#but just... every interaction with her feels like walking through a minefield

[benevolentslut]

.

[yopapiishere]

05. Estimated Time of Death

Just Breathe: Modern Warfare II x Reader

Word Count: 3,844

(A/n): Why did it take so long to write this, I lowkey hate myself for writing this cringe, I have a hate-love relationship with writing

(All photos off Pinterest)

Ghost POV

Looking back on my previous question, "I know you didn't sleep well last night," I can't help but wonder why I phrased it that way. The expression on her face at that moment is vivid in my memory – a mixture of confusion and what seemed almost like a suppressed frown. I can't help but question myself: What was I thinking? Could I have possibly sounded any creepier? It's moments like these that make me second-guess my social interactions and my ability to gauge what's appropriate.

Having spent what feels like an eternity in the military, I find myself trapped in a communication labyrinth. The echoes of barked orders and the weight of issuing commands linger in every spoken word. It's as if my identity has been consumed by this relentless military machinery, leaving me struggling to find a way to converse that doesn't involve tactical strategies or combat anecdotes. Each attempt at connection feels like navigating a minefield, wondering if the next sentence will detonate discomfort or unease. The civilian world seems alien, and the haunting familiarity of my military life seeps into every conversation, a constant reminder that I'm ensnared in a communication web that's nearly impossible to untangle, yet alone with someone who clearly needs comfort.

Leaning against the cold, white wall, I'm lost in a whirlwind of thoughts as I endure the agonizing wait for her tests to conclude. My mind keeps circling back to the intense conversation I shared with Soap last night just before I retreated into the solitude of my room. The words weigh heavily on my mind, etching deep furrows onto my brow. A problem with her lungs, they said. An inundation of water is so extensive that the idea of breathing, let alone surviving, seems unfathomable. And yet, despite the odds, she walks and breathes. It's a macabre marvel, a reality-defying medical explanation. Could the water in her lungs be a cruel testament to her past drowning, or does her continued existence belie a darker truth? Could this resurgence of affliction be the reason, or is there something more insidious at play? The haunting question persists: How does life still cling to her, defying the very limits that should have consumed her?

A simple, absurd notion crept into my mind: what if she's a 'ghost'? A wry smirk tugged at the corner of my lips, though I couldn't muster the energy to entertain such a ludicrous idea. The concept seemed so preposterous that I found myself dismissing it without a second thought.

————

In the midst of rigorous military training, Soap's commanding voice cut through the air as he addressed the private who had been laughing just moments before.

"Do you think something's funny, private?" Soap's eyes bore into the young soldier, his tone devoid of amusement.

"No sir!" The private's response was immediate and sharp, his laughter replaced by a firm resolve as he stood at attention. The tension in the air was palpable as Soap's voice grew even louder, his frustration evident. The private's voice rose to match Soap's intensity, the distance between them reduced to mere inches as they stood eye-to-eye.

As Soap strode down the first row of rookies, his commanding presence filled the air. The silence was stifling, each recruit bracing themselves for what he was about to say.

"You know what I think of you maggots?" Soap's voice was sharp and cutting, his gaze sweeping across their faces. But there was no silence to be found, tension crackling like electricity.

"I think you assholes who went through boot camp are still not ready," Soap's words hit like a verbal barrage, leaving no room for misunderstanding. His voice surged in volume, carrying the weight of his frustration and expectations.

"My job is to make you all into soldiers, and I don't think I'll be able to, because you all are a bunch of ignorant pussies!" The room seemed to vibrate with the force of his words, an unapologetic challenge thrown at the feet of the recruits.

A smile crept onto the face of one of the rookies, catching Soap's discerning eye amidst the tension.

"One hundred laps around the yard. Now," Soap's voice held an unwavering command as he leaned down to confront the rookie at eye level.

"What?" The rookie's incredulous response hung in the air, challenging the order given.

"Are you disobeying, private?" Another voice interjected, as the crowd turned to see Gaz stepping in.

"I didn't even—" The rookie's words were cut short by Gaz's interruption. "Are you forgetting your fucking rank? When someone higher up says run, you fucking run," Gaz's grip on the rookie's collar emphasized his point, igniting a sense of urgency.

Soap's expression remained unamused as he exchanged a glance with the rookie. Their attention then shifted to the scene unfolding as the rookie begrudgingly began his laps around the yard, the punishment clear.

"Dismissed," Soap's single word punctuated the conclusion of the ordeal, his arms crossed in a display of authority.

Gaz leaned against the wall, his arms crossed, a deep frown etched on his face as he watched the group of fresh-faced rookies amble away. "You were right when you said you were having' a hard time training these kids," he grumbled, his voice a mixture of annoyance and resignation, as if the weight of their inexperience had finally settled in.

Soap, standing a few feet away, glanced at Gaz and let out a heavy sigh. He turned his head to meet Gaz's gaze, the creases on his forehead deepening. "It's fuckn' horrible," Soap admitted, his voice carrying the exhaustion of someone who had been pushed to their limits. "Each one of them tests my patience like it's their personal mission."

Their conversation turned to the young woman who was brought in last night. Soap's eyes shifted to Gaz as if seeking an answer to an unspoken question that had been bothering him. "How long do you think she's gonna be here?" Soap's voice held a hint of surprise, as if Gaz's next words were entirely unexpected.

Gaz shrugged, a nonchalant gesture that betrayed his uncertainty. "No idea," he replied, his tone mirroring his confusion. "But we've seen 'em come and go before. Can't be too attached."

A flicker of annoyance crossed Gaz's features as he brought up Graves, the shadow himself. "Graves is calling us babysitters," he muttered, his eyes rolling in exasperation. The image of the stern southern man came to mind, a figure whose imposing presence often led to mixed feelings among the team.

Soap's lips quirked into a half-smile, his gaze distant as he seemed lost in thought. "She's nineteen," he scoffed, a touch of disbelief coloring his words. "She doesn’t need a babysitter. She's only here for protection, nothin' more." Soap's words held a note of defiance, a reminder that despite the frustrations and challenges, their duty remained clear – to ensure her safety in an unforgiving world.

Gaz's lips curved into a subtle, flirtatious smile, his thoughts colored by Soap's words. The barracks were about to get a whole lot more interesting with (Y/n) adding to the allure.

———

"John, I appreciate your coming," Laswell acknowledged Price with a serious tone as she settled into her seat. A furrowed brow accentuated her expression, directed at the phone and laptop placed before her. The cord connecting the two devices suggested an important and potentially grave matter at hand.

"Any leads so far?" Price inquired, lowering himself into a seat beside Laswell. He produced a cigar, igniting it with a flicker of flame. He was aware that the scent wouldn't be an issue; after all, Laswell smoked cigarettes despite her wife's disapproval.

"Reviewing her messages. The contents are concerning," Laswell responded, her voice trailing off as she swiveled the military-grade laptop toward Price, revealing a screen laden with potentially troubling information.

The initial message arrived around 8:00 pm, on a Saturday.

Dad: Need to talk. Something happened.

The messages were ignored.

Dad: Stop being mad at me. It's about your brother.

The second attempt was left unread as well.

Dad: Charlie overdosed. You need to come to the hospital right away. They said he doesn't have much time.

(Y/n): On my way.

Dad: The newscast said there’s going to be a blizzard, be careful it’s icy out.

Price's brow furrowed as he read through the messages, his lips forming a tight line. He took a slow, deliberate drag from his cigar. His perusal continued.

A message was received at 12:58 am.

Dad: Where are you?

Dad: It doesn’t take four hours to make it to the hospital. Where are you?

Dad: I texted your mom; she said you left around eight. What’s happening?

Price's frown deepened as he absorbed the contents of the messages. Each communication remained at the "delivered" status without any response.

"I believe she passed away the very night she departed to visit her brother at the hospital," Laswell's voice shattered the silence, the weight of her words hanging in the air. Price's frown deepened as he drew another drag from his cigar.

"Do her family members struggle with substance abuse?" Price inquired, casting a glance in her direction.

"I've combed through her messages. Her brother and mother grapple with drug issues, while her father battles alcoholism," Laswell responded, shaking her head as if trying to process the information herself.

"Hell..." Price muttered, inhaling deeply from his cigar.

"Is her brother still alive?" Price inquired, his gaze fixed on Laswell. "The messages abruptly ceased around 1:00 am." Laswell turned her attention toward Price, her expression grave and contemplative.

With an air of intrigue, Price extended his hand towards the laptop, his movements purposeful and deliberate. His fingers danced across the interface, scrolling through the compiled data before he homed in on the enigmatic section containing photographs, as if seeking to unveil the hidden layers of the situation.

—————

Ghost

"While she slept, we conducted a few tests. All results appeared normal. The water has been successfully drained from her lungs, and she's expected to recover without complications. I've also provided pain medication," Nurse Ayan informed Ghost, his gaze fixed on (Y/n)'s medical chart. Ayan handed Ghost a small plastic orange bottle that was halfway filled with pills. He took them and shoved them into his pocket.

Gesturing for Ghost to enter the medical room, Ayan ushered him inside. Inside the room, (Y/n) was perched on the edge of the bed, her feet swaying gently back and forth.

"She's still a little groggy from the anesthesia," Ayan clarified, approaching (Y/n). Ghost's eyebrow arched with curiosity as he observed the young woman before him.

"Will she recover fully?" Ghost's voice held a note of apprehension, his concern for (Y/n) evident.

"She's going to be just fine," Ayan reassured, his tone soothing as he carefully helped (Y/n) sit up. "I do recommend that she takes a brief nap to allow her body to fully recover from the anesthesia."

Ghost's brow furrowed as he absorbed the information. "Price did mention she was going to have a busy day today," he confirmed, his gaze shifting between Ayan and (Y/n) as he contemplated the situation.

(Y/n) stumbled her way over to Ghost, her eyes glistening with tears.

"Can I go back home now? I miss my dog…” Her voice quivered, and she wiped at her eyes. Ayan's lips pressed together in a sympathetic expression, his gaze resting on her with sadness. Meanwhile, Ghost's reaction momentarily froze.

Ghost glanced at Ayan, who silently mouthed, "Play along."

"Yeah, I'm here to take you home," Ghost responded, placing a comforting hand on her shoulder. (Y/n) nodded, mustering a faint smile as she wiped her tears.

"Is Charlie back at home?" Her voice held a touch of anxiety as she bit her lip. Ghost nodded in affirmation, his reassuring gesture conveying everything. He guided her towards the door, both of them now part of an unspoken understanding, even if one had no idea who the other person mentioned.

Guiding (Y/n) down the corridor, Ghost found himself consistently bumped from behind. He clenched his lip, trying to suppress his annoyance. In the midst of navigating, he sensed her footsteps halt, causing him to glance backward. His heart sank; she had vanished.

"Fuckin’ hell..." he muttered under his breath, acutely aware of the trouble he was in if Price ever got wind of this.

He commenced his search, inadvertently interrupting a meeting in one room. Without saying a word, he scanned the area, even stooping to check beneath a table, which earned him perplexed glances from the occupants.

As he continued his search, a sudden shout echoed through the halls. The voice was unmistakable, and Ghost's senses went on high alert. Swiftly, he traversed the hallway, rounding a corner to witness (Y/n) locked in an argument with Graves. A group of Graves' soldiers stood nearby, arms folded, adding to the tense atmosphere.

"Shouldn’t you be on watch?" Graves inquired, his eyebrow lifting as he gazed down at the young woman.

"They removed the ankle monitor ages ago," she responded, meeting his gaze. "Wait, am I back in jail?" Her eyes darted around cautiously. "I thought this was some kind of strip club," she added, her gaze focusing on Graves, who couldn't help but chuckle.

"Not even close, sweetheart," Graves retorted, his words prompting a few chuckles from the surrounding shadow soldiers.

"Finally found you," Ghost chimed in as he looked down at (Y/n). She peered up at him with a playful glint in her eyes. "Are you the grim reaper?" She poked him in the chest. Ghost rolled his eyes, capturing her hand gently, mindful of her bandaged fingers.

Graves let out another chuckle, his gaze fixated on her. "What's up with her?" he inquired, a bemused expression on his face. "Anesthesia," Ghost responded succinctly, guiding the young woman away from the scene.

"Nooooo, take me back! I was just about to get a lap dance," she protested, her tone playfully petulant as she made a half-hearted attempt to squirm out of his hold. Undeterred, Ghost smoothly maneuvered, his arm snaking around her waist. With a practiced motion, he effortlessly lifted her over his shoulder, earning a more dramatic chorus of whines from her in response.

Her voice remained a melodic blend of complaint and amusement, creating an odd harmony as they moved down the corridor. A few lingering glances from the shadow soldiers followed them, amusement evident in their expressions as they observed the interaction between Ghost and the spirited young woman on his shoulder.

"Take it all you hoes,” she yelled as she reached into her back pocket and threw spare change at Graves and the shadows who followed behind Ghost carrying the young woman.

"Stop it," he grumbled as the soldiers chuckled.

"No, I want my money back, they're not even undressing," (Y/n) whined, her frustration evident as she squirmed in an attempt to get off Ghost's shoulders. His grip around her tightened, ensuring she wouldn't slip off.

With a forceful push, Ghost swung open the entrance to the barracks, revealing Soap and Gaz who exchanged curious glances upon seeing the unexpected scene. Keeping a firm hold on (Y/n), Ghost gently lowered her onto the couch, his expression remaining impassive despite her protests.

"You said you were taking me home, what kind of stripper are you?" she huffed, her glare fixed on Ghost. The combination of her annoyance and Ghost's stoic demeanor created a humorous contrast, drawing a bemused smile from Soap and Gaz as they watched the unfolding exchange.

"Out," Ghost's command was clear and uncompromising, prompting the Shadows to exit the room, a swift departure that left an air of mystery behind.

"What the hell is going on?" Gaz's bewildered expression mirrored his question as his gaze shifted between Ghost, (Y/n), and the now-vacated room. The perplexity in his voice was palpable, his curiosity piqued by the unexpected turn of events.

"Anesthesia," Ghost's response was curt, his eyes rolling in exasperation at the need for an explanation. The single word left lingering intrigue in its wake, as if it held a deeper meaning only known to Ghost himself.

Amidst the aftermath, Soap approached the couch where (Y/n) sat, concern etched across his features. "You alright, lass?" His voice carried genuine care, a steadying presence in the midst of the confusion. But (Y/n) wasn't about to let the seriousness linger, her playful spirit shining through.

"Did you lose a bet to have a haircut like that?" Her voice was teasing, a playful glint in her eye as she playfully stood up on the couch, her finger prodding Soap's chest. The unexpected remark hung in the air, briefly shifting the atmosphere from confusion to light-hearted banter, even earning a small chuckle from Ghost, whose rigid demeanor cracked for a moment.

Soap's response was swift and protective. He reached out and gently took hold of her shoulders, carefully guiding her back onto the couch. "That's it, you need sleep," he declared, his tone firm as he rolled his eyes, a mixture of exasperation and concern evident in his actions.

Protesting against the idea of sleep, (Y/n) let out a playful whine, her reluctance to give in clear in her voice.

Meanwhile, Ghost took a seat at the island nearby, settling in next to Gaz. His expression remained impassive, but a flicker of amusement danced in his eyes as he observed the interaction unfolding.

Soap wasn't about to back down. With a playful determination, he retorted, "Yessss..." mimicking (Y/n)'s earlier whine, a playful glint in his eyes. The lighthearted exchange showcased the camaraderie between the team members, even in moments of fatigue and confusion.

"Can I just stay up longer... I need to see Charlie first," (Y/n) pleaded, making an attempt to sit up. Soap's initial reaction was to freeze, a mixture of worry and determination crossing his features, but he gently eased her back down onto the couch.

"You'll see him when you wake up. He isn't back yet," Soap's words were compassionate yet laced with a painful lie. His frown deepened, revealing his concern for her and the difficult situation at hand.

"No, we're supposed to go... see..." (Y/n)'s words trailed off as her eyelids drooped, her fatigue finally winning over her determination. Slowly, she succumbed to sleep, her voice fading away as she drifted off.

"Who the fuck is Charlie?" Gaz couldn't help but mutter under his breath, a question that hung in the air unanswered, leaving everyone equally clueless about this mysterious figure.

Ghost, always the pragmatic one, spoke up as he made his way to the kitchen on the other side of the room. "She's gonna be in a lot of pain when she wakes up, let her sleep," he advised, his words carrying a sense of understanding about the situation.

As Ghost departed, Soap turned to Gaz, a hint of uncertainty in his expression. "You think I should shave this off?" He pointed at his mohawk, seeking Gaz's opinion. Gaz responded with a simple eye roll, apparently uninterested in discussing hairstyles at that particular moment. The mundane question amidst the unusual circumstances brought a touch of normalcy back to their interactions.

Gaz's curiosity got the best of him, and he found himself studying the sleeping woman with a mix of fascination and concern. She appeared nearly lifeless in her slumber, but a sense of serenity graced her features. After a few moments of contemplation, he finally tore his gaze away from her.

However, Soap, always quick to pick up on things, noticed Gaz's brief fascination. With a playful smirk, he couldn't resist poking at his friend's curiosity. "She looks peaceful doesn’t she...?" Soap began, his tone teasing, but Gaz was having none of it.

"Bloody shut it," Gaz retorted, a hint of annoyance in his voice as he stood up and headed for the kitchen to make some tea.

Moments later Price entered the room with a quiet, respectful demeanor. His eyes fell upon the young woman who was peacefully asleep on the couch. Recognizing the need for comfort, he moved to the end of the couch and carefully picked up the light couch blanket, draping it gently over her sleeping form.

As he stepped away, his thoughts lingered on the woman's apparent loss. "I'm sorry about your brother, love," Price silently conveyed his sympathy, his footsteps carrying him towards the enticing aroma of the tea that Gaz was in the process of making.

The television screen suddenly flickered on and then displayed nothing but static, leaving everyone in the room completely unaware of the unexpected interruption except for Soap.

Gaz, Price, and Ghost exchanged puzzled glances, their expressions mirroring a collective bewilderment. Gaz set his tea down, his brows furrowing as he tried to make sense of the situation. Price raised an eyebrow, having just returned, equally clueless about the strange occurrence. Ghost simply stared at the static-filled screen, unable to discern the cause of the disruption.

Soap, however, was the only one who seemed to catch something amiss. He frowned and leaned closer to the television, his sharp eyes narrowing as he tried to decipher the unusual static pattern. While the others remained unaware, Soap had a hunch that there might be more to this interruption than met the eye, and he was determined to get to the bottom of it.

Amidst the confusion, a static voice emerged from the television, momentarily silencing the room. Everyone's attention turned to the screen, where a voice was heard but no picture was visible yet.

"(Y/n), I'm going to walk down to Arnold's Pizza, are you coming?" The voice carried a strange and disconcerting quality, and it left the men in the room in a state of confusion. It was as if the television had become a portal to an unexpected conversation, and no one was quite sure how to respond. However, (Y/n) remained oblivious to the unfolding strangeness, still sound asleep in the midst of it all.

"What the fuck?" Soap exclaimed, his initial confusion deepening as he turned to look over his shoulder, stepping aside to allow the others in the room a clear view of the television screen. On the screen, a young man in his early twenties appeared, with tousled brown hair falling over his forehead, and warm brown eyes that seemed to sparkle in the sunlight. His smile was infectious, reaching all the way to his eyes.

Soap couldn't hide his bewilderment. "Who the hell is that?" he demanded, speaking for the group, who were all equally puzzled by this unexpected presence on the television.

Price, his arms crossed, provided the answer, albeit in a somber tone. "Charlie," he stated simply, his gaze fixed on the static video of a memory. An uneasy silence settled in the room as they collectively tried to make sense of this mysterious intrusion from the past.

[a-tale-of-legends]

Night Call

Summary: Night terrors are a bitch.

Notes: Just wanted some hurt/comfort between Ramona and Arven. You can see their relationship however you want, I just care them. Also for the sake of my sanity, I'm just referring to Sada, since Scarlet was the first version I played.

~~~~

Ramona groaned as her Rotom phone rang in her ears, her peaceful slumber abruptly ending. She lazily reached over for her phone from her bed, squinting as the light hit her face, causing her already sour mood to sour even more. Once her eyes adjusted to the light, she looks at the caller: Arven. The fuck is he calling for this late at night? Fucking hell.

Too upset to ignore, Ramona answers the call, rubbing her eye as she's about to give Arven a piece of her mind.

" What." She hisses out, her annoyance front and center. She was expecting some sort of rebuttal, a typical Arven quip if you will. She wasn't expecting to hear a choked sob on the other end of the call. Shit.

"S-sorry-" Arven starts, but Ramona cuts him off immediately.

"No!" she quickly responds, catching herself to lower her voice, since it's so late. Her previous tiredness and annoyance have evaporated completely, her body now on high alert, ready to move if needed.

" No, no, it's alright Arven," she clears her throat, ".... What's wrong, Arv?" she asks gently.

" I-" Arven doesn't finish, another sob replacing the words. Ramona can hear the soft whine of Mabosstiff from the speaker. That's good, at least. Whatever happened, at least Mabosstiff is able to help keep Arven relatively calm.

" Are you hurt?" Ramona redirects, and Arven sniffs.

" N-no....not physically,"

Ramona feels a wave of relief washed over her. Of course. Of course, he's not hurt, he's in his dorm with Mabosstiff. Of course....okay.

" Do you want me to come over?"

Silence. She hears Mabosstiff gruff a little, and if Ramona knew any better, the dog was giving his trainer a small nudge.

" .....You don't have to," Arven says softly, his voice still strained.

" Yeah, well I want to," Ramona tch's, a slight annoyance coming back, " But do you want me to?"

".... Yes please,"

Ramona smiles for the first time in this entire conversation.

"Okay. On my way,"

~~~~

Ramona knocks on Arven's door in three gentle raps. This is probably the most gentle she knocked on anyone's door since-

Nevermind.

The door opens slowly, Arven's frame coming into view. A full inch taller than her, yet he seems so small. His eyes are red, clear tear strains down his cheeks, with more tears threatening to fall. Behind him is Mabosstiff, eyeing his trainer carefully as if he's about to break.

" Hey there bud," Ramona says softly. She steps into the room as Arven moves aside. The vegetables and other fresh products always made Arven's room smell, well, fresh. The moon shone through the window, adding a pearly white glow to the dark room.

Ramona hears the door close as she walks to Arven's bed. She sits down, signaling him to come over,which he does. The two sit on the bed, Mabosstiff laying on the floor next to Arven's feet. Neither of them talk.

Ramona knows she's not the best at being comforting. She can hardly really take being comforted herself. She never really got that. Especially from her parents. Every interaction was a minefield,every action had to be precise ( three knocks, no more no less). Looking back, it was pretty pointless. Her parents were always angry with her anyway, regardless of what she did. So now, with Arven, what can she say? What does he need right now? How can she ask without sounding like an asshole? The best she can do is just think.

" I had a nightmare," Arven is the first to speak, one hand clenching the other. Ramona nods, immediately connecting the dots in her head.

"About Area Zero?"

" I...I guess? I just-" Arven's face scrunches up, a familiar frustration spreading across his face, " I thought I was over it, you know?! I went ahead and tried to understand who she used to be, and decided what I wanted to be in spite of that,and I thought I was done. No more living in their shadow o-or worrying about far off what ifs!"

" And then you had your nightmare," Ramona finishes. Arven's anger deflates, slouching down and burying his face in his hands.

" I just want it to be done. I have you guys now, I don't know why this keeps happening," he croaks.

Keeps happening? Has this happened before?

"..... You're allowed to grieve her, you know that right?"

Arven doesn't reply, only leaning on Ramona's shoulder,the side of his head touching hers.

"Arven?"

" Do you have nightmares? About....them,"

"Yeah," Ramona says coolly, choosing to ignore the blatant redirection of the conversation, " Not as much as I used to, though. Maybe cause I'm here and they're-" she waves her hand absentmindedly, " wherever the fuck they are.....still get scared they might come back,"

" None of us will allow them to touch you if they do,". Arven's statement is accompanied by a very soft ruff from Mabosstiff, even showing off his insanely sharp teeth. Ramona snorts despite feeling genuinely touched.

" Thanks," Ramona yawns, the fact that it's late at night finally catching up to her, " But seriously, you allowed to grieve her. It's not just a one and done deal,"

" I mean," she yawns again, " I grieve over my parents, despite them not deserving it,"

"....Really?"

"Mmhm," Ramona hums, the tiredness is really settling in now, " Sometime....I wish things were better,"

" Yeah....me too...," This time Arven yawns, which is then followed by Mabosstiff, causing the two teen chuckle.

" I guess that's our cue to get some sleep,huh." Ramona only hums as she scoots on Arven's bed, laying down on the soft sheets. Arven raises a brow at her.

" You're not going back to your dorm?"

" Are you going to carry me there?"

" No,"

" Then there's your answer,"

Arven rolls his eyes affectionately, leaning down the bed side to give Mabosstiff a good night scratch.

" Fine, fine. But you're helping with breakfast tomorrow,"

" Kaaay," Ramona yawns for the uptenth time, closing her eyes and Arven lays besides her.

" ....Thanks, by the way. And sorry for calling you so late,".

No response. Arven turns to see Ramona already fast asleep, causing him to chuckle.

" Night, R.B," he says, as he himself is lulled into a nightmare-less slumber.

[ddarker-dreams]

Do Well. Yan Dabi x Reader [COMM]

warnings: dabi is just a huge asshole, emotional manipulation, implied panic attack word count: 2.6k.

“Would you be a dear and wait here for a few? I need to take a call.” 

Dabi tilts his head alongside his words, glints of amusement present in his sapphire eyes. You’re certain the bastard picks up on every subconscious movement your body makes at the question, feeling like an open book before him. Despite your valiant efforts, human biology doesn’t operate in your personal interest. The challenging premonition causes your lips to curl down, fingers twitching on the wide straw of your milk tea. Pausing mid sip, you pull back, eyelashes fluttering. It’s the subservient behavior he wants to see, and considering the alternatives, you’re tripping over yourself to give it to him.

“... Of course. I should just stay here, right?” It’s more of a question posed for your sake than his, information vital to keep your head above water. Any movements on your behalf that even hint at disobedience could lead to dire consequences, ranging in severity. The worst of which is being confined back to his dingy apartment, with nothing but your thoughts to entertain yourself. All the faux smiles, carefully timed giggles, and strategic brushes of skin against skin would be for naught. You worked too hard for these trips outside for it to fall through your fingers like sand. 

Your captor makes a point of giving you a once over, lackadaisical visage a front for a predator in waiting. Condensation builds up against the plastic container in hand, making it tricky to tell if it’s your hands growing clammy or the drink. Time passes by at a snail’s pace, neither of you making the slightest of movements. People go about their lives in happy-go-lucky bliss, none the wiser to the potential harm that Dabi poses. Feeling finally returns to your body as he stands, seemingly content with the exchange.

He shoots you a coy look over his shoulder, a crooked smile spreading across his face. “Don’t miss me too much.” 

Dabi snickers at how your nose scrunches up, waving and slinking off with his phone in hand. You watch his retreating figure, still in disbelief over the unfolding events. This would be the first time since being kidnapped that you’ve been on your own in public. These special little outings were a privilege, one that you had worked diligently for. Consistently being on your best behavior, day after day, in the presence of someone you abhor from the depths of your soul is no easy task. A rush of adrenaline shoots through your body when he’s out of sight, eyes darting around in excitement.

This is a prime location to make an escape, the outdoors of a crowded mall in the afternoon. Everyone ranging from families, to couples, and employees on their lunch break are walking around. Lively chatter fills your ears, and you observe every possibility as if it’s your last. While it’s likely a futile dream, the rush your quickening pulse brings demands attention. Lithe fingers shake by your side, every ounce of your strength devoted to keeping yourself from unraveling at the mere concept of being free. He has to be watching. You know him well enough that he wouldn’t have offered the opportunity to escape on a silver platter, there’s got to be measures in place. 

There’s no way he isn’t keeping an eye on you now, making sure that you hold true to your word of behaving. 

Your shoulders slump at this cruel reality. The act of looking around excitedly would be too much of a give away, an observation he’d surely bring up later. An eruption of goosebumps dot your skin, even in the sweltering summer heat. Taking another sip of your drink, you abandon hope of escape, certain it’d be a mistake should you try it. Though he’s purposefully kept you in the dark on most of his relationships with the League of Villains, you can safely assume he’s interconnected with enough unsavory figures to locate you should it be necessary. In contrast to the sugary goodness that coats your tongue, a sour taste in your mouth develops at this blatant flaunting of power. What an asshole. 

To be so self-assured that even in the event of your escape, hunting you down and bringing you back into his loving arms is still within the realm of possibility. Your eye twitches at this realization, mentally flinging numerous curses towards him. He didn’t have to make it so obvious, rubbing salt on the theoretical wound of your pride. Too preoccupied with festering thoughts of resentment, you fail to notice a figure taking a seat next to you on the bench. 

“Is the drink not good or something?” A light, masculine voice asks from your left. Darting around immediately at the interruption of your venomous thoughts, you spot a man around your age. Sporting messy brunette hair and a casual get up of a tee with a pair of jeans, it tugs painfully on your heart to see someone living an uninhibited life as you used to. This envy mutates into horror, as you realize being caught speaking to a stranger is going to land you in boiling water. Dabi’s consciousness is a minefield in waiting, daring to blow at the slightest wrong movement. 

What do you do? It might leave a wrong impression should you not say anything. The current times are plagued by high tension.  Numerous League of Villain attacks have rendered the surrounding regions on constant alert, news anchors telling folks to be wary of anyone or anything suspicious. Weighing your options, you decide to dismiss the stranger in kind as fast as humanly possible. 

Just act natural, act natural… “W-why do you say that?” 

Shit. Your first conversation with someone other than Dabi in over half a year has left you thoroughly horrified, pupils no doubt dilated and voice meeker than a mouse squeak. The stutter has you wincing, your naive companion undoubtedly picking up on it. You want nothing more than to shoo him off, but in fear of drawing unwanted attention, attempt to suppress your frayed nerves. You’ve been through worse than a strained conversation and made it out relatively unscatched, but this feels like a different type of battle. 

“You just seemed to be making quite the upset face,” he chuckles, reminiscing on the thought. He must’ve been referring to the glowering thinking about Dabi brought out from you. “I swear I’m not a creep or anything. I was just waiting to pick up my little sister, and happened to catch you scowling.” 

“The name’s Ryota. And you?” 

Suppressing panic that threatens to drown you, you swallow thickly. “I’m uh, Hina. The drink is fine… I just have a lot on my mind.” 

The lie is seasoned with enough truths that you hope it isn’t too transparent. Giving away your actual name could hint back to missing person’s cases, the thought of which would greatly displease Dabi. Besides, if it had been as simple as going to the police, you would’ve done it by now. You’ve grown uncomfortably familiar with Dabi’s workings, killing off a few people or bribing them would be one of the least heinous things in his portfolio. You figure the best case scenario here is that this well meaning Ryota character leaves you be, or else dire consequences will come to fruition. 

“Good to know, Hina-san. My lil sis talks about boba often, but I’ve never gotten that into it. I figure since the store’s right here, I should surprise her with a drink. What would you recommend?” 

You can’t help but greedily soak in the normalcy an interaction like this brings with it. The irritation from being drawn into a conversation is replaced with pity, a stronger resolve to keep this bystander out of harm’s way blooming. There’s no time to be wasted on the warmth erupting in your chest, or on the first genuine smiles in months that’s settled on your lips. To see the best humanity has to offer, after being subjected to the worst, is a much needed breath of fresh air. While it may be greedy to fixate on these aspects, you find yourself wanting to savor the moment of being a regular person. 

Surely, Dabi would understand your logic. 

“It depends on her tastes. If she likes sweeter drinks, I’d recommend Thai milk tea. If you’re not sure, classic milk tea is always a safe bet.” You’re proud of how you’ve been able to pull yourself together, speaking like you used to. With this, he should be set to leave, or at least you want to believe this. Unfortunately for you, life is never so easy. He doesn’t seem interested in going anywhere anytime soon, crossing his legs and leaning slightly closer to you. Realizing your mistake of radiating friendliness, your muscles go taut. 

You need to do something about this before it’s too late. 

Ryota scratches his head, mulling over your advice. “I’ll keep all that in mind. I appreciate your insight.” 

“It feels nice to be able to chill and talk like this every now and then. If I’m being honest, I was somewhat against my sister coming out to hang with friends,” Ryota’s tone takes a turn for the somber, face looking crestfallen. “With all the chaos that’s been around, y’know. It feels like everyday I wake up to more of those League of Villain stories. It feels like it’ll just be a matter of time until something happens near here.” 

“I’m sorry that--” 

“Things sure are rough,” A voice that brings out every negative emotion possible speaks up from behind you, Dabi’s familiar figure slithering into sight. He takes a seat on the bench, close to your person, wrapping a tight arm around your shoulder. “I hate to interrupt, but I need to borrow her for a bit. You mind?” 

Neither of you were expecting the sudden interruption, Ryota trying to piece everything together. “Oh, uh, not at all.’

Everything hits you like a ton of bricks. From Dabi’s rich cologne that mixes in with the smell of ash, his hair brushing against the side of your face, to the possessiveness of his grip. He squeezes your shoulder, looking from Ryota to you. It takes a moment to register what he’s communicating, but you’re able to decipher the gesture. In a last ditch attempt to salvage this situation, you confirm Dabi’s statement before things get ugly. Nodding your head, you watch with bated breath as Ryota looks from Dabi to you. He gets up from his spot on the bench, awkwardly shoving his hands into his pockets.

“It was nice talking to you.” 

Ryota heads off towards the mall doors, leaving you in the clutches of the devil incarnate. You feel how terribly warm Dabi is next to you, words wanting to spill out to justify the actions that led up to this moment. Before you get the opportunity to ramble out your thoughts, Dabi places a finger on your lips, looking at you with the same grin as always.

“Making some new friends, hm?” He inquires, drawing out the syllables. His finger goes south, lifting up your chin, and holding you close to his face. “Awe, babe. You look like you’re aboutta cry. Don’t give me that look.” 

You’re not sure if you should feel horrified at his sudden spike in talkativeness, or relieved over not having to speak your piece yet. The words wouldn’t be able to leave your mouth even if you wanted them to, a lump forming in your throat to coincide the dryness of your tongue. Dabi makes a point of emphasizing his engulfing height, having to tilt your head up to maintain eye contact. Not wanting to make a scene, you do everything within your power to still the tears that are threatening to spill out. There’s no visible signs of wrath, not that you can pick up on. He watches with great interest as you calm yourself, releasing the grip on your face and leaning back into the bench. 

When you appear sufficiently soothed, he speaks up once more, voice grating your ears. “So tell me, doll. What was all that about? I knew you’d be hurting for company in my absence, but I didn’t think you’d be so bold as to speak to someone else.” 

“I… I was approached, and… I swear, nothing happened. He just-- just wanted to know about a drink for his sister, and--” 

Dabi gently flicks your forehead, unable to stifle his cackling any longer. “I’m just messin’ with ya. I saw everything.” 

It doesn’t settle in immediately, the hypothetical cogs and gears of your head turning in slow motion. Your heart is pounding so violently that you hear it in your ears, your face erupting into a bright red. Humiliation, indignation, and finally, loathing take turns dominating your mind. He’s always had the best of times playing with you at your own expense, poking and prodding to see what reactions he can get. There’s a knee jerk reaction to want to slap him, anything to let out these overflowing feelings. Knowing that getting bothered is what he finds the most pleasure in, you’re further motivated to gain control over yourself. 

A deep breath. Inhale, exhale. You continue repeating these steps, biting your tongue to the point it stings. Dabi rests his head on his fist, watching you calm yourself down through lidded eyes. You really do get yourself worked up so easily, it’s endearing. He wants to pinch your cheeks and tease you more, but is feeling generous enough to give you this time to gather yourself. There’ll be plenty of time to play with you later, occupying himself with this cute sight placates him for the time being. When you finally reopen your eyes, you’re met with the deplorable sight of Dabi’s crooked grin. 

“Can we just… go home? Please?” You hate how weak your voice sounds. You hate everything about this situation, about the life that you’ve been forced into living. How you have to adapt to unspoken rules, subjected to twists and turns that never let you lower your guard. Most of all, you hate the person who has done this to you. His touch, his scent, his voice, all of it. You want nothing more than to scream at him at the top of your lengths, ripping that satisfied looking off his flesh and ridding yourself of this turmoil once and for all.

“Hm? Already? I thought you were hoping to get some dinner out tonight.” Dabi keeps up an air of nonchalance, likely wanting to hear you repeat yourself. Not willing to give in outright, you instead bunch up the fabric of his jacket with your hand. 

“Dabi…” 

It’s a low plea. You know you’ve gotten your point across ages ago, but he’s deriving too much pleasure from seeing how you squirm. The painful utterance serves you well, earning the slightest bit of reprieve as he gets up. On shaky legs, you follow after him, head downcast. Fixating on the tops of your shoes, you wonder if distracting yourself might do anything to ease your tormented soul. The events of the day have left you thoroughly exhausting, and nothing sounds better to you than sleeping for as long as he’ll allow you.

“Alright, alright. Let’s head on back,” he snakes an arm around your waist, pulling you close to his side. No longer having strength to muster up in retaliation, you let him do as he pleases, still fighting down sniffles. “Don’t bother your pretty little head about this.” 

You don’t bother honoring him with a reaction. 

Dabi takes a final glance over his shoulder, spotting the pesky man from before, who is still waiting against a wall. He takes a mental picture of the notable features, lips settling into a deep frown. How troublesome. Before you notice anything, he picks up his pace, continuing the walk back to his apartment. Ideas and resentment swirl within his mind like a tornado, pent up frustration begging to be released. 

All in due time, he thinks.

[masterthespianduchovny]

Some people gon be mad at me, but I gotta say it...

Some Scully fans don't understand Scully or her relationship/feelings with/for Mulder.

Scully's relationship with Mulder is this utterly pure thing that is grounded by how much she genuinely cares, respects, and supports him as a person. When you understand Scully's perception of Mulder in this view, seeing her as some long suffering woman doesn't make any sense.

Most of the time Scully sacrifices or choosing Mulder isn't based on romantic feelings, it's based in moral and ethical values and what she holds important. The show sets this up early.

In Squeeze, Tom asks "who's side are you on" and Scully says, "the victim."

This coincides with the side Mulder is on.

Tom was obstructing the case due to his on bias and hatred of Mulder. Despite Mulder's pettiness, Scully understands that Mulder will always prioritize the victim. She chose justice (Mulder) over pettiness (Tom).

When Scully declines a second date with the single father, she's choosing knowledge and curiosity over romance and her personal life.

Interestingly enough, Mulder never asked her to choose him. He's always asked her to be honest about the truth, but he never put her in that situation to prioritize him over her own professional goals or personal life. In fact, he would've understood if she did and said as much.

So when I say some Scully fans don't understand Scully, I'm not being insulting or intentionally rude, I'm saying they're overlooking small character moments that inform her characterization throughout the series.

Scully was not only a workaholic, she LOVED her work. And there wasn't just an obligation to Mulder, it was to the victims as well. I often think about how in this universe, if Mulder and Scully hadn't investigated these cases, either no one would've or it would've never been solved. It must've been something Scully also thought about as well.

Scully mentioned a few times that she joined the FBI to make a difference. Not for prestige or make a name for herself, but to make a difference. She didn't throw away her career for Mulder, she was exactly where she wanted to be. Those other cases handled by mainstream agents were always going to be investigated and solved (if possible), but x file cases?

There's a reason Mulder was called from bumfuck, Kansas or backwoods, West Virginia. There was no one else. Her and Mulder were the only two who took these things seriously.

But also, Scully genuinely genuinely cared for Mulder. Not because she wanted to fuck him, thought he was hot, or really wanted to date him. She enjoyed him as a person. Like truly. After working with him, understanding this beliefs, and meeting many victims, the x files became her passion project too. She attached herself to Mulder because there was no one alive she respected more than him. Someone who stood by their convictions regardless of what others thought to the betterment of people besides him.

He had his flaws, but the great parts of Mulder truly outshined the worst parts of him.

People often overlook how much the x files and her experience changed Scully. The deadpan, straight to the point Scully we know and love came to fruition in season 5. Believe me, I checked. Remember, Scully used to be goofy, open, and free. Then she was abducted, given cancer, kidnapped, sister killed over mistaken identity, etc. That changes a person.

But none of this is Mulder's fault. Mulder changed her in the best way possible. He opened her mind up and challenged her--it was intellectual. Those other things I mentioned made Scully pull within herself and close off. It made her guarded. So suffered so much emotional and mental and literal physical trauma.

As a result, her social interactions changed.

As a reminder, she became a workaholic because of her passion for the x files and she enjoyed it. Then to add on to that, her work was wild as hell, hard to explain, and some of it classified. Scully lived such a unique experience that regularly interacting with others would've been frustrating, exhausting, and her having a sense of feeling misunderstood. And dating would've been a minefield.

Thing is: Scully didn't mind this change to her life. This isn't to say that Scully didn't want or have any friends, it's to say that she didn't strive to have a booming social life nor did she care. Again, she VOLUNTARILY became a workaholic and threw away a normal life for paranormal shit. Someone who does that isn't trying to meet friends for happy hour on Friday or planning to have serious relationships any time soon.

Not only that, some people live lives like this right now and have incredibly fulfilling lives. Some people just work and have one or two friends and they're living their best lives. The idea that just because Scully doesn't have an active dating life and a circle of friends she regularly talks to means that her life is dour is so flawed.

Scully's eventual dissatisfaction with her life was rooted in her believing she should want things that she didn't want. Scully could've walked away. She could've said enough, instead she kept finding reasons to stay because she wanted to be on the x files. And it's quite clear that you can't work on the x files and have a normal life. She didn't want both, she wanted the life that she chose.

At that time, Scully was unable to articulate just how much she wanted to be with Mulder, which is why she positions, "Don't you want to get out of the car?"

She wanted moments of normalcy with him.

And it isn't just because Mulder gets that life because he lives it, its because Scully is actually in love with Mulder for who he is. She's seen Mulder at his best and at his worst and loves every part of him.

Whatever feelings Scully had for Mulder in the past that she pushed away, she couldn't do it anymore. She loved Mulder in a way she couldn't put into words. It was the truest feeling she ever felt, the most sincere thing and she hadn't realized it yet. Then, when she does, it takes them time to get there because Mulder is literally the most important person in her life.

Which seeds were planted back in season 2. In "Little Green Men" (I think), the thought of not working with Mulder saddened Scully because it meant she wouldn't get to see and talk to him. Mulder made a huge impression on her and became important to her very quickly.

So imagine 5-7 years down the road...embracing this feeling and the thought of losing Mulder if things went south would've been devastating for Scully. She wouldn't lose just a partner, she'd lose a best friend too.

Because she genuinely cared for him and he's her literal best friend.

The love Scully feels for Mulder surpasses known definitions of romantic love because her feelings aren't centered in that. She loves him on levels that most people can't imagine. Scully cares for Mulder so much and she shows that by listening to him and protecting him even if Mulder doesn't think he needs protection. She validates him and doesn't trivialize his beliefs even when she doesn't agree with them. It doesn't matter who the person is, Scully will always go to bat for Mulder because he only ever had himself and he needs to someone to say "hey, you're not alone and you're taken seriously."

I bring this up to say, the idea that Mulder doesn't deserve Scully when Scully clearly wants him is flawed. The idea that Mulder should be lucky that Scully "puts up" with him is flawed. The idea that Scully would ever tell Mulder as such or anything resembling (and stressing how she could've been happy with this perfect other man) is flawed. Those first two things are categorically wrong and the last is something Scully would never do because she loves Mulder and that is harmful. Scully would never tell Mulder something that would harm him or that she believed could.

All Things is so pivotal because Scully stops concerning herself with what she believe she should want and embracing what she actually wants: investigating x files and living an unconventional life with Mulder.

Scully wants that.

Not dating around, girls night, or frequent intimate get togethers with her family. She wants to investigate haunted houses on Christmas Eve and discover invisible bodies and help victims find justice.

After her and Mulder get together, she's committed to him. She waited so long to be with him that even while he was in hiding, she never considered dating anyone else. Emotionally and spiritually, she'd been married to him. Now that they'd been together, she didn't want anyone else but him.

Like there's so many layers to this, which hasn't even taken the "like a switch" speech. Or her reaction to Diana, which had multiple levels--romantic, platonic, and professional.

Lastly, the idea that Scully was waiting around for Mulder (to ask her out) is such a basic take. Scully wasn't waiting on Mulder, she prioritized their working relationship over romance AND she knew Mulder had his own stuff going on with himself. Even if she had wanted to date then, she didn't fault Mulder for not asking her out. All the shit he'd been through and was going through, Scully was more concerned about his emotional well-being opposed to upset that he hadn't pursued her.

Although I do get the criticism and the desire for Scully to date, have on screen friends, and shit, it just doesn't track with what we've seen and know of Scully.

Like, this woman almost went on the run with Mulder after knowing him for 2-3 years. They only reason they didn't was because she wanted to see her sister who'd been shot. The reason she almost went on the run was due to moral and ethical reasons and not romance, however, my point is that Scully's convictions and priorities is why her life was the way it was and that's the way she wanted it to be. She then went on the run with him when she didn't have to, but we know she would because 1. his sentence was an injustice (we know how Scully feels about justice) 2. she was madly in love with him and refused to continue living her life without him.

Once again, Scully is discarding any notion of normalcy because she didn't want it and hadn't wanted it since getting assigned to the x files.

And that's on that.

(And it's why I object to the characterization of their relationship in IWTB and seasons 10 and 11. Although it's fine and makes sense for their relationship to have issues at times, the writers handled it so cavalierly and without thought. You cannot have the backbone of the show in a romantic falling out and not address it--not really. They don't try to genuinely deal with such a situation because it's melodrama, but my question is: why introduce it in the first place. If it isn't worth being addressed, it's not worth being introduced. Mulder and Scully had a chat or two, but it was so superficial and lacked teeth. It's not that I wanted the show to focus on them romantically, I just want the show to not bullshit or half ass shit they're introducing and bringing up is all.)

[blakegallo]

can i vent here? i'm a big buddie shipper. i would really love it if the show went in this direction. but i love taylor too. and i enjoy her with buck a lot. it's not that hard. but the things people here post about her. i was in her tag and it's just full of holier than thou people posting abt how she is problematic, sitting on their high horse. or some stupid rumors about how is gonna be pregnant, abt how she is gonna use buck for a story. i hate this fanodm, i really do. can they grow tf up?

feel free to vent.

i think that the fandom would be a much better place if people understood that plenty of people can ship multiple things at the same time. and that it would just be a more fun place to interact if every piece of analysis about taylor kelly wasn't strictly from a bad faith lens..

as someone that has recently watched dosed and buck actually recently, i feel like how people discuss the events there are wildly off base... again, because of that bad faith lens.

people bring up all kinds of justifications as to why bucktaylor needs to end. from imagined character flaws of taylor to things that megan west has allegedly done. [ as tho ryan guzman is someone who was touched by an angel... like sorry they're not going to recast eddie diaz to make buddie canon ].

i hate plenty of characters in the shows that i watch [ looking at you audrey hope in this little gossip girl reboot ], but i simply cannot imagine putting in a fraction of the effort to make content about a character i hate as people do about taylor kelly. trying to reblog positive content is like walking through a minefield. and when you make your own the antis be all in the tags like literal children.

i recently deleted this text post, but the s5 911 fandom is as bad as riverdale's in its peak and i truly hate that for the culture.

[olivieblake]

This is going to be like obnoxiously long so, sorry in advance. Have you ever had to deal with someone you love looking down on the way you love yourself?? Let me preface this by saying that I have a great relationship with my mom but this is like the one thing she does that truly bothers me. So I am super socially awkward and just generally bad at interacting with other people. This is the thing about myself that I am most self conscious of. But, my looks have literally never been something I care about. And my mother cannot stand this because I have never even come close to the standards she’d like me to reach. She has basically been trying to get me to change the way I look since I was like 15. I love my body, because it has done some seriously kickass things. I was a division one athlete for four years, and this body enabled me to go to college, which I would have otherwise been unable to afford. Yeah, I have massive hips and thighs, and some muscle that’s less than “feminine” but I’ve always loved my body and I put it through hell to play a sport that I loved and leave college debt free. Everybody has insecurities about little things but for the most part, I don’t spend time worrying about the way that I look to other people. And my mom hates it so much. Several years ago, I shattered all of the bones in my leg during a game, and had extensive surgeries and was immobilized for months. This is the worst thing my mom ever said to me, because I lost so much weight and muscle to atrophy and she told me that I looked great, never mind that I was in constant agony and had to relearn how to walk. (I also worked extremely hard to gain that weight back and it was much more difficult with my titanium reinforced leg). I just don’t know how to explain to her that I’m happy looking the way I do, even if she thinks I’m “fat”!! It’s literally the only thing we fight about and I refuse to let her get in my head and give me insecurities I don’t need, but it’s still hard to have someone that I love telling me that I shouldn’t be okay with the way I look. I won’t even START with the fact that I dyed my hair purple and the fights that’s caused. Anyway, I was just wondering if you have any advice because I really do love my mom, and we get along so well as long as we aren’t talking about what’s “wrong” with me. I just want her to stop hating parts of me that I love. Why are moms so frustrating???

oh gosh, well first of all I’m proud of you for knowing what really matters and getting through all that despite the toll it must have taken on your sense of self. it must have been really hard to do without the support you were craving from your mom, so I definitely commend you for that. communication is so hard, especially with a parent, who is... sociologically, biologically, fundamentally unlike every other person who will ever be in your life. every emotion in the parent-child relationship is heightened; it seems like it should be easy to say “I would like to be loved in this way” and then receive it, but it never is. it’s always a minefield, especially because we are more likely to be sensitive to what feels like refusal or rejection and they are more likely to be stubborn about what they think you should or shouldn’t understand about their love

so yeah, we can definitely talk about this for monday! 

[tardis-sapphics]

20 + Thasmin (also i love your blog)

hi i love your blog too!!

20: ‘breaking the rules’

so this became a oneshot, not a ficlet, for which i apologise. more to read, i guess? also, i’d recommend listening to this song while you read. i am a little obsessed with it and had it on repeat when writing this Temptation is a cruel mistress. The perpetual out-of-reach; the ghost on her fingertips when she can’t quite close a hand around what she wants. It whispers quiet enough to let her continue with her day, but loud enough to muddle all else in muffled sound. It is the constant whine in her ear; the image in her head sticking to the insides, like paint. The conjurer of impatience and reality’s favourite trickster.

It has the glossiest voice. A touch like satin. But it has teeth like toothpicks, whining and desperate to bite down into rationality.

Aiming for the jugular and sinking in. Its claws have her in its clutches.

An undercover mission is not meant to last this long. Her previous attempts have all been fraught with boredom, a mounting frustration. She can’t stay in one place—she never has. Her freedom is her lifeline.

But the end result must be worth it. This missing princess and her entourage—they must be worth it.

Landing on this planet went from a brilliant idea to an awful one very quickly. Important—but still awful. To the local king’s delight, his daughter Tanza has been found. He brushed off Tanza’s proclamations that she was not a princess, but a time-travelling alien, and these were not her personal attendants but her human friends. He put it down to shock. Being kidnapped with one’s servants and being left for dead in the wilds of the Bostara Jungle would make even the strongest man mad.

So they’ve been forced undercover. And still, no real princess has returned. The Doctor has no idea what happened, only that she needs the real Tanza back. Taking her place is burning all her patience to ash.

Ryan, Yaz and Graham have settled into life as the princess’ personal attendants—as well as one can when rapidly learning new skills and customs. It isn’t unlike medieval life on Earth, except her fam were never medieval—and this king, this land, this world, is not human.

As personal attendants, the fam are there when she calls, but their interactions are coded if the presence of someone else forces it. If they are left alone—the two of them, the three of them, the four of them—then they can discuss matters. The Doctor leads discussions, but they glean information from wherever, and whomever, they can. Servants enjoy a gossip about their masters, and Tanza is no exception: Graham hears from the porters that she enjoys long walks; Ryan hears from the cooks that she will ask for enormous amounts of food, but leave most of it.

Yaz learns that the princess is always close to her treasured personal attendant, Bellara. Always. She was the first to disappear, alongside her princess, to the surprise of no one. Nobody gives a second thought to “Bellara” spending as much time with the Doctor as she does, because she always did.

She is the first to arrive in the morning, and the last to leave every meeting. She personally oversees the Doctor’s routines in the mornings. She helps the Doctor get a hang of all these ridiculous clothes, all of them exponentially more complicated than her rainbow, trousers and braces. She often says as much to Yaz, when they are both alone and both sure of it.‘You’ll be back in them soon,’ she reminds her, lying down the third outfit of the day: a frilly shirt, a flowing skirt that affords some manoeuvrability. She always passes over the pencil skirt, and the Doctor is grateful.

Every day is a minefield of too much: of being too close to Yaz, and too far from her. Yaz’s fingers trail down expensive silk like a caress, each fingertip light on the material. Each piece of clothing is blessed now, the Doctor thinks—and it has become part of a routine, to have this be the closest thing to touch between them. Life would not feel the same without it. She would itch, constantly. As if she does not already.

The Doctor has no qualms about changing in front of others. But it is forbidden here, especially between a royal and her attendant, and humans—never mind Manarans—are more conscious of these things.

But Yaz stays close. Just on the other side of the door. If the Doctor stills, she can hear her breathing.

Temptation is the fox in the night. Its eyes are upon her, not quite doleful and not quite curious. It knows what it wants. It lies in wait.The dark is felt more strongly for knowing it is there. If she forgets, it will call, a baying sound that sits uncomfortably in her ears, her head.

Not that she would ever forget.

Yaz is always polite. Hesitant. When the Doctor emerges, unsettled, in her frilly top and strange skirt, the Doctor hears the slightest inhale. She swears, for a moment, she can see Yaz reach for her., but she stops herself. The Doctor does the same.

A maroon top and navy blue skirt. It feels closer to home. Yaz’s own outfit is rougher, a roughly-cut piece of cloth wrangled into a dress. Still sleek, but unkempt no matter the effort.

She wants better for Yaz. For Ryan and Graham, too, with their too-thick collars. But especially for Yaz—she sees, day in, day out, her unease in the bodice, and she wants Yaz to wear some of these clothes that the Doctor has no need for. She wants Yaz to be comfortable.She wants to take—

But, no. These are the rules.

‘M—ma’am,’ Yaz stutters. She takes a step back, and then flits off. The only trace of her left is the smell of kitchens that cling to her clothes.

Animal fat, and woodsmoke, and mint. And underneath all that, her own scent, something the Doctor seeks to uncover over and over again.

She stands there, helpless.

Among the rest of her duties, Yaz escorts her to all her meetings and to the balls the Doctor must attend. She watches on from the sides, assimilating with all the other servants waiting for their masters to finish with their frivolities.

Except, tonight, Yaz has not once stopped watching the Doctor. And the Doctor has not stopped watching her.

She is meant to be more careful. She is meant to be painstakingly accurate when she dances. She could not anyway, but she absolutely cannot now.

Manaran bodies do not touch, ever. Intimacy is reserved for the words; affection laced into the beauty of language. When Manarans dance, they do so with ample space between them. Even amongst prospective suitors—of whom there are many at this ball, and the Doctor is interested in precisely zero of them—there is no touching, only glances, only words.

The Doctor only looks at Yaz, and Yaz only looks the Doctor. And the King writes the whole ball off as a gargantuan failure.

It is strange, being infinitely older than this man, being bossed around by him. But they are undercover. They have to find Tanza. For themselves, so they can be free—finally—but also for the King.

He is a man of too many words. He lavishes verbs and adjectives onto Tanza—the Doctor—as if they were roses, but even in his ornate dining room, all the riches of a life well-lived, the words conflate themselves. Each of them struggles to fit in amongst the many others, rubbing and squeaking against each other like too-big balloons. The Doctor wonders when they’ll burst, and what—if anything—they will leave behind.

At least, she can tell from his eyes, there is a hint of relief whenever she is around.

She escapes from time with the King to laze around Tanya’s quarters, all of it too much space for so little to do. There is plenty for a person like Tanza to occupy herself with—clothes, dresses and trousers, all sharp lines and pastels; or embroidering pictures of the local fauna. But it is lonely stuff, discovering a personality of a woman no longer here. As dictated by the royal culture, Tanza is a very lonely woman.

She digs through Tanza’s belongings and traces every line of writing with her fingertips. Diaries, letters, requests. A gaping sense of something missing lives in all of them: in the ink, the push of pen. The words, in contrast to the world around them, are strangely vapid. Like father, like daughter: too many words and too little meaning. For a woman of so much power, she seems uninterested in it.

It all helps. She presses her fingertips down on ink again, the pretence of connection.

She throws herself into invention: her requests for metal parts and wires invokes the ire of the King, but she puts her foot down. The Doctor knows Tanza’s character well enough to hazard a guess at the reasons behind the disappearances, and she will use that unhappiness to get away with what she can. She cannot reconcile the two without this.

And it doesn’t take long, even when crafting a device in secret. It is a simple thing, working with mechanical olfactory receptors to recognise and discover specific smells across time and space. The untouched pencil skirt comes in handy, unsullied by the Doctor’s or Yaz’s hands.

As soon as it works, the Doctor hatches a plan. It takes two days to tell her fam, and three more days to launch it. In the in between, she sees Yaz watching from doorways and in mirrors, and temptation claws at her patience again, and again, and again.

The King finally commences his annual hunt—and then, they are free to do as they please. “Tanza” immediately announces a trip to the next country. It should take a day to Falada, personal attendants and all. There they will find the princess, and convince her to officially abdicate.

The journey requires warm clothing. For Yaz, Ryan and Graham, this means a coat. For “Tanza”, warmth was never a simple affair. It means layers: jackets and scarves and materials slipped onto her arms. It is all so ridiculous, really, all so unnecessary. But this is the mission. These are the rules.

Beneath all the layers, she has donned a shirt, designed to be laced up at the back.

‘Yaz,’ she mewls, feeling sorry for herself. She knows what this means. She has no patience, now. It has all turned to ash.

Bellara really must have been treasured, she thinks, for Tanza to allow this. Yaz approaches slowly, and the Doctor, unlaced, feels tightly strung.

She feels hands grab at the silk ties and pull. Her body follows, persuaded. She has to tug a few times to tighten the material, thread it over and under, over and under, the corresponding thread—and the Doctor feels the motion every time. It is like an electric shock to her midriff, the small of her back.

Yaz is barely breathing.

Deft fingers tie a bow, and when she is finished, before she can think she pats the Doctor’s back in confirmation.

They both still. The Doctor, also, is hardly breathing.

And then she spins round. Gaping at Yaz. Yaz staring back at her.

Every moment they have been together, calling each other the wrong name. Never saying anything about their real selves until they were alone, truly alone.The Doctor has been lonely except for these moments.

‘I think the carriage is ready, ma’am,’ Yaz murmurs. But she makes no effort to move.

They have been seconds from this, from reaching out and grabbing, this entire time. Temptation screams at her now, a burning chill just under the surface of her skin, and it blocks out all sound but Yaz.

Yaz, breathing quickly, eyes wide open.

‘Shall I tell them to wait?’ she wonders.The perpetual out-of-reach? The Doctor is not so sure.

She reaches out a hand.‘Doctor, we—’ Yaz clears her throat. ‘The rules,’ she tries.

This is all-consuming. The Doctor’s reach pauses for a moment. Her hand is suspended in the space between, the forces of want and necessity pulling it this way and that.

‘I know,’ she whispers, watching her hand dangling there. ‘I can stop, Yaz. If you want.’

And Yaz swallows. Quietly, ‘No.’She can feel Yaz’s breath tremble as her hand settles on Yaz’s front. Feels it on her palm, in her veins. Like an electric shock. Clothes soften the touch, but she knows underneath the Yaz’s midriff is firm, strong. She knows. She knows how strong Yaz is.

And this is a choice. Not a surrender.

This knowledge allows the Doctor to continue, her other arm coming forward to rest on Yaz’s hip. Her hand moulds to the curve of it. She watches, entranced, when a huff of air leaves Yaz’s mouth involuntarily.

‘Doctor.’ It’s a murmur, an anticipation. Yaz steps closer: the Doctor’s hand on her midriff moves to mirror the other. ‘Please.’

The Doctor cocks her head to the side. Brown eyes are almost black now. ‘Please what?’

‘I don’t know,’ Yaz admits. She huffs again, this time in laughter. The Doctor’s body is being bracketed, now, and gripped. Electric shock, every moment. ‘Just please.’

‘Okay.’ She can work with please. She can work with touch.

They spend the few moments savouring the sensation of it—sensation they have been deprived of for months now. Only when they have reached a breaking point they have finally relented, caved to the need of each other. They will treasure this as much they can.

Ryan and Graham are still waiting for them outside. They don’t care.

Yaz’s hand wraps around to the Doctor’s landing at the silk ties. It pulls the Doctor closer: chest to chest, a fingertip grazing at exposed skin.

The temptation is eating her alive. Right there. Yaz is right there. She is painted in it, all of her.

‘I missed you,’ the Doctor whispers, eyes alight. ‘It’s been awful.’

‘I’ve been here,’ Yaz responds, but she is nodding along, her eyes flicking down to her lips. ‘But this is a different kind,’ she adds, almost plucking the words out of the Doctor’s brain.

‘Something we couldn’t have. Not without breaking the rules.’

Yaz gazes at her again. ‘So break them.’

The Doctor needs no more persuasion. She brings her hands up to Yaz’s jaw, brushes a knuckle over it, gently. Caresses her cheeks, the soft rises of them. Temptation is silent now, satisfied. Electricity takes over. And the Doctor leans in.

Their lips have barely touched when a cacophonous smash breaks through their haze, the sound of metal hitting a wooden floor.

‘By the gods!’ a maid screeches.

They jump apart, hearts in their throats. 

send me some numbers!

[ivy-stjames]

AND THE PLANETS OF THE UNIVERSE GO THEIR WAY → ivy + leo

𝚆𝙷𝙾:  @leo-mccarthy​ && @ivystjamess​ 𝚆𝙷𝙴𝙽:  the evening of saturday, july the eighteenth 𝚆𝙷𝙴𝚁𝙴:  mccarthy residence, basement / leo’s room 𝚆𝙷𝙰𝚃: in attempt to feel more herself again, ivy goes over to leo’s, things don’t exactly go as either of them planned.

possible tws: mention of abortion, breaking up

IVY:  TO PUT IT SIMPLY, IVY WAS HAVING A ROUGH WEEK. after crying to julien, lemon, and her big sister, she still sort of just felt like a shell of herself. no matter how hard she attempted to train her eye to the movie playing on the screen leo had hanging on the wall at the foot of his bed, she found herself eyeing him with an odd culpability. she laid on his chest, his arm around her in their usual way, but his touch burned, and not in the good way. no longer did his fingers brushing across her hip leave her breathless, nor did his kisses against her skin make her swoon. she felt empty, shattered even, held together by encouraging words of her friends and the lingering sensation of a hug from her sister. every passing second the knot in her stomach unraveled and tightened with each breath she took. what she had done yesterday was irreversible, her and leo wouldn’t be having a child, and no matter how hard she tried to remind herself she loved him, she was blinded with resentment. all ivy wanted to do was cry, but she couldn’t. in a lame attempt to soothe herself, she nuzzled closer into her boyfriend, taking his free hand and kissing his knuckles. still, only a lonely nauseous feeling lingered. tossing about slightly to try and get comfortable, once again she just couldn’t. getting fed up, ivy sat up, hair falling in her eyes as she was illuminated only by flashing images of the movie. . . “leo,” she began softly, a certain fear in her voice. anxiously, she grabbed his hand and played with his fingers as if things didn’t feel resoundingly off. they had always walked to a beat of different drums, but now it felt like they couldn’t even hear each other’s. whether it be from avoidant glances, silent treatment, or arguing, they just weren’t settling back into the usual pace of things. sure, it had only been a day. but this? this wasn’t love. this was unbearable, “i think like. . . i think we like might need to talk about things.”

LEO:  Leo felt like he’d just been going through the motions ever since Ivy told him she’d booked an appointment at planned parenthood. He felt like a shell of himself, not because he had regrets, but because he knew she was suffering. His silver lining in this mess of a situation was that he was confident they had done the right thing. When Ivy told him she was pregnant, or…no…when he guessed she was, it was clear that she was in a highly emotional state. In Leo’s opinion, she had seemed too emotional to make a logical decision. Her idealistic rambling about them starting a family together probably would’ve sent any other person who didn’t want to be a teen parent into a spiral, but he had been confident in his ability to reason and rationalize with her—to get her to come back down to earth. At least that was what he told himself as they laid cuddled up next to each other, watching an obscure arthouse film in his bedroom one day after her abortion. For the first time in a long time, it felt like they just couldn’t get comfortable. Leo kept his eyes fixed on the projector screen, trying desperately to pay attention despite Ivy’s fidgeting beside him, but his mind was elsewhere. There was a very clear elephant in the room and quite frankly, he didn’t know how to address it. He wanted to talk to Ivy about what had happened and how she felt, but he also knew he had to tread lightly. His silence was his attempt at respecting her space. So he sat there, biting his tongue with a soft smile as she took his hand and kissed it. He tightened his grip around her as she nuzzled into him, quickly kissing the top of her head and doing his best to maintain some sense of normalcy. The only way out of this empty feeling was through, so he was prepared to weather this. He would do his best to be strong for both of them. However, the second Ivy sat up and said his name, his instincts told him to run. But there was nowhere to go. So he took a deep breath, pulled his hand out of hers, and reached over to his desk to grab the remote and pause the movie they were clearly not invested in. “Okay,” he responded quietly, feeling a knot form in his stomach as his heart rushed to put up its defenses once again, “we can talk. What do you want to say?”

IVY: AT HIS QUESTION, IVY FELL MUTE. what did she want to say? while she might not of actually spoke, her eyes did a whole lot of talking. there was a heavy sadness laced with a confusion that had never graced her lively blue hues prior to this moment. her mouth opened and closed a couple of different times to speak, but over and over she couldn’t gather her thoughts. the past week had blurred together in a nightmare of emotions and numbness tipping the scale in way or another. still silent, ivy brought her hand up to leo’s cheek with a certain longing and tenderness. her heart guiding her actions before she could even think about why she was making them. in the quiet ivy brought a hand to run through leo’s hair, as if for the last time. tears noticeably welled in her eyes. in a final movement, ivy scooted close to leo, pressing her forehead to his own as if getting their brains physically close would put them on the same page. at the action, the tears began to spill down her cheeks and ivy was in a place where she felt like she knew. “leo, i think that like. . . you are so great. . .” she began, still leading with her unpredictable heart. “and i love you like i’ve loved nothing or no one before. . .” these were unmistakably the beginnings of a break up speech. where ivy had gotten the idea this was the solution had come from a place deep within herself that her heart lead her towards. part of her wished she wasn’t crying and the room was lighter, so she could admire her boyfriend’s features for what she was beginning to think would be the final time unobscured by the glassiness of her eyes or the darkness of a room. “you are my first love.” ivy choked out, bringing shaking hands to either side of his face. she felt probably just as scared as he did the more and more her heart used her tongue to enact it’s will. “but this just like. . .” a sniffle, “i-i don’t know if this is like a good fit for us anymore.”after the words spilled out of her mouth, ivy knew there was no taking them back which resulted in her gasping and choking back sobs much like she had the last time her and leo opened themselves up to one another in his bed. she loved leo, there was no doubt about that, but being with him this past day was painful. their interactions were like navigating a minefield or a beach with far too many burs. it was difficult, and the effort no longer felt worth it. they had always struggled, but this didn’t feel like a bump they could get over without losing hold of one another. “i just. . .” ivy said, pulling her forehead away from leo’s and looking at him. a dull aching was added to the pile of other achings living in her chest currently. “i love you, i can’t tell you that enough this is just like . . .” she shook her head, grasping anywhere she could think of for a feeling that was indescribable. “awful, it’s so awful. i feel like, part of my soul has been totally torn from me.” ivy cried out to him, continuing on her near hysterical ramble. “and i just like look at you and it hurts me, leo. like it hurts.” she vocalized, before crying into her hands. her heart had brought her to this point with no warning and the weight of what she had been saying was clearly starting to settle. “and like i don’t want it to be like this, but it is, so like maybe it’s time to throw in the towel.”

LEO:  Leo had seen Ivy sad before, he’d even been the root of that sadness before, but he’d never been on the receiving end of this particular look. He felt himself crumbling under her stare. She was struggling to speak, but if he was being honest, she didn’t have to say anything. He could tell what was coming. As he watched her open and close her mouth time and time again, he felt himself wanting to speak too. But the words never came. Time slowed when she put a hand on his cheek, then ran another through his hair. What had once been a comfort now felt like wound. Leo could see her tears starting to form and almost instantly felt himself shutting down. He closed his eyes as Ivy pressed her forehead against his. He couldn’t look at her. When Ivy started to speak, all Leo could focus on was how dry his throat suddenly was. He couldn’t stop swallowing. He wanted so badly to reach up and touch her face and run his fingers through her hair and pull her close, but he was stone. No part of him could enjoy or bask in Ivy’s words because he knew there was an inevitable ‘but’ waiting for him at the end of her ‘I love you.’ His breathing became shallow as she let herself really start to cry and he was grateful for the darkness. The last thing he wanted was for Ivy to see him looking so dejected and lost. He couldn’t bear it.’You are my first love.’ Leo felt the skin on the back of his neck and the tips of his ears burning as he sat there, close to Ivy, listening to what felt like a goodbye. The memory of Ivy passing him a note backstage during RENT rehearsals intrusively entered his mind. He hadn’t known back then that Ivy St. James, some sophomore girl he’d only heard of and admired from a distance, was going to enter his life like a hurricane. He hadn’t known back then that one kiss by the lockers would turn into months and months of sleeping next to each other and sharing secrets and taking pictures and arguing over who got to control the music in the car. Leo kind of felt like he couldn’t breathe. When Ivy said what he knew she was going to say, he nodded slowly, still unable to speak. What was he supposed to say anyway? He should’ve seen this coming. People always left. Nothing good ever stayed. Even as she sobbed and gasped through her words, all Leo could do was stare. Had he known that pushing her towards the right decision regarding their unexpected pregnancy would result in this, maybe he would’ve done things differently. Maybe they could’ve had their baby. Maybe it wouldn’t have been so bad. But what use was it to dwell on that now? As Ivy pulled away from him and insisted again that she loved him, he found it in him to speak. “You can stop saying that.” It was curt and possibly cruel, but he felt powerless. He didn’t know what to do. If she really loved him, she wouldn’t be leaving him. If she really loved him, she would try to work this out. She would give them a chance, like he had time and time again when she had fucked up. As Ivy started rambling and crying harder than before into her hands, Leo was at a loss. He was burdened with guilt and with each passing statement, he knew he’d carry the weight of this feeling for the rest of his life. ’I just like look at you and it hurts me, Leo. Like it hurts.’ He’d never meant to cause her this much pain. “I’m sorry,” his words came out strained and hoarse, “I’m really fucking sorry.” This whole time he hadn’t moved. He remained sat in the same spot he had been when Ivy was cuddled into him and pressing their foreheads together. But suddenly he needed to move. He cleared his throat and got up quickly, headed straight for his doorway. He flipped the light switch so they were now illuminated. No more hiding in the darkness. For a long while he just stood there, one arm around his torso to hold himself together while the hand on his other arm covered the bottom half of his face. He stared at the ground as he tried to formalize his scattered thoughts.“You’re breaking my heart,” he mumbled, feeling choked up for the first time but quickly swallowing down those emotions and refusing to speak again until he had them in check. Earning Leo’s trust was a lot like pulling an elastic band. Ivy had pulled it and stretched it farther than anyone else had, but by deciding to throw in the towel, she had released the band and it had snapped back to where it started. All that progress—all for nothing. “I’m—“ I’m in love with you. Please don’t do this. Please don’t go. “not going to beg you to stay.” He sniffled, took a deep breath, and dropped his arms to his sides in defeat. “If you want to give up, then there’s nothing I can do.” He stepped aside a little, leaning back against the wall by his doorway and not so subtly unlocking the door. If she wanted to go, then she was free to go.

IVY:  IVY KNEW HER AND LEO WERE DRASTICALLY DIFFERENT. they were moon and sun, winter and summer, oil and water, but ivy liked that. she liked that they worked against all odds. but she certainly didn’t think her candid admission on this scale would be met with such a lack of reaction. she thought there would at least be some talking, some goodbye, not ‘im sorry’s’ or ‘stop saying that’s’. launched out of her excessive crying by anger, ivy followed leo out of bed and looked up at him. a dangerous look settled over her expression and in an instant her heartache about having broken up with leo was momentarily snuffed out by the fury his response had spurred. as he stood, covering half of his face in silence, ivy waited, seething until he dropped his arm. had their relationship meant nothing to him? how could leo say she was giving up when he wouldn’t even fight? guilt thickly coated her throat, leaving ivy speechless for a moment when leo insisted she was breaking his heart. it took her a moment to find her footing, but once she did, her blunt and brutal rage was unleashed. “speak like an adult leo, quit mumbling.” she demanded, cold. “i thought we were supposed to be mature?” ivy jabbed, though the tremors in her chin made it clear this outrage was rooted in a place of hurt. “i’m fucking sorry, too leo.” she continued, her voice raspy from all the crying, but her volume loud. not giving him time to respond, she continued, “i’m sorry that you’re a scared child who can’t even own up to his emotions and i’m sorry that i have always been open with someone who can’t even like articulate that he loves me one more time, and i’m so sorry for breaking your heart, but maybe, just maybe if you weren’t selfish about our future you wouldn’t have broken mine first!” any trace of tenderness was gone and the tears started coming once again in her angry rant about things that she wasn’t really sorry for. ivy rapidly tried to wipe her eyes, feeling like leo no longer deserved to see her cry. it was no use though and her anger rapidly took a turn towards a full meltdown. “i got an abortion for you and you can’t even have a mature break up with me?” ivy asked rhetorically through gritted teeth before adding, “fuck you, leo mccarthy. you broke my heart and i hope you’re miserable forever for it!” she cried out before pushing past him, up the steps, out of the basement, and eventually out of the house. though it was dramatic, ivy weirdly felt a weight off her chest the moment she crossed the threshold of the mccarthy home and ran to the haven that was her car. it was about a half an hour of crying and trying to uselessly make sense of what had happened before she even moved her car from being parked out front. part of her entertained the idea of giving another her a piece of her mind, another part toyed with forgiving him and making up, but the third part just hated him and wanted to be at home with her sister. so, once she got the tears under control, ivy started the car, and set her course for home, trying (and struggling) to leave her love for leo mccarthy behind her.

END

[filmfanatic82]

AO3 Link (HERE)

Chapter 16: Lexa (IV)

Love is weakness.

Her father was right. 

It’s an Achilles heel that if left uncovered will only lead to one’s ultimate demise. 

How could she have been so foolish? 

She almost let the illusion of love get in the way of her seizing a once in a lifetime opportunity… 

Lexa pushes her legs to go faster as she runs down the semi-desolate streets of her neighborhood. She knows that to an outsider’s eye she must look like a madwoman. Running down the middle of the street in a full-blown sprint, dressed in jeans and a button-down. But Lexa could care less about appearances at the moment. Not now. 

Not when every last ounce of her body is screaming at her to run.

When Lexa first took off out of Murphy’s house and started to run, she hadn’t had an exact destination in mind. All she knew was that she needed to run… Run as fast and as far as she could. Away from the harsh reality of the current situation.

Away from Clarke. 

The longer Lexa ran, though, the more she realized that her subconscious did indeed have a destination in mind. Her body was automatically leading her in the direction of her house. 

Lexa was heading home.

But for how long?

The question slams into Lexa, almost knocking the air right out of her lungs. She slows her pace down to a light jog as her mind picks up speed. 

Lexa already knows the answer. 

If she’s being 100% honest with herself, she’s more than known it for a while now, but up until this point, has been too terrified to admit it. 

Lexa turns the corner onto her street and heads straight for her house. It’s dark. Too dark for anyone to be home yet. And for once in her life, she’s beyond thankful for this. 

Lexa can’t deal with people-- especially the ones that matter most to her-- at the moment. No. They will only make what she needs to do next even harder than it already is. 

The time for unwarranted advice and questions has come and gone. Lexa’s mind is already up. 

Lexa slips into her house, pausing for a brief second for signs of anyone else, and then makes her way upstairs to her bedroom. She quickly grabs a large duffle bag out of the top shelf of her closet and tosses it down onto her bed. 

There isn’t a ton that she needs. Maybe some clothes. A few books. Her laptop. All the rest can be bought or sent for later. The school has already promised to ensure that the basics are covered for her. So what else is there really to take?

Lexa throws a random mixture of clothes and books into the bag and then lets out a sigh as she scans the rest of the contents of her room.

What’s one supposed to take with them when they’ve made the decision to up and leave their life behind?

A moment passes and then Lexa spots it. 

The framed charcoal sketch of her sleeping that Clarke gave to her as a Christmas gift last year. It had been one of those serendipitous surprises that had come long after they had already celebrated and had opened up their gifts to one another. Clarke had suggested that they go retreat to Lexa’s room after having survived a three-hour-long dinner complete with a lively debate surrounding military strategy in the middle east. 

The quintessential Woods family Christmas dinner. 

Lexa had been too preoccupied with apologizing to Clarke that at first, she had failed to notice the newly framed sketch sitting on her bedside table. In fact, it wasn’t until they were in the midst of one of their nightly makeout sessions did she even realize it was there at all. 

But once Lexa spotted it… 

It became her most valuable and cherished possession. That sketch was the first thing she would lay her eyes on in the morning… Unless, of course, Clarke had slept over. And it was the last thing she looked after before falling asleep.

It was her constant reminder of love.

Lexa exhales again and then slowly makes her way over to the bedside table. She picks up the frame allowing her fingers to trace over the smooth glass surface as she feels the beginnings of tears start to whelm up within her eyes. 

“Love is weakness,” Lexa says softly, almost as if trying to convince herself that the words are true. She swallows back the tears as she takes one last look at the frame. 

Then, with a sudden resolution, Lexa places it back down on the bedside table, zips up her duffle bag, and leaves.

__________ 

“Fuck!” The familiar voice cuts through the unsettling stillness of the hospital corridor causing Lexa to momentarily pause. She has been methodically walking laps around the hallways for well over an hour now, with no real destination nor desire to stop. 

Lexa had promised Clarke that she wouldn’t run… 

But still… 

The overwhelming itch was there. 

She needed to keep moving. Even if it was in pointless circles. 

And so she did. Around and around again. 

Twenty laps in total so far.

Curious, Lexa turns into a hidden alcove and immediately comes face to face with O, who is leaning up against the glass of a vending machine, looking as if she’s milliseconds away from officially throwing in the towel and giving up.

“Octavia?” Lexa asks. O lifts her head as her face morph into a look of abrupt anger.

“Don’t call me that,” O responds harshly. 

“Right. My apologies. O.”

“What’d you want?” 

Lexa shakes her head and inches backward, sensing the overwhelming hostility radiating off of the younger girl. She goes to leave the alcove and head back to her laps, when suddenly--

“Why’d you do it?”

The question rips through Lexa like a bullet, shredding everything it touches into uneven jagged ribbons of pain and regret. She stops dead in her tracks and then swallows dryly.

“What do you mean?” Lexa replies, already knowing the answer.

“Clarke. Why’d you do it?” O stares at Lexa, eyes boring straight through her seemingly impenetrable walls. 

“Oct--”

“I told you already. Stop calling me that. It’s not my name.”

Lexa slightly recoils as a wave of confusion washes over her. “Sorry. I don’t understand. If Octavia isn’t your name, then why have we been calling you it?”

O lets out a weighted sigh and then collapses down against the vending machine. Lexa follows her lead and joins her on the floor. 

“It is my name. It just… It just doesn’t feel right. At least not anymore.”

Lexa nods. “And O does?”

“Yeah. I think so,” O responds out loud to herself more than to Lexa. “And… And I would appreciate it if you used they/ them when talking about me.”

Lexa nods again as she digests the new piece of information. “Okay.”

“Okay?” O asks slightly unsure of if she’s heard Lexa correctly.

“Yes. Okay. If that’s what you prefer to be called, then that’s what I’ll use from now on.”

“You’re serious?” 

“Of course. Why wouldn’t I be serious?” 

“I dunno… I guess I just thought it would be…” O stumbles over their words as they start to pick at the cracked rubber on their beat-up converse. “Nevermind.” 

“Be what?” 

“Harder, I guess.” 

Lexa silently studies O for a moment or two, fully taking in all of the subtle, but meaningful, changes from the 16-year-old girl that Lexa once knew. The shorter hair. The androgynous skewing wardrobe. Even down to the way that they carry themselves. 

There’s a distinct air of self-assurance. Small but noticeable nonetheless. 

“You haven’t told anyone else, have you?” 

O shakes their head. “You’re the first… Or technically the second. Raven knows too. But I didn’t tell her. She just sorta figured it out.”

Raven. 

How could she forget about Raven? 

Lexa had gotten so preoccupied between Anya and the sudden reemergence of Clarke that she hadn’t even thought to inquire about the one other constant in her life. The sole person, besides her sister, had made an actual effort to stay in touch with her over the years. To check-in and send a “hey! how are you surviving in the land of tweed and crumpets” text every so often, regardless of whether or not they got a text back.

“Lexa?” O asks, snapping Lexa back into the moment.

“Raven. Is she okay? Have you seen her?”

O nods. “Yeah. Actually, that’s where I just was. She’s awake but…”

“But? But what? O, what’s wrong with--”

“She can't move her legs.”

The single sentence all but guts Lexa. She stares at O searching for a sign-- any sign-- that there's been some sort of grave misunderstanding, but is only met with a familiar look of helplessness.

Lexa swallow down the lump of growing emotions as her stomach begins to Cirque du Soleil itself within the confines of her body. “What did the doctors say?”

O shakes their head as the look of fear and helplessness spreads until it encompasses every inch of themselves. “I dunno. But I was there when she figured it out. And… And, yeah.” 

Once again, the silence seeps back in as Lexa mind races through a minefield of thoughts. One exploding after the next. 

Anya.

Does Anya know?

Anya must not know. Otherwise, their whole interaction would have been vastly different. 

But Anya can’t remain in the dark for too much longer. Can she? 

And when she discovers the truth… 

Run.

Lexa needs to run. 

Her body instantly ignites with the insatiable itch. She should run. Run far and fast. She’s done it before. 

So why not do it again?

Clarke.

A sudden vision of those crystal blue eyes invades Lexa’s mind, all but eviscerating the other thousands of other toxic thoughts. 

No, running isn’t an option… 

Not any more.

“I never answered your question,” Lexa says breaking the silence between them.  

“Huh?” 

“You asked me why I did it. Why I left.”

“Lexa, it’s okay. You don’t have to--”

“I left because it was easier than staying.” Lexa exhales with a weighted sigh and then waits in silence as it once again takes over the room.

A moment passes…

And then another…

Instant regret. 

It flows through her veins like white water rapids. She shouldn’t have revealed that… especially not to the younger sibling of the girl who’s life she all but ruined by up and running away to the other side of the world. 

Lexa goes to open her mouth again in order to fill in the blanks left by her statement, when suddenly--

“I get that,” O replies in nothing more than a whisper. 

The three simple words wrap themselves around Lexa like a much needed invisible embrace. A light laugh of shock slips out from her lips. “You do?”

O nods their head. “Yeah. I more or less did the same thing to Raven. Except what I did was way worse. I didn’t just disappear. I flat out outed her and lied about what happened between the two of us. I made her out to the bad guy because it was easier than admitting the truth about myself. And I’ve hated myself ever since that moment. The easier choice always comes with a consequence. Just wish I understood what that was before I permanently fucked things up.”

“Nothing’s in life is permanent.”

“God, I hope your right,” O responds. They run their hand methodically up and down over the short stubble on the back of their head in a sign that Lexa notices right way to signify the need for comfort. 

An automatic smile spreads across Lexa’s face. So much has changed and yet… 

O is still O. 

“Well, I have an excellent track record of rarely being wrong. So there’s that.” 

O laughs in response and then pauses for a moment as if internally debating whether or not to ask their next question, but Lexa already knows what it is. She locks eyes with O and gives them a reassuring nod. “It’s okay to ask.”

“So…” O begins to slightly gnaw on her bottom lip. “Are you going to stick around this time?”

“I plan to, yes.”

“Good. Cause my sister really needs you in her life,” O replies and instantly Lexa feels the raw truth of those words. 

“I know.” Lexa gives O a small nod of understanding. “I need her too.”

[mamabearlarusso]

Rest and Regroup 2 (P)

After Drew escorted me home, he gave the property a careful once over and walked me to the front door. He said something about not wanting anything happening to me until he secured that raise, but he had that signature 'put me at ease' smile and twinkle in his eye.

The whole staff has never once brought up Daniel's absence--after I made my one and only announcement. They've helped pick up slack when they could and stuck with the company through all the different adjustments--even when they should have probably jumped ship. Though Drew, one of the few employees that has been around the longest--for almost ten years in fact--has seen me when all the others have gone home...when I'm less Ms. Larusso: The Boss and more Amanda: Single Mother, working those late nights after the kids are in bed...just trying to keep things on an even keel. Through all my up and downs, through all my neuroses and mood changes...he's been one of the few constants that I've come to depend on. So, when he insisted on waiting outside until I set the alarm, I took the comfort...knowing it was one thing I didn't have to worry about.

Once inside, I found Sam sound asleep on the couch. As sweet a visual as it was, knowing that she had waited up for me, it just seemed to drive home how much I've screwed up lately. Watching the movie the other night, almost felt like she was only keeping things as normal as possible for Anthony. Dealing with all of the changes in moods and circumstances--in the house, as well as out--has been as easy going as navigating a minefield. One day, she's helping me with dinner and I think things are turning around the corner. The next, she's giving me the cold shoulder and I flashback to the blow up in the kitchen. I hate that she's felt so stuck in the middle of everything...I hate even more that I've had any part in causing her pain.

I cover her up, not wanting to wake her. (Don't want to risk knowing what she would say if she was awake, huh? Can't I just keep a nice moment without you yammering?) I kick off my shoes and curl up on the other end of the couch, trying not to think about what all happened tonight. But since when have I ever been able to keep what I wanted? I had nightmares for the rest of the night...reminding me just how tangled up I've been, caught in the whirlwind they call Johnny.

In one nightmare, all the kids were grown up at different times in their lives. Anthony was in jail for hacking...Samantha was way too comfortably drunk in some sleazy bar...and Robby was in a coma after an overdose. They were all staring at me asking me 'where were you?'

In another, Daniel was still around, but he had full control over the company, the kids lived with him at the house and...oh, look, there was Johnny in the backyard barbeque-ing with Daniel and the kids having the time of their lives.

Daniel made another appearance in the last one, too. He kept pointing out certain clues, that it was all going downhill...telling me it was all my fault...for not seeing it sooner...for not listening to everyone's warnings. Telling me that it was inevitable...that it would never have worked out with Johnny, for the same reason that it would have never truly worked out with him in the end. For the same reason that any of my relationships have ended. Everyone has taken from me what they wanted...what they needed...and then left, to go on about their lives. It doesn't matter that I've worked hard not to be the careless screw up, that I used to be. It doesn't matter that I've grown to be responsible and respectable and someone that people can count on...someone that they can turn to when they need help. I'm just not worth the long run.

The whole time, Nightmare Daniel was wearing a Good Humor Man uniform and handing out ice cream to anyone and everyone walking by. He even started cackling, when I asked for a cone and he was all out. I woke up nearly screaming, calling him a choice name or two...which in turn, was just enough to wake up Samantha.

Her scrunched face told me that she didn't exactly hear what I said, so much as she was upset that I woke her up. Either she forgot why she was out on the couch or she was just too tired to care anymore, because she was half asleep again as she made her way back upstairs. Needless to say, I wasn't going to be getting sleep any time soon. The sun would be up in less than an hour, might as well start the coffee.

The next couple days, I tried to forget everything, tried a clean sweep and fresh start...starting with a certain picture sitting on my bedside table--in a brand new frame. It hurt to look at it, remembering all the hope I had when I put it there, that seemed so ridiculous now...it didn't feel right to trash or destroy it, either...it wasn't even mine to begin with. So, I put it in the garage. I contemplated deleting Johnny from my contacts, but bits and parts of the fight kept running in my mind every time I tried. Paired with my nightmares, I started to wonder if Johnny was right all along. Was I just transferring my hurt over Daniel and need for love and comfort to him? Was that fight so painful, because I never got to have one with Daniel? Was that fight really about Johnny at all or have I been putting undue pressure on him...making him jump through crazy hoops, that he's just not ready for...to be all I ever wanted and needed my whole life...because all my other relationships have ended so horribly? Is this all my fault?

I've really have lost myself lately. Then again, does anyone really expect to fall down the rabbit hole?

Trying a different tactic, last night--I couldn't sleep (I can't imagine why)--I got on my laptop. Maybe I'd find that Ali had posted one of those wonderful recipes again and I could try a little late night culinary experimenting. Maybe I'd finally figure out all those games Anthony used to send me notifications for. ANYTHING to keep my mind busy enough and trick it into a sound sleep.

NOPE.

There wasn't all that much activity on Robby's page, since everything blew up. Among several memes--that were to be expected, but difficult to get through--there was one short, little interaction that looked promising for the Lawrence boys' reconciliation, yet was blown out of the water by the only new conversation. (God, why do I do this to myself?) No matter how I felt about Johnny, I hurt for both of them and felt guilty all over again.

But still, there wasn't any sign of what the underlying problem was--this go-a-round. I had to do something, the inaction was eating me and it wasn't like I was anywhere near sleep anyway. So, I was stupid enough to get stuck scrolling through the old conversations. (Seriously thinking you should look up 'masochist' in the dictionary. Yeah, well...I paid for it didn't I?) I ended up crying myself to sleep again.

Today around lunch time, I checked again. Nothing...so, I continued scrolling. (I know, I have a problem. And it's kinda a little creepy, too, don't you think? My point exactly, I haven't really been thinking clearly at all.) I was lucky when a random post popped up and it so happened, that it was one I had missed. (There must be a lot from when I was swamped at work. Oh, yeah, not that you were distancing yourself from the pain at all, either. Hey, two birds...one stone.) Anyway, the post seemed to be a more happier one, than the ones of late. Robby was actually teasing Johnny, and...it was hilarious! It really caught me off guard. Apparently, Pete had snapped a photo of Johnny grinning like a loon in his sleep. You can imagine all the jokes around that one.

The joviality didn't last long, though, as it was followed with the usual suspects: regret and longing, which then turned the corner and slid right back into home plate with the crazy cornucopia of crapiness, I'd been been feeling for the last couple days.

I have no idea how I'm going to get out of this one.

[shaxori-fiendline-posts]

Blackbox Theater in Gehenna

Ahem.  I haven’t done this in a while so, bear with me.  No, really, Bear, *grabs shirt hem*  I want to wander for a bit.  Take a walk with me down the tangents for a bit.  So, I’ve been working on my book.  My weird way of trying to put myself out there while exercising my mind and imagination again after being stuck in between real life in Malsheem and the inside of my head in Gehenna.  Trying to come up with a way I can dress up real life in order to understand what’s going on in a world where anything can happen.  I’m trying to make heads or tales of the patterns I think I see in the world around me.  Everything starts with a question.  And the question drops like a stone into the Astral Sea, sending out ripples of effect in everything.  But I can’t see all of the angles to understand where each ripple originated by myself.  I try, but when I do I feel like there’s always two sides of my personality warring for control over everything.  So, since you’re not only my singular follower on here besides a bot, you’re also the most science brained individual I know that is still willing to pat me on the head and say, “ok, I’ll suspend my disbelief in anything unexplainable by science and just believe for a little bit.”

So, here’s the question that started this particular tangent.  I’ve been trying to figure out how to use Lilly as an avatar to help me get my thoughts in line.  99.9% of this writing has been me reverse engineering my friends’ personalities into fictional characters that respond as they might have if we were role-playing the characters I created for them.  Jareth is a character, for example, that was once played by my buddy, Jimmy.  His explanation for Old Ones was nearly a direct quote as to how he described it to me when I was trying to get a handle on Lilly’s crazy.  I could have kissed him.  As soon as he explained it, something clicked in my head as I was trying to explain why Lilly is so fucked up.  Well, I thought I could keep that one locked up for a while and try to build up to it more, but I just can’t.  It feels like taking three steps backward in the writing when I do.  But it started raising more questions in my head, and I’ve never been good at juggling.  Questions started dropping out from between my fingers, sending out so many questions, I couldn’t keep up.  It’s gotten to the point as I’m trying to figure out how to tie off loose ends from earlier chapters without cheesing it (because I’ll fucking forget where I buried the leads and get lost in the fucking minefields again) that both Lilly and I are about to say fuck it, I’m going back to working in the toil and we’re going to do everything possible to forget we ever peeked at the last few pages of the book.  We spoiled the ending for ourselves and now we are in a constant state of hurry up and wait.  And we’re tired.  She’s pissed, I’m just defeated.  No, that’s not the right word.  Done.  Yeah.  Thankfully, Lilly is the part of my brain that never stops moving.  She’s constantly wandering down through the halls of the Library, (which looks like an MC Esher nightmare, BTW) pulling down boxes and picking through them to try and find all of the pieces of the puzzle to finally get out of my head.  And you know what happens when I start to hyper-focus of the pieces instead of looking at how they fit together.  Wooo Shiney happens entirely too much.  So, when I say I’m done, it’s not the depression talking, it’s the apathy warring with my reasonability.  When I say I’m done, I’m mean I’m done giving a shit.  I’m done trying to put my life on display in such a way that I can’t tell what tone of voice to read it in.  I can’t figure out who it is that I’m talking to.  I don’t know who is going to read it which is why I pinpointed a person that doesn’t exist in this world. Normally, I would try to motivate myself by saying “maybe.”  But, I’ve always known, just like every kid does, that “maybe” is really “no” in disguise.  Unless you get a solid yes and/or proof of validity, anything else is a “no”.  You get used to hearing all of the variations of “no” to the point where you expect it from everyone and when you do hear “yes” you immediately question the person’s level of trustworthiness.  Are they just fucking with me and, if they are, what are they getting out of it?  “You.  You want to be my friend?  Wait, why?  I’m a horrible individual.  I’m an asshole.  I’m actually proud of the fact that I really could give a shit about the vast majority of the population.  All I care about is me and mine.”  But my problem is I can’t stop adopting strays.  I try to put myself out there to draw in others like me and find the good ones to keep.  That’s why Jareth/Jimmy keeps lecturing me about my accidental families.  And then I look at the nest of weirdos I’ve created and, well, you’re married to one of them, you know what I’m talking about.  Like, I love them all, but they make my brain hurt sometimes.  “Yes, kids, I love you, now go play in the corner, Mommy has a lot of shit do and I’m starting to understand while some species of animals eat their young.”  I’m so thankful nature decided to take my ability to procreate without fertility treatments.  I have enough deviants to keep me amused, I do not need children.  At least with mine, I can hand them a pair of scissors and not have to wor... nevermind, I take that back.  I can feel the bullshit cough from here.  My point is, I’m a tech, I can wrangle the clowns and fix their chainsaws, but I do not have the energy to keep the rest of the circus in order at the same time.  The rest of the show has to fall to someone else.  That’s why I’m using D&D as a set for the stage.  When I try to build the world from scratch on my own, I have to try and make it unique enough to showcase my skills at descriptions, but I get lost in the descriptions and forget that I have to make sure the characters stay on track with the story through their interactions.  Using D&D gives me a static resource set to get a mental image of the world in which Lilly lives.  With the set already built, I can put down the tech belt and go run with the clowns to burn off some excess energy.  But I have to make sure Lilly is rounded out well enough not overwhelm the party.  Unfortunately, since the story is inspired by real life events and thought processes (somewhat, it’s D&D for fuck’s sake) I’ve reached the point where I’m going to have to do META ass shit in order to get past Act One.  After that, in real life, I have to find some source of income that doesn’t involve donating plasma to pay my cell phone.  I want to write.  I want to be creative.  I have a million and one ideas on things I could try, but I also know that I have to get out of Malsheem if I’m ever going to get to the Feywild for real.  And that takes coin because I have yet to figure out portal tech as a practical application.  That’s on the shelf marked “the geometry is wrong” in the “don’t go in there, it’s weird” section of the Library.  I need an adult to go in there.  I just scared myself in two different ways thinking about going in there alone, the first was the atmospheric drop in temperature and the second was the sudden realization that I tend to be smart enough to know better, but too dumb to quit.  I will open some box or book and, yeah.  I’m not allowed in there without supervision.  Ok, that started a ripple of potential hypnotherapy sessions.  Provided I could find someone actually capable of hypnotizing me. Anyway.  That’s right, the point.  Lilly is supposed to be my character, my way of telling my story through the filter of fantasy so I can make sense of it all. And I can’t stay stuck at my desk anymore, hoping and praying that’ll I’ll do something right this time.  So, I’m going to make sure she’s at a playable level and do some pick-up games with her when I can get time to myself to be able to play between working at a *shudders* normal job long enough to clean up my credit and get a place of my own somewhere.  Then, I’ll be able to reassess the situation without the continuous irritation of Dopple-Mom interruptions.  If I have to go back to the call-centers, I might be able to power through it like I did before.  I’m just going to have to watch out for the traps I fell into last time. But I’ll have to put the book on hiatus until I’m in a place of my own and can relax when I get off work enough to be able to think freely.  It won’t really gather any readers or foot-traffic on Royal Road while I’m working, but I’m ok with that.  It takes away the pressure of trying to build an audience while the book is still being written.  Granted, that would make it easier to transfer into an actual novel format once it’s completed and have a market waiting for release so I *can* write for a living.  But, hope in one hand and shit in the other, all you get is pink-eye.  I can’t control who sees my stuff.  I can’t control its reception or the opinions thereof that dictate word of mouth marketing.  When your success in a field is dependent on the reviews of your work by the general public, sometimes it’s better to just stop giving a fuck.  I’m not going to try and build an audience ahead of time anymore.  I’m just going to write and release chapters until I have to hit the hiatus button.  If the story dies because I can’t find the time or the motivation to write, it’ll just be added to the failed attempts pile.  Not the first, not the last.  Smart enough to know better, too dumb to quit, remember?  I’ll try again at some other point to write a story worth sharing.  It just won’t be inspired by real life.  Just straight fantasy so I have a place in my head I can visit that’s nice to hang out in for a change.

[missmentelle]

About that last ask; /184371235079 - I grew up completely sheltered in an abusive household where this interaction was the norm. I've done that to several people I've dated - I didn't know it was manipulation, because I have abandonment issues and little understanding of verbal or written language. I'm in therapy for my illness. I have bad communication skills because I'm on the spectrum. What are some healthy ways to describe when I'm struggling with feeling abandoned and I need reassurance?

(This is in reference to a recent ask where the poster’s boyfriend had accused her of not loving him, tried to dump her and then nearly proposed marriage in the same conversation)

 I’m really sorry to hear that you had that kind of upbringing. It can be extremely difficult to recognize that certain behaviours are not okay if they were consistently presented to you as “normal” when you were growing up - and that’s definitely compounded when you have other issues with your communication and social skills. The good news is, these behaviours can be recognized and they can be changed, in ways that allow you to happier, healthier relationships. So if you consistently struggle with insecurity and you don’t want to be manipulative or abusive to your partner, remember:

Separate jealous and insecure actions from feelings. It is okay to feel jealous or to feel insecure. We’re all human, we all have those kinds of feelings, and we’re entitled to our emotions. What we’re not entitled to is to take those emotions out on our partners. It’s fine to sometimes worry about whether your partner is attracted to you; it’s not okay to accuse your partner of wanting to leave you. Not all feelings need to be acted upon - sometimes, it’s important to recognize “hey, I’m feeling this way, but it really wouldn’t be fair of me to take this out on my partner. I need to find a way to deal with this on my own”. 

Take responsibility for your own insecurity. There is a huge, huge difference between saying “I am feeling insecure and I need extra reassurance right now” and telling your partner “you don’t actually love me”. In the first example, you are taking responsibility for your own feelings and communicating that you are the one experiencing a problem; in the second example, you are dumping all of your issues on your partner and treating them as if they’ve done something wrong. That’s not fair to them. It’s important to both recognize and communicate that you are the source of these feelings - because of your past experiences, traumas, mental illnesses, or all of the above - and that your partner isn’t the cause of the problem. 

Communicate your needs ahead of time. If you know that you tend to struggle with insecurity in relationships, don’t hide the problem until it boils over into a big fight. Talk to your partner about the issue ahead of time, so that the two of you can find ways to make the relationship more comfortable for you. Think carefully about what you need in a relationship to make you feel loved. What would help you feel secure and cared for? Frequent text messages? Daily reminders of your partner’s feelings? Minimizing cell phone use when you’re together? Small public displays of affection? Your partner may not be able to accommodate all of your requests, but together, the two of you should be able to work out some reasonably strategies to keep feelings of abandonment and insecurity to a minimum.

Don’t feed your jealousy or insecurity. Jealousy and insecurity really are monsters; the more you feed them, the bigger they grow. Don’t go hunting for reasons to feel insecure. Stay out of your partner’s phone. Don’t comb through their social media pages multiple times per day. Don’t compare yourself to their exes. Doing these kinds of things only makes insecurities worse, and it starts a vicious cycle - you go on your partner’s phone, you see a friendly text from a friend that makes you feel a little threatened, so you dig further into their privacy, and you uncover more innocent things that set off your suspicions, so you monitor them more closely, and so on… until you eventually reach a point where you basically need to be constantly tracking your partner and getting constant reassurances in order to feel comfortable. That’s not a healthy situation for anyone. And ironically, this kind of behaviour can alienate your partner, which makes you want to track them even more, which pushes them further away, etc. Feeding your insecurities never makes them go away - if only makes them worse. 

Remember that love is not control. Your partner is allowed to have friends - including friends of their preferred gender. They are allowed to spend time with those friends. They are allowed to not share their passwords or phone passcodes with you. When you are negotiating with your partner to try to minimize your abandonment issues, it’s always important to remember that there’s a difference between “reasonable” requests and “controlling” requests. It is fair and reasonable for you to make requests of your partner that concern the relationship and their behaviour toward you - it’s fine to ask for more physical affection, or for brief daily phone calls, or for the two of you to take more selfies together. It’s not okay for you to make requests that limit your partner’s freedoms or privacy - it’s not okay to forbid your partner from seeing certain people, set them a curfew, or demand that they allow you to GPS track their phone. Love is not control. 

Be specific when you raise issues. Telling someone “you don’t love me anymore” or “I bet you’re going to leave me” is not productive - it expresses that you’re not happy, but it doesn’t tell your partner what the problem actually is, or what you need in order to feel more secure in the relationship. Before you have a discussion with your significant other, reflect on your own feelings and try to figure out what is actually bothering you about the relationship. Are you feeling that there is a lack of affection? Are you upset because you haven’t seen as much of your significant other as you would like? Do you feel that they don’t respond to messages as reliably as you would like? Have a conversation about what is specifically causing these feelings, and be prepared for the possibility that you might not get everything you want - relationships are all about compromise. 

Have a signal in place. If you can feel that your insecurities and abandonment issues are going to be particularly bad today, have some sort of way that you can signal that to your partner without lashing out at them. It could be a code word, or a simple statement like “today is a bad day for me”. This lets your partner know that you may need extra affection that day, and that they shouldn’t take any outbursts personally. If there are particular things that help you get through a bad day - favourite music, calling your therapist, going for a walk, etc - plan to also lean on those supports. 

Don’t give ultimatums or threaten the relationship. In the heat of the moment, it can be really, really temping to say something along the lines of “maybe we should just break up”, or “I can’t be in the relationship anymore unless you do X”. It’s basically an emotional trump card - it’s a way to “force” the other person to do what you want them to do, or risk losing the relationship entirely. You might be bluffing, you might not be; either way, ultimatums and threats thrown out in the heat of the moment can seem like an easy way to give yourself an “edge” in the argument, and make the other person cater to your needs. These kinds of tactics, however, are incredibly toxic - you are essentially hijacking the discussion, and emotionally blackmailing your partner into doing what you want. It’s incredibly unfair to your partner, and it makes reasonable conversation impossible. Your partner needs to be able to voice their own concerns and make their perspective heard, and that’s not possible if you go out of your way to make them feel like they’re in danger of getting dumped every time they make you unhappy. Threatening a breakup turns minor discussions into emotional minefields, and it intentionally makes your partner feel like the relationship is built on shifting sand. Don’t do this. If you are going to break up with somebody, think it over carefully, and don’t break up the topic unless you truly mean it. 

Don’t rush into commitment. If you struggle with insecurity, it can be really tempting to try to “lock down” your partner by rushing them into more serious forms of commitment as quickly as you can. Moving in together. Adopting a dog. Getting engaged. Getting pregnant. Consciously or subconsciously, you might feel like you need to entwine your lives early on, to make it as difficult as possible for your partner to possibly leave you. Rushing someone into commitment, though, is almost always a mistake. Many of the big “relationship milestones” are huge responsibilities, and it’s enormously stressful to try to manage joint finances and responsibilities with someone you barely know. There’s a reason why most couples wait for an extended period of time before taking these steps together - it can take a while for two people to get comfortable with each other and figure out if they are truly compatible. And trying to rush someone into commitment before they are ready is emotionally manipulative as well; it can be very easy to start blackmailing someone by implying that they don’t really love you or they aren’t really an adult if they aren’t willing to move in together three months into the relationship.

Don’t look for malicious intent or feed negative thought spirals. There are multiple ways to interpret a person’s words or behaviors. Being in a healthy relationship often requires that you give your partner the benefit of the doubt, and choose not to interpret their actions in a malicious way. If your partner doesn’t text you back quickly, you have to choose to believe that they are just busy - and you have to choose not to tell yourself that they are intentionally ignoring you because they hate you, or that they are flirting with someone else. If your partner hangs out with their attractive friend, you have to believe that they are just friends, instead of letting yourself get suspicious of their relationship. Giving in to negative thoughts and suspicions can cause downward thought spirals, where “they haven’t texted me in an hour” can quickly turn into “they never loved me and they have been faking our whole relationship”. Don’t let your brain go there. Give them the benefit of the doubt, even when it’s hard. 

Have coping mechanisms outside of your partner. It can be really easy to decide that because your insecurities are about your partner, that it is your partner’s job to comfort you. But that’s just not true. Constantly turning to your partner for reassurances can start to get exhausting for them, and it leaves you at risk of panicking if you can’t get ahold of them for some reason. Have other coping mechanisms. This is absolutely vital for the health of any relationship - have hobbies, friends, and activities outside of your partner that you can turn to when you are stressed and upset, even if the relationship is what you’re upset about. When you have healthy coping mechanisms in place, you can deal with the worst of your emotional upset in a constructive way, and get to a place where you can have a calm, reasoned discussion with your partner. 

It’s important to remember that healthy relationships take work - everyone slips up from time to time, and that’s okay. It’s important to own your mistakes, apologize for any harm caused, and keep on working to better yourself. It’s also important to remember that relationships are a two-way street; if you’re making an effort to have a healthy relationship but the other person is not, you might be better off cutting your losses and seeking out a new partner who is more willing to try to live by these ideas. 

Best of luck to you!

[forlornmelody]

Double the Trouble Chapter 13 – Mirrors

Rating: Explicit (lots of smut. so much smut)

Ship: FemShep x Femshep Clone, Femshep x Kaidan, Femshep x Femshep Clone x Kaidan, OT3

AO3 Link: Here

Summary:  Jane faces old demons, and dares to explore new love.

Note: Whoop. This update is months late. Guess I got a little behind. Good news is that the epilogue is nearly finished, and likely on schedule.

The Alliance detention center lies outside of town, in the mountains, untouched by the Reaper’s destruction. Instead of taking a skycar, Kaidan has Jane and Shepard escorted by shuttle. While they murmur in the corner, Jane stares at the floor, trying to parse out what she’ll say to the woman who brought her to life--what she’ll say to the woman who left her to die.

Alliance soldiers salute them when they land, and Shepard returns their salutes, despite not wearing her uniform.

“At ease,” Kaidan says, though the guards are too busy staring at Shepard to notice. Jane’s okay with it--she doesn’t want to be noticed right now.

The guards lead them inside and start to scan them before Kaidan stops them. “Spectre business.”

When the guards look at each other, Shepard snorts. “Really? Do I need to show you my burnt left side to prove it to you?”

The guard on her left blanches. “That won’t be necessary, Commander.” He waves all three of them through. Another guard leads them to an interrogation chamber, and Kaidan opens the door to the viewing room.

Shepard glances back at Jane. “You sure about this?”

Jane pushes grabs the handle of the interrogation room, pushing it open.

The door clicks shut behind her, and it locks. Rasa looks up at the Clone finally, and she smirks. Something sharp and cold settles in the Clone’s stomach and her skin bristles. She wants to shake it off, but she can’t. She can’t give Rasa that satisfaction either, so she balls her fists behind her back.

“The prodigal returns.” Rasa’s eyes glimmer under the harsh light.

“I didn’t leave. You did. Why?”

Rasa rolls her eyes. “Because you failed. You were a mistake.”

The Clone breathes in sharply, trying to still her shaking. “You made a mistake. I’m not the mistake.”

Leaning forward, Rasa clicks her tongue before she whispers, “she’s standing right behind that two-way mirror, isn’t she? The real Shepard?”

“Does it matter?”

“Don’t tell me you’re content as Shepard’s pet.” Before Jane can protest, Rasa continues. “Don’t bother lying. I have ears everywhere.”

Jane Doe sits back as she realizes it. Honestly, she’s surprised it never occurred to her before. “There’s no substance to you, is there? Just smoke and mirrors.”

“You’re nothing but organic tissue.” Rasa frowns, and so Jane Doe pushes forward.

“You couldn’t feel real emotion even if you wanted. And you have been trying to feel something, anything, haven’t you.”

“Shut up.”

“You’re the fake. I’m the one who’s real. Have fun spending the rest of your life alone, in a cell.” Jane Doe pushes her chair back and stands up, ignoring Rasa’s protests as they increase in volume. They soften as the door shuts behind her.

Kaidan and Jane step out of the control room, concern written all over their faces. Shepard rushes forward, pulling her into a hug. “You okay?”

Jane hugs back woodenly. “Yeah, why?” She asks quietly.

Kaidan pats her shoulder gently, at arm's length. “You’re crying.”

Why is she crying? Rasa is a monster. And she’ll be better off without her. Then why does she feel like part of her just died? Jane pulls Shepard closer, breathing in her scent. She always smelled different--not better or worse, just different.

“She’s awful, isn’t she?”

Jane nods, hiding her tears in Shepard’s hoodie. Kaidan finally removes his hand, only to hug her from behind. “Okay?” She nods again, basking and drowning in them at the same time.

Time slips away as they shuttle back to Kaidan’s apartment. Jane stares at the wall of the shuttle in front of her, exhausted and numb. So many times, she imagined and rehearsed that conversation with Maya, with every possible outcome she could think of. To have it in her past instead of looming in her future? It feels like a dream.

Jane follows Shepard and Kaidan inside their home, wondering if this is what Maya feels like all the time. Shouldn’t she feel happy to see the end of their relationship? She hates Maya more than anything. Maya is a monster. Maya used her. Maya accused Dreya of horrible things because she was a distraction. Yet Jane still feels like part of her has died.

“Hungry?” Kaidan pops open a couple of beers, passing them around. He hands her one, and Jane realizes it’s the same variety of stout she had the first time they--did it count as a threesome if Kaidan wasn’t--?

Oh.

It’s then Jane realizes she hasn’t hardly spoken a word to Kaidan all day. She hasn’t talked to him about the night she broke his heart.

“Jane?”

She blinks, meeting Kaidan’s expectant gaze. “Huh?”

“I’m thinking about cooking up some steak. Want some?”

“...Sure.” She isn’t really that hungry.

“He makes a mean steak,” Shepard drawls as she takes a pull of her beer, “when he doesn’t burn it.”

Kaidan shoots back. “I don’t remember you complaining about dessert.”

Shepard blushes. “Mm. Yeah. It was pretty good dessert.”

“On second thought. Never mind. I think I’m about to throw up.” All three of them laugh.

Clearing her throat, Shepard mutters something about needing a shower, and then Jane and Kaidan are alone. They watch each other from across the room, studying each other’s faces, searching for clues and signs. Instead they find mirrors of their own nervousness.

Jane approaches him like she’s walking into a minefield. Kaidan isn’t Rasa. She must remember that. But her own mind won’t believe her. Swallowing she leans against the counter next to him, Jane tries to think of a good way to apologize? Take back what she said? Swear her feelings have changed? Instead she says, “So how do you cook a steak, anyway?”

Kaidan eyes her up and down, squinting as if that’ll help him read her better. He offers her a hand. “I can show you, if you’d like.”

She allows herself a small smile. “Alright.” Jane takes his hand.

Spinning her around, Kaidan pins her front-first against the stove, so that the aroma of cooking beef fills her nostrils. Suddenly Jane’s starving. Maybe not for steak. Kaidan feels so warm against her back as he takes her hand again, reaching for some sage. “First step is to season the meat correctly,” he murmurs against her ear. His breath vibrates against her amp and she sucks in a breath. A sizzle pops in the air, and it could be the steak cooking...or it could be their biotics interacting.

“Mmhm,” Jane says, trying to pay attention to his cooking lesson, but the feel of his free hand on her hip has her heart racing.

“Don’t add too much at once.” He set the sage bottle down with her hand and picks up the salt and pepper adding them to the steak. “Don’t heat things up too quickly, unless you want to sear the meat.” His stubble scratches her ear. Kaidan clears his throat. “Now, Jane, how do you like your steak?”

A shiver goes down her back as Kaidan steps to her side. “Mm?”

Kaidan grins slowly, tracing her bottom lip with his fingertips. “Do you like it raw or well done?”

“Raw? Isn’t that a bad idea?”

“Uh…” Kaidan reddens like the meat cooking next to them. “Did I say raw? I meant rare.” He backs off slightly, fumbling for his composure. Admittedly, Kaidan’s rather cute when he’s flustered.

Jane seizes her chance, turning on her heel and closing the distance between them. She plays with the top button on his flannel shirt. Her noses brushes against his as she murmurs. “Were you talking about the steak or…?”

Kaidan’s lips crash into hers, tipping her back with the force of his kiss. Jane swears softly as she kisses back, wrapping her arms around the back of his neck and holding on. There’s so much of him to touch, to hold onto--she feels like a meteor caught in his orbit. His warmth, his gravity, pulls her faster and harder, and she breathes raggedly against Kaidan’s lips when he finally pulls away. “We…” Kaidan pants, “we should talk about this.”

Even though Jane knows what he means, she’d so much rather touch than talk. Human or not, describing her feelings feels like speaking in Thessian rather than English, and she’s going to describe meat when she really means to talk about her heart. “Pretty sure you already know about my kinks, Alenko.”

He smiles a little despite himself. “Yeah I do. But I don’t know much about you.” His hands keep wandering across her front, her back, her shoulders her hips, like he’s itching to take her clothes off. What’s keeping him? Kaidan’s cheeks flush, his breath comes out ragged. Why hesitate when he wants her?

“There’s not much to know, Kaidan.” She leans forward to capture his lips, and Kaidan pushes her back with a finger.

Biting his lips, he asks quietly, “Is this just about sex?”

“Does it have to be about anything else?” She leans against him, feeling him hard against her.

Kadain swallows a groan. “I can’t do this if...this is all there is.” His hand cradles her face, brushing her hair behind her ear. “I don’t want to just fuck you, Jane. I want to make love to you.”

Why does he have to do that? “People I love either end up dead...or they leave me dead.” Did she ever love Rasa? Can someone who’s dead inside truly love another person?

“I’m not going to do that, Jane.” Kaidan swallows, searching her eyes desperately. She...she hasn’t been looked at like that since...God, and he’s not lying. Jane’s heard stories about what him and Shepard have been through.

Jane trembles with all the feelings she’s kept locked up tight. Maybe...just maybe that’s Rasa’s problem. Love, empathy...they leave one exposed, vulnerable. Rasa spent so long surviving she forgot how to do anything else. “I don’t deserve--”

“Love isn’t about what you deserve.” His thumb brushes her cheek gently, slowly, like an evening tide. “But I think you already know that.” He dares to smile a little, as if he already knows what she’s about to say.

“I already do...love you, Kaidan,” Jane manages to say. “If I’m even capable of such a thing.”

“You are capable of so much more than you think, Jane.” Kaidan kisses her again, pulling her into space with him, like they’re the center of the universe.

Jane holds onto him tightly, kissing back like he’s her only tether in zero gravity.

They break for air after what seems like forever and nothing at all. Kaidan laughs softly against her mouth. “And you probably already know, but I love y--”

The smoke alarm screeches as the steak fills the air with smoke.

“Oops.”

Kaidan swears, turning the stove off and setting it aside. “Pizza?” He says sheepishly.

“Mm... I was thinking teriyaki.” Jane keys in an order on her omnitool. “Done.”

“Mm,” Kaidan agrees. “That place serves everything a la carte. We better make some stir fry.”

“You gonna teach me? Or are you gonna set them on fire too?” Jane grins, drawing a finger down his chin.

“I can be very focused when I want to be.” Kaidan kisses down her neck as if to demonstrate his point.

Jane moans softly, winding her fingers into his curls. “What--what veggies are we stirring and frying?”

“Carrots.” Kaidan pushes a hand up her shirt. “Broccoli.” His tongue and his teeth run across her neck. “Snap peas.” He breathes against her ear, hot and heavy, “and onions” and his biotics stir her hair.

Putty in his arms, Jane manages to undo his shirt, pushing her hands inside to brush the rough knit of his tank top. “Sauce?” She breathes.

“Sesame, of course.” He bites her collar bone as if to illustrate his point. The sound of a cabinet slamming open buries her next moan. Kaidan pulls out a wok, dropping next to the burner.

The next few moments are less about learning how to cook, and more about Jane trying to distract him from cooking. “Do you like having your tits played with?” She says completely out of the blue, pushing his flannel off his shoulders and letting it fall to the floor.  

Blinking at her, Kaidan opens the fridge door, biting his lip when her hands sneak underneath his tank top. “Uh...yeah, I guess. Been a while since--”

He manages to get the stove turned back on before she latches on to his nipple. “Fuck.”

“Mm. Sensitive, are we?”

“Nng.” Kaidan wipes his forehead, reaching for the chopped veggies he has waiting in the fridge. “Fuck, Jane,” he swears as her teeth ever so slightly graze his skin.

Distantly, Jane hears a wet towel hitting the carpet. “Hot damn.”

The two of them turn to see Shepard standing stark naked in the living room, just outside the bathroom, with steam still rolling off her shoulders.

“...Oh. I uh, I didn’t mean to interrupt. I can uh...go take another shower.” Shepard turns, muttering under her breath. “A cold one.”

Jane and Kaidan exchange a look. “Get your ass over here, Shepard,” Kaidan says gruffly, and his voice rumbles in his chest against Jane’s fingers.

Shepard saunters over, carrying her towel with her as Jane snickers. Instead of getting between them, she drapes the towel on an empty space on the kitchen island, plopping her bare skin on top of it. Her heels bounce against the cupboards as she munches on some thawing broccoli. “Well?” she says as they stare.

“Suit yourself.” Jane turns toward Kaidan again, finding his nipple still moist and erect from her attention earlier. His head falls back as she takes it in her mouth again. Shepard’s heel stills as her partner moans.

Kaidan pulls her head back up, kissing her ravenously. He leans heavily against the opposite counter, bringing her with him. His fingers slip up under the hem of her crop top, exploring her edges and curves. In turn she explores his mouth with her tongue, taking note of how tentative and cautious he is compared to Shepard. As Jane breaks for air, his thumbs brush the curves of her breasts, and he gazes at her with wonder. She should say something, anything, but her mouth feels so dry.

“It’s okay, Jane.” Shepard murmurs from behind her. “We’re not going anywhere.”

Fingering the edge of her top, Kaidan asks softly, “Okay?”

Part of her brain still doubts this is happening. Jane has dreamed of Kaidan taking her clothes off--more than once--but in real life? “Yeah,” she says thickly, pulling his tank top off so that they’ll be a matching pair.

Tracing the bare skin of his chest, Jane wonders if Kaidan waxes or shaves--if it’s his preference or Shepard’s. Sliding her fingers down the lines of his abdomen, she decides it must be his idea. Kaidan seems like the type to show off, but not in an obvious way. Jane shivers as he follows her lead, skimming the lines of her tattoos one by one, with his lips parted. The sight of those lips does something to her, and she leans in to kiss him again.

“You’re so beautiful, Jane,” Kaidan says softly against her lips. “Has anyone told you that?”

Shepard hums in agreement, and Jane blushes despite herself. They’re making her soft. Somehow, she doesn’t mind. “Quit buttering me up. I’m not on the menu.”

Kaidan laughs. “Is that so?” His knuckles bump the button on her jeans, and Jane sucks in a breath, leaning into his touch as she kisses down his neck. She bites his skin just enough to leave a mark and his fingers fumble as they pull her zipper down.

Jane’s about to reciprocate, but Kaidan starts kissing down her neck, then her collarbone and her chest. She wets her lips, glancing back at Shepard as she moans softly. Shepard herself grins, her hands clenching and unclenching as if she’s itching to touch them or herself. Her thighs rub together almost imperceptibly. Winking at her, Jane steps out of her jeans, shivering at the sight of Kaidan on his knees.

He caresses her thighs, and her ass through her underwear, smiling up at her. “I can’t wait to taste you,” he says softly. Shepard tosses him her box of dental dams, grinning widely.

“You sure I taste all that differ--” Her own words get caught in her moan as Kaidan licks her through the thin rubber. Kaidan takes his time, looking up at her frequently to gauge what works and what doesn’t. Jane’s grip starts to slip on the counter as her legs begin to shake. “Kaidan--”

“I got ya,” Instead of plopping down, Shepard crawls across the counter, her weak knee almost falling into the sink. She takes her towel with her, settling behind Jane’s shoulders, holding her steady with one hand. Her fingers scratch her scalp with the other.

Kaidan murmurs his thanks against her folds, holding up a hand for some gloves.

“Yeah yeah. Make the gimp do everything,” Shepard mutters playfully as she pulls the box toward them with her biotics.

Kaidan pulls away long enough to put his gloves on and shoot back, “Excuse me? Who’s the one cooking dinner?”

“Are you?” Jane glances over, turning the burner off.

“I’ll....warm up something in the microwave.” Shepard slides off the counter, fishing out a can of green beans from the pantry. Must be Kaidan’s doing--Shepard would eat out all the time if left to her own devices.

Jane pats Kaidan’s curls as he finishes snapping his gloves into place. She swallows as a wicked grin blooms across his cheeks. “How do you like to be touched, Jane?”

She quirks an eyebrow at him. “You’ve seen Shepard fuck me how many times?”

“I want to hear you say it.” He says gruffly as he runs his gloved hands up and down her thighs.

Her first instinct is to ask why he cares. Just let him love you, damnit. Shepard squeezes her shoulders soothingly. Jane knows what she likes...but saying it out loud? Goddess, she must be blushing as bright as her hair. “Can I show you?”

Kaidan kisses the back of her hand. “Of course.” His thumb brushes her knuckles.

Taking his hand, Jane guides his fingertips to her clit, circling the edges of her inner lips, shivering at how wet she is already. Together they circle her clit slowly, lightly until she starts to squirm. “Harder,” she croaks, letting go of his hand, so she can take two fingers from his free hand.

Shepards hands scratch behind her ears as Jane closes her eyes. She rocks into Kaidan’s fingers, letting one moan after another slip from her mouth. “You want to come yet?” He looks up at her thoughtfully.

“Y-yeah,” Jane stutters, feeling Shepard’s nails scratching down her skin. Then she feels Kaidan’s biotics stirring against her. Oh fuck, she wasn’t expecting that. Crying out, she swears in at least two languages as she loses herself in him, letting him work his fingers in and out until she’s too sensitive to touch. Grabbing his wrist, Jane croaks “Don’t let me have all the fun.”

Kaidan chuckles, pulling his fingers away, and Jane looks directly into his eyes as she reaches below his belt. “Mm. I know I’ve seen it before but feeling it up close is completely different.” His chuckle turns into a laugh, and then a groan as her touch grows firmer and faster.

“Jane,” he whispers, closing his eyes.

“You like the way that feels, Kaidan?” Jane asks, and Kaidan manages a strangled reply. She reaches over, deftly undoing his belt, button, and zipper, shoving his jeans down his hips. As she slides her hand into briefs, she hears the slick of Shepard’s fingers moving against her own cunt. Glancing over, she finds Shepard watching them both hungrily, drinking in the sight of them as she touches herself.

“If I’m bothering you, just say the word,” Shepard says hoarsely.

“I think Kaidan likes being watched.” She turns to watch Kaidan melt in her hand, “Don’t you?”

Kaidan groans, rocking into her hand a little as she slides it up and down. “Jane...I’m not--bed. Now.”

Jane leads the way to the bedroom, releasing him from her grip so she can take his hand instead. It’s strange--somehow the hand squeezing, and the hugs, even the kisses on the back of her hand--it stirs the heat inside her more than anything else. She sits on the bed, patting the space next to her until he crawls next to her. Shepard leans against the door, holding her arm. “You coming, or not?”

“Uh--”

“There’s plenty of room, Shepard.” Kaidan patted the space beside him.

“It’s a queen size, Kaidan.” Was Shepard...nervous? “It barely fits two people.”

Jane quirked her head. “You ate me out on your couch with Kaidan sitting on it. You didn’t complain, then.”

“That wasn’t our first time.” Ah, there’s that blush. Shepard’s confident--not much can make her do that, and it makes it all the sweeter for Jane. “I want this to be special.”

“It is special. Now c’mon.”

Shepard swallows, sitting on the edge. “If you’re sure.” She watches Jane push Kaidan onto his back, crawling over to straddle his hips.

Jane leans over him, running a hand down his chest, all the way to his navel, relishing in the way it shortens his breath. Her fingers linger at the top of his underwear, grinding up against his length. She closes her eyes, shivering at the way his hips arch to meet hers. “You ready for me, Kaidan?”

“Nng. Almost.” He reaches into the bedside drawer, pulling out a condom from Shepard’s sex toy collection.

“...You bought those recently.”

“Since when do you take inventory?”

“She does that every time she’s in here, Kaidan,” Shepard drawls.

Jane ignores them both, sliding Kaidan’s briefs off so she can slide the condom on, adding some lube just in case. This is it, she thinks to herself, chewing her lip as she looks down at Kaidan. He reaches up, caressing her cheek.

“Are you ready, Jane?”

She answers him with a heated kiss until he grips the sheets. Jane guides him inside her with her fingers, and they moan in unison. Kaidan watches her with half-lidded eyes as she rocks into him. Part of her can’t believe this is really happening. A year ago, the Clone would have laughed at the idea of fucking Shepard’s boyfriend, but her body can’t deny how nice he feels--so full and warm, and--

Kaidan pulls her face down so he can kiss her. They’re a tangled mess of limbs and sweat and with the way his fingers slide through her hair she knows it won’t look the same without a shower. She pulls his bottom lip between hers as she moves faster, and she breathes raggedly against his mouth, their breath intermingling in a way that makes her head spin. “Fuck, Kaidan. You feel so good.”

Shepard groans beside them, and Jane glances over, shivering at the way she eyes them with want. Soon. She tells herself. Kaidan takes in a sharp breath, drawing Jane’s attention back to him. His eyes pinch shut and Jane grins as she gets an idea.

“Getting close, Kaidan?” His strangled moan his only reply. She starts to pull off him, leaving just the tip inside.

“Nng.” Kaidan grasps her hips, trying to pull her back.

“Shepard,” Jane says, nodding at Kaidan’s hands.

“Mm. Need some help?” Shepard smirks, crawling over to the headboard, sitting on top of the pillows behind Kaidan’s head.

“Not...fair,” Kaidan manages to say as Shepard pulls his hands back and holds them down.

“Shh. You’ll love it.” Jane edges her way back onto him, bringing him to the brink before pulling completely out, over and over until he’s begging her to finish what they started.

“Jane, please. I--” His fingernails turn white as he squeezes against Shepard’s grip.

“I got you.” Jane kisses him soothingly, holding a thumbs up for Shepard to release him.

Kaidan flares so hard that all of Jane’s hair stands on end. He rolls them over, plunging in and out of her so hard his balls slap against her skin. Gripping her hips, he changes the angle so that he pushes deeper and deeper inside until they both cry out.

“Holy shit, Jane,” Kaidan gasps softly, pulling out of her and disposing of the used condom.

Jane sits up against the headboard, staring at the door across the room. Usually by this point she’s already reaching for her clothes...but with Kaidan and Shepard it feels different. “It wasn’t too much, was it? You said you liked being dominated somet--”

Kaidan presses a finger against her lips, bonelessly squeezing her hand. “You were amazing. You are amazing.”

Pillow talk feels so foreign to her, but she feels a little bit better. Jane’s ever so much aware of Kaidan’s nearness to her, and every fiber of her being itches to touch him again. Words escape her. She can’t go with snark, or it might come off the wrong way--Hey, you were a better lay than I thought. Or I see why Shepard likes you so much. Honestly, what does come to mind seems so simple and childish, but Jane can’t think of anything else, and she needs to say something. “I think I like being with you.” Her skin must be as red as her hair.

Kaidan’s lips taste like the cherry flavoring of their lube. “I like being with you, too.” He glances to the side. “Speaking of being with.”

Shepard pulls her fingers out sheepishly. “I...should go clean up before we do anything more.”

“We all should.” Kaidan sits up with a groan.

“Whatever you say, old man.” Jane rolls off the bed, following Shepard to the bathroom.

By the time they’re done washing and rinsing, Shepard’s stomach growls. “Shit.”

“Dinner.” Kaidan and Jane say together. The green beans and teriyaki (found out on their doorstep) don’t taste as nice as they would have had they been eaten fresh, but it fills them nonetheless.

Halfway through her next bite, Jane spots something across the apartment, sitting on a stand next to the front door. In retrospect, Jane realizes she never paid much attention to the living room as she came in. Usually her attention was focused entirely on making Shepard come undone. “Is that--?”

Shepard’s eyes narrow and her lips press together in a fine line. “The hamster you put in a dumpster? Yeah. His name is Jeff, by the way.”

Jane blinks, speaking quickly. “Maya wanted to space it with the rest of the stuff in your cabin.”

Kaidan quirks his head, taking her in. “You wanted to save him.”

Focusing her attention on her half-eaten dinner, Jane nods. “Maya would have never let me keep it.”

“Mm.” Shepard hums, probably chewing on an apology along with her food. Kaidan elbows her. “Fine. I’m glad you did the best you could.”

“Thanks.” Jane dares to glance up at her. “...I’m glad he’s okay.”

“Yeah, me too.”

The rest of dinner passes without fanfare, though Jane is painfully aware she hasn’t hardly touched Shepard all night. It’s when Shepard’s dish has finally dropped into the sink that Jane closes in. “Hi,” Shepard says with a smirk. “Looking for something?”

Jane runs her finger down Shepard’s cheek. “Someone, actually.” She eyes Kaidan. “Who wants to be in the middle?” Her heart races as she says it, and her mouth goes dry. Already she can imagine several possibilities and they send goosebumps down her spine.

“You thinking DP or--?”

“Mm... that or doubling down on Kaidan.” Jane licks her lips as Kaidan blushes.

“You down for that, Kaidan?”

“Yeah,” he says breathlessly, his eyes already a shade darker than they were a moment before.

Taking both their hands, Jane leads them back to the bedroom. Kaidan stretches out on the bed eyeing them with that shy smile. Jane and Shepard help each other out of their clothes, crawling towards Kaidan with their lips parted. Each steals a kiss from Kaidan, before descending on each other, kissing each other ravenously, and giving the man next to them a small taste of what’s to come. They work on his cock together, both Jane and Shepard pumping up and down his shaft with their right and left hands. Shepard whispers naughty things in his ear and Jane sinks her teeth into his neck--not enough to draw blood, but enough to leave a mark.

“God, you two are--.” Kaidan groans, one hand on Shepard’s ass, the other on Jane’s back. His distracted fingers fail to find purchase when as they tag-team his body.

“You ready for us, Kaidan?” Shepard whispers into his ear, running her thumb across the tip of his length.

Jane knows she’s ready. Every fiber of her being aches to feel both of them. But in what way? She sucks in a breath when the idea comes to her. Shepard turns to her, grinning as her breaths turn up short. “You know…. I had a turn riding Kaidan. Shouldn’t you have one?”

Shepard licks her lips, unable to help making out with Jane a second time, kissing down her neck to her collarbone before looking at her (their?) boyfriend. “Kaidan?”

Kaidan chews his grin as he makes eye contact with Jane. “So, you’d be the one riding my face.”

“Mmhm.”

Leaning back, Kaidan takes Jane by the elbows. “C’mere.”

She leans over him, letting him taste Shepard on her lips, winding her fingers through his curls. She feels the snap of latex panties against her hips, and she grins as she licks Kaidan’s lips until his fists clench. Parting from his mouth is such sweet sorrow, as he trails his kisses down her neck, then her chest. Just as a moan escapes from her mouth, Kaidan and Shepard switch her around, so that Kaidan lips are on her spine, and Shepard’s are on her mouth.

“Nng. Fuck.” Jane gasps, kissing Shepard sloppily as she feels Kaidan's lips trail down one of her butt cheeks.

“Mm,” Shepard hums in agreement, pulling away for air. She guides Kaidan’s girth inside herself, and Jane sucks in a breath as she watches.

Reaching down, Jane stimulates Shepard’s clit, grinning as Shepard starts to ride Kaidan, losing her rhythm as Kaidan finds her cunt with his mouth. Shepard swallows her cries with her kisses, gripping her head with one hand, steadying herself with the other. At first it’s too much, and Jane is a quivering mess, but Kaidan’s hands guide her hips against his tongue.

And it is beautiful. She feels whole for the first time in her life. Jane is weightless, beyond the atmosphere or the confines of a life-supporting spaceship--but she knows she won’t drift away. Shepard and Kaidan anchor her to Earth, pull her in with their gravity as they writhe and twist in the bed sheets until they are pile of sweat-laden limbs gasping for air.

Later, Jane wakes in the middle of the night to find the First Human Spectres using her shoulders for pillows and smiles at the irony. Never would she have imagined, let alone dare to dream she would end up in their arms. What did Jane ever do to deserve this? To be loved, to be safe? Who is she, but a copy of a real hero?

Staring at the ceiling, Jane chides herself. Stop over thinking it. You’re happy. You get to be happy. Deal with it.

[lilopls-blog1]

TASK 3 – FIXER UPPER !!

When it comes to Lilo Pelekai, her biggest flaw is that she’s self-centered. This is something she has become aware of over the years and tries to avoid. She is a very caring person, every important decision she makes is after careful consideration of her friends and family, but she has a bad habit of focusing on her own life and her own problems over everyone else’s --- no matter the subject. She spends more time venting to others than asking how they are. She takes every bad thing as a personal blow and every good thing as a personal achievement. As hard as she tries to not be this way, it’s like her mind always jumps to “but what about my feelings?” first. I think she tends to forget that Nani lost their parents too. I think she tends to forget that a lot of people she loves know loss, and she isn’t the only one with abandonment issues.

She is also a stubborn person. If she truly wants to be grumpy, she’s going to be grumpy and no amount of ice cream, Elvis records or kind words can take her out of that slump. If she wants to do something, she is going to do it or die trying. It’s hard to talk her out of bad ideas or a bad mood because once her mind is set, the only one that can change it is herself. She’s been this way ever since she could walk and talk, it’s something deeply embedded into her personality and I don’t see it going away. While it isn’t always a bad thing, I’d say that it’s been more of a problem than a help in her life, so it’s going in the ‘flaws’ category.

Another obvious description of her would be moody. Her emotions, always intense, can change in the blink of an eye. It makes for some interesting interactions, but it can also be hard to know when she just might be set off or what will do it. Talking to Lilo is like walking through a minefield. Be careful, one wrong step and she’ll burst into tears or start screaming at you. Fortunately, she tends to calm down just as quickly.

It probably goes without saying (and is sort of hand-in-hand with the previous) that she’s an over-dramatic person. It’s not rare to find her flopping on her bed and declaring that the world is ending over something extremely minuscule that she’ll forget about ten minutes later. Though one of my favorite traits of hers, I’m sure it would be annoying to deal with. I think this stems from wanting attention, maybe from a lack of it in her childhood since her parents were gone, her older sister had to step in as her guardian and she didn’t have an easy time making friends.

This brings us to the last one. Her quirkiness is her most prominent trait of all but I don’t see that as a bad thing, so we’re going to go with conservative. It may not be perfect, but it’s the closest word I can find. Lilo is quite resistant to change in her life. She’s happy to try new foods, new hobbies, but when it comes to taking big steps, she resorts to feeling like a frightened child. It terrifies her. Even the things that don’t have to be negative, like graduating and going to college, she doesn’t know how to handle life being different. After losing her parents, she knew what it was like to feel brokenhearted, completely devastated, and I think she’d just rather everything stay the same because yeah, it could get better, but it could also get worse, and she’s not sure how many bad things her heart is capable of handling anymore.

This was a fun and interesting study --- to sit down, think about this and write it out. All in all, I do feel like Lilo can outgrow most of the flaws I’ve listed as she ages and matures. She is still just a kid, she’s still finding her way and even herself. But it’s hard for me to picture her without her flaws because to me, what draws me in and the most beautiful thing about Lilo Pelekai is how wonderfully imperfect she is.

[perpetually-jungshook]

Hoseok: No Vacancy

Genre: angst, fantasy, ghost!Hoseok

Warnings: language

Word Count: 2.5k

Summary: Do you believe in ghosts? You run into some problems after moving into the old house of your late great aunt once removed and you are understandably fed up with his puppy love and good intentions.

The scream makes you scramble down the hall, almost slipping on the hardwood floor.

No no no no…

“____!” Allison shrieks, throwing open the door in only a towel and racing to the spare bedroom with her rumpled clothes clutched against her chest, hair still dripping. “That’s it. I don’t know what kind of cruel, sick joke you’re trying to play on me, but it’s not funny.”

“It’s not a joke,” you try, already knowing it’s futile. “It’s just a couple of weird coincidences. Things go missing and everyone sees things in the shadows if they’re tired-”

“No,” her eyes bug as she turns around, jabbing your shoulder. “You’ve been stealing my stuff, now you’re threatening me, and- and don’t think I didn’t see you watching me while I was asleep. News flash, I wasn’t. It’s creepy and probably illegal. I thought you were a good person. I thought we were friends.”

“We are friends.”

“Friends don’t tell each other to get out or die.”

Allison doesn’t even bother getting dressed before grabbing her suitcase and hurrying out to her car. You neither blame her nor try to stop her. The engine rumbles and you watch the car pull out of the long, gravely driveway, past the weeping willows, and through the perpetually open iron gates.

This is the third person that’s run from your house. Granted, scaring your coworker, Allison isn’t as bad as your (ex) boyfriend or (ex) best friend who made similar accusations. Well okay she could file a complaint against you, but worst case scenario you can just get a new job. Right?

As you watch her car disappear from view, obscured beyond the grossly cliched, mostly dead trees that line the street, you can feel the cold, heavy presence materialize behind you.

“Hobi, why would you do that?”

He giggles, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

You push away from the window to walk into the bathroom. Red lipstick covers the still foggy mirror, spelling “get out or die” in a random assortment of capital and lower case letters.

“That is my good lipstick,” you groan, looking at the tube sitting on the countertop. But what are you going to do? He’s already done it and it’s not like he’ll listen to your ranting. As you start to wipe the mirror down, you can see Hoseok sitting on the back of the toilet, feet on the lid, elbows on his knees, chin resting on the heel of one of his palms. He looks how he normally does, dark hair parted slightly off the middle, black cardigan, white tee shirt, jeans. At least you can see him.

The lipstick smears across the glass surface as you try to wipe it and you sigh. Time to get the actual cleaning supplies. You walk through the kitchen and into a short hallway of tiny rooms you’re pretty sure used to be the servant’s quarters, but it’s been a while since these walls have seen a butler, maid, or chef. Now they just have you.

You easily walk into the converted second pantry, digging in a small cabinet opposite of the washing machine. It’s an odd juxtaposition, the piece of modern technology shoved against the aging, gaudy floral wallpaper. Hoseok watches you from his perch on top of the dryer.

“Oh c’mon, you aren’t really mad.”

You don’t respond.

Hoseok groans humorously, “You told me she was annoying. What else was I supposed to do?”

You are definitely not humored.

You stand, pointing at him with a rag in one hand and a “fix-all” cleaning solution that’s become your best friend since moving into the old manor of your late great aunt once removed in the other, “She was irritating me at work which is different from being annoying. Allison just needed a place to stay for a couple weeks until she found a house. You couldn’t even give her that?”

His smile falters slightly, “Gosh… you could’ve just said so.”

“I did. Two weeks ago. Before she even came over,” your voice starts getting high pitched with frustration as you leave the room. “Or are you really so busy that you forgot?”

Hoseok watches you from the bottom of the stairs as you walk past, back to the first floor bathroom, “I didn’t forget.”

“Really? Then what? You were just bored? Or wait, you thought I wanted her out of the house so you threatened her?”

He pouts,“Yes kind of.”

“And her stuff?”

“I didn’t take it.”

Frustration boils in your chest as you set the cleaning supplies down on the bathroom counter, “Well I know I didn’t take anything. So that leaves you.”

Hoseok puts his hands up in surrender, “But why would I do that?”

“You tell me.”

“I really didn’t. I have no idea where her stuff is,” his tone is genuine and makes the anger inside you go from a boil to a simmer.

“Could you at least clean this up?”

Pause.

“I… can’t,” Hoseok’s voice becomes small, almost guilty.

“You can’t.”

“No.”

“Because moving the lipstick took too much energy?” you take a stab in the dark, eyeing him in the mirror.

“Yes?”

“Hoseok.”

“What?” a smile lights his expression again as he giggles. “I’m sorry okay? I’ll do it as soon as I can. Now why don’t you go for a walk or something? Calm your nerves?”

“Not until you promise you’ll cut the crap-”

“____, I won’t touch anything.”

You are conflicted for a moment, causing you to quietly ask, “Promise?”

“I promise,” he crosses his heart with the tip of his index finger. It’s not like he’s able interact with solids right now anyway, but the intention is what matters. You’re exhausted and tired of cleaning up after him, mostly the emotional messes he creates. Still, just this little reassurance is enough for now. Hoseok might be obnoxious at times and a little bit careless, but he’s no liar and you know you can trust him with this much.

The anger and fear fade from your system as you step toward the bathroom door. Then you pause, reaching out to maybe try to hug him because even though he irritates the living shit out of you, at the end of the day, Hoseok was trying to look out for your best interest. Kind of. He’s also just nice company and you’ve grown rather fond of his presence.

But your arms go right through him, leaving them pressing to your own chest. The chill, the overwhelming sense of forlornness, and a tinge of your own loneliness permeate through your body with a familiarity that makes you even more distraught.

“Sorry sweetheart, not enough energy to be solid right now,” Hoseok laughs lightly, nervously, humorlessly, scratching at the back of his neck. You give a small sigh and he manages a smile, cooing a quiet, “But… I love you.”

“I know,” you nod and sigh again, leaving the bathroom and deciding that yeah, now is probably a good time for that walk. When you return to the old house, the lipstick letters are gone, but so is Hoseok.

“Hobi?” you call into the empty halls, peeking into the kitchen, the recently renovated basement, the master bedroom, and even into the attic, for which you have to pull down the rickety wooden stairs.

He’d cleaned the mirror, but he’d probably exhausted himself. Kind of. You’re not really sure how ghosts work and frankly, ironically, neither is he. Apparently, Hoseok has been dead for ten years, but he still doesn’t quite know everything about his state or lack thereof. You can only hope that he recovers soon and go to sleep that night feeling very much alone.

The next morning, you don’t see Hoseok before you go to work, but this isn’t alarming. He might still be resting or not existing or whatever ghosts do to relax. Allison glares at you all the way to your desk, but your manager doesn’t “ask to talk to you” and you somehow keep your job.

This puts you in a relatively okay mood and you decide to reward yourself after a long day with a glass of wine.

“Hoseok I’m home,” you call, finding it a little bit strange that he doesn’t greet you at the door.

No answer.

You shrug it off, walking into the kitchen. He’s probably just-

All of the drawers and cabinets fly open, silverware scattering, plates rattling, chairs knocking over. Yeah, you’re startled, but he’s pulled this shit before especially right after you’d moved in. But you thought he’d kicked the habit recently, opting instead for jumping out around corners. Needless to say, it keeps your life interesting.

Still, your heart hammers and to get it out of your system, you yell, “Seriously? I just washed the dishes yesterday.”

No answer.

“Hoseok?”

Usually, he would appear by now, cackling, light hearted, and ready to help you clean up. He may be a trickster and childish, but he’s not mean. To you. Now.

No answer…

You stare at the silverware in front of you, scattered around your feet. The smallest spark of fear flickers to life in your chest. But you suppress it, decide to clean it up later, and take your glass of wine to the much too fancy parlor that you’d converted into a living room. With an episode of a random game show playing on the television for background noise, you nurse your drink slowly, your cheeks warming as your gaze flicks to the corners of the room and the doorway, searching for moving shadows. Your ears perk up with every creak of the house, listening for playful footsteps on the floor above you. You pour yourself a second glass.

Nothing.

Your senses become strained and you can feel a headache developing behind your right eye. It irks you just a bit to think that Hoseok wasted all of his energy playing a prank. Now a little bit tipsy, all you want is for someone to cuddle you and the only person who can is currently MIA.

Dodging the minefield of silverware, setting your glass in the sink, and then dragging yourself upstairs, you slowly get ready for bed. As you brush your teeth, you stare at the bathroom behind you instead of your own reflection, just in case Hoseok decides to try to scare you again by appearing in the shower or sitting on the lid of the toilet. He doesn’t.

You spit the toothpaste into the bottom of the basin, standing up straight as quickly as possible to see if he popped up behind you.

Nothing.

The emptiness, the hollowness of the house is more ominous than the heavy presence that usually accompanies Hoseok. It’s making you nervous. He literally can’t go anywhere. He can’t leave the property. So where is he?

Returning to your room, you crawl into bed. Alone.

You reach over the nightstand to the ornate lamp that casts the room in a soft orange glow and turn it off. In the few seconds that it takes for your eyes to adjust, in the sterile glow of the moonlight that filters through the curtains, you swear you see a silhouette.

Heartbeat fluttering, you turn the light back on.

“Hobi?” you scan the room. Why is he avoiding you? You turn off the light. The figure returns. There’s a certain breathy, annoyed quality to your voice, “What are you doing? Stop messing around.”

Silence.

You stare at the figure standing at the foot of your bed for a few moments, eyes narrowing. Had Hoseok gotten… taller? Panic floods through your veins as you scramble for the light. But this time the figure doesn’t go away. A man looms over you, dead eyes piercing. He is definitely not Hoseok.

The mess in the kitchen, Hobi’s disappearance, Allison’s disappearing belongings… it would all make sense. There’s only one thing that confuses you. Hoseok had been the only ghost in the house. Wait.

The basement. You’d recently gotten it renovated after it rained heavily for a few days and flooded. This happened one week ago. Just before Allison came to stay.

You’re welded to the spot. If the same rules that Hoseok established apply to this man, he can teleport. You couldn’t run fast enough to get off the property, to safety. Whatever his intentions are, they’ll be carried out unless-

Your attention had been so focused on watching the ghost that you failed to notice the spray of salt until it hits you in the face, causing your eyes to sting and water.

Hoseok’s voice reaches you through a mist of fear and panic, “Get up!”

Somewhere in your confused, terrified brain, you expect him to grab you, pull you to your feet, and whisk you away to safety; but with the salt scattered all over the floor, he can’t even enter the room. Half blind, rubbing at your eyes desperately to try to remove the salt or the tears or just make the pain stop, you stumble out of bed, have just enough clarity to grab your phone on the nightstand, and rush forward, slightly surprised to find yourself colliding with something solid, cold, familiar. Hoseok.

His arms wrap around you, but only for a moment before he’s hurriedly, desperately guiding you toward the stairs. You navigate by the type of flooring under feet alone, unable to see but trusting Hoseok. The hardwood of the hallway. The rough carpet laid on the stairwell. The recently placed marble tile on the bottom floor. The spiky fibers of the welcome mat. The gravel of the driveway.

Your feet are aching, probably bleeding by the time you make it to the iron gate.

Asphalt of the street.

“Hobi?” you call, shivering in just your night shirt and a pair of shorts, phone clutched to your chest as you finally blink away the enough of the blur. “What was that?”

He stands at the edge of the driveway, confined to the property line, “I don’t know. It kept b-blocking me out, but I think when it trashed the kitchen I was able to…”

“Are you safe?”

“Not sure.”

There’s something off about Hoseok’s answers and you see it in his lack of smile and the fear still in his eyes. Will the new apparition be able to hurt him? Worse? At least you can leave. He’s stuck here.

“When will I be able to come back?” your voice is small and you’re unsure whether you’re more concerned about the house, yourself, or him.

“I don’t know, sweetheart, but I’d recommend not coming back until you find someone to cleanse the place.”

You’re about to agree, but then you realize the problem. If you cleanse the house, Hoseok will be… he’ll be…

“I love you,” he smiles.

The typical words “I know” sit at the tip of your tongue, but as you face this decision, this awful catch-22, you decide to humor him and indulge yourself just this once.

“I love you too.”

✩✩✩♔✩✩✩

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