just didn’t know what to say.

He sat forward, slightly hunched and with his hands in his lap. They were sweaty and clammy. Why was he so flustered? Was it because this was the closest you have ever been to him? Was it because for the first time he ever felt your hands on him? Maybe. He was normally pretty good at keeping these feelings in check. A question popped into his head as you threw away the last thorn in his leg.

What made you so special? What was it about you that he loved? He thought you were beautiful for starters. To him, you were an otherworldly creature that just didn’t make sense. You looked as though you were a governor’s daughter. You were prim and elegant with defined features, yet at the same time, you were the furthest thing from a proper lady. Arthur had only seen you in a dress once, and that was the first day he met you. 

He recalled the memory where he found a weeping bride, sitting on the steps of an empty church. Your husband-to-be had abandoned you. He stole all of your father’s dowery and fled the state. When Arthur approached you and asked you what was wrong, he expected you to be heartbroken. You completely took him by surprise, you weren’t upset that your fiance had abandoned you, in fact, you were elated that he ran off. But you were crying because he stole your horse, and in her saddle was your last bottle of gin and the last five dollars to your name. You were more upset that you lost your gin, you could have cared less about whatever his name was.

From that day on he quickly understood why your fiance left you. You were wild and untamable, you were broken and beaten and filled with too much hate for such a tiny body. You were a tornado on a path of total destruction. He liked that about you though. You weren’t an evil or malice person by nature. He saw the tender side of you that reflected in your actions when you joined the gang. You always wanted to help out. You’d cook and clean and do all the extra chores that no one wanted to do. You’d go hunting, you’d go on heists. You quickly proved your loyalty to the gang. Arthur liked that about you too.

But he knew the real reason why he grew to like you so much. It wasn’t that you were spunky and wild, it wasn’t because you were loyal to the gang, it wasn’t because he thought you were pretty. It wasn’t because you were a skilled gunslinger.

Arthur Morgan loved you so much because he could be his true self around you. He could make a sarcastic comment in camp and you’d be the only one to laugh. You got his humor. Arthur could tell you anything, he wasn’t afraid of talking to you because you’d rather listen to him and hear what he has to say, rather than talking at him about his problems. You were a good listener. He also didn’t have to lie about who he was to you, he could be totally and completely honest about his life, his line of work, and his toxic nature. 

He was staring at you again, and you caught him. Arthur was yanked from his thoughts when you smiled at him and asked, “Something on my face?”

God! Why did you have to be so perfect!? Arthur coughed and awkwardly looked away, “No,” He felt his face started to burn. Thank god it was dark out. He fixed his hat, grabbing it by the rim and tilting it down to cover up his face as best as possible. 

You had finished plucking every last thorn from his legs a while ago. Now you were digging around for the damn treasure map. You either didn’t notice Arthur’s uncomfortable mood or you choose to ignore it. Regardless, Arthur felt like an idiot.

“I don’t know how to break this to you,” You suddenly said, and Arthur had a minor panic attack. He darted his gaze and watched ou from the corner of his eyes. He didn’t want to face you, “But,” You paused again. He was still sitting on the large rock, while you sat on the ground. You brushed against his legs as you dug around in a bag of yours. Finally, you pulled the treasure map out, “I don’t think we’re gonna find this gold,”

He could breathe again. Arthur finally faced you and said, “I didn’t want to in the first place.” Yet he kept his head low, eyes covered by the rim of his hat. 

You laughed to his surprise, “I didn’t really want to either. I just wanted to get out of camp.” You balled up the map and tossed it into the fire, watching it go up in flames. 

Nothing was said after that, and the loud emptiness of silence returned between the two of you. Minutes passed, nothing was said. You finished your bottle of gin and managed to pull another one of nowhere. Arthur took a risk and tapped you on the shoulder, then waved his hand while he silently asked for a swig from the bottle. He wouldn’t look at you though. Was he mad?

This is when he noticed, however, that you were very drunk. You were staring at him with a slippery smile sloshed onto your face with dark eyes. You tried to hand him the bottle but only managed to make a mess of yourself. Gin splashed out of the top of the bottle and you missed Arthur’s hand by a hundred miles. The gin spilled down your arm and on your legs. And all you had to say was, “Whoops,” with a drunken smile. 

Arthur snatched the bottle away and let out a low hostile grumble, which caused you to frown. As he tipped the bottle back you asked, “What’s gotten you so- Hey! That was my last bottle!”

He tossed that into the darkness beyond the fire, into the forest, “I’ll buy you another one tomorrow,” He said lowly. 

Why was he acting like this? Why was he so... bitter? You frowned again and got onto your knees while pointing a finger at him, “Stop it! You’re grumpy!” You slurred out, “Today was a good day!” You tried to smile, “Be happy, Arthur!” As you tried to get to your feet, you managed to stumble over your own legs and right into Arthur’s lap. 

You fell between his legs while Arthur managed to hook you by your arms and held you up, “(Y/n)!” He started to scold you but you cut him off before he could.

“You’re not mad about the treasure, are you?” You asked as Arthur watched your emotions change faster than ever before, “Arthuurr! Don’t be mad!” You attempted to ‘climb’  up him, but Arthur grabbed you by both your wrists.

He tried to keep his distance, leaning away while holding you at arm’s length, “Goddammit!” He swore at you, “(Y/n)! You’re drunker than Swanson on a Sunday morning!” 

You noticed how mad Arthur looked and gave up. You stood there with a sorry look on your face. Arthur still held onto your wrists as you looked at the ground, “I’m sorry,” You said, “We were having such a nice day together,” Your words surprised him but you barely noticed, “I didn’t want it to be ruined because of a stupid map. I didn’t even care about the map. I just wanted to spend time with you.”

Arthur was still leaning back, and as he moved to sit up straight, his hat slid off his head, falling behind him and onto the rock that he sat on. You could see the flustered look on his face melt away and form into something you couldn’t quite understand. 

“You mean that?” He asked, finally staring back at you. Suddenly it was you who was flustered. The way the fire lit up his face, casting shadows in the best of places. 

You tugged away but he held onto your wrists, gripping them only slightly tighter, “I-... Yeah, I had a great day-”

“No,” Even though he cut you off, he said it so softly. Slow and careful. His next words were spoken just the same, “You wanted to spend time with me?”

For some reason, the only response you could muster out was a nervous laugh. You looked away from him, then back, “Yeah- I...” You paused and took in a shaky breath, realizing that you sputtered out one word too much, “I..I.. uh...” 

Arthur seemed hooked on every word. He didn’t know how, or what gave him the courage to stare up at you like a hawk, and pull each word from you, even if it’d be like pulling teeth, “You?” He insisted.

Your drunken heart flung wildly up your throat, “I-I!” You felt your fingers start to twitch and shake, “I... I like- I like you! Spending time! I... I like spending time with you...” 

“Mhm.. Mh.. Haha!” He was laughing? “Ha!” Why was he laughing? You looked up from the ground and to Arthur’s face. He let go of your wrists and ran his own hands over his face, brushing his hair away and into place, “Ha, ha! I... can’t believe I’m glad to hear that.”

“You are?” What?

“Yeah,” He looked up at you with a new look on his face, “You like me?” He asked, just to doublecheck he heard right. When you quietly nodded your head, he let out another chuckle, “Perfect.” 

“Wh-why?”

“Because,” He grabbed your hand, and you noticed something change not just in his voice, but in his whole character. Arthur no longer had any scattered nerves or butterflies clogging his throat. He was so worried about chasing you away, that he never got the chance to see that maybe you wanted to be chased. So, with a newfound sense of confidence, Arthur tugged you by your hand, inching you closer to him, “I can do this.”

It only took a second for him to pull you to his level, meet your gaze, bring a hand to your cheek, and grazing his fingers to brush loose locks behind your ear. There was a second there were you both shared a glance, only inches from each other. But Arthur quickly closed that distance, kissing you swiftly, smoothly, and with just enough forces to take your breath away.

You couldn’t lie, this day couldn't get any better. At several points today you wished and hoped and prayed that you’d just get a little bit closer to Arthur, whether that be as friends or something more. 

His kisses tasted like gin, and so did yours. Arthur wanted this more than he’d ever admitted. And half of his brain told him that he was only going to end up hurt, but the other half told him you’d never do that to him.

When he pulled away you leaned in to steal one more little kiss, no matter how drunk they were. You just couldn’t get enough. You waited since the day you met him to get those kisses. You deserved every single one you wanted.

Arthur chuckled though while you sat down beside him on the rock. He never let go of your hand, and you didn’t want him to. Arthur’s little chuckles ended as he leaned into you, bumping his shoulder into yours and quietly saying, “I like you too.” 

In that second you felt like punching him, but instead, you leaned onto him and rested your head on his shoulder, “Why’d it take you so long to say it then?” You teased.

Caught on the spot, Arthur let outa stutter and shrugged, “I- I’m... I don’t know,” He tried to brush it off, “I’m... Shy.” 

You laughed at that, giggles bubbling from your chest, “Psht! Haha! Yeah!” He made a face and you rushed out some more words, “That’s cute though!” He didn’t seem to like that either, “I mean- stoic and handsome.” 

You held onto his head, enjoying the firm and rough grip he had on you. The gin was still heavy in your blood, making your eyes tried, cheeks flushed and yawns never stopping. You made yourself comfortable against Arthur’s shoulder.

“Get some sleep,” Arthur told you, “I’ll keep watch,”

A smile crawled onto your face. A yawn escaped your lips and you muttered out, “My knight in shining armor.”

Arthur chuckled at that and watched you drift away. He felt a weight lift off his shoulders, his mind, even his heart. If he knew it’d be this easy to win you over, he would have done it a long time ago.