#at school at that time because there was nothing visibly wrong with me (mentally though…… that was a different matter)

[fingertipsmp3]

I have no proof or anything but I’m pretty sure this man, who called me twice and left two messages, is now rejecting my calls

[lovelyalicorn]

Unheard Love

You're born with the first words your soulmate says to you as a tattoo on your wrist. You know who your soulmate is as they say those words when you meet for the first time face to face. Today, we learn the story of a boy with a blank wrist. 

Chandra was just another boy. He went to school, got good grades, and read comics. However, the strange thing about him was; Chandra had a blank wrist. Usually, people with blank wrists never have a soulmate, and he was so terrified that he'll go his entire life without experiencing the kind of love you can only get from a soulmate. He got bullied so much for not having any writing on his wrists, and Chandra withdrew from everyone and just wore long sleeves. With very few but close friends, he was officially an outcast. He sighed but tried to be positive and go about his life, but it was hard. 

One day, his friends convinced him to go to a party, even though he despised them. Too many people around to mock him or worse, and it didn't help that "appropriate party wear" rarely included long sleeves. He looked in the mirror and sighed, staring at his blank wrists, pulling on some bracelets to cover them. He knew they would slide down, but it's better than nothing. He squared his shoulders and left. 

The party was awful. Chandra knew no one there, and his friends had left and mingled and had fun or spent time with their mates. Debating whether or not to exit the party, he started looking for Kai, his best friend. "Hey! The party's great, right? Come meet my new friends?"

"Okay," he sighed. 

"This is Luna, Iris, Kirsten, and Rohini." Kai gestured to each person. The last one, Rohini, was possibly the prettiest girl he had ever seen. 

"Did it hurt when you fell from heaven? I'm so sorry, ignore me," he mentally smacked himself. 

Stupid, you keep forgetting that you have no soulmate. Why torture yourself like this? Besides, she'll never like you now, especially with that pickup line. 

He felt someone touch his arm, snapping him out of his thoughts. It was Rohini. She showed her wrist to him, and the flowing script said, "Did it hurt when you fell from heaven?"

"But, how? I thought I had no soulmate! Look!" he showed her his blank wrist. 

She signed something to him, which made him realize that he had nothing on his wrist because his soulmate was Deaf, and the mark only recorded spoken words. "You're my soulmate?" 

She nodded, and he hugged her while sobbing tears of joy. "I thought I'd never find true love."

They broke apart, and she signed while Luna interpreted for her. "I had always thought that no one would love me or want a Deaf girl as their soulmate. I thought that once they found out I was Deaf, they'd reject me. Thank you for proving me wrong."

"If someone had rejected you like that, they don't know what they're missing out. You aren't any less because you can't hear. People learn other languages for their mate, and if they can't be bothered to learn ASL to speak to you, they're wrong."

"Thank you," Rohini said, tears in her eyes. 

"Hey man, we gotta go. My dad's here, and you're carpooling with me," said Nathan.

Chandra and Rohini quickly exchanged numbers, promising to see each other soon. He wished they could spend more time together, but they had the rest of their lives before them. He had never expected something like this to happen. Ever since he was born, everyone around him had immediately condemned him to never finding true love simply because of his blank wrist. There needs to be more visibility and acceptance of people who can't verbally speak or have blank wrists like him. The world was so cruel to those who are different, and he was so tired of it. They were the same as everyone else, and besides, there was no such thing as "normal." 

"Did you say something?" he asked.

"Yes. I asked if you had fun at the party," said Mr.Holland.

He looked out the window and smiled, "Yeah. I did."

Mr.Holland smiled and focused on the road again. It was nice to see him smiling. He always seemed so sad and alone in the world. He wondered what had made him so happy but decided to leave it and enjoy his happiness. 

Chandra looked up ASL classes near him and signed up for one. He intended to keep his promise to Rohini and learn ASL for her. 

He entered his class, a private one-on-one with a tutor. 

"Hello! My name is Jack, (signs the entire time they're talking, making sure to be slow, every time they speak). What's your name?"

"My name is Chandra. Nice to meet you."

"Nice to meet you too. Shall we get started?"

"Sure."

(basic ASL because I forgot.)

"Bye! See you tomorrow!" called Jack.

He signed goodbye (insert goodbye sign) and smiled. Maybe he can do this. Perhaps he can learn to help and accommodate Rohini. He was thinking about this when he got a text from a new number. (idk the signs for most of this)

R: Hello, this is Rohini. You probably don't remember me

C: Hey! Of course, I remember you! You're a hard one to forget

R: You sure?

C: Completely

R: It's okay if you say no, but would you like to go on a date?

C: Yes! Of course! Where do you want to go? There's this cafe I know nearby if you'd like

R: That sounds nice, and the name?

C: It's called the Roasted Bean Diner, and their scones are to die for

R: Sounds good. Are you free Friday night?

C: Yeah! Is it okay if I ask you a question?

R: Sure?

C: I started learning sign, so could you tell me how you'd prefer to communicate on the date? I'm probably not good enough yet to have a regular conversation.

R: Don't apologize. Thank you for learning it for me. For now, could we try texting if it's okay?

C: Sure! See you then!

He put his phone away with a smile. He never thought he'd get love like this, and he got to experience it. Now he finally did, and it was with such a wonderful person. Now, to make plans for a first date to remember. 

Friday arrived, but not quickly enough. They both wanted it to come around so badly, so they could see each other again. No one at his school had seen him crack a smile, much less beam an entire week. She had done so much for him, even without knowing. The lessons had been going great, and he finished the introduction unit. Soon, if all goes well, he'd be fluent! He knew he was too optimistic and that things'll probably go wrong the way it always does. It was hard to think of that right now when he had a love for the first time. He prayed to the gods for this to be the first thing in forever to turn out better than he'd thought if such a thing was possible.

He arrived at the cafe and found a booth for them, away from the crowds. 

C: I found us a booth in the back

R: Nearly there, thanks!

He looked up to see her smile and wave at him. He signed (hello), which made her face light up. His phone dinged

R: Thank you so much for learning it for me

He signed (you're welcome, nice to meet you again)

She giggled (nice to see you too. You look handsome) 

He blushed (thanks, you look gorgeous)

She looked away, flustered. 

(It's true (finger spelling?))

R: You sure?

C: Positive

Tearing up, she typed No one outside of my family has told me that. 

He wiped her tears away. Then I'm going to tell you every day because you are.

R: Thank you

"What can I get you two lovebirds?" A waiter suddenly asked, startling them. 

"I'll have a coffee, please."

Rohini pointed to a picture of a blueberry scone and a latte. 

"I'll be back with your orders soon,"

C: Have you been here before?

R: Once or twice with my friends, what about you?

C: I come here pretty often. I, never mind, it's stupid.

R: What is it? 

He sighed and flushed. I liked to play this game where I invented backstories for the people here. 

R: That sounds fun! What do you think that lady over there is like? She gestured.

(Nice)

(C-H-A-R-M-I-N-G?)

The lady turned around and saw them signing. "Why are you waving your hands around and making gang signs, hmm? Speak like the rest of us. You've got mouths, so use them or get a hearing aid already! Just stop pretending!" She turned around and muttered about loveless pretenders who'll never get far in life like this and how they should fix it already. 

Rohini started crying, trying to hide it but failing. Chandru moved closer to her and signed (H-U-G U?). She nodded. He held her close and rubbed her back, helping her calm down before he started to speak. Her sobbing had slowly gone down to a few tears running down her cheeks. The employees kicked out the lady for her comments and apologized to her. He typed out everything he wanted to say to her and sent it.

C: What she said wasn't true. She's a sad woman who tries to cancel their pain by taking it out on others. Her thoughts aren't valid. What matters is what you think of yourself, what you know is fundamentally true about yourself. She will regret saying this one day and don't let it affect you. A single misguided person is not going to change who you are. You're one of the strongest people I know, and nothing is going to change that.

R: Really?

He nodded, and she hugged him. They might be broken and imperfect, but they can help each other heal and go through it. After all, isn't that what true love is?

THE END 

[symptoms-syndrome]

7, 17, 25, 28

7 answered 💚

17. If you could tell someone questioning whether they have DID/OSDD one thing, what would it be?

This is gonna sound dismissive, but like. Don't worry about it man.

Either you do or you don't but thinking about it too hard isn't gonna change anything, and I think that worrying about it too hard might make you fixate on things. Like, you'll be looking for evidence for or against and you're gonna find ways to fit all sorts of irrelevant stuff into either category. Had a hot dog yesterday and liked it, but today you think it tastes a little weird? Put it in the "maybe a part thing" bucket. Remember what you had for lunch last week? Put it in the "don't have it" bucket. That kind of thing, it'll just trip you up.

Like. Think about why you think you might, sure. But rather than "do I have [thing]" in general I think it's best to ask like. Why is it bothering you? Are there things you can do for that?

Like. I've got shit memory right. I had shit memory before I got my diagnosis and I've still got it. So I use a calendar on my phone, as soon as I hear about anything that I want to go to or need to do, I put it right in there so I don't forget about it. What if I woke up tomorrow and my therapist called and was like "JK man, u just have ADHD." My calendar wouldn't like. Explode. It would still be helpful n everything. And that applies to like a lottt of coping skills and strats and stuff. Most stuff that happens with DID happens with other stuff too, sometimes in diff ways but like. A lot of the time the coping skills are the same. DID doesn't exist in a weird little mental illness fortified palace separate from everything else like some people act like it does.

25. What is a piece of misinformation about DID/OSDD do you want to clear up?

I already answered this one but I'm answering it again bc I have a diff lil piece of misinfo.

If you have DID/OSDD, you don't have to be plural.

Not in the sense of you don't have parts. But in the sense that you don't necessarily need to treat your parts/system the same way others may treat theirs. You don't need to "come out" about it, or communicate to other people who's fronting, or drastically change your lifestyle.

I think that this is part of what makes people so weird about DID/OSDD, the idea that it gives you permission to live a Plural Lifestyle because DID/OSDD is associated with automatically enrolling you in the Plural Lifestyle.

There's nothing inherently wrong with not being open about having a deeply stigmatized disorder. You don't need to "fight stigma" or "be visible" and it's not like being in the closet about being gay or trans (though you don't need to come out about either of those either, but that's a different topic.) You aren't betraying your community or a victim of internalized ableism or anything like that for not wanting to be open about your DID and/or not wanting to communicate to others about your parts. Doubly so for things like work or school.

Being open about it/telling people about it also doesn't have to be a black and white thing. You can tell some people but not others. You can be open about parts fronting some times or places but not others. You can tell some people some things but not everything. That's all fine. I have like two friends (outside of my DID-sphere) who know about some of my parts by name, about a dozen who just know I have DID with no further details. And that's fine with me. Even the friends who know some parts by name I don't tell who's fronting all the time.

I think some people think you need to be super consistent across the board or you're "not being true to yourself" or "hiding parts of you" or "ashamed of your identity" or something. Which is not true.

Also conversely, I think that similarly to what I said the last time about misinfo, if seeing yourself in parts helps you somehow I think that's fine. Or if you have an imaginary friend or daydream or whatever else. Embrace non-normativity even if it isn't disordered.

28. Have you met other people with DID/OSDD irl/online? What was it like?

IRL once I went to a conference to give a talk about racism and DID and it was a real mixed bag. It felt like everyone there was either 20s or 40+. I felt more at home with the 40+ crowd because the 20s crowd was very? Plural in a way that I am not and don't feel comfortable being. One of them loudly announced that everyone at the table was plural in like a Starbucks and that made me feel like I was going to die. The older folks were incredible though, very kind and it was nice chatting about our experiences and what things we had in common or didn't.

Also once at a different conference (also about race, but this time about race and disability) I met someone (a like, ~50 year old Asian lady) who shared that she had OSDD in a private moment and I shared that I had DID. It was interesting to talk to her as well.

Plus some various. Weird experiences with other people. Including someone who said I was pluralphobic for not letting them join a group for POC when they are white w an alter that looks Asian. LMAO.

I'm also...vaguely aware of some people in my area who keep being very weird about hosting events for plurals. Which. Whatever do your thing I guess. Just not for me and not when they're being weird about it.

Online. 95% negative experiences but 5% positive! When I was first diagnosed I tried finding online groups but they all sucked TBH, full of drama and teenagers and weird expectations on how I should behave and how much I need to share/know. It made me feel overwhelmed and confused because I didn't fit in. But now I've found my little group of people who I feel like I vibe with and who understand each other.

Also there's like. A few weird experiences I've had on dating apps of all places.

[clunelover]

I really don't know when my lowest point in life was. Like, if you're a mentally ill person with unstable alcoholic parents who decide to dig back into their custody arrangements when you're a tween, you can have a lot of low points!

Some that come to mind:

11-14 - Mom and stepdad split up and we moved into a pretty depressing apartment without room for everyone to have a bedroom, so mom slept in the living room (nothing wrong with that necessarily, but her bed was kind of a depression nest and she slept during the day sometimes so it sucked having that always visible). This is when she started semi-regularly relapsing and I got to be the one to catch her and then call stepdad for help. I was very sad and angry and felt isolated from peers. I moved in with my dad and stepmom for eighth grade, after which there was a bitter custody dispute about whether I was supposed to keep living there, or go back to mom's, which I got pulled into very inappropriately.

17-19 - went to college and started having my first bipolar episodes. Failed a lot of classes, tried to go back the next year under academic probation, failed harder, stopped paying rent, dropped out and moved in with dad and stepmom to get back on my feet. They made a deal with me that I'd have to stay there two years and pay them back, but I paid them back in a year and left "early" which resulted in some pretty nasty fights.

21ish - Got fired from my shockingly good for someone without a college degree job because I was a dumbass slacker, started working temp jobs which were truly soul sucking, couldn't afford my apartment and moved in with my stepdad, got a temp to perm job at the garbage company, which in retrospect was great life experience and gave me material for my so far only published story, ahem, but at the time felt like "I am a trash person and I work at the trash company so that all checks out." Had a couple drunk driving incidents for which I am very lucky I didn't hurt anyone or get caught - so - that's obviously super low. I was constantly overdrawing my bank account and owed money to my stepdad and Jeremy.

33 - lingering postpartum depression and anxiety from C's birth, still raging more than 6 months pp. Had to take time off work to go for anxiety treatment - again in retrospect a very good thing, but at the time I really felt terrible, like I was literally falling apart and might just start screaming at any moment.

This was a fun exercise though, because there were other moments that felt like lowest points at the time, but which now just feel like a blip. Like when I failed my final exam in grad school, and had to get the disability office involved to fight the chair of the department to be able to retake it at a different date due to the regular date being a few days after my due date with E. Whatever, doesn't matter now, I have the degree and don't really use it. Learned a lot about advocating for myself.

Or when I had that terrible job 3ish years ago where I was way out of my depth and having frequent panic attacks, sobbing every day I came home etc etc...I was there only three months and then got the job I have now. Blip!

[nikolasongsa]

psychopathic rant I did whilst I read something from whoever it was

the post dissappeared apparently because I took my fine ass time

Like thaulf said, women "are just like that", but psychiatry is not the practice of listing mere 'personality traits' as personality traits, but disorders. The way illness is described is also different

the point of psychiatry is often to use it against those undeserving of it; cut resistance, to make people mad, and sell drugs and in general just muddle things that are actually real and have empirical evidence

+ using words like "bpd" is faggot language

Read any DSM and continue to be amazed. The audacity of them to list things like genetics, IQ and retardation and use it like retards themselves

gay notes for myself mainly

"Romans 7:17 And I know that nothing good lives in me, that is, in my sinful nature. I want to do what is right, but I can’t. I want to do what is good, but I don’t. I don’t want to do what is wrong, but I do it anyway’."

"Here are other words of this doctor who lived a century before Orwell wrote 1984. According to Heinroth, the psychiatrist

appears to the patient as helper and saviour, as a father and benefactor, as a sympathetic friend, as a friendly teacher, but also as a judge who weighs the evidence, passes judgement, and executes the sentence; at the same time seems to be the visible God to the patient…

“The biggest issue we faced during the time our daughter began to manifest problems (when she was five years old) was to convince the ‘professionals’ that she did indeed have a disease that was biologically based and not caused by alleged child abuse [or] bad parenting”

"I’m a 16 year old girl who has just gotten out of a ‘psychiatric treatment center’. I was there for over 4 months because I was diagnosed with Borderline Personality disorder and Manic Depression. Borderline Personality Disorder is the biggest f— joke I have heard of. All it is a description of an immature teenager. Haha. I am also not Manic Depressive. The psych people there somehow managed to convince everyone that I was, including my parents. (‘She has severe highs and lows. And she’s impulsive too!’) They put me on lots of medication.

Perfectly normal people are kept in treatment centers. Perfectly normal teenagers. Nobody was crazy there. Not even one person. They were just teenagers with divorced parents. Or teenagers who did a few drugs. Or teenagers who got suspended from school. Suddenly we were all Borderlines, Schizophrenics, and Manic Depressives who ‘needed’ long term hospitalization. We also ‘needed’ medication. They put us on heavy doses of anti-psychotics, mood stabilizers, antidepressants, anti-whatevers. I was the only patient who didn’t take the medication. I will never take psychiatric medication. I’ve tried it before. It does nothing except for turn me into a zombie. It dulls me out. Makes it so I can’t think straight. Everyone else took it though." 1996

"In the dawn of the 21st century the diagnoses that were used against her and her mates (‘borderlines’, ‘schizophrenics’, ‘manic depressives’) are as fraudulent as the diagnoses that the psychiatrists used in the 19th century (‘moral insanity’, ‘folie lucide’, ‘nymphomania’)."

"Psychiatrists are fond of stressing how much suffering schizophrenia causes. However, I can truthfully say being labeled a schizophrenic has caused me a hundred times as much suffering as the so-called ‘illness’ itself. Since recovering my sanity in 1961, I have spent decades struggling to gain some measure of self-understanding and self-esteem. In this regard, I never fully recovered from what psychiatry and my parents did to me until I finally realized I had never been ill in the first place."

(The same person who coined the term 'schizophrenia' coined the term 'autism')

"How, for example, can a psychiatrist validate his identity as a medical doctor without labeling others as mentally sick’, asks Modrow, ‘that is to say, without dehumanizing others and thoroughly destroying their identities?’

"Economics controls politics, so the pivotal issue is an economic one. To see what is happening, look at the textbook or manual called DSM-III, the Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders, third edition. Translated into economic and political terms, mental disorder means undesired mental states and attitudes and behaviour […]

The criteria in the manual are very useful for controlling the population because you can bring them to bear on practically anyone if the occasion seems to demand it. Look at this: ‘Oppositional disorder’ is a very good one."

"In 1999 Professor Leonard Duhl of the University of California defined mental illness and poverty in the most perfect sense of the ideologists of the Great Confinement of the 17th century: ‘the inability to command events that affect one’s life’."

"If the philosophy of the biologicistic psychiatrists is right, all our passions, traumas and conflicts, loves and fears, are not the result of our desires in conflict with the external world, but of the swings of small polypeptides in our bodies that are transformed into despair."

"The primitive witch-doctor, who tried to understand Nature in human terms, treated objects as agents: a position known as animism. The modern witch-doctor, who tries to understand the subjectivity of man in terms of Nature, treats agents as objects: a position known as bioreductionism. Primitive man has been demystified in our scientific era. Who will demystify psychiatry doctors?"

"a mandate to strip anyone of their civil liberties […] to homogenize people who are out of line. Presented as a medical exercise, it is an undercover operation. "

"Personality disorders are diagnosed in 40–60% of psychiatric patients, rendering them the most common of all psychiatric diagnoses"

"First, concerning point (a) above, DSM-IV-TR already lists Intermittent Explosive Disorder, Antisocial Personality Disorder, Conduct Disorder, Avoidant Personality Disorder, Oppositional Defiant Disorder, and countless more poorly defined and controversial diagnostic labels, all in large part oriented at defining as mentally ill the kinds of behavior that Dr. Diamond wants to pathologize further. But no psychiatrist intent on listing yet more disorders in the DSM should be blind to the risks of overdiagnosis, given the embarrassing amount of overlap that already exists among these disorders. "

[yourmidnightlover]

all my fault

Request: spencer and y/n are married, and they’ve been trying to have kids, and then she finds out she’s pregnant. a few weeks into the pregnancy, she has a miscarriage, and at the hospital the doctor said it’s bc she had an abortion as a teenager, and it fucked up her it yet us. spencer didn’t know she had an abortion, and blames her for the death of the baby, and they end up sleeping separately for a while and they have to grieve by themselves. spencer ends up talking to emily about it bc of her experience and it has a comforting ending!

Summary: when reader has a miscarriage after trying to have a baby with spencer, and things about her past are revealed and leaves things rocky within their relationship.

CW: miscarriage, pregnancy, mention of abortion, spencer’s rly harsh at first, teenage pregnancy, mentions of surgery, a cervix condition that i kinda made up, depressive thoughts, negative self-worth, HAPPY ENDING. *please let me know if i’ve missed anything*

A/N: i’ve been working on coming up with a series, which i posted last thursday! i’m sorry i haven’t been as consistent with my schedule, this summer has really taken a toll on my mental health and school is about to start back up. i promise i’m not quitting writing, but my writing might become a bit more sporadic in terms of my posting schedule. i’m still not sure if i like how i’ve executed this piece, so please let me know what you think!

IMPORTANT A/N: this contains serious topics centered around pregnancy and abortion. reader end up blaming herself and it is a very triggering subject to some. if you aren’t comfortable with those kinds of depressive thoughts PLEASE DONT READ. i don’t want anyone to be triggered by my writing. your mental health matters. you matter. do not read if your sensitive to the subject matter, please!

———————————————————————

when you and spencer checked the third pregnancy test and saw those two, very clear lines on the stick, you felt an unbelievable amount of joy.

“oh my god,” you clamped your hand over your mouth, your eyes welling with tears.

“y/n…” he held his breath, holding your free hand with both of his own.

“you’re gonna be a dad,” you huffed out a laugh as his arms flew around you.

“and you’re gonna be a mom! we’re gonna have our own little family,” he cheered as he breathed in your scent, elated from the news he had hoped for since you said ‘i do.’

spencer had wanted to be a father since he met henry, you remember how attached he was to the child who wasn’t even his own. you hadn’t always wanted children, only when you were absolutely ready for them. now, you were more than ready.

your arms flew around spencer’s neck as his went around your waist. he dropped to his knees and began pressing kisses against a bump that wasn’t even visible yet, praising you and your body for carrying his child.

because it was so hard for you to get pregnant, spencer decided to baby you every chance he got. you didn’t do the dishes or sweep, you weren’t allowed to reach for high shelves or even step on a chair to do so. he was worried about you and the baby, so you let him. you found it endearing.

the perfect man that you married was so worried about the little bean inside of you, worried for your safety, that it drove him a bit mad. who were you to complain? each time he’d do one of the new little quirks like not letting you lift anything above 10 pounds, you just smiled to yourself and brushed it off.

being pregnant was something that you had lost hope for, in all honesty. spencer had been talking to a few friends who had adopted children prior to finding out you were pregnant. if this hadn’t worked out, the two of you were going to look into adoption.

spencer had planned your doctors appointment for 6 weeks after your last period. the appointment was in three days. and then the perfect outline you had for your future went down in crumbles.

you had been having pains in your lower abdomen, and you figured it was just because you were pregnant. you went to the bathroom like you normally would when you felt queasy, kneeling by the toilet in preparation for what was to come. only nothing came.

you decided to just go pee and get back to bed. there was a pain that wasn’t like you’d felt before when you were peeing, like someone had been pulling your intestines out of your body. when you looked down, you felt your stomach drop.

“spencer!” you cried out. “spencer, hurry!” you felt tears well in your eyes until he ran up beside you. his hand was on your thigh as the other one was trying to steady your shaking hand.

“what is… oh,” he looked in the toilet to see blood inside of it.

“spencer… what happened? i don’t know what happened. everything was doing so well and the baby-we just found out and now they’re-wh-what’s gonna happen?” you rambled out, unsure of how something this horrific happened so quickly.

“i-i don’t know, my love,” he pressed a kiss to your forehead. “i don’t know. but we’ll go to the hospital right now, okay? we’ll get answers.”

you just nodded. you couldn’t speak anymore. you felt your throat closing in on yourself. you cleaned yourself up and got dressed. even looking in the mirror with spencer’s arms around you, you didn’t feel anything but guilt and worry.

spencer’s touch would usually be something to ease your mind and take away the thoughts of everything else around you. only this was something wrong inside of you. you were the problem this time. and you didn’t think anything could fix this feeling.

“let’s get to the hospital, yea?” you nodded as he held onto your hand, trying to ground you to himself as he guided you to the car.

you were silent the entire drive to the doctor. there was nothing to say. there was nothing to do. there was just… nothing. you were numb.

“hey,” he spoke up, “we don’t know what happened yet. there’s a chance it’s just a fluke, right? the baby might be okay.”

“what’re the statistics, spencer? tell them to me,” you ordered as tears flowed from your eyes.

“y/n…”

“tell me! why don’t you want me to know?!” you accused him, looking over at the man driving as he but his lower lip. “1 in 4 women who experience bleeding during a pregnancy are fine. 25 percent. the other 75 percent of people have either a miscarriage or serious complications. those are the statistics.”

“y/n…” he sighed, “it’s not your fault. you didn’t want this to happen. besides, there’s still a 25 percent chance that nothings wrong.”

“whatever,” you rolled your eyes and opted to look out of the window for the remainder of the drive to the hospital.

-

“alright,” the doctor entered the room. “we have the results from the test and we’ve examined the ultrasound pictures. i’m so sorry, but you’ve had a miscarriage.”

what were you supposed to feel? an overwhelming sense of sorrow? like a failure? like the one thing you wanted most in the world fell through?

“how-how did this happen?” you spoke through the tears. “we were so-we were careful. i didn’t lift heavy objects, i didn’t do repetitive motions, i just… we tried so hard to make this work,” you shook your head in disapproval, as if you wouldn’t accept the answer that had already been proven to you.

“there’s proof of an abortion when you were a teenager. there was severe damage done to your cervix that wasn’t assessed pre-pregnancy. now, we can repair the damage within the next two months, but it will still be difficult to become pregnant after the surgery,” the female informed you.

“then what’s the point of getting the surgery?” you scoffed, looking at spencer who was just staring off in space.

“while getting pregnant will still be difficult, maintaining the pregnancy is much more likely. the fetus would be more protected and secure after the surgery,” she explained with a pitiful smile, you couldn’t help but wonder how she could smile after giving you the worst news of your life.

“right,” you nodded curtly, allowing her to sense the mood of the conversation.

“i’ll leave you two be. i’m so sorry for your loss,” she gave the both of you a pitiful smile before exiting the room, the only sound audible being the closing of the door.

it didn’t feel real. it felt as though you were in a nightmare. only this time, you wouldn’t wake in spencer’s comforting arms. you wouldn’t hear the soft soothing voice of the man you love trying to calm you down. you wouldn’t feel the solace he would provide by merely being himself in your proximity.

the drive home was eerily quiet. there was an inkling of animosity between you. looking over at spencer in the driver’s seat, he had a dead look on his face, the only sign of previous emotion being his red-rimmed eyes and tear-stained cheeks. he didn’t even look like your spencer. he looked like a stranger in the drivers seat with a cold expression that you could barely read.

you knew this was something you should talk about. when the nurse came back in the room it was only to offer a few referrals go therapists that specialized in this kind of grief. clearly, any couple should talk about losing an unborn baby. but you knew that’s not what spencer was truly upset about.

you waited until you shut the door to your apartment before saying anything.

“maybe we should talk about it?” you whispered, not knowing how he’d react.

“about what? the fact that you’ve lied to me for our entire relationship?!” he wouldn’t even turn around to face you. “i thought we were in this together, y/n. we aren’t supposed to keep secrets from each other - especially not any that just killed our child!”

“hey…” you winced at his words. “why would you say that?”

“that’s the truth! your choices when you were a teenager just killed our child! my child!” he finally turned to face you, and you wished he hadn’t.

“do you think i knew they would botch my abortion, spencer?! do you think that’s what i wanted?!” you stepped closer to him, he sighed and ran a hand through his hair.

“i don’t know what you want anymore, y/n,” he shook his head, clearly exasperated.

“i want you. i want to get the surgery to fix my cervix. i want to grieve our child. i still want kids… with you, spencer,” you tried to ease the mood, calm him down. you reached your hand out to cup his cheek before he dodged your touch, afraid of touching you. “but you don’t want that?” you whispered so quiet, too afraid of the answer to raise your voice.

“i-“ he sighed and bit his lower lip. “i don’t know.”

“right. of course you don’t,” you shook your head before sitting on the couch, dropping your face in your hands.

“what’s that supposed to mean?” he scoffed as he took off his coat.

“it means that: of course, you’re making this about you! it can’t be about us grieving our loss together like the doctor recommended?!” you peeked between your hands at the man you still didn’t recognize.

“maybe we shouldn’t grieve together since we can’t even have a conversation without getting angry at one another,” he tried to reason.

“the only reason i’m getting mad is because you’re blaming me for my baby’s death,” you spat back at the doctor before you.

“because it’s your fault!” he stood strong in his belief. “when you were a teenager, did you or did you not have an abortion?”

“i did,” you admitted.

“and the nurse said that in said abortion, they screwed your cervix up! if you didn’t have that abortion, our child would still be alive! we would be on our way to become happy parents!” he accused, rubbing salt in the already stinging wound. “it’s your fucking fault!”

“stop saying that,” you shook your head and dropped it back in your hands, trying to hide the tears that began to flow down your face.

“it is, y/n! i can’t believe you’re even trying to say this isn’t!” he chuckled, clearly getting under your skin.

“shut up, spencer!”

“i can’t, y/n!” he sat in the chair across from you before standing back up, too hyper to sit. “no wonder it was so hard for you to get pregnant.”

“spencer,” you begged him to stop, meeting his face with your teary eyes.

“y/n,” he stared you in the eyes, and you saw a glimpse of the man you loved for a second before he retreated to the bedroom.

you sat on the couch in confusion of what had just occurred.

when you were 15, you’re boyfriend was adamant about taking your relationship “to the next step.” you didn’t think you were ready to have sex, but you wanted him to stay with you. so, you gave in. it just so happened to be that you were one of the lucky girls that ends up getting pregnant her first time in spite of birth control and a condom. you couldn’t tell your mom about your pregnancy, she’d have your head on a pole.

so, you earned enough money from your job to get an abortion yourself. you went to a clinic and had your boyfriend’s mom come with you to sign as your guardian. was it smart to get an abortion that cheap? probably not. but you had no other choice. your mom had made it abundantly clear that if she caught you fooling around with him that she’d kick you out.

you were 15. you were young and still had to finish high school. there was no support system for you. you would’ve been on the streets with a little baby - not to mention the amount of debt you’d go into for just giving birth to a child in a hospital. it was the only choice.

and now you were being berated for making the only choice you even had - and by the person you loved most in the world.

you curled into yourself on the couch, laying your head on the arm and crying into the fabric. you released all of the tension and turmoil. you held onto the cushions as if it were the man that you wanted - no, needed to comfort you. because as much as you’d hate to admit it and try to fight those thoughts, part of you thought that spencer was right. it was your fault.

you fell asleep on the couch that night. you didn’t have the strength to get up to grab a blanket so you just sucked it up.

spencer didn’t sleep at all. he was used to having you curled into his chest, or himself on yours. he felt terrible about how he had talked to you, but he was too stubborn to admit anything just yet.

in the middle of the night he went out of the room to grab a glass of water. he saw you curled up in a ball, you head resting on the arm of the couch as you slept. it was the most peaceful you looked in the past 24 hours. but you began shivering as you slept. you were probably too exhausted to get up to do anything.

he went to the hall closet on a detour and grabbed your favorite, soft blanket and laid it on top of your body. after placing a soft kiss on your forehead, he went into the kitchen and made his glass of water before taking one more glance at you. you had snuggled into the blanket, pulling it up to your chin with a gentle smile that always appeared when he kissed your forehead as you slept.

maybe he didn’t screw up too badly, after all.

the next few days were spent avoiding one another. spencer couldn’t face you after knowing you had kept something so dire from him for the entirety of your relationship. you couldn’t face him after he made you feel as though it was your fault you lost your baby.

you would stay on the couch all day, barely eating or drinking anything while spencer would go out - only mentioning the library or the office to do more paperwork. eventually he just started sleeping at morgan’s house - probably because he couldn’t stand being around you.

you didn’t know how to grieve your baby, you were hoping that spencer might help, but that clearly won’t be happening. on top of that, you were worrying about your marriage. he couldn’t even look at you, how was he supposed to talk to you and sleep beside you?

a lot of times, it’s perceived that the only reason women were put on this planet were to have children - of course that’s a false notion, but it didn’t make it sting any less. your body had betrayed you. you had betrayed yourself.

it was only 12 days after spencer left when he came back home, if he could call it that anymore. once he walked into the living room, he saw you curled up in that same position on the couch. you had a blank stare that was directed towards the black tv. the only evidence that you were doing something was the empty water bottles surrounding you - certainly not enough considering he’d been gone for over a week.

when he entered you didn’t even flinch. your gaze stayed on the empty screen and your face remained vacant of any emotion.

in all honesty, morgan was the one to tell spencer he should check on you. spencer hadn’t told him everything about your argument, he knew he was in the wrong. but he was just so angry. regardless, he was here now, and it’s a good thing he was.

you hadn’t been taking care of yourself. spencer had morgan and savannah checking on him, but you had nobody. he only realized this when morgan pointed it out. and as upset as he was, spencer would always love you. your expressionless face only worried him more. your clothes had been changed from when he last saw you, but he doubts you’ve had a shower.

he stayed silent as he began picking up the empty water bottles from around the table and couch. you looked at him quizzically with furrowed brows.

“what’re you doing?” you asked, your chin already quivering as tears threatened to stream down your face.

“i’m trying to help,” he whispered as sensitively as he could, making eye contact with the most pitiful face you’d ever seen.

“i think you’ve helped enough,” you rolled your eyes before resuming your serious stare-down with the television. “you can leave.”

“no, i can’t,” he replied, sitting down on the opposite end of the couch while being sure not to touch you - he didn’t know if you were ready for that.

“you already did,” you brought to his attention, briefly looking at him. “just go.”

“y/n, i-“

“i don’t want to hear it! what’re you gonna say that could make me feel worse, spencer?!” you let the tears fall past your waterline. “i know it’s my fault. i know i screwed up! and i’m sorry! i’m so sorry!” you replied with far too much sincerity, the tears streaming down your face before he scooted closer to you, planning on wrapping his arms around you. “stop! don’t come near me!” you pushed his shoulders away. “it’s my fault,” you lowered your voice significantly before wrapping your arms around yourself.

he had called emily as soon as he got back into the bedroom. he knew she had previously had an abortion when she was a teenager, and he just needed to hear her side of it. part of him didn’t even expect her to pick up the phone.

“reid, what’s wrong?” she immediately answered.

“i-i think i need to talk to you,” he whispered in a hushed tone.

“right now?” she asked in a mildly concerned tone.

“if you can? the sooner the better,” he answered honestly.

“alright. you want to meet somewhere or just come over?”

“can i just come over? it’s really personal and i wasn’t sure who else to go to,” he began tying his shoes and hoping she’d agree.

“of course, come on over,” she replied in a worried voice.

“ok. i’ll be there in twenty.”

he quietly left the apartment, not before sparing you a regretful glance. he lost his child, but you also lost your child as well. he just couldn’t control his anger. and partially, he thought he was right.

how could you not have told him about something so serious? the second you had began having issues getting pregnant, maybe you should’ve been open about previous pregnancies.

“hey,” emily greeted before giving him a hug after seeing his teary eyes. “come inside.”

“thanks,” he sniffled before stepping into her apartment.

she guided him into her living room and sat down on the couch beside him. they sat there for a few silent minutes before he was able to work up enough courage.

“y/n was pregnant,” he whispered, barely audible if she weren’t right beside him.

“was,” she pointed out, already feeling as though she knew the rest of the story.

“she uhm-she miscarried two weeks ago,” he somberly admitted for the first time to someone else. “the doctor said it was because she had an abortion when she was a teenager that somehow ruined her cervix.”

“and that’s why you felt like you needed to talk to me?” she gathered, she was a great profiler for a reason but this was far more obvious.

“i was pretty harsh. i-i told her it was her fault,” he bit his lower lip as he grimaced. “i really rubbed it in, too.”

“spencer… “ she sighed, taking a deep breath before continuing. “you’re mourning a life, right now. obviously, that would raise tensions and emotions would be heightened. but… have you apologized? for telling her it was her fault?”

“no?” he replied after thinking about it. “i was going to do that today but she’s… she’s not in good shape. i’m not saying she needs to be perfect, but while i was at derek’s i can tell she didn’t take care of herself. she barely drank any water.”

“did you ask her why she had an abortion? why she didn’t tell you? did you ask her anything about how she’s feeling?” emily asked once more.

“no,” he cowered down, feeling even worse about the truthful answer. “i was just… selfish. i didn’t think about how she’s feeling. i just-i feel so bad now, seeing what state she’s in.”

“when i got an abortion it was because i wasn’t ready for a child,” she began to inform him. “i was a child, myself. how was a child supposed to take care of another one? my mother would’ve been disgraced. i basically had nobody there for me. i kept it a secret because having an abortion is so controversial. i knew people would look at me differently for making a responsible decision for my future.”

“god, i feel so bad,” he began to tear up himself. “i love her so much and i told her these horrible things.”

“make it right, spencer,” she gave him a supportive smile and pat his thigh before he stood up.

“i-i have to go,” he wiped the tears from his face before giving emily a hug, grateful she would listen to him at such an ungodly hour.

he quickly drove back home, where he decidedly belonged in the first place. he never should’ve left home. he never should’ve left you. you were his home, and he didn’t know how he could possibly lose sight of that.

“y/n,” he cooed as he entered the apartment once more. it was noticeably a bit more clean. the trash was taken out, the dishes were done, and your hair was wet from a shower - he assumed. “hey,” he smiled when he saw you sitting on the bed, cheeks still red and tear-stained with red, puffy eyes.

“hi,” you sighed as you brushed your hair, spencer sat down beside you.

“how’re you feeling?” you shrugged. “i need to apologize to you,” he admitted, placing a hand on your thigh. “i’m so, so sorry for what i said. telling you that it’s your fault that we lost our child… i-there’s no excuse. i was clearly upset, but so were you. what i said was so out of line, and i’ll never be able to express how sorry i am to you.”

“you’re right,” you shrugged. “it was my fault.”

“no,” he rubbed his thumb on your skin. “it was not your fault. i’m so sorry i made you believe that.”

“when i was 15 my boyfriend at the time pressured me to have sex. we used a condom and i was in birth control but i still-i still ended up pregnant,” you began, taking a deep breath before continuing. “i couldn’t tell my mom because she would’ve kicked me out, so i saved up some money and had his mom take me to a cheap clinic. she signed as my mom and i got the procedure done. that was the end of it,” you finished tears streaming down your face. “a few weeks after the procedure i started having pains in like my lower back, but i didn’t think anything of it. so… it is my fault. i shouldn’t have gone to a cheap clinic, but i couldn’t live on the streets with a baby and no way to clothe or feed them.”

“y/n,” he got your attention, wiping the tears from your cheeks. “you were a teenager who had no other choice, love. it’s not your fault, it’s the clinic’s.”

“i just… it hurts so bad, spencer,” you shook your head in defeat before he wrapped his arms around you. “not even just emotionally, my body physically hurts so bad. i don’t know what to do and i thought i lost you and i didn’t know what i would do without you because i didn’t think you loved me anymore because it’s my fault,” you ranted out, sobbing into his shoulder before he moved the two of you around the bed to lay down, you on his chest.

“i’m so sorry you had to go through that, and that you’re still dealing with the repercussions,” he pressed a kiss to your forehead. “but know that i’m not leaving you. i love you and nothing will ever change that.”

“there’s nothing we can do now,” you whined, clutching to his shirt as if he’d disappear once more.

“we can go to the recommended therapy. we can get that surgery to fix your cervix,” he reminded you, rubbing circles onto your back as you sniffled. “then, if you’d like, we could try again for a baby.”

“so you still want to be with me?” you whispered by his ear, clearly worried of the answer.

“of course i do,” he said as if there were no other option; there wasn’t. “i’m so, so sorry, love.”

“the reason i didn’t tell you is because,” you sighed as you shuffled on top of spencer, now sitting on his lap and facing him. “because there’s this stigma that comes with having an abortion - and i didn’t know how you’d react. i also didn’t know it didn’t go well in the first place, but that’s a different story,” you chuckled. “i’m sorry. i should’ve told you about something so serious.”

“you don’t have to apologize,” he brushed a strand of hair from your face. “that was from your past. this is our future, we shouldn’t get caught up on it and allow it to ruin this.”

you nodded, “you’re right. are-are you staying here, now? or are you going back to derek’s?” there was an obvious look of hope in your eye that spencer never planned on squashing.

“i’m staying here,” he smiled. “home. you’re my home.”

“you’re so cheesy,” you rolled your eyes as a laugh left your lips.

“i’ve missed your smile,” he pressed a kiss to those very lips, your smile not going away but growing even bigger.

“i’ve missed you,” you pointed at his chest. “please don’t leave again.”

“i won’t. ever again,” you held your pinky out, he smiled and wrapped his own around it. “i’m so sorry.”

“we’ll work at it,” you sighed. “we’ll build back the trust and fix my stupid cervix and then maybe try again for a baby.”

over the next few months spencer and you had been going to therapy once a week, mourning the loss of your baby and working through your other issues.

five months after you found out about the miscarriage, you had the surgery to fix your cervix.

one year after you fixed your cervix you and spencer began talking about having a child. you were extremely nervous, rightfully so. you voiced your concerns to spencer about what if the surgery didn’t work? what if your cervix wasn’t the only issue? and he replied by reminding you that you would both take this one step at a time.

seven months after having the conversation with spencer about having children, a miracle had caught up to you.

you were pregnant.

taglist:

@averyhotchner

@greenprisca

@muffin-cup

@spenxerslut

@spencerreid9

@spencyreidpls

@spencerreid9

@spencersmagic

@calm-and-doctor

@the-local-pendeja

@spencersrose

@spencersmagic

@shemarmooresfedora

@pastelbabygirl19

if you’d like to be added to the taglist, please don’t hesitate to message me or leave a comment!

[queenshelby]

My Friend’s Father (Part Five)

Pairing: Cillian Murphy x Reader

Warning: Age Gap, Mild Sexual References

Words: 1,848

Notes:

I have decided to make this into a series.

Alright, no judgment. This was a dream of mine and I felt like I had to write it down. Everyone in this Fic is over the age of 18 and this Fic is in no way based on Cillian’s real family life. It’s pure filth.

 *************************

YOUR POV

Two weeks had passed since you visited your friend Denise in Dublin and it was time for the annual Galway Arts Festival.

Denise had been working on a photography project for the past year and had been nominated for a student award in Galway as part of which ten of her photographs were being displayed during the Arts Festival.

Whilst, as you had expected, Cillian didn’t contact you, you knew that he would be there to support his daughter. Being an artist himself, he was very proud of her and her work and he supported her projects not only mentally but also financially with the caveat that she would finish her degree at Trinity College.

Unlike him, he didn’t want her to drop out of university even though she hated it and you certainly understood his reasoning.

Contrary to Denise, you had no creative bone in your body. You enjoyed art and theatre, but weren’t an artist or performer yourself. Instead, you were an A Grade Law Student who had become rather bored in Galway and had recently applied for a scholarship to Oxford University.

Reading was your passion and you had always been known as a geek. In school, you were the girl that no one liked, nerdy, not interested in fashion or social media and wearing braces, which, luckily, had been removed three years ago.

You were shy and it was only for Denise that you came out of your shell. She was popular in school, mostly due to her name, but also because she was generally confident and, over the years, she helped you gain confidence especially after you had left high school.

But, today, you knew you would be questioning your gained confidence once again since, first of all, you would be seeing Cillian again and the truth was that you couldn’t stop thinking about him in an intimate way and, secondly, you were featured completely naked on some of Denise’s photographs.

Whilst the photographs were artistic and not sexual in any way and your most intimate part wasn’t visible on them, it bothered you knowing that people you disliked would see you so vulnerable and you couldn’t remember why you had agreed to being photographed like that.

The other woman who Denise chose to photograph was Amalie. She was 23 and had been Denise’s friend for a while as well but, unlike you, she began modelling professionally when she was just 16. You all went to the same private school together and, clearly, her lifestyle had been largely financed by her parents. She always wore expensive clothes and had no interest in pursuing a career other than modelling, which barely sustained her lifestyle considering the few small jobs she got.

***

Just as you served your last cup of coffee to an elderly lady sitting in the corner of the café you were working at, you saw Denise, Amalie and two other friends of Denise walk in.

‘Hey guys, take a seat. I will be right with you. I am just about to finish my shift’ you said as you hung up your apron.

‘Please tell me you will get changed before the Gallery opening tonight?’ Amalie asked somewhat weirdly and you couldn’t help but roll your eyes as you sat down at the table with her, Denise and the others before ordering some coffees for yourselves.

‘No, I thought I would go like this’ you said sarcastically, looking down at your coffee-stained clothes.

‘I bought a dress for tonight’ you then said, after Amalie didn’t seem to sense your sarcasm.

‘Right’ she then said as she flicked through Instagram and you simply looked at Denise who shrug her shoulders.

‘What are you looking for?’ you asked curiously as her eyes seemed to be glued to her phone.

‘She is looking to find more photos of my dad and Laura Jennings’ Denise said, rolling her eyes.

‘Laura Jennings, as in the actress?’ you asked, causing Amalie to nod.

‘Yes, apparently they have been dating’ Amalie then confirmed, causing you to swallow harshly. You knew that you shouldn’t care but you couldn’t help it. Knowing that Cillian was seeing someone made you feel ill.  

‘And you care about that why?’ you then asked Amalie after an uncomfortable shiver ran down your spine.

‘Apparently, just like you, Amalie thinks my dad is a DILF’ Denise huffed out before telling you how disgusting you all were.

‘Well, he is though…he is super hot’ Amalie then joked before carrying on. ‘And I don’t understand how you don’t know about Laura Jennings and whether this is true or not. You need to find out’ Amalie then said but Denise simply shook her head.

‘My father doesn’t share this sort of stuff with me and I certainly don’t want to know about his sex life, thank you very much. In so far as I am concerned, he doesn’t have sex, ever…yuck! Also, I would appreciate if you could not talk about my dad anymore, please. It grosses me out’ Denise said and you knew that, all of this had become a common occurrence ever since the day the first episode of Peaky Blinders aired on BBC, a show which Denise refuses to watch herself because of the heavy sexual content and a show which you, only a week ago, had begun to binge watch.

Cillian’s POV

When Cillian walked into the basement after you had left, he immediately saw the small folded up note you had left him but, reading it, made him somewhat uncomfortable.

He was torn about what to do with it and certainly knew that he should ignore it. He couldn’t see you again even if he wanted to.

The fact that you were 23 years younger than him and that you were his daughter’s best friend made it all wrong and highly inappropriate and he didn’t know what had gotten into him in the first place when he gave into you.

He had never felt attracted towards you in any sort of way until that last visit which was the first time had seen you since you and your family had moved away.

You changed in many ways and he wasn’t sure what it was that he liked about you. But what he knew was that it was more than just sexual attraction, which was usually something he knew how to supress.

With that in mind, he placed your note into his wallet and decided to ignore it for now. But he couldn’t quite bring himself to throw it out.

***

With his bags packed it was time for him to return to Manchester and resume filming of the final season of Peaky Blinders.

The first week of filming went well and Cillian decided to spend the weekend with his friend, fellow actress Laura Jennings. Cillian and her had developed a friend with benefits sort of relationship. No strings attached and no feelings involved. After his divorce from Denise’s mother, he wasn’t ready for anything else and Laura would certainly not have been the type of woman he would have wanted a relationship with in the first place.

Unlike him, she wasn’t press shy and, whilst they kept their arrangement a secret as best as they could, she was otherwise quite active on social media.

Cillian, on the other hand, only maintained a private Instagram account with the sole purpose of being able to check on his children. Whilst they were adults, he was still worried about them, especially Denise who had recently gotten herself in a lot of trouble after distancing herself from this Jeremy boy.

***

‘Another wine?’ Laura asked as Cillian was relaxing on top of the doonas, wearing nothing but his black Calvin Klein briefs, after they had spent the last hour doing exactly what friends with benefits would do after not having seen each other for over two weeks due to busy filming schedules.

‘Yes please…thanks’ he responded as he reached for his phone after a notification had popped up.

It was his daughter Denise who had posted on Instagram and, since she hadn’t posted for a while, he decided to check it out, hoping that she wasn’t with Jeremy again.

To his surprise, three new pictures of Denise and her friends showed up when he opened the APP and, one of them, there was you.

In the picture, you were wearing accompanied by a man in his late twenties, wearing a suit while you were wearing a dark blue dress and he couldn’t help but wonder who the man by your side was.

You looked simply stunning, with your hair long and open and your shoulders exposed. You were wearing only a little bit of make up and showed your beautiful smile.  

‘There you go Mr Murphy’ Laura then said as she returned to the bedroom with another glass of wine, pulling Cillian’s phone out of his hand and climbing on top of him.

‘Round Two?’ she then asked eagerly as she reached for another condom, but Cillian’s thoughts were elsewhere entirely.

‘Maybe tomorrow, I am tired. It has been a long week, sorry’ he explained, causing Laura to pout with disappointment.

But the second round never eventuated as Cillian left Laura’s house the following morning to drive back to Manchester to resume filming.

On his way back to Manchester, he called his daughter Denise to check on her and while he did, he enquired about your companion on the Instagram posts.

‘Why do you want to know?’ Denise asked somewhat confused but Cillian played it cool.

‘He looks familiar, that’s all. Didn’t he go to your school?’ he then asked, playing dumb.

‘Oh god no, he is 29. His name is Connor and he is an accountant. Y/N wouldn’t date anyone our age. You know she isn’t a normal 21-year-old’ Denise joked, referring to your nerdiness and intellect.

‘Apparently not’ Cillian chuckled before asking another question about the stranger on the picture. ‘So, they are dating?’ he asked.

‘I think they went on two or three dates or something. Why do you care?’ Denise asked.

‘No reason. I was just wondering’ Cillian confirmed before changing the topic.

   Tag List:

@lilymurphy03@deefigs @theflamecrystal @desperate-and-broken @weepingstudentfishhorse @livinginfantaxy @rosey1981 @atomicsoulcollecto @peakyboyslover @nerdy4itall@elenavampire21 @hanster1998@mariapaiva13 @fairypitou @harry-is-your-sunflower @zozeebo @lauren-raines-x @kasaikawa @littlewierdalien @sad-huffle-nerd @theflamecrystal @peakymalfoyscullymulder @themissthang@0ghostwriter0 @stylescanbeatmyback @1-800-peakyblinders @datewithgianni @momoneymolife @ntmynouis @lilymurphy03 @mcntsee@cloudofdisney@missymurphy1985 @peakymalfoyscullymulder @otterly-fey @janelongxox @uchihacumdump @basiclassy @being-worthy @chaotic-bean-of-smolness @margoo0 @chocolatehalo @vhscillian @ysmmsy @littlewierdalien @crazymar15  @stickyknightflowerbailiff @im-constantly-fangirling @goldensunflowe-r  @tellingyouastory  @captivatedbycillianmurphy​  @namelesslosers​  @littlewhiterose​  @ttzamara​  @ttzamara @cilleveryone  ​

@peaky-cillian​

@severewobblerlightdragon​  @ysmmsy​  

[fruitcoops]

I was wondering if I could request something? Maybe Sirius' first night at the Dumais' place and Dumo can straight away tell that somethings wrong. Sirius makes polite conversation and it all looks so painful until he retires for the night and Dumo passes by his room and he hears Sirius crying maybe? Because of what his mother said, and maybe because he has trouble adjusting to new situations? Just an idea that popped into my head :) Only if you want to write it <3 Thank you

Yes, I can! I love writing Dumo, but for some reason I don't do it that often--his and Sirius' dynamic is just so wholesome and wonderful. SW credit goes to @lumosinlove!

TW for implied child abuse and broken glass (no injury)

The first thing Pascal Dumais noticed about Sirius Black was how quiet he was. At only eighteen years old, Sirius was taller than most of the other Lions, with broad shoulders and gangly limbs. Yet he moved almost silently, padding along the wood floors in his socks and speaking only when spoken to. It was…honestly, a bit unsettling.

Dumo had expected a rambunctious teenage boy, still high on the thrill of being drafted to the NHL—instead, he found himself the guardian-slash-landlord of a ghost. Sirius unloaded his meager belongings with little fuss and accepted no help, his pale eyes never lingering on either of them for too long.

Celeste poked her head into the living room in the early afternoon when they returned from the grocery store; Sirius was sitting ramrod straight in the smallest chair they had with a thick book in his hands. She knocked gently on the doorframe, and he jumped. “Sirius, would you like some lunch?”

“I don’t want to be any trouble,” he said in that unusually soft voice.

“It’s no trouble,” she assured him.

“I can make myself a sandwich if you have other things to do. Really, I’m alright.”

“When was the last time you ate?”

Sirius blinked, as if he hadn’t expected her to ask, then glanced at the clock on the wall. “I had breakfast at seven and a granola bar on the plane.”

“Sirius, it’s almost two.”

“Is it?”

“Come with me for a moment, oui?” She ushered him into the kitchen; Dumo wasn’t sure he would ever get used to seeing someone so physically imposing walk so small.

“Papa?” Someone tugged on the hem of his shirt and he snapped out of his daze, leaning down to lift Adele into his arms with a smile.

“Bonjour, mon chou! Did you have fun outside?” She nodded, wiggling a little in her excitement, and put her hands on either side of his face. Dumo’s stomach sank. “Why are your hands wet?”

“I washed them!”

“Why?”

“Because we played with chalk!”

Both the boys were at day camp, and Katie was down for her afternoon nap. Dumo wracked his brain. “Who were you playing with?”

“Sirius!” she giggled, then held the front of her shirt out. Wasn’t she wearing a different one this morning?“An’ he said chalk stains, so he lifted me up so I could wash my hands and helped me get my new shirt on when it got stuck and let me braid his hair! Can we keep him? Please, Papa, I wanna keep him forever!”

Dumo kissed her forehead as a wave of emotion tickled the back of his throat. Less than six hours in their home, and Sirius was already connecting with his children. “Oui, we can. Did you say thank you?”

Adele bit her lower lip. “I don’t remember.”

“Sirius?” Dumo called. The clanking in the kitchen stopped. “Can you come here for a moment?”

There was a beat of silence before he appeared in the doorway, looking paler than before as he walked over to them. This boy needs to eat more, the parental part of Dumo’s brain thought instantly. Slate-grey eyes flickered between them. “She—she had chalk on her shirt. I’m sorry, I should have asked.”

“It’s alright. What do you say?” Dumo asked, turning to Adele.

She turned a beaming smile on Sirius. “Thank you!”

His whole face softened in the blink of an eye and he smiled back, giving her a light fist bump. “Pas de problem, petit papillon.”

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

Sirius opened up a bit over lunch; Adele perched herself right in his lap with her peanut butter sandwich to his clear astonishment, but his smiles came easier after that and Dumo treasured each one. He was already grateful that Sirius did not seem like the type of asshole player that Dumo remembered from his high school years.

Marc and Louis returned to the house just as they finished, and though Sirius offered to help wash the dishes—the boy was a blessing, really—they shooed him off to play with the kids for a while. It would do them all some good to get out in the sun.

“Quiet, isn’t he?” Celeste remarked as they stood side-by-side at the sink. Her tone was casual, but Dumo saw the worry in her eyes.

He hummed in agreement. “He’s probably just nervous, mon amour. They can take a while to warm up.”

“Pascal, I don’t think—”

The sound of shattering glass echoed from the other room. The house held its breath. “Is everyone alright?” Dumo called, drying his hands on the nearest towel as his pulse picked up. “What happened?”

Hushed whispers floated out, followed by the pitter-patter of little feet. He hurried down the hall with Celeste hot on his heels. “I’m so sorry,” Sirius said as they entered the room. He was kneeling on the wood floor, gathering fragments of a small water glass in one palm. “It was my fault. I hit it with my elbow.”

Celeste frowned. “Boys? Adele? I know you were here.”

Dumo didn’t miss Sirius’ hard swallow, nor the sudden nervousness—no, that was fear—on his face as the three kids crept out from around the corner, looking guiltier than anything. Adele stepped forward, but Sirius stood in a smooth, instinctive motion, keeping her behind him. “It was my fault,” he repeated. Dumo’s heart sank.

“Adele, is that true?”

She looked up toward Sirius, who kept his broad hand ever so slightly in front of her shoulder. Celeste raised an eyebrow. “Adele Marie, tell the truth.”

“No,” she said.

“Come here, please.” Dumo watched Sirius’ breaths go shallow as Celeste beckoned to Adele, but confusion took its place when she crouched to her level. “Thank you. What Sirius did was very nice, but we don’t let other people take the fall for our mistakes in this house, Adele. We accept responsibility. Who broke the cup?”

“I was chasing Marc and we both bumped into the table,” Adele confessed, toying with the hem of her butterfly-patterned shirt. “It was an accident, I promise.”

“Did anyone get hit by the glass?” Dumo asked. All three shook their heads. “Sirius?”

He cleared his throat. “No, Mr. Dumais.”

“Marc, Adele, I want you to find the broom and dustpan so your mother and I can clean this up. Thank you for being honest. Sirius, there’s a trash can in the kitchen, but be careful of the sharp edges. And please, call me Pascal or Dumo.”

But he didn’t stop thinking about the visible alarm on Sirius’ face when Celeste brought Adele forward all afternoon. Something was not right.

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

If it wasn’t for the baby, Dumo would not have heard it.

Katie woke around midnight with a quiet whine, which devolved into whimpering, and finally into full-out sobbing for over half an hour. He carried her downstairs so she wouldn’t wake the others and gently rocked her, humming lullabies under his breath until his throat was dry and her tears abated. “There’s my good girl,” he murmured, drying her pudgy cheeks with his sleeve.

The last bits of sleep faded away as he set her down in her crib again, and he sighed. The season didn’t start for more than a month, but he had been looking forward to a few consecutive nights of solid rest before then.

May as well check on the others, he thought, wandering down the hallway in his thickest socks and bathrobe to stave off the nighttime chill. Marc and Louis were each out cold; he took the open book splayed across Marc’s bed and set it on his dresser, turning the lamp off as he left. Adele was curled into a tight ball around no less than four of her precious stuffed animals and he tucked the blankets back over her shoulder.

Dumo’s feet carried him down the stairs before his brain fully caught up, and he paused—Sirius had been in their house for a single day, and already he had the urge to look out for him. The thought should have made him feel silly, but instead he felt…peaceful. He felt right. There was a lost and near-silent boy in his home, who protected his kids within hours of knowing them. Of course Dumo was going to make sure he was alright.

Summer wind rushed past the wide windows as he headed toward the basement. It was warmer there, and he took a moment to mentally pat himself on the back for remodeling two years prior. Hopefully, Sirius would be comfortable.

A soft sound broke through his thoughts. Dumo stopped on the last step.

There was a harsh breath, then a sniffle, as if the person inside was trying and failing to keep their tears in past the point of no return. He heard a few shaky, weak inhales, then a choked noise that cut off abruptly with a gulp.

Dumo closed his eyes to hold back tears of his own and knocked lightly on the bedroom door.

Everything went silent with a rustle.

“Sirius?” he whispered, raising his voice just enough to be heard through the door. “Are you awake?”

There was no answer.

“Can I come in?” he ventured.

An unsteady voice answered. “Ouais.”

The door creaked a little as he opened it and stepped into the dark room. Sirius was nothing more than a clump of shadows on the far side of the bed, squished tight against the wall with all his blankets wrapped around him. “What happened?”

“Nothing. Je vais bien.”

“Can I sit?” Dumo fully expected Sirius to tell him ‘no’, to make an excuse, to pull some arrogant teenager nonsense.

Instead, he tucked his legs up and made room near the foot of the bed with another sniffle. “Did I wake you?”

“Non. Katie was crying, and I thought I’d check on everyone.” He settled down and scooted until his back was against the wall as well—Sirius was still hiding in a cocoon of his duvet, but his hand came up to wipe his face. “Do you want to talk?”

“About what?”

“You seem upset. I know the homesickness is hard for the first few days, but—”

“No.” The vehemence of Sirius’ answer shocked him into silence. “No. I’m not homesick. I just—so much has happened, and I—it’s—this is everything I wanted, right here, and—”

He broke off with a wounded noise that broke Dumo’s poor heart right down the middle. He moved closer until their shoulders touched; to his surprise, Sirius leaned on him and shivered. “How can I help you?” Dumo asked quietly.

“Your family…” Sirius shook his head and drew the covers tighter. “You have a beautiful family. You should be proud of them.”

“I am, every day.”

“Your kids love you so much.” It was barely more than a whisper.

Dumo sighed through his nose. “I know.”

“No, you don’t, they—you’re their hero. And not because of hockey.”

That was Dumo’s dream, laid out right in front of him. If someone he hardly knew could see that, then it must be true. The impact was greater than he ever could have imagined; his lungs felt tight. “Thank you. Is it alright if I ask you something?”

Sirius stiffened slightly.

“You’re not in trouble, and you don’t have to answer if you don’t want to. I’m just…worried.”

He felt Sirius shift. “This is about the glass.” It wasn’t a question.

“Oui.” Dumo searched for the words and scrounged up any sliver of tact he could find. “Sirius, do you—what happens when you break a glass at your house?”

Sirius’ breath rushed from his lungs in a near-silent sob. Dumo gathered him close in his arms and held him, letting tears dampen his shoulder as he murmured soft reassurances in French. “I’m sorry,” Sirius croaked, though he did not move away. “I’m sorry for—for intruding, and for ruining your shirt—”

“You have nothing to be sorry for.” Dumo gave him a light squeeze of comfort and felt him go a bit boneless. “And you are not intruding. We love having you here with us.”

“Really?”

He sounded so unsure. So young. Dumo wished he could take away whatever horrible things had been said to ever make someone so kind feel so small. “Yes. Adele, especially.”

“She’s so…colorful.” Fondness dripped from every word.

“She is,” Dumo agreed. “She came running up to me, and went ‘papa, papa, can we keep him?’”

Sirius laughed a little at his imitation and straightened up, drying his eyes on his hoodie sleeve. They sat quietly for a while until the shaking stopped and his death grip on the comforter loosened. “Thank you, Mr. Dumais.”

“Call me Pascal, or Dumo if you like. ‘Mr. Dumais’ makes me sound like a grandfather.” They laughed together, then fell silent once more. “And you’re welcome. Any time you need help, you can come to me. I might not be your father, but—”

“You’re better,” Sirius interrupted, wiping his nose. His shadow turned to face Dumo in the dark, and though he couldn’t see his face, he could picture the earnest expression. “In every way. Please don’t tell anyone about this, though.”

“It never even crossed my mind,” Dumo answered honestly. “I should let you sleep now. We have some busy weeks ahead of us, eh?”

“Bonne nuit, M—Dumo.” The name carried new weight and he let it sink in as Sirius laid back down and kicked his blankets back into place. Something told him this was the beginning of a very interesting story.

“Bonne nuit, Sirius. Welcome to our home.”

[faulty-writes]

This is a little different than most of my other works, but I'm trying to branch out and write for more of the secondary or minor characters. I actually adore the Todoroki family, especially Fuyumi and Natsuo. So I hope you guys enjoy this little appreciation piece featuring Natsuo who no doubt deserves more love considering he's a very interesting and complex character, at least in my opinion.

[ Natsuo is known as 'the nice guy' on campus despite also being recognized as a "Todoroki" and many knowing of the relation he holds to the number one hero, Endeavor. He's had plenty of experiences where people have used him because of this, but the latest one leaves him a tad heartbroken. What other choice does he have but to run to you? ]

The sound of his abnormally thick tears landing on the tiled flooring of the hallway faintly echoed as he continued on his way. Ignoring all the looks and obvious gossip that would come with the fact he was so shamelessly crying in the middle of a school day.

A sniffle came as Natsuo reached up and with some force, wiped his right eye with the end of his signature gray hoodie sleeve which he normally wore on campus. The very campus he had grown to love over the past year and the one Fuyumi had insisted he go to in order to study medical welfare.

It was funny, he could still hear her words echoing in his head, ‘Leave our family circumstances to me and go do what you want to pursue,’ and that he did. He knew he shouldn’t have been surprised that his sister offered to take the brunt of their family problems and encourage him to do what made him happy.

But at the same time, Natsuo hadn’t originally wanted to leave his sister or youngest brother behind. He didn’t trust their well-being with ‘Endeavor’ around, despite his mother having long since recovered from the mental and physical abuse the so-called "number one hero" put her through.

Since the death of his eldest brother, Touya. He couldn't shake this protective and anxiety-ridden feeling that had been slowly growing inside of him. He'd be damned if anything happened to his remaining siblings, even if it meant he'd experience more emotional trauma in the long run.

Much like today. College was supposed to be a fun time, and while Natsuo understood that some enjoyed ‘experimenting’ and partying rather than studying. He was never much of the party type and while he knew he was attracted to other genders, he never outwardly acted on it.

Knowing how his father treated his mother was the one thing that drove him to desire a true romantic relationship and that was what he thought he had. Unfortunately, there was a cruel reality that came with being the son of Endeavor, and while he should be used to people trying to get close to him when they found this out.

He never thought they would sink so low as to try and date him on the off-chance they'd get to meet the number one hero. His fingers sunk into the front of his hoodie, twisting the fabric as a soft ache coursed through his chest.

Which he could only describe as a broken heart and despite wanting to go back to his own room, bury his face into a pillow, and hide under his covers. There was one person he wanted, no needed, to see. It wasn’t his mother or sister, not even his youngest brother. It was you.

Strangely, since the start of his first year in college. He seemed to gravitate towards you, at first he believed it was only due to the fact that you were also studying something related to the medical field. But as your friendship continued and he got to spend more time with you, he realized that he genuinely enjoyed your company.

The fact he found himself telling you things, secrets that he wouldn’t have thought of sharing outside of his family was a pleasant surprise. Maybe you were just easy to talk to? He wasn’t sure, but he did know that unlike most.

You weren’t going to use him just because of his relation to Endeavor, though he knew you were interested in hero studies. There was no worry in his mind that you’d use him for some hero-related advantage.

Another sniffle came before he reached up to once more wipe away his tears, even if his effort was in vain considering more just came. He took a deep breath, trying to both collect and center himself. ‘Man, this backpack feels heavy,’ he thought as he clenched his jaw and focused his attention on the floor.

Counting the familiar shapes in the tile that he knew would eventually lead to your room. The logical reason for his backpack feeling so heavy was due to the fact it was filled to the brim with various textbooks and a few notebooks that were scribbled with his writing.

He could feel the slight bitter sting of frost beginning to grow on his tear-stained cheeks which he ignored for the moment. Still, he wiped his eyes once more before picking up his pace. He soon began to speedwalk which turned into a jog which eventually led him to frantically running and accidentally stumbling into your door.

Once more, he seemed to get stares from the passersby. But in a way, he couldn’t blame them. He wasn’t even sure how he looked slumped against another student's door with his arms stretched above his head and his hands closed into fists.

His forehead was pressed against your door and his tears continued to slowly fall. His eyebrows came down and for a moment, he wondered what he was doing before the door suddenly opened. “Hel-” your sentence came to a stop when the white-haired boy stumbled forward and your hands instantly grasped his arms.

Your stance stiffening as you unconsciously seemed determined to stop him from falling. One of your legs was bent back, and the other bent forward. An awkward silence filled the air before you heard the soft sound of something hitting the wooden floor of your room.

It reminded you of water and a few seconds later, Natsuo lifted his head. You instantly noticed those tears and felt his hands curl into the front of your shirt, funny you hadn’t noticed or felt the pressure of his hands there before.

But in a way it made sense, Natsuo was always very gentle. Even when handling the few people who volunteered to pretend to be "patients" during his medical welfare classes. In fact, it seemed he was downright cautious when it came to others.

Never necessarily wanting to cause trouble and sometimes acting rather shy unless you happened to bring up a topic he didn’t like. You had long since learned the reason why he preferred to keep the topic of ‘family’ out of conversations.

Yet, you wondered if Natsuo was crying because of something related to just that. But you knew you shouldn’t jump to conclusions just yet. Still, you couldn’t help but look into those blue orbs of his. The look of hurt was clearly visible, not only in his eyes but also indicated by the way his face was twisted.

Then he leaned forward, allowing a soft whimper to escape in the process. Partly burying his face into the front of your shirt as he lifted his leg up. Then without warning, he slammed his foot against the floor. Which caused you to jump, but you didn’t dare release Natsuo.

Especially as his tears soaked into the fabric of your shirt, unlike most Natsuo's tears were always cold. You assumed it was due to his quirk, but before you could say anything the sound of Natsuo’s cracked and broken voice caught your attention.

“D-Damn it,” the stuttered words filled the air and you frowned, wanting nothing more than to run your fingers through that white snow-like hair of his before you glanced back up. Noticing a few people staring into your doorway, you honestly didn’t know why they were staring or why they weren’t minding their own business.

But you did know that something was clearly wrong with Natsuo and whatever that something was caused this reaction. You shot the bystanders a glare before focusing back on Natsuo. You opened your mouth to speak, but were interrupted by the sound of his voice once more.

“I...am so sick of this,” his words, of course only confused you. What was he sick of and how did it relate to his current state? You managed to straighten out your legs, however, Natsuo continued to cling to you.

His tears hadn’t ceased nor those soft almost desperately gasps for breath. “I’m sorry,” he suddenly said before he turned to look over his shoulder. His hands remained curled into the front of your shirt as he looked at the many people staring at the two of you.

Some seemed curious as to what was happening and others amused to see the almost grown man crying in the arms of his friend. With more strength than he intended, he once more lifted his foot and slammed your door shut.

The noise it created echoed through your room and though Natsuo felt guilty for having treated your door in such a manner, his chest was already aching profusely. When he turned back to face you, the fact he had small bits of ice underneath his eyes and on the skin of his cheeks didn't go unnoticed by you.

Your hands left their position on Natsuo’s forearms to gently cup his face, it shouldn’t be a surprise that he was cold to the touch. You knew that was yet again another semi-harmless side effect due to his quirk, despite the fact you had never actually seen him use it.

Part of you wondered why that was. Still, you couldn’t help but allow your thumbs to run over those specs of ice stuck to his moist cold cheeks and the desire to get a warm hand towel to clean his face was strong.

You weren’t sure if you wanted to ask what happened first or calm him down enough so he would tell you with as little of a fight as possible. Your touch was welcomed as Natsuo reached up and laid one of his hands over yours.

“Do you...want to sit down?” you questioned and Natsuo looked momentarily confused before he glanced away as if he were thinking about something. Sometimes when he acted like this, it annoyed you. You knew how guilty Natsuo could feel over things that he either shouldn’t or weren’t even his fault.

He was here crying into your arms, but you knew somehow he'd make up a reason to feel guilty about it. ‘Well, that isn’t going to happen today,’ you thought as you released his face and reached down to take hold of one of his hands.

Even though they too were always cold, you couldn't help but find some odd sense of comfort when you were holding him by the hand. Despite the fact, Natsuo was significantly larger than you. But, you assumed that was only due to the fact that he physically took after his father.

The fact he went to the gym daily only added to that overall intimidating stature of his. Regardless, you squeezed his hand in reassurance as you guided him towards your bed. He made no move to resist your guidance and once you had him sitting down, you gently laid your hands on his shoulders.

Those tears were now single drops that slowly slid down his icy cheeks and you'd be lying if you stated it didn't hurt seeing Natsuo like this. You took a deep breath. “Stay here,” you instructed, “I’m going to get a warm towel, you have ice on your face,” Natsuo seemed rather surprised and reached up to touch his cheek.

Using his thumb to glide along the skin and sure enough, he could feel the smooth surface of the small patches of ice. “Oh…” he said before a sniffle came. “Sorry,” though most would know not to apologize for something beyond their control.

Still, he couldn’t help but fold his hands into his lap. Squeezing them between his thighs. His feet were nervously tapping against the floor, creating a rhythmic pattern and if one listened carefully enough, they’d recognize it was the pattern of a standard heartbeat.

In a way, it was amazing how much subconscious knowledge you could obtain. Natsuo failed to notice the rhythmic pattern, but you could hear it clear as day even from the bathroom where you proceeded to ring out the warm hand towel.

A soft groan escaped him, and his thighs were the only thing keeping his hands in place. Else he would be running them through his unusual spiky hair and possibly pulling it out. ‘What am I even doing here man?!’ he frantically thought.

‘Y/n...is always the person I run to, I keep bothering them but I’d rather be like this than…’ his jaw clenched when the thought of Endeavor entered his mind and a soft growl rumbled in his throat before he heard your footsteps which prompted him to raise his head.

You noticed he was looking at the wet towel you held with an expression only a curious and slightly confused child would make. “Mm,” once more he looked away, feeling the guilt continue to build as you sat down next to him and laughed.

"Don’t tell me you’re feeling guilty again,” you stated, and not to your surprise, Natsuo turned his head to look at you. His tears seemed to be completely dry and you wondered if that was because he was here with you or that he simply overworked his tear ducts.

“Sorry,” he muttered, still focused on the towel you held and the small amount of steam that seeped from it. “I...get it's kind of crazy for me to keep running to you but-” you shook your head, quickly interrupting him.

“But nothing,” you replied as you leaned forward, “that’s what friends do and you and I have been friends since the start of our freshman year,” that had to count for something, right? You reached over, cupping one side of Natsuo’s face.

“Now stay still, I want to get that ice off your face, and then you can tell me what’s bothering you,” the words left your mouth almost like a friendly command. But like most of the time, Natsuo didn’t seem to take offense.

He simply nodded and gave you a look that you knew meant he understood. Very gently, you pressed the towel to his face. Applying some pressure to ensure the bits of ice chipped off and sure enough, you could see the clear cold pieces slowly begin to melt.

When you began to wipe his opposite cheek, you couldn’t help but raise the question. “Hey Natsuo,” you began, effectively catching his attention and the soft, “Hm?” he responded with. “I’ve never seen you actually use your quirk,” you pointed out.

“Is there a reason for that?” a gasp came when Natsuo suddenly jerked his head away from you. “Uh…” blinking once or twice. You lowered the wet towel to your lap and grasped onto it. Twisting the fabric between your fingers to allow the now lukewarm droplets of water to soak into the pajama bottoms you were wearing.

Maybe you crossed a line? Did this have anything to do with his family? As far as you knew, his mother possessed a rather powerful ice quirk. Was that the reason he never used it? You weren’t sure, but usually, when Natsuo acted in this closed-off manner it was related to his family.

“Sorry,” you said, “I didn’t mean to pry, I was just curious,” the explanation was simple and you hoped Natsuo would believe you. He took a deep breath and let out a sigh before bringing his hand up, running his fingers through his hair.

“It’s fine,” he replied, though you could tell his voice was a little strained before he turned to you. That’s when you saw the frown on his face and his eyes looked misted over as if he were going to cry again. You really didn’t want that.

“Natsuo are you-” though the answer was obvious, he wasn’t okay if he had come running to you in tears. But even so, Natsuo nodded. “Yeah…” he reached out, grasping the wet towel that you were previously holding before he got up.

You wanted to ask where he was going, but it was clear he was only heading to the bathroom. “It’s just…” you heard the wet plop of the towel landing in the sink before Natsuo walked back out and once more took his seat on your bed.

You reached out, laying your hand on his thigh. “You don’t have to tell me,” you offered with a kind smile, but Natsuo shook his head. “It’s fine,” he repeated yet again before allowing his hand to rest by his side.

“Big bro Touya and I used to play around with our quirks, but Touya was always so serious about his,” you watched as his expression grew dark and a clear hateful glance appeared in his eyes which seemed distant at the moment.

This was more than likely due to the fact that Natsuo was picturing his late brother alongside his father. “Uh…” you glanced down and watched as the hand that laid by Natsuo’s side began to curl into a fist, though you knew he would never actually raise that fist or cause harm to you.

It was just shocking how the subject of his family brought out this side in him, but you remained quiet and continued to listen. “Because of that...bastard and I hated seeing Touya like that!” he suddenly exclaimed, leaning forward as his fists began to tremble, and without much thinking, you laid your hand on his back.

"Natsuo…” you said, hoping your voice would bring him back out of the hateful moment he was in. His jaw was clenched and a shiver ran up your spine when you felt Natsuo’s trembling hand take a grip on your upper arm.

But there was still that familiar gentleness to it which indicated to you that even when Natsuo was temporarily blinded by this hatred, he was still aware of his surroundings and those that were important to him.

This was only confirmed when he lifted his head to look at you with a smile, though it was small. It was still present and seemed to put you at ease for the moment. “I’m okay but…” he once more turned away from you and a sigh escaped him.

“I convinced big bro to have fun with our quirks instead of doing what the old man wanted him to, but since he...died. I...I couldn’t bring myself to use my quirk again and I’m sure sis feels that way too,” your frown deepened, ah so that’s why.

Maybe he fears he’ll lose the memory of his elder brother if he were to use his quirk again? “What else happened?” Natsuo looked back at you, confused for a brief moment before, “Oh...right,” he said as if he had almost forgotten he ran to you in broad daylight with tears streaming down his face.

He turned, bending down to slip his shoes off before he slid his backpack onto the floor. Then he proceeded to climb onto the bed or rather proceeded to crawl over to your pillows and plop himself down.

Being surrounded by your familiar scent eased him as did the fact he could stretch both his arms and legs out. You looked at him all sprawled out and comfortable. ‘Well...I guess if it makes him feel better,’ you thought as you watched Natsuo stare at the ceiling.

His face twisting with a variety of emotions that made you wonder just what caused him to cry in the first place. He didn’t deserve that, or at least not in your opinion. “She broke up with me,” he suddenly said, his voice somewhat quick and you barely understood what he said.

“Who?” you questioned as you got onto your knees and pressed your hands into the mattress, looming over Natsuo much like how a dog or loyal companion would. "My girlfriend…” he muttered as he once again looked to the side, you assumed it was an attempt to look away from your gaze which was a mess of confusion.

“Why did she break up with you?” It was said that getting your heart broken was hard to handle, but there had to be more behind this. You sat on your knees, placing your hand on your hip as you looked down at Natsuo who slowly turned his gaze back to you but seemed to avert it just as quickly.

Despite his overall twisted expression that laid somewhere between sad and angry, you also noticed the faint pink tint to his cheeks. Was that from anger or embarrassment? You honestly couldn’t tell. But Natsuo normally didn’t get embarrassed around you and you knew he knew he could tell you anything.

‘It must be from anger,’ you concluded as you continued to wait patiently for his answer. “I’m so tired of it,” he said in a soft voice which prompted you to lean closer. “Tired of it?” you repeated, clearly not understanding where that was coming from.

“I’m sick of being recognized just because of the old man's last name!” he exclaimed once more, though his voice wasn’t raised too high. It still caused you to jolt back, then again you should have realized this whole thing had something to do with his family.

Natsuo turned to you and impatiently pressed his hands against the mattress so he could sit up. His jaw was clenched again and his eyebrows slit in anger and the way he kept his eyes locked on you made you feel a little uncomfortable despite the fact you knew his anger wasn’t directed at you.

Then a sigh came and Natsuo’s head dropped. You saw this often when he was trying to collect or calm himself down. It honestly worried you that he was always going between emotions, trying to keep himself in check for the sake of others.

His eyes were closed, but when he opened them once more you could see the absence of anger. “I wanted to study medical welfare to actually help people…” he confessed as he brought his legs up to his chest and you watched as he wrapped his arms around them.

Those long sleeves of his hood concealing the contraction of his muscles and biceps. He seemed to stare off into the distance once more. “I wanted to make a difference in the world so the name Todoroki could actually mean something to me, unlike the tie it has to that bastard,” he hissed and like a switch, that anger was back.

You could even hear that soft rumbling of a growl threatening to admit from his throat. “I don’t want to be recognized as a Todoroki just because of him!” you opened your mouth to speak, but all thoughts and actions escaped you when Natsuo turned to look at you.

Once more sporting that angry expression which was terrifying in its own way. But then, it slowly began to fade into sadness and he lowered his arms. Allowing his hands to fall back onto the mattress, you couldn’t help but glance down when you felt his fingers brush against yours before you looked back up.

“I don’t want people trying to get close to me because of him either,” Natsuo stated and you gasped when you felt his cold hand engulf yours, taking firm grip as if he was silently gesturing to you that he needed some form of physical comfort.

“But that’s exactly what she did,” you felt that hand begin to tremble and you quickly gave it a reassuring squeeze. “She used you to get to your father?” you questioned, a little confused but still showing an effort that you wanted to get the story correct.

Natsuo nodded. “She’s an inspiring hero I guess," he said with a shrug, "and wanted to get close to me so she could have the chance to speak to my father,” his tone sounded like he had given up as he tilted his head back and stared at the ceiling.

That ache in his chest returned, but somehow your touch prevented it from growing any further. “Guess I was more interested in caring for her that I didn’t see it,” he commented before tilting his head back down. “Just tired of it,” he repeated.

"I wouldn’t introduce my father to anyone I’m with...they deserve better than to be exposed to him!” you could imagine that’s how the rest of his story went then. His ex-girlfriend trying to pressure him into introducing her to Endeavor only for Natsuo to express his concern and reasons for why he couldn’t.

Then from there she must have gotten angry and confessed the truth. The whole situation was unfair and you could feel your own anger brewing, using people was one thing. But using them for your own personal benefit, pretending to love them?

That wasn’t exactly forgivable in your book. No wonder he was crying. “I’m…” would saying you’re sorry even do anything? You knew Natsuo wouldn’t take offense, but it seemed unfitting for the current situation. Instead, you found yourself leaning over.

Releasing his hand in order to wrap your arms around him, nuzzling your head against his shoulder as you embraced him. Natsuo while not overly shocked at your friendly gesture, crossed his legs and wrapped his arms around your waist before pulling you even closer.

Though your back slightly hurt, you didn’t mind. Natsuo, while not completely touch-starved, still melted into anyone’s affection. You felt his stiff body finally relax and the cool touch of his cheek against your ear as he nuzzled the side of your head.

“Thank you,” he whispered, despite the fact, there was no one else around to hear you two. “I know I keep bothering you whenever-” you reached up to tug on the back of his hair.

“You’re not a bother,” you said in a stern tone, “and you should be happy that girl is now your ex, you didn’t deserve what she put you through,” your arms tightened around him just before you pulled back and grasped his shoulders.

Making sure he was looking at you before you continued to speak, “No one deserves that, you’re a wonderful person Natsuo and I know there are others that won’t care that you’re a Todoroki or that will help you make it into a name you can be proud of,” you assured him and watched as the faintest expression of hope washed over his face.

Just that alone meant the world to you and while you knew Natsuo didn’t need any protection, you still wanted to try your best to be there for him. “Come on,” you insisted as you crawled over him in order to reach the opposite side of your bed.

Though Natsuo took up most of the space, you managed to lay down and offered him your hand. That smile of his seemed to grow and as expected, he gently grasped onto your hand as he laid down by your side.

“You can stay here if you want, it’s still daylight and I don’t have any more classes for today,” you insisted and hoped he’d take the bait because you didn’t exactly trust he wouldn’t get emotional again later.

Natsuo always seemed to overthink things and maybe that’s where his sense of guilt came from. “Hm?” he glanced away and you were quick to speak. Taking a firm grip of his hand, you slipped your fingers between his and gave him a stern expression.

“Don’t let your guilt tell you that you’re going to be a bother, I want you to stay,” your words were accompanied with another reassuring squeeze, and once more his gaze was directed back on you.“...Okay,” he replied, you smiled and turned your attention to the ceiling.

Allowing your intertwined hands to remain nestled between you. Your mind was free of any thoughts, unlike Natsuo who was debating how he could even thank you for everything you did for him. Just listening to him was enough, but you went the extra step to dry his tears and invited him to stay for however long he wanted.

Was it that you knew he found comfort in you, your scent, your presence? Is there any way he could express his gratitude? Suddenly his own words came back, echoing like thunder inside his head. ‘I...couldn’t bring myself to use my quirk again,’ he held his breath and slowly lifted his free hand, turning it so he could gaze at his palm.

The sound of his and Touya’s laughter now softly echoed alongside his words. ‘It’s been years,’ he thought before he turned to glance at you, but ended up flinching when he realized you were already looking at him.

“Are you okay?” you questioned, now that everything was off his chest he should be, right? Then again, you have been wrong before. Natsuo almost seemed to be in a trace, though his eyes hadn’t left yours and his hand remained lifted in the air.

‘Would I even know how to control it? I can’t risk hurting Y/n but if this proves how thankful I am to them then…’ he finally seemed to make a choice and he slowly turned on his side causing the bed to shake along with his movements.

“Can I see your other hand for a moment?” he questioned, knowing that if anything did happen to go wrong with his quirk that he could use the basic knowledge he learned from his medical welfare classes to hopefully undo any damage.

“Hm?” you seemed a tad confused by his request and why he was holding his hand up, but once more you reminded yourself that Natsuo had no ill intentions. You maneuvered yourself on your side much like him and slowly held your free hand out.

Natsuo smiled and carefully connected your fingertips, then he took a deep breath. Channeling his long-forgotten quirk to the center of his palm, though he could feel the cold rush. It came as a surprise to you. In fact, the sudden drastic drop in temperature coming from Natsuo's hand was an utter shock.

Even knowing quirks existed, this almost seemed impossible. “N-Natsuo?” you worried something was very wrong when you felt it, the cold rough texture of tiny ice crystals growing across your skin. You almost wanted to pull away as there came a slight pulsing pain with the bitter coldness that was Natsuo's quirk.

But instead, you looked to your hand, your jaw was clasped closed and your eyes were wide. Too focused on those ice crystals that continued to grow and slowly frost over the top of your fingers. You stared in amazement.

“I...b-but you…” your words were all jumbled together and you almost missed the fact that Natsuo’s palm was covered in a thick lining of ice and how red the skin surrounding it was. Still, even if this brought him some minor discomfort.

He couldn’t help but smile as he watched your reaction, the small feeling of heartache numb for the moment and replaced with a small dose of happiness. Partly due to you and partly because he was relieved he could in fact control his quirk even after years of refusing to use it.

“I just wanted to say thank you for being there for me,” he stated and though still astonished, you glanced back at him. Even though the small mishaps would more than likely continue to happen as well as people that would attempt to use him for their own personal benefits. You somehow knew he was going to be just fine.

[quillify-tries-to-talk]

Defense and Love

(A rewrite of that scene in Chain of Gold where Cordelia does not defend her brother when James calls him unworthy of his sister's love. Because I was angry. Because CC knows zero things about sibling interaction.)

Lemme know if you like it!

“I know you hate me for how I treated you in school, and rightfully so,” Alastair said. It was a wonder his voice was not shaking. “But however much you hate me, do not take it out on my sister.”

Please, the word hung from the very tip of his tongue, unspoken and desperate. His heart was galloping inside his chest with an almost painful intensity, even more so under Cordelia's watchful gaze. He couldn't break now. Not in front of her. She would ask, and how was he going to explain why he'd distorted into something he didn't recognize himself?

“Alastair," said Herondale in that low, cruel voice that took him back to the Academy, his own past coming back to haunt him, "you made my life a living hell at the Academy. But I’d never take it out on Cordelia. That’s something you would do, not something I would do.”

So he thought Alastair would hit his own sister. Good God. You don't know anything, rich boy, he wanted to snap. You have no idea what you're talking about. 

Perhaps it was his own fault. He’d hurt so many people in his quest to guard his family. His life had turned into one horrific, monotonous nightmare. Protect them. Protect Layla. Let her be happy. Let my mother be happy. Let Father never come back.

The rational part of his brain had taken over the reins. He stood up straighter, schooled his expression into blank, icy indifference, the mask he’d perfected at school. Let Herondale think what he wanted. Alastair had a job to do and he wasn't about to let patronizing sermons get in his way.

“I see how it is. In school I had the power, and here you have the power to lord it over me. What’s your game? What do you want with my sister?”

“Your sister,” James said, speaking with a slow, deliberate coldness. “Your sister is the only thing keeping me from punching you in the face. Your sister loves you, Angel knows why, and you aren’t even the least bit grateful.”

The words were more powerful than any Shadowhunter weapon. They ravaged the remains of his heart over and over again.

He was ten and watching his father trip on the floor of his bedroom as he collected the brandy bottles littered around. Elias had been too drunk to tell who’d been into his room.

He was twelve again and practicing the iratze. It will help Baba, he'd thought then, childish hope still guiding him through the dark descending over the horizon of their lives.

“You have no idea what I’ve done for my sister." His voice came out rough and shaking. Horror of all horrors, Cordelia was still looking at him as though seeing him in a new light. Did she agree with James? She could. She was thriving here. "You have no idea about our family. You don’t know the first thing—”

He was fifteen again and refusing to train with Layla for the hundredth time because his body ached like one giant bruise. It was Pounceby. His jaw and neck tingled with the sting of the phantom bruise. He was watching the hope in his sister's eyes die. I am sorry, he'd wanted to say then. I truly am. But I can't let you see this. Live, Layla.

Something knocked against his shoulder. Hard. Only his training, both physical and mental, kept him from stumbling back in surprise.

It was Cordelia. She’d come to stand in front of him, the way Alastair had done when they were kids whenever their father had been home. Like a shield, he realized in disbelief. He wanted to push her out of the way, but her outstretched arm only resulted in him shifting to the side so he could catch her expression.

Anger.   

He'd seen his sister annoyed. He'd seen his sister frustrated. He'd seen her distressed. He'd seen her scheme and calculate, always finding a way out of anything with her brilliant mind and ambition.

But never before had he seen her like this: dark eyes aflame, hands curled into fists, shoulders bunching up as though she was preparing to land a blow.

Oh. Oh no, no, no, no. A number of curses flashed through his head in all the languages he knew. Farsi. French. English. Urdu. 

He looked down at her, and his expression visibly softened. Alastair tried not to narrow his eyes. 

"James," Cordelia was saying. Her voice sounded normal. "You'd better go."

“Are you sure?” he said in a low voice. “I won’t leave you alone, Cordelia, not unless you wish me to.”

She seemed to rise taller, and in that moment Alastair was reminded why Cortana had chosen her. His sister looked the way their mother was, fire and embers and a gaze so piercing that the other person was left stuttering, though they'd originally come to scrutinize every inch of her. The colour of her eyes, her skin, why she covered her hair with a roosari.

He wished he had their courage. He wished he hadn't withdrawn into the shadows.

Thorns in your way, Esfandiyār, whispered Baba's voice inside his head. Why look back when you can look ahead?

But that would've entailed far worse consequences than a sermon.

Ahead? His thirteen-year-old, iratze-fumbling himself had wanted to snap as he'd stared at the glass sticking out of his foot, blood dripping on the floor. Ahead at your next bottle, Father? 

Cordelia's voice rang out in the hall, sharper than the crack of a whip. "I will say this once and only once, James Herondale. So listen carefully." She took another step closer and Herondale's eyes actually widened. In surprise? Or in whatever the hell had happened between them before coming home? Alastair thought dryly. 

"Do not for one moment think that you are my saviour," Cordelia said through her teeth. The words sent a jolt of surprise through him. "I am thankful for all your help, believe me, but my love for my brother has absolutely nothing to do with this."

A faint smile curled on the edges of Herondale's lips. "You still don't know what he did?"

Cordelia raised her brows, and oh there it was. The sibling resemblance. Clear as day in the anger cloaked behind disdain and a smile. "Why does my love for my family have to come between your feud?" she demanded. "Do I require your blessing to love them? You have notions about my brother that I would have expected from the Pouncebys."

He looked like she’d slapped him awake. "Daisy,  I—"

She took a step back, and the anxiety on his face heightened. Cordelia herself was trembling.

And Alastair? He still couldn't believe his eyes. He couldn't move, save to draw breath. The scene unfolding before him seemed like a fever dream. Cordelia didn’t know how he’d tormented Herondale and Fairchild at the Academy. She had no idea of the bomb going off when he’d been mere inches from the building. She didn’t know why everyone hated him so much. He knew, and perhaps he was a greedy monster for making his sister choose between her love and her family.  

She raised a silencing hand when Herondale opened his mouth. "You assume that you know my brother better than I do. You assume that I am still Daisy—the girl with pretty ribbons in her hair, who needs your help to distinguish right from wrong. I will find out what happened at the Academy, but I will not stand idle while you say Alastair doesn’t deserve my love. You don’t get to choose who does or does not deserve me." She smiled, eyes glittering with the storms of the night. "You hurt my family, Mr. Herondale, and you will face my blade.”

Silence descended. Herondale’s eyes narrowed slightly as he glanced between Alastair and Cordelia. A flicker of longing passed across his face as he saw Layla, there and gone. Alastair was gifted with a long, hard, assessing look. 

“You may take your leave now," Cordelia said coldly.

James's expression shuttered. Was Alastair the only one who noticed his sister's wince? Guilt twisted in his gut.

"Very well, Miss Carstairs," Herondale said in a low monotone. "As you wish."

As soon as he was out of sight, Cordelia seemed to shrink, deflate. 

Alastair snapped back to his senses. There were a number of things demanding his attention but he crossed the room to catch his sister by the elbow, older brother once more. His head was still reeling with the impossible absurdity of what had transpired. 

"Layla?" He tested out the name hesitantly. "What? I mean, you shouldn't have—"

"He said you don't deserve my love." She turned to face him, and to his horror, her dark eyes gleamed with tears. Tears on my behalf, he thought dizzily. 

What was this day?

In all the eighteen years of his life, he’d been used to working from the sidelines, slow and quiet. People did not need to see his tears, his frustration at himself. Only the anger and the sneering indifference he put up to keep them away. It had always been that way, ever since he had held Cordelia in his arms as a confused two-year-old. 

She is so small, mâmân!

I know, joon. Will you promise to help her?

“Why, Layla?” he snapped, and she flinched. He wanted to hit himself all over again. “Why did you do that? Herondale is not wrong. I have hurt people. I have done horrible, despicable things. You’re going to lose out on potential allies because of me, do you realize that? How will you save Father then? I thought--” He broke off, not wanting to say the dreaded word.

She lifted her chin and glared. “You thought what, dâdâsh?”

It was jarring to have heard her defend him, even more jarring than hearing the language of his home, the language he’d spent years shoving down because it tended to attract the wrong sort of attention. It was jarring that she’d even noticed his trembling hands or the tears that were clawing at his throat, begging to be let out. It had been years since he’d truly cried but London seemed hell bent on breaking him. He'd never really thought how much he'd needed Cordelia by his side. How many years had passed with just pushing and pushing and pushing people away until time sped by and they simply grew out of their love for you.

His sister was no longer a baby. She was nearly as tall as him, looking him in the eye, silent and waiting. 

"I thought you-you... loved him."

She closed her eyes. "I do. I think so. It doesn't mean I stand by idly while he goes on insulting my brother. It certainly does not mean that I hold back on my own feelings." Her eyes opened. A wry smile played on her lips. “You keep forgetting that only I am allowed to insult you, Alastair.”

Hoarse laughter escaped him, and Cordelia looked delighted to have been the cause. 

Taglist: @youngreckless @eugeniaslongsword (look, your annoyance inspired me lol), @cant-think-of-anything @reesecarstairs @cherilyn-rose @carstairs-hopelessly

[astrologyandlife]

jupiter and saturn together in the natal chart

i have noticed that, in many of my readings, people have both jupiter and saturn sitting in the same house of their natal chart. this makes sense because a conjunction between the two occurs every 20 years. and to me, this signals an important theme: the need to overcome struggle to unlock the opportunities of that house.

first house - there's difficulty expressing yourself fully. it's like you want to be optimistic and have faith in yourself, but something is holding you back from that. you are almost afraid of being let down. as a result, you carry around this fear and caution about everything. you doubt yourself. when people first meet you, these struggles can be visible to them. the important thing here is that you are the cultivator of your experience, and when you can work through your feelings about yourself and your environment, you will notice that you attract good luck and opportunity. you have the power to consciously change how you approach the world around you through a smile, a little bit of faith, and a more positive attitude. second house - growing up, you lacked some form of security in your life. this could have been in the form of coming from a poorer background, or having a parent(s) that did not consistently care for you in some way. and because you were not valued by those in your early environment, you struggle to ascribe value to yourself. you may develop habits of holding onto things out of fear that you will never have them again. the lesson from this placement is to understand your own worth, and to know that you are entitled to a comfortable, happy, satisfying life. using this framework you will attract wealth and opportunity. third house - the hardest part about this placement is that you feel as though you are somehow "stupid" or your ideas aren't worthwhile. you could have struggled in your early school years for various reasons ranging from not understanding the material to being in an environment that refused to accommodate your needs. you rarely share your own ideas, and you fear being rejected, wrong, or made fun of by others. you must let go of this hesitation and remind yourself that you have valuable ideas to share with the world. you have the power to persuade, to motivate, and to invigorate. in fact, once you stop second-guessing yourself, you will notice that your genius shines proudly. fourth house - your early childhood experiences were, and still are, challenging for you. you could have experienced hardship as a result of being treated poorly by your parents or even going through some trauma in the home, especially if saturn makes aspects to mars or pluto. you have fears stemming from your childhood that hold you back. what is going to be important for you is building a home for yourself that is safe, secure, and stable. in doing so, your chosen family will grow and provide you with the support you need to flourish. fifth house - you have artistic and creative talents, but it is possible that when you were younger, you received heavy messaging that these talents were in some way invaluable or unimportant. As a result, relaxation and self-expression on a creative level is severely restricted. you feel like you always have to justify the things you love. however, you are allowed to simply exist and enjoy things for their sake. once you allow yourself to be creative to the extent you are capable, you will find that it will bring opportunity and happiness to you. sixth house - i definitely get the sense that you have had to be responsible from a very young age, taking care of the chores around the house, watching over yourself, etc. perhaps your parents were particularly strict with you and imposed a lot of restrictions on your daily life. these lessons instilled within you have lead you to desire routine and organization, because you fear chaos. you also tend to put too much on yourself, leading to burnout and extreme stress. here you must unlearn any negative habits or routines you have created for yourself, including overworking yourself. in doing so, you will feel much more calm and collected, which will help you physically and mentally. seventh house - there is a lot of stress and anxiety that comes from long-term relationships. the biggest fear here is the fear that you will never find someone who can fully love and commit to you. though you have a lot to offer, you feel completely

inexperienced or as though you are nothing special. there can be a tendency to downplay your own gifts and strengths. as a result, you feel very lonely in your early life and may be distrustful of love. you are afraid of opening yourself up to rejection and pain, so you avoid forming strong attachments or giving too much of yourself. having faith in yourself and what you have to offer, as well as being confident, will attract people who have an abundance of love and affection to give to you. eighth house - this placement can be heavily indicative of one or more life-changing, traumatic experiences, namely when pluto is involved. this experience has transformed you in some major way, likely inducing a fear of change or the unknown within you. you hold on to these memories and this pain in your heart, which stunts your growth as a person. the second half of the healing must be a conscious act by you, wherein you decide that you have what it takes to continue surviving. there is definitely a need for complete rebirth here. once you have come out on the other side, the magic of life itself will be revealed to yourself. you will become resilient in ways you could never imagine, and you will have the strength to overcome anything. ninth house - i have the feeling that your early life was extremely narrow and did not allow you to explore the world around you properly. perhaps your parents were extremely overprotective of you, or overbearing in sharing their opinions with you, and this was a very suffocating feeling. your own opinions and ideas were not welcome by the people in your life, and often they were even shut down. so you must start anew with your independence. remain open and take time to immerse yourself in anything you can, especially ideas radically different from your own. by opening your mind, jupiter will reward you with a wealth of knowledge and experience from which you can draw. tenth house - early on in your life, ideas of what it means to be successful, accomplished, and a productive member of society were heavily pushed on you by the people in your life. you almost feel as though you aren't meant to have agency in your own future, because you are trying to do what you are "supposed" to do. your parents could have been a bit overbearing in trying to prepare you for the future. trusting yourself and forming your own ideas of success and fulfillment will lead to you experiencing much more opportunity within your career. you must overcome a fear of failure here. eleventh house - on a deep level, you feel completely alone in the world. you feel as though it is impossible for anyone to truly understand you, or that they would even want to try. you are a deeply lonely person at times. i could see this placement as indicating that you were a social outcast or somehow distanced from others in your youth, leading to you believing there is something fundamentally wrong with you that prevents you from forming meaningful relationships. you doubt yourself, thinking, am i boring? am i too plain? am i unlikeable? here, you must cast these thoughts away and put forth effort anyways. twelfth house - the biggest struggle with this is that you feel unable to let go of the past and to forgive yourself. the biggest obstacle here is yourself. you have these feelings like you have done too much bad, or something you have done in the past is irredeemable. you may find that, in times of particular stress, you have nightmares or trouble sleeping. the twelfth house challenges you to let go of all of these things, to forgive yourself. you have to look at your pain and grief and allow yourself to feel it, then to let it go. in some way, you have to completely allow yourself to dissolve. after you do these things, you will find that your life as a whole improves, and you can handle anything much better.

some notes as well:

the closer to conjunction the two are, the more intensely this is felt by the native

if they aspect the sun, moon, or angles, these lessons will come up in the individual's day-to-day life

if jupiter is closer to the beginning of the house, it can lessen the impact of saturn

[animeyanderelover]

Omg it's been so long since I've gotten here in time when requests are open but here I am anyway I hope your doing ok and things went well with your visit with friends &Grandparents anyways I feel weird asking it but after reading your intepretation you caught my intrigue I'd like to request yandere Ging hc of him with a s/o who always tries to move b/c he annoys her but he keeps coming back !!! Feel free to make it soft 😊

It's been a while indeed since I've seen you so I'm happy you made it. Sorry that it took so long, but school enables me to only write one post per day😞. Buuut...I have only one week left before holidays and the last week we won't do much anything so I hope that by tomorrow I'll be able to write more again!

Tw: Yandere themes, unhealthy mindset, unhealthy relationship, obsessiveness, stalking, Ging annoying the s/o, meltdown of the s/o

Annoying

🍎I feel you, darling. It has to be exhausting to never know when exactly this man comes back or not, the times he just pops up in front of your house or has already somehow broken in and acting like he is at home. Ging simply can't help making bad impressions on his darling due to his constant absence and the indifference he seems to possess whenever they're pissed and want to scold him for his behavior. As someone who would like avoiding such arguments, he either disappears yet again or at least tries to calm you down in a way that doesn't help in most cases.

🍎You think moving away will work, hmm? Sorry to tell you, but it won't. Despite the impression that Ging doesn't look like he cares much and is a rather messy person, he is a respected Hunter. Connections, the possibilities he has with the status of being a Hunter and his very own skills are nothing to be forgotten and so he will have the new location of his darling found out the moment he finds out that they've moved. It's not like he pushes you into a corner for it the next time he just appears in front of the darling's door, ignoring their flabbergasted impression and going inside.

🍎The Hunter has already figured out from the very first incident why exactly you wanted to move, you were happy in your old home with the only thing annoying you being him. Ging is aware of his behavior and that it often has you feel like you want to rip your hair out yet he never really considered it too deeply. That is the kind of guy Ging is and it makes him a horrible person in more than just one pair of eyes. It just feels like he is not taking his darling seriously and ridicules them and that hurts, not to mention that he is so often away.

🍎So maybe now is the time to start recalling his actions and that he's made you go livid to the point where you do not want to be with him anymore. It becomes more and more visible every time you move away, slam the door shut as soon as he knocks on it or just refuses to open it at all. Something he would call "overreacting" at first seems to only turn more and more turbulent until the very first time his darling has a complete meltdown in front of him whilst he was telling them to chill out. Hysterical screaming and yelling whilst starting to burst out in tears before pushing him with violence out, slamming the door shut behind him.

🍎That was the first time Ging shut up when witnessing all of this, freezing and not knowing what to do. Even after he has been kicked down he doesn't know how to act, only the cries inside the house accompanying his thoughts for a while until you seem to calm down a bit. Overwhelmed would be the word to use for him, the feeling of helplessness and confusion, the feeling of having no idea what exactly to do now. It is the very first time his darling has given him such a emotional reaction, a highly negative one. The turning point where Ging has to ask himself if things can really stay the way they are or if he has to do something.

🍎Obviously he acts like a horrible person, but maybe he just happened to hit the wrong nerve after pocking for so long at you, maybe you just had enough. And as much as he hates troubles like those, even he is not too dumb or lazy to think that he can just act like he always did. Not this time, you clearly despise him by now. And that is not the kind of relationship he wishes to have when with the s/o. But the biggest problem for him now is what he is even suppose to do. He's no expert and will never be. How does someone apologize to their loved one without ruining things even more?

🍎The sudden disappearance from this man is something you're used to and wish for and that is what happens after. But not exactly for the reason you think. Ging believes that what you need now most is time to calm down, visiting you right after your outburst is not a wise option. Additionally he himself needs time to think now on what he should do, how he can make things right again. Well, as right as possible at least. It's written all over his face that something is bothering him and some people actually speak to him because of it. And Ging...well, after some time he tells them in vague details what is on his mind.

🍎Such talks are what turns out to be a big help because some people are surprisingly helpful. Especially all those married people who somewhat sympathize with the Hunter tell him in return their stories and what they did to make up with their partners and lovers. Lots of different advices and stories and yet Ging finds himself still having troubles. He's never done anything like this before so he is more nervous than he would like to admit after he has been away for a bit, tracking down the new home of yours again. Something really has to change.

🍎Blocking the door with his foot as you try to slam it shut right in front of his nose again is within his expectations as well as the yelling and he endures it with the same angering calmness as he always does. It's all the same in his darling's opinion. Until the very moment where he actually pulls out a bouquet of flowers from behind his back, handing them in a somewhat shy manner over. The man is highly embarrassed about it, not able to look his darling straight into their confused face as he stutters out an apology he has practiced beforehand. The practice was useless though, in front of the s/o this is a completely different thing.

🍎Instant forgiveness is not what you give him nor does he expect this. He did go too far about this time and he knows that he should stay to fix this. And he does. Somewhere else of course but it is the very first time he stays for a really long time since the grudge you have against him is not easy. During this time he comes to realize something uite importantt himself, how much of your life he actually missed whilst being constantly away. There are new hobbies and new friends you didn't know you had before and some of those friends are people he doesn't like. Because they're too close and you ignore him for them.

🍎It's rather silly since they're the only ones who kept you company whilst he was always away and he deserves this, but karma is a bitter bitch as he experiences himself. The relationship you two once had is in your eyes probably no more, increasing the danger of you falling in love with someone else, someone who will actually stay with you. Maybe that is why Ging turns unusually petty, following his darling around and biting his tongue when he catches them with one of those people he has officially recognized as love rivals. What a nasty feeling jealousy is and how frustrating your grin is when you caught him jealous for the very first time in a long while. Seems like the roles have reversed, haven't they?

🍎Using his connections is an option, but by now Ging is far too much provoked to do this himself. Not like he was planning before to use it, another drama with you is the last thing on his list he wants. His darling is letting him dance around here for quite a bit to the point where he accuses them mentally for being a sadist since he is pushed to do so many things he never did before and for that feels extremely awkward. Yet he goes through everything with embarrassment burning his skin, the desire to want the relationship far greater.

🍎The s/o comes to realize that he is serious as well, though doubting it at first. But the constant small gifts and the fact that he apologizes whenever he sees themplus tehe valuable fact that he stays around for a very long time convince them after some time. But forgiving him sweetly right after isn't what you would want after all the emotional roller coaster. You'll get back at him for everything before you shall grant him the relationship back. It takes a very long time and by the end of it Ging has probably the most frustrating months of his entire life behind him so it's safe to assume that now he knows how you must feel. Believe me, he has learned his lesson of a lifetime to treat his darling better from now on.

[saturnsummer]

helpless.

han joon hwi does all he can to save kang sol a. kang sol a, for the first time, realises she’s not alone.

ao3 link

notes: this has been manifesting in me ever since i saw the scene of sol a fainting. i’m sorry it’s so long, but i hope the law school fans like it! it’s my first time, but i’m open to request and improvements. do share with your fellow solhwi fans if you like it! any grammar mistakes and all will be taken fully responsible by me.

edit: this is written by @inactiverat , which is MY secondary account. i did not copy this from someone else. both accounts belong to ME. i am republishing this on my primary blog to better manage.

words: 4130 words.

it’s been a terrible day for sol.

forget about a terrible day, it has been a week of horror.

she can’t remember the last time she laid her head on the pillow of her clean sheets and mattress. with her semester test coming on friday, she has spent the entire weekend cramming for her test. she has opted to sleep at her desk for no more than 10 minutes at a time. her eyes sting from the roll-on muscle relief ointment that she rolls on every few hours under her eyes. her head pounds and the only things she has eaten are ramyeon and black coffee. (no sugar, extra shots.)

sol sighs as she fixes another highlighter in her top bun. she’s been staring at the same question for hours. she looks over her desk, hoping to find peace by seeing a sleeping sol b, but only remembers that she went home. her tiger mom’s orders, since “she shouldn’t study with her roommate, who is at the bottom of the cohort.”

sol visibly frowned as she thought of that sentence. she doesn't need to be reminded every minute and second of her life that she’s the worst. that whenever she fails a test, the smarty pants are cheering due to the bell curve. that she barely scrapes through every class. that she blubbers and mutters answers like an idiot in every lecture.

that’s why she works so hard. to show that she doesn't need money or connections to succeed in this school. that a single parented girl, making enough to get by, holding a part time job can be like the rest. for her mom, she tolerated years of violent abuse, yet still being so strong for her children. for dan, who she so desperately misses and wants to find, even though she knows dan may never want to see her. for byeol, the reason why she decided to study law; the only human she loves in this lawless world.

sol knows she’s pushing herself too hard. yeseul made an effort to remind her to sleep via text. bokgi teased her once during a study group after mentioning she looks like a disheveled panda. even professor kim pulled her out of lecture to give her a talk to remind her to eat.

but joon hwi hasn't.

she internally scoffs. she doesn’t expect him to. (what does a second round judicial exam passer want to know about the worst student?) and maybe, she doesn't want him to. she wants to show him she can do it on her own. she can’t count the number of times he helped her with her grades and cases. studying alone without help was the smallest thing she can do to show him her independence.

thus, she found every moment to stay away. well, from him, in particular. she only came to lectures on time, sat at the back (as opposed to next to him) and left immediately. she returns to her dorm to study (ditching study groups with him in it) and only leaves in the odd hours to get drinks and food when she’s absolutely starving. she hears the buzzes and rings from yeseul and joonhwi, but only smiles when they ask about her inactivity. (“it was dead. i must have forgotten to charge it again.”)

she sighs in frustration and stands from her chair, grabbing her phone and keys out to the pantry area. she needed more caffeine, if she was going to survive this night.

what she doesn't expect to see, is han joon hwi, devouring his late night snack of ramyeon at the table. the shuffling of her furry slippers raises his head from his precious bowl.

“you’re still up?” he asks.

it’s too late to turn around and pretend she didn’t see him. so instead, sol just nods silently as opposed to her defensive remarks. joon hwi stops slurping his noodles and sets the bowl aside. preparing to walk to the staircase, his next question freezes sol in her steps.

“why have you been avoiding me?”

his voice is gentle and nowhere near angry. but concerned and fearful, as if he’s done something wrong to upset her. for a moment, sol feels like she’s in her first lecture with professor yang and is left speechless. (only now, there is no where to hide.)

joon hwi wasn’t blind to her actions. he noticed her absence when she didn’t sit next to him in lectures. he noticed that whenever he was there for a study group session, she wouldn’t; but when he would ask the others, they would say she was there for the ones he wasn’t. joon hwi was certain that sol was avoiding him.

and he couldn’t understand why.

until now.

joon hwi’s eyes examine the young woman in front of him. he’s certain that a middle school student could figure this out; kang sol a is overworked. her dark eye circles are prominent, puffy and her bloodshot eyes do nothing but intensify her lack of sleep. he noticed just how pale her lips look, as he walks over to her. how has she gotten skinnier too?

joon hwi’s certain that she’s avoiding him not because of something he said that annoyed her. but because he knows that she doesn’t want him to see her in this state. his eyes soften and heart aches from the amount of effort she's putting in to her tests.

for sol, he knows how much the tests meant. it was like her entire life depended on it. that’s why he always wanted to help her. he didn’t want to see such a talented person fall behind. she has already proven herself worthy with all the cases she has participated in. but joon hwi knows that no matter how many times yeseul or bokgi or him say how smart and talented and how she’s doing great, she will never be satisfied in this cold, competitive prestigious school. she will always think she’s the worst and has no potential.

“sol.” his voice firm and serious. sol swears she felt a chill run down. she mentally braces herself for this conversation that she has tried all means to avoid. only one person dares address her as just ‘sol’.

“when did you last sleep? or eat proper food?” his eyes are serious, yet soft and glassy. his voice is gentle and soothing. she closes her eyes and lets out a silent sigh. she is nowhere the mock court, yet she feels like she has taken the witness stand and the oath. lying is perjury, she hears herself say.

“i’m doing fine. i just need to do well on this test.” she lies through her teeth. well, it’s a half true and a half lie. it’s just up to him to pick out which is the lie and truth. joon hwi isn’t an idiot, and can read her emotions with just a single look. it’s an utter lie.

“i’m getting coffee.” she mutters to herself. it was the whole reason she came out, anyways. her sleeve is caught by him but she yanks it away forcefully. she doesn’t even know why she’s being so harsh and angry to him. all he’s done is just ask how she’s doing.

“you need sleep. not caffeine.” he spins her around by her shoulders, his eyes serious and almost frustrated. she fails to meet his eyes, afraid of falling apart before him.

“joon, just let me be.” she says harshly and pushes his hands off before running to get that extra potent coffee. it was the first time she has ever called him that, and it falls out just as naturally as the word ‘sol’ does out of his. sol doesn’t notice how wet her eyes are until she’s downstairs, grabbing cans of coffee from the vending machine. (pathetic, she thinks, getting teary because of lying to her best friend.)

joon hwi doesn't follow. and sol isn't one bit affected.

not. at. all.

-----

the next time sol sees joon hwi is in the morning. he’s carrying his books and has his backpack slung over his shoulder, leaning against the wall. sol braces herself. she knows joon hwi to be protective and caring. but for him to be waiting at the entrance of their dorm was downright surprising.

sol’s not doing any better. when the caffeine and sugar stopped her from staying late, she resorted to stabbing her hand to keep herself awake. when her hand got too red and bloody, she switched to another spot on her arm. underneath her hoodie is her arm with dried blood and bruises all over. she’s surprised she hasn’t had blood poisoning yet.

sol flashes the most natural smile she can on her face, pretending as if her argument with him did not happen a few hours ago. her head was numb, but hanging on with the ointment she applied at her temples. she needed to act okay. just so he would stop worrying and leave her alone.

“sol.” joon hwi’s voice calls, going forward and grabbing her arm to support her. sol is about to create a joke, laugh it off and pretend everything is okay, hopefully convincing him she’s doing better (even if she’s far from it.). but what she doesn’t anticipate is his hand accidentally squeezing the sore wound of hers,

she hisses as his fingers dig into her wound and he immediately lets go. joon hwi’s eyes well in concern, not knowing what he’s done that caused her so much pain. sol’s eyes meet his, uncertain and afraid, as if a secret has been exposed. she pulls her sleeve down and is almost regretting that when joon hwi gently lifts her arm and lifts her sleeve up slightly to expose her arm and hand.

joon hwi takes her good hand in his and drags her to an empty staircase not far from where they were. joon hwi notes the dried blood on her hand and gives a disapproving sigh. just what was she doing to herself? she draws her hand back and pulls her sleeve down, hiding it away.

“sol, you need to take care of yourself.”

“joon, i’m doing okay, i promise. it’s not a big deal.” her voice upbeat and slightly more energetic. joon hwi is about to call her out from lying, but she flashes a smile. “come on, how can an exam defeat me?”

“i’m going to be late.” she says and runs ahead of him, joining yeseul and yebeom in front. sol feels a gnawing guilt in her heart for lying, but she momentarily forgets about it as yebeom sweeps them into a conversation.

i’m sorry, joon. i really am. but i’m not going to burden you any further.

joon hwi is left, helpless and broken, watching the back of the woman he loves stray further.

-----

it isn’t a secret that joon hwi and sol a are good friends. everyone on campus is always shocked. joon hwi, the school’s top student. sol a, the school’s worst student. everyone would have expected sol b when they heard ‘kang sol’. after all, it made sense, didn’t it? the two best students in school.

but what would be even more shocking is that han joon hwi, second round judicial exam passer, is deep in love with kang sol, the klutz with the top bun.

joon hwi couldn’t deny the joy he felt whenever sol was around. it started with study group and tutoring and messages about school. then it became lunches every moment they could. now, he couldn’t go a day without seeing her, hearing her voice or even a simple text. he can’t remember the moment he started falling for the clumsy woman, but when he realised it, he knew it was too late. he was in, deep.

and that's why he can’t bear to see her suffer. that’s why he spends late nights studying with her even though he doesn't need to. that’s why he insist walking her home, even though he installed the camera. (“i miss byeol! that smart cookie...” would always be his excuse.) that’s why he calls her ‘sol’, and he lets her call him ‘joon’, even though no one calls him that anymore.

sol locks herself in her room and buries herself under multiple books after her lectures. sol admits it, she’s tired. she can barely keep herself together and her body is so weak she doesn’t know how she managed to survive the week with less than two hours of sleep combined per day. she can’t remember the last nap she had that lasted more than half an hour.

the guilt from lying is eating her inside. when she closes her eyes, she can only see how hurt joon hwi’s face looks when he saw her arm. taking a shaky breath in, she doesn’t notice the tear running down her cheek. what was she even crying about? lying? hurting her best friend? fatigue? she slams her head against her books, shaking her thoughts out. it’s already 3am, and she doesn’t have much time left.

“kang sol a, you need to do this exam, you hear me? if you want to pass out, do it later on in the afternoon! you have 9 hours till the test.” she scolds herself out loud. stabbing her arm once again, she jerks herself awake and writes her notes over and over. just 9 more hours.

later on in the day, sol finds herself seated next to joon hwi. but she doesn’t notice him. her eyes are too out of focus to concentrate on anything but the paper and pen she holds. when the teaching assistant makes an announcement to start, she races against time and scribbles furiously. her head throbs, but she clings on to her last ounce of sanity keeping herself awake.

-----

she’s worse. joon hwi thinks. much, much worse. her skin is paler than normal and her eyes are fluttery. with her sleeve pulled up slightly, he notices the wound on her hand more bloody than it was. he visibly winces. but it’s nothing to the hurt in his heart. he knows that he should be busy scribbling, but his eyes are slightly glassy and all he can think of is her bloody hand.

all he wants to do is to drag her away. to take her far from this school. he wants to hold her small body in his arms and cradle her as he tends to her wounds. he wants to tuck her into a soft bed and stroke her brown hair. he wants to tell her how he feels, how she’s perfect, smart and beautiful in his eyes. how sol has already had his validation, and no matter how many kang sols there are, he will only have one in his heart.

as the clock leaves a minute or so to the end, sol struggles to keep her head from falling. she just needs to finish the last sentence. her eyes are blurred and her head has never felt more tight and woozy. her ramyeon from 4am is threatening to make an appearance.

“sol, you’re bleeding.” she hears an familiar echoed voice say next to her. instinctively, she brings a hand up to her nose, and wipes it, revealing the bright red blood. she can’t care for her jacket sleeve and carelessly wipes even though her arm aches. just a bit more, she tells herself.

the voices around her blur as she feels hands on her shoulder stopping her. she pushes them off weakly as she finishes the last word on her paper. she lets out a breath of relief and pushes her paper away from her. she’s finally done. she can finally breathe and have that nap. someone calls her name, but she’s too tired to respond.

then her eyes rolls back and she crashes into oblivion.

joon hwi manages to catch her head before it hits the table as she slumps sideways. he scribbles his name on his paper before chucking his paper and hers towards the teaching assistant. yeseul passes a tissue over to joon hwi and shakes her, eyes getting teary. he gently blots her nose, soaking up the blood. the other students leave unbothered, with only their study group crowding around them.

the next hour is a mad rush in joon hwi’s head. they are frantic for an ambulance, but joon hwi just cradles her body in his arms and runs outside. “it’s faster to run.” he says before taking off. she’s light, way too light for her frame, even with the layered coats that she’s wearing. when he reaches the hospital, she’s laid on a stretcher and sent for checks while the nurses ask him to wait for short while outside.

and for the third time, he stands outside, clutching to a bloody tissue, helpless.

-----

joon hwi wants to beat himself over and over. he should have been more forceful with her. heck, he should have done more than just watch silently. he should have sent packed lunches, compiled his notes, offered to stay up with her. even after when he knows how much sol is suffering, he only stood by.

his eyes are teary when he is allowed to see her. she looks so small under those white sheets. the doctor mentions that they had to take her hoodie off to patch her wounds and insert her IV drip. “dehydrated on caffeine, lack of nutrients and fatigue.” the doctor tells him. he only nods as the doctor leaves him.

his group chat is pinging with endless messages and he takes a moment to update them. he sends a quick text that he’ll let them know when she’s awake. his hand brushes the stray hairs out of her eyes and as best as he can, arranges her bangs the way she likes. his touch is as light as a butterfly as he lets his fingers brush pass her bandages.

with the curtain closed around him, joon hwi lets himself crumble silently, as tears run down his face, hands gripping sol’s stained hoodie sleeve. he wishes he could do something then just watch sol lie on the bed. he knows she is okay, but knowing that he could have prevented this worse case scenario from happening makes him upset. he gives himself a few minutes to compose himself before taking his own hoodie and layering it on her.

and for hours, joon hwi sits by her bed in his own thoughts, once again helpless.

-----

when she wakes up, her head pounds worse than the time she got the worse hangover in school. her eyes flutter, drawing the attention of joon hwi. her mind is cloudy as she starts registering the antiseptic smell and bright lights. her eyes come into focus as she turns over to find a pair of warm brown eyes looking at her.

“joon hwi...?” she says with barely any energy.

“you’re awake.” joon hwi lets himself sigh in relief knowing that she’s awake. it’s already 6pm. the others should be on their way over soon. he sends a quick “she’s awake” to the chat and shuts his phone.

“i... finished my exam right?” the words come tumbling out of sol’s mouth.

“that’s all you are thinking of now?” the anger in joon hwi’s voice catches her by surprise. she lowers her hand and avoids his eyes. she’s really done it, then. she’s really pissed him off.

“aren’t you one bit concerned about your health? you could have literally died being so overworked.” his eyes are glassy. realising that he’s frightening her, he lets a sigh out. joon hwi helps her sit up and props a pillow for her. her fingers fiddle with the thin blanket of the bed. there’s no point being strong in front of him now, after all this.

“you know how much every test means to me.” she mutters in a voice so soft, it’s unlike her to be so...small. joon hwi knows under that strong woman with a fiery passion for justice, there’s a vulnerable little girl, insecure and uncertain. but this was the first time, he realised, that she’s opening up herself.

“i’m so tired, joon. i’m so tired of running this stupid rat race that i’ll never win. i’m so sick of putting everything into my grades and not receiving anything back.” her voice so small, staring at the bandages on her hand. was the pain worth it? she’s not sure now.

joon hwi doesn’t say anything back. how could he? this man was born for this system, to bring law back to the country. he can’t compare to her, who spends countless nights studying, while taking care of her family. all he can do is sit by her bed and provide comfort.

“my head hurts. my body aches all over. yet, i can’t seem to do well in my exams. tell me, joon. just how long must i suffer?” his heart is pierced with every word she says. she’s so broken. joon hwi then notices the small pearls of tears dripping down her face.

his hand reaches out and his thumb rubs away her tears on her cheeks. he doesn’t know what prompted this, but sol doesn’t swat his hand away. she lets him as her hand wipes her remaining tears away.

“i’m here now. you can rely on me.” he says softly to her. suddenly, he takes her small hand in his and squeezes it in comfort. sol’s slightly taken aback, but she doesn’t know why she feels fuzzy inside. she feels warm and for the first time, she feels her burden lifted. with much courage, she gives a small smile.

“noona!” they hear a familiar panicked voice ring and they instinctively draw away from each other. if joon hwi’s face is slightly red, sol doesn't notice. sol is swept away into arguing with bokgi with her health and a teary eyed yeseul. even jiho and sol b came, but stood by silently. (jiho notices joon hwi’s flushed cheeks and his too-bright smile that he finally realises is meant for kang sol a. he makes a mental note about it.)

joon hwi leans back as he watches yeseul and bokgi fuss with sol’s health. he suppresses a smile as he looks at sol’s light laugh, knowing how her burdens are slowly fading and lifted. that he’s finally managed to reach out for his soulmate as she sinks further. it was going to be a journey, but joon hwi will drag her, his sol, out from her darkness every time.

i’m going to be there, no matter what, kang sol. you will not fight alone. i will stay with you, even when you think you don’t deserve it. it doesn't matter if you feel the same towards me or not. if i can see you smile and laugh, it’s enough for me. your happiness is all that matters.

because kang sol, i just love you so damm much.

-----

sol doesn’t notice the switch in her jacket. when she leaves about an hour later with her friends to eat jjajangmyeon (extra pickles, she orders.), she assumes the jacket she has by her bed is hers. she doesn't notice the sandalwood and jasmine smell, as opposed to her pine scented fabrics. when joon hwi teases her and she argues back in annoyance, she’s carefree and light.

when joon hwi smiles at her with his sweet smile, she can’t help but think she’s so lucky that she has him, of all people, by her side. her heart skips a beat, and she’s certain that she feels more than friends towards him. that all this time, she has finally fallen for the cheeky and charming joon hwi behind his intellect.

she smiles back, teeth bared and eyes crinkled as they walk back.

after all, who is to stand against her now, when she has him by her side?

joon hwi, thank you for finding me no matter how much i try to hide away. thank you for believing in me when everyone didn’t. i know you like someone else, and it’s okay. because whoever that is will be so damm lucky to have you. to see you smile your charming smile is enough to put me at ease.

because han joon hwi, i admit, i have fallen for you. i’m in love with you.

-----

bonus:

“noona, they like each other, don’t they?” bokgi watches as sol a barks at joon hwi. joon hwi only runs ahead and buries his hands in his hoodie pockets while letting out light laughs and continues teasing.

“oh, they are so whipped for each other.” yeseul triumphantly says as she walks with the rest behind the not-so-obvious lovebirds.

well, this would be an interesting relationship to see unfold.

[bitletsanddrabbles]

WIP Wednesday: Upcoming Group Think

As I mentioned in the tags of an earlier reblog, I’m working on the Thomas as Heir fic again. This is for two reasons: first being that I really do want to finish at least part one of this thing before I die of old age. Second being that the most recent similar fic has almost the exact same title as my working title, is part of a series with almost the exact same name as I was going to use, and has some details that are creeping much closer to what I have than anything I’ve seen before.

No, I’m not calling Fandom Copyright Infringement. I’ve not posted that info before, so there’s no way the other author could have copied me. Similarly, I was unaware of that project until it went up. This isn’t even a matter of great minds thinking alike, it’s more like two grade school kids being handed pictures of the sun to colour and reaching for the yellow crayon. Seriously, naming a story about a stolen kid after a Yeats poem is kind of a no brainer.

I do want to get this done before someone else accidentally writes the exact same story, though. I mean, there are only so many ways to do this thing. It’s bound to happen eventually.

(And no, I am not changing my titles. I’ve as much right to the yellow crayon as anyone else.)

Anyway, since I’m hitting the part of the narrative that was shot all to heck with my last brainstorming session and am basically back to the ‘throwing pasta at the wall and seeing what sticks’ stage, I will probably put a thing up in the next couple of days asking for thoughts and feedback, because that was kinda insanely helpful last time.

In the meantime - I WROTE EDITH’S POV AND I’M REALLY PROUD OF MYSELF FOR THAT!

-

“I don’t understand.” Edith frowned into the mouthpiece of the telephone. “Is something wrong with the baby?”

“No, there’s nothing wrong there,” her mother’s voice assured her, “or with Mary. They’re both in perfect health.”

There was a small noise behind her and she turned to find Bertie crossing the room, an anxious look on his face. He must have heard her last question. “Well it’s a relief.” She gave her husband a reassuring smile and he visibly relaxed. “But what else is so important that you can’t just tell me over the telephone?”

“We’ve a mystery on our hands,” the older woman replied, her tone both serious and coaxing. “And it involves the whole family. It’s quite complicated, so we’d like to only go over the details once. Your Grandmother is seeing if Rosamund can come, and I’ve already asked the Mertons. They’re free all week.”

“Well we can’t come down tonight.” Edith frowned, mentally reviewing her calendar. “We’re having the archbishop over to dinner, but we might be available tomorrow. One moment, let me ask Bertie.” Lowering the mouthpiece she said, “It’s Mama. She wants to know if we can come down for a day or two this week.”

“As far as I know.” It was Bertie’s turn to frown. “I’m tied up in meetings with several of the farmers in the morning, but I don’t see why we couldn’t be down there by about tea time. We’ve no other commitments that I know of until Monday, at least nothing we can’t reschedule.”

With a nod, Edith turned her attention back to the telephone. “We could be there for dinner tomorrow night and make a Friday to Monday out of it.”

“Wonderful, thank you, Dear.” The relief in her mother’s voice was palpable.

“What if Aunt Rosamund can’t make it?”

“We’ll tell you anyway,” was the promise. “And you’ll get to see us all, so it won’t be a wasted trip.”

“It’s never a wasted trip when we’re visiting you,” Edith laughed, despite the strange, mysterious circumstances. “If nothing else, it will be good to see Mary, before the baby’s born.”

“Who knows? Maybe the baby will be born while you’re here.”

“That would certainly be convenient.”

“I’ll see you tomorrow, Dear. Goodbye.”

“Goodbye.” The line went dead and Edith hung up. She felt utterly befuddled.

“What’s going on, Darling?” Bertie asked, his own expression as curious as she felt.

“I don’t know for certain,” she confessed. “Apparently there’s some sort of mystery going on and it’s all a big fuss. Mama didn’t want to tell me over the telephone.” She shook her head. “She was being very mysterious, which isn’t like Mama at all.”

“But the baby’s fine,” he confirmed, “and Mary?”

Edith sighed, unable to deny she was relieved that all was well in that quarter. Much as she and Mary had never gotten on, she wasn’t ready to bury a second sister. “She says so, yes, and she wouldn’t lie about that. Whatever it is, it’s something different.”

They looked at each other for a moment, then Bertie shrugged. “I suppose we’ll find out tomorrow, then, won’t we?”

“I suppose  we will.”

[five-rivers]

Medium Despair

For @sapphireswimming

.

Danny woke up gasping for air and fighting against his sheets. By the time he’d recognized his surroundings, he’d already rolled off his bed. He dragged in ragged, shuddering breaths. He could breathe. He could breathe. He wasn’t suffocating. He wasn’t at school, in his locker or otherwise. He could move he could stand. He did stand, skin prickling with the memory of electricity.

“Sydney?” he called, softly. “Is that you?” He could see a glowing form in the corner behind his dresser, and with that dream there weren’t a whole lot of other people it could have been, but it was polite to ask. At least in Danny’s opinion.

The ghost slid out, slowly, flickering. “Sorry, Danny,” he said, and he really did sound remorseful.

Danny might believe it more if it wasn’t 2:20 in the morning on a school night, and this wasn’t the third time Sydney had done this. Still, Sydney was something like a friend.

“What is it, Sydney?” he asked. “Did something happen at the school?” Casper High was one of the most haunted buildings in Amity Park, which honestly didn’t make sense.

Danny had done his research. The school was old, sure, but Sydney was the only person who had ever actually died there. That didn’t stop the Lunch Lady, Technus, and a whole host of others from hanging around the place, although most of those others were pretty weak. Hardly strong enough to even interact with Danny or other ghosts.

Sydney shrugged.

“Then what’s wrong?”

Sydney looked down at the ground. The puddle of not-light he cast on the ground – visible only to only Danny and other ghosts – rippled and glimmered.

Danny frowned. “I have fun talking to you during the day, Syd, but I do have to sleep. I’m human, you know?”

“I know,” said Sydney.

“So why are you here?” asked Danny, briefly spreading his arms in exasperation and the dropping them to his sides again. He was still unsettled by the dream he’d just had.

Being close to ghosts while he was sleeping was just a recipe for nightmares. They weren’t always about their deaths, but more often than not…

Sydney’s death was a particularly unpleasant one. Danny did not expect to get back to sleep. Not tonight. Hence his annoyance.

“I need to…” started Sydney, before trailing off. “I need…”

“Sydney?”

“Warn you.”

“About what?”

“Not what they seem,” whispered the ghost. He looked away and phased out through the wall.

Danny’s frown deepened. Usually, Sydney was much clearer than that. Sometimes, talking to Sydney, Danny forgot he was talking to a ghost.

Danny sat down at the edge of the bed and tried to work a kink out of his neck. He caught himself scratching at his skin as if he wanted to pull it off a minute later.

It was always like this since the accident. Especially after he had a dying dream.

Forcibly, he stopped himself. His skin was fine. There was no electricity flickering under his skin. He was alive. He was safe. His body was his body. His body.

(He was not floating above it, light as air, staring at its waxy pallor, at the glassy, empty eyes.)

He was alive, alive, alive.

Awake.

Not dead.

Slowly, he laid back down on the bed. He was alive, awake. A medium, yes, associated with more ghosts than could possibly be healthy, either physically or mentally, yes, but alive. Definitely, clearly, alive.

He didn’t like it when ghosts woke him up. Especially when they came with ominous warnings about the future.

Maybe Sydney would let Danny track him down tomorrow, but Danny doubted it.

.

“Something’s off,” said Danny, staring up at the tall front of the school.

“Yeah,” agreed Sam, “it’s Spirit Week. When the teachers participate in medieval rituals to brainwash us into supporting the troglodytes that ‘represent’ our school in sports.”

“I was going to argue,” said Tucker, “but that is about what it’s for, isn’t it?”

“Yeah,” said Danny, “I don’t think it’s that. Probably. Unless there’s a ghost that appreciate the pun?”

“You appreciate puns.”

“I’m not a ghost,” said Danny, frowning at Sam.

“That’s true.”

Danny sighed. “I just have a bad feeling about this. I know you can’t see like I can, but… be careful. If you do see anything weird, let me know.”

“Hey, Danny!”

“Oh, I changed my mind. Kill me now, I want to be a ghost.”

Jazz ran up and threw an arm around Danny’s shoulders. “You left so early!” she said. “Are you excited about Spirit Week, too?”

“No,” said Danny.

Jazz paused, looked at Danny more closely. “You look terrible,” she said. “Maybe you should talk to the counselor?”

“Pass,” said Danny.

“You know, you’ll have to talk to me in more than monosyllables at some point.”

“Do I?”

Danny rolled his eyes.

“Anyway, I’ve got to go to talk to Mr. Lancer about my speech! Have a great Spirit Week, guys!”

She ran off.

“I will never understand her,” declared Sam. “But I think she does have a point about the counselor. Maybe they’d be able to help with the nightmares? At least the non-ghost-caused ones.”

“All my nightmares are caused by ghosts.”

“Eh,” said Tucker, giving a half-shrug.

“Will it make you feel better if I agree to go?”

“Yes,” said both Sam and Tucker.

“Ugh. Fine,” said Danny.

.

Danny walked though the deserted hallway, pass in hand, study hall abandoned behind him as he looked for the counselor’s office. He’d never been there before, but it should be around here somewhere, right?

A cold hand settled on his shoulder.

“You must be Danny Fenton! Your sister told me all about you.”

Danny turned to look up at a tall woman. She was dressed a lot more flamboyantly than Danny would have expected.

“Yeah? That’s me. Who are you?”

“I’m Penelope Spectra. Your counselor! Why don’t you tell me what’s wrong with you?”

“Uh,” said Danny. There was something unpleasantly an unexpectedly pejorative and assumptive about that statement. Weren’t counselors supposed to tell you that there wasn’t anything wrong with you? That your feelings were valid.

He shrugged. He couldn’t put his feelings into words.

(Couldn’t open his mouth for fear of cold leaking out past his teeth, his soul exhaled with his breath.)

(Why did he feel this way?)

“Why don’t you step into my office?”

The room was… not what he expected.

“Sorry about the dust,” said Spectra. “I’m just moving in. They upgraded me.” She smiled, showing all her teeth. “So… like I said, your sister told me a lot about you, and I have a few things I’d like to try for your laz—Excuse me. Your difficulty with staying focused. It happens sometimes with traumatic brain injuries, that a promising young mind can be—Well. In any case. I am here to support you and find a way for you to succeed. What’s troubling you?”

Danny’s ginger perch on the dusty chair turned into a frustrated slump. “Nothing,” he said. He pushed himself back up. “I should go—”

“Oh, just humor me,” said Spectra. “There has to be some reason you came. Anxiety? Stress? Social pressures?”

Danny shook his head and stood up.

“Nightmares?”

He sat back down.

.

Danny leaned over the table to whisper to Tucker during English, when they were supposed to be reviewing vocabulary words.

“Have either of you seen the counselor before?” asked Danny, after what was easily the worst week of his life. He was starting to have suspicions, but…

“Yeah,” said Tucker. “When you were in the hospital. He was pretty cool.”

“He?” asked Danny. “He?”

“Yeah?”

“I’ve been seeing a ghost for the past week.”

“Ghost therapist? Well, if it’s working…”

“It isn’t. She’s from hell. I swear. A literal demon from hell.”

“Exorcism?”

“Exorcism.”

.

Jazz didn’t often come to school after hours, but she’d left several important things and she was the student body activity director, voted for and everything.

Important thing #1, her speech, which she had to practice.

Important thing #2, the—what was that?

Already spooked by the late-night atmosphere, she ducked into a doorway and peeked at the place she’d seen movement. There weren’t many classes held down that hallway, and she didn’t come down this way often, so maybe she was just—

No. That was her little brother and his friends conducting some kind of satanic ritual over a wastepaper basket.

Their parents were terrible influences. She was going to give them a stern talking to when—what what what what WHAT—

What had she just seen?

She looked back around the corner to see the… whatever it was dissolve in smoke and fire and shadows. Then Danny and his friends started cleaning up as if this was a perfectly normal Thursday night.

Jazz… Jazz was going to process this. Later.

She turned around and walked straight back out to her car. There was, after all, nothing that important.

.

“So,” said Danny, leaning towards Sam on the bleachers as he watched his sister give her speech. “Looks like we saved Spirit Week.”

“Never say that to me again,” said Sam.

“But we did. Look at all this spirit-filled people.”

“You were literally the only victim.”

“But Sam~”

“It does seem less grim, though, doesn’t it?” asked Tucker, contemplatively. “You are no longer the goth bird of happiness.”

“Maybe a bit,” allowed Sam. “I think that’s just because everyone’s glad this week is over, though. No offense, Danny.”

“None taken. I’m glad it’s over, too.”

[vintage-writes]

Yes I’m Mad, You Broke my Leg (Tomura Shigaraki x Reader)

Pairing: Tomura Shigaraki x Fem!Reader

Summary: You are currently undercover at U.A High School as Aizawa’s teaching assistant. One day on a field trip with Class 1A the League of Villains shows up and you now have to pretend that you’re definitely not in love with the leader. Of Course, Maybe you took it a tad too far. >-<

Warnings: None, Fluff. Slight bit of Angst but otherwise it’s just a pouty Shigaraki..

Word Count: 2 057

_________________________________________________

“Shigaraki is dead ahead moving into the back alley. Y/n, I need you to cut them off,” Aizawa’s voice echoes in your ear. “I’ll handle Kurogiri.”

Your feet continuously pound against the stone floor. You pass several run down buildings as you sprint down the deserted streets. The League of Villains recently attacked an old hospital currently experimenting on quirk enhancement. Seeing as the U.A. students were conveniently nearby, the Saturday school trip has turned into yet another effort to finally get a hold of Tomura Shigaraki, head of the League of Villains. Because God forbid, we actually do something normal for a change.

As Aizawa’s newest teaching assistant, that he reluctantly agreed to, you were now careening around corners on foot to catch up to him and cut him off from behind while Aizawa took chase from the front. So far, you just wish you had stayed home.

As you make your way around the final corner you run into the man himself. His cotton blue hair billowing behind him, his cloak flapping around in the wind. His trademark hands are currently in place blocking your view of his handsome face.

“Hello Villain”, you say.

He says nothing in response, simply tilting his head at you.

“I’ve been ordered to stop you here”, despite not being able to see his face you can tell by his body language, he isn’t pleased with the idea. “Why don’t we have some fun.”

“Let’s not”

You quickly slip the knife waiting in your belt into your right hand. Using your quirk you block off all the exits except for the one in the direction of Aizawa. You lunge forward and swipe your knife at him but he jumps backwards in time to avoid the edge. You swipe again, he dodges again, and like this you proceed to dance around another with jabs and slashes. Despite his size and lowered visibility, he is able to move rather smoothly.

Again, you decide to emit your quirk to land a blow on him which he narrowly avoids. However this time, as he dodges away he latches all five fingers onto a column supporting a nearby building. His quirk manifests at an alarming rate and eats away at the majority of the column before swiftly shifting over to eat away at the bricks and chipping paint of the building itself.

“Wait! NO!” You lunge forward intent on stopping him, knife discarded. The area didn't have any time to be evacuated, therefore, many people were still residing in the houses. If the building collapsed, it could definitely take a life or two.

Surprised by your sudden cry, he jumps away from the wall. Between the fingers, you can see his eyes have widened considerably. Before you had any time to say or do anything that could potentially explain the sudden outburst, you hear Aizawa’s voice shouting from behind.

“Y/n, get him now!”

Right. Remain focused.

You turn back to the task at hand only to freeze. Rushing towards you at an alarming rate was Shigaraki, hand outstretched, aimed at your face. On pure and absolute instinct, you drop down into a crouch before swinging your left leg around to connect with the corner of his knee. The blow lands with a sickening crunch and he immediately drops like a sack of potatoes as you roll out of the way. Adrenaline thrumming through your veins as you roll onto your feet again, turning to face Shigaraki. He’s lying on his side, hand fallen beside him and face in full view. Shigaraki’s face twists in pain as he lets out a strangled cry. However, this time,  Kurogiri sits beside him and without wasting time, the two disappear. 

“Dammit!” Aizawa says as he rocks up beside you. “Nice job though, that will definitely throw a wrench in their plans.”

You look up at Aizawa, confusion written all over your face.

He chuckles softly, “Nice job on breaking his leg, it’ll give the heroes a chance to breathe and track them down.” Aizawa begins to walk away and motions for you to follow so that you can meet up with the students. However you remain frozen in place as realisation begins to set in. Guilt immediately floods over you. You broke Shiggy’s leg. You gave him a clean break to HIS LEG. You wander after Aizawa in a daze. Meeting up with the students feels like a nightmare as each one compliments you on a job well done. It doesn’t feel like a good job. You plaster on a realistic smile as you pretend to revel in the glory. It’s an incredibly strange feeling to be praised for doing something you really didn’t want to do.

You’re never going to hear the end of this.

___________________

Three agonising days pass before you’re allowed off campus. You send in a request with Principle Nezu and he allows you to stay off campus on Friday night for your ‘Mom’s birthday’. Aizawa gives you papers to mark and sends you off with a pat on the head and a request to remain safe. 

“I doubt Shigaraki’s allies will be too pleased with you, stay out of the spotlight.”

You gave him your thanks before leaving campus. Now you stand in front of a rundown warehouse, cake in hand, mentally preparing yourself for the shit you’re about to get into. God can only prepare you for the amount of petty, pouty rage, Shiggy’s about to send your way. You move forward and slowly open the door. It swings open on its hinges anyway, screaming into the open space. On the musty couch sits Dabi and Toga watching some god awful American drama.

Dabi looks up and with a teasing smile and proclaims, “Would you look at that. It’s the hero.”

“Shut up, Dabi”

“Oh, Y/n, Y/n, Y/n”, he tuts. “I feel like maybe you should be a little nicer, especially with the mood he’s in right now.”

“Don’t you think I know that”, you hiss back, holding up the cake tin.

“You think Cake is going to fix this?”

You pause before softly mumbling a tired ‘maybe’. Dabi bursts out laughing while you throw a venomous look at him.

“Oooohh, no need to be like that, or are you going to break my leg now too-- ow!” He shouts out, rubbing his head. Toga raises her arm again, TV remote in hand. A warning written all over her face. 

“He’s in the back Y/n”, she says. She offers a smile, hand still raised. “Don’t worry too much about it.”

You thank her and send Dabi another mean look as you duck around the corner, striding towards the back room. As you reach the door you release a breath before entering.

Shigaraki sits on the couch, head in his hand as he watches the news. Surprisingly enough he’s staring intently at the sports channel. He’s avoiding you, you realise. You walk in on soft feet to stand in front of the couch. You place the cake on the coffee table. You decide to be straightforward and address the elephant in the room.

“Hey Baby, how’s the leg”, you say gently.

“Hi Darling,” he starts off, “It’s fine.”

Darling, he says. That one’s new.

“Are you mad?” you whisper. He finally meets your eyes. Crimson eyes burning with heat.

“Why would I be mad? It’s not like you broke my leg”, he says, gravelly.

“Baby, I promise you, it wasn’t on purpose. You caught me off guard. I barely even knew what I was doing, it was all on instinct”, You start off desperately. “I swear, it will never happen again. Aizawa just caught me off guard.”

His eyes fixate on you. He’s studying you thoroughly, doubt swirling in his eyes. His calm face remind you of someone in mourning. He leans forward, hands interlace, elbows resting on his knees. He doesn’t look at you again. Instead, he stares into the spot above the TV. Ideas turning behind red eyes. You feel your heart drop. Does he no longer trust you? Is this the end of the relationship? You’ve always known Shiggy’s trust was difficult to earn but you never thought it would be lost, especially not like this.

“Do you not trust me?” he asks at last.

You still. Do you not trust him? That’s ridiculous. Of course you trust him. You’d lay down your life for this man. For the opportunity for him to be happy, to burn the world down that betrayed him. To cripple a society that is unequal and cruel.

However, the scene plays back in your mind, the sight of his hand moving towards your face. His pinky tucked beneath it, only the thumb and forefinger truly posing as some form of a threat. Granted the only reason you had done what you did, had more to do with an object coming towards your face then a lack of trust in him.

You kneel down in front of him and rest on your knees. You remain on the side of his good leg, eye-level with him.

You reach forward and grasp his interlaced hands, unlocking them and entwining your own within his gloved fingers. Slowly you lift each hand up and place a kiss on the knuckles.

“I love you so much, of course I trust you.” You say gently. “This will never happen again.”

He smiles and then proceeds to lift up your hands in order to place kisses on your knuckles. Sincerity pooling in his eyes.

“I love you too. Please be safe.”

You send him a wink, “Always, and one really good thing came from this. The Pro’s trust me a whole lot more now.”

His smile drops suddenly and so does your heart. Maybe that came out wrong.

“I’m still in a lot of pain”, he says, looking away with a pout, “I’m still mad.”

You climb onto the couch next to him and place a kiss on his cheek before whispering, “I brought cake.” You beam up at him and he lets out the softest little chuckle.

“What kind of cake?”

You giggle.

“Chocolate, Delicious Chocolate.”

“Alright, I’ll eat the cake and then see if I’m still mad.”

You let out a laugh before kissing him full on the lips. Slightly chapped as his lips are, they’re still soft to the touch. He places a hand on your cheek and deepens the kiss, groaning. Warmth spreads over your body as you feel at peace.  Wrapping his arms around you, you fall into him. The worrying for the past few days suddenly feels silly now as his gentle heat engulfs you.

You pull away breathless. Eyes like plated Mars, stare into your own. His beauty is stealing away all reasoning. Taking away the very air of your lungs.

“Cake?” you ask, a blush spread across your cheeks.

He nods back, “Cake.”

You reach over for the Cake tin and hand it to him before reaching down again for the spoons. As you turn back you see that he’s already opened the tin, a card sits in his hand as he stares down at both, a look of confusion written all over his face. 

Oh Yeah, that’s what you forgot to do. He looks at the card, then at you before lifting the cake out of the tin and displaying it for you. Out of the corner of your eye you can see the card has been placed aside. Without looking at it you already know what it says. 

A quick note to “Enjoy the precious time spent with family” signed by Principal Nezu.

“Babe”, he says “Why does this cake say ‘Happy Birthday Mrs (L/n)’”

You Throw him a sheepish smile.

“Happy Birthday, Mom”

_______________________________

A/N: There is nothing anyone can say to convince me Nezu wouldn’t do this.