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vminity21 · 3 years

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Beyond the Facade | knj

Pairing: handyman!namjoon X preacherskid!reader, bestfriend!taehyung X pregnant!reader, f2l!au

Word Count: 10,958

Genre: mysterious/angst/fluff/smut

Warning(s): strong language use, semi-detailed childbirth, mention of infidelity, alluding of a love triangle, evidence of a sheltered background, angst involving family matters, smut, losing virginity, unprotected sex, oral (f receiving), nipple play, hand groping, lots of flashbacks but that is the point of the story i sorry; Rated: 18+

Summary: A sheltered life leads to harbored secrets that are buried in order to protect someone you are falling in love with. As the time is nearing for the life growing inside you to be welcomed into the world, the reminiscences of all the moments unfold to reveal a beautiful story that needed to be told.

Credits to: @suhdays for making such a phenomenal header! The talent she has never ceases to amaze me!

The graying of the clouds is all you can see beyond your window other than the panging rain droplets now trickling upon the glass. Arm resting against your forehead, your lips press into a straight line in response to the series of thoughts circling your mind. Carefully, you slide your palms upon the mattress in an attempt to sit up, wanting to see more of the view besides the crying sky. Knuckles curling to rub your tired eyes, you furrow your brows, the comforting warmth of the bed covers remain tangled between your shins. Leafless trees border the side of the building save for a small swing set; a paved section decorated with a basketball hoop where a large shed stands many feet across from it. If one is to step outside the front of the structure, there sits a church surrounded by a gravel parking lot where the neighboring land hosts a barbed wire fence with an abandoned house and field.

It's been four months since you deemed the fellowship hall your home, and appreciatively, the area has been vacant since the falling of the church which saves even more stress than what you've been in since moving here. Achingly, your legs stretch to move off the bed before your feet land onto the grainy carpet. Your right-hand slips to steady your back, maneuvering your body to scoot to the bed frame, which has become a daily routine, weak fingers gripping the wood until your digits become pale white. Letting out a steady sigh, with all your strength you lift yourself to where you can stand, "Oomf," a small whimper escapes past your lips, tensing at the cringe plaguing your shoulders.

Being seven months pregnant sometimes has its perks, but this isn't one of them. Bending your body forward slightly, you step sluggishly toward your dresser, pulling out maternity clothes lent to you before the move.

"So, when are you going to tell us?" The soft murmur belonging to your mother echoes from the driver's side. Her expression submits an evident mixture of exhaustion and exasperation; though it's been a month since the announcement of your pregnancy, your mother is currently driving you to a doctor's appointment for a checkup on the baby to make sure everything is okay, "we have a right to know."

Arms crossed over your chest in mild annoyance, you bite the corner of your mouth until the side of your head meets the window, getting lost in the line of trees zipping by.

Waddling into the bathroom, the vague memory fades, your hand reaching to turn the knob of the shower. The squeaky sound along with rushing water splatters against the shower curtain sending a soothing jolt of excitement. Chilly air springs goosebumps over your limbs once you're freed of your clothes, waiting patiently for the water to warm before inching into the tub. When steaming liquid soon dribbles among your frame, a grin of satisfaction sparks brief happiness you needed an escape to. The heat of the downpour eases your aching bones, fingers clasping behind your neck to lean your head back, "Oh!" You gasp in surprise when the instant feel of a kick happens within your tummy. Eyes flutter down in the direction of your swollen belly, palms moving to caress it, "Look at you, what are you trying to do? Escape?" Cooing with a light giggle, when the baby kicks again, you can't help the giddy smile tugging at the corner of your lips. Now, this- this is what you love about being pregnant. Finishing up, you dry your hair before swiftly dressing along with brushing your teeth.

Thoughts still pertaining to the small life growing inside you, you've decided since your first doctor's visit that you do not want to know your baby's gender until the day that you give birth. When you presented the idea to your mother, she was all on board, proclaiming how she had done that with your younger sibling. Running a brush through your hair, you skim one final look into the mirror formerly then head to exit the bathroom.

Gradually sauntering through the mini hallway, you're more zoned on the way your hand pats upon the wall in some form of maintaining stableness to the point you hardly notice almost slamming into a tall figure.

"Oh shit, I'm so sorry!" A deep voice panics, raising his arms in a way to catch you though your arms mirror the same. Heart ramming, a breath of relief winds past your parted lips- your eyes scanning the slim legs that follow to the handsome face of Kim Namjoon. His eyes enlarged apologetically.

"Oh Namjoon, you scared me," a tender chuckle sets the feel of calm for he sees the amnesty etched in your eyes.

"I'm so sorry, [Y/N], I was about to head out to mow the lawn, but just wanted to check and make sure you're okay," he timidly scopes the view of your huge abdomen, gulping once his hands rest loosely at his sides, returning his eyes to search yours before a sweet grin spreads upon your face.

"It's no biggie. Thank you for checking on me,"

His dimples show from the way his lips press in a tight smile, nodding in reply, timorously turning to waltz to the outdoors in preparation of the day ahead. You watch until he disappears from your line of vision; the creep of a blush burning from your chest to your cheeks. Raking your hands through your hair, you force yourself once again to deny the attraction seeping through your soul thankful your blush attacked after he left.

Kim Namjoon works for your father, making sure the church grounds continuously stay clean and cut creating a pretty environment to the eye. Protecting the land is another part of the job description- protecting it from any loiterers, wild animals, protesters, etcetera- maintaining flower bushes encircling the area as well as mini projects your father will want Namjoon to build. The swing set, including the shed, happen to be plans that Namjoon successfully constructed due to your father's wishes. In return, Namjoon is provided a place to live- the room that once held your father's office, is now changed into a bedroom.

It's strange for you to think about it now- how so much has changed in just seven months, when a year ago the church was thriving, unaware of the secrets that clouded within the audience. Squeezing your eyes shut, a reminiscent from the beginning of your pregnancy rears its head causing a tiny brink of nausea to form.

Taehyung's arms drape around you tightly, embracing you in all entirety that your eyes shut against the crook of his neck. Your fingers squeeze his shoulder, legs bent across his thighs while tepid tears spill onto your cheeks.

"Shhh," he tries to comfort, his breath tickling your exposed ear- your face still buried beneath his chin, "It's going to be okay," he whispers just as soft as the flicking fire burning amongst numerous candle wicks. Scents of vanilla blends with birch fitting the dimly lit bedroom that you're thankful exists other than the man refusing to let you go until you feel better.

"How?" You choke back another sob, "How am I going to tell my parents? How am I supposed to confront the church if that's what it comes down to? Shit... My dad is going to fucking kill me," Taehyung's shirt is soaked, but he could care less, tangling his long fingers into your hair to stroke the back of your head.

"Okay, now, you're being dramatic,"

"So, maybe I am? But you know very well that my parents aren't going to take this lightly,"

"Yeah, but I think it's safe to say that telling your parents you're pregnant is far better than if you were to tell them how you truly feel about religion,"

"Okay? Perhaps, you're right," a snippet of a frustrated huff leaves your trembling lips, "especially not with what's been going on with the church, I don't know how much more they can take,"

"Well, your dad should have thought of that before he had an affair with my mom," Taehyung's icy tone brings chills to your frame before he loudly swallows, lips firm from the anger boiling behind his almond eyes. Tendrils of his bright, red hair glow regardless of how dark the atmosphere is, and you hardly hold back the sheer pain stabbing your heart from the guilt you can't help but endure.

"Tae, I'm so so sorry,"

"Hey," he peers down at you, realizing he may have taken his comment too far, even though you're just as angry towards your father as your best friend is, "you didn't know," sniffling back the remaining mucus clogging your nostrils, you desire to face Taehyung no matter how foolish you think you may look, scooting your body to where your palm indents in his mattress next to his legs, his arm now rests around your waist, and for a split second, you're close enough to where the tempting appearance of his striking face beckons the strange glimmer of longing. A longing of curing whatever loneliness you're going through, but you're not the only one experiencing this moment for Taehyung's lips part just enough to plead your attention.

You can't stop yourself, and you don't, because before either of you comprehend, you close the gap letting the delicate wave of his kiss caress yours. "Tae," you breathe against his lips, reuniting with his kiss almost immediately while a dizzy spell of want travels through your chest. You know this isn't right. He knows this isn't right, but too many pent-up emotions between your hearts have gotten out of hand, and for now, all the two of you have is each other. His fingertips move to tenderly trail your jaw, gasping into his mouth when the tip of his tongue circles yours before you move to trap him in a perfect straddle. You need something, anything to feel whole again- something to forget about the people you lost and the people you will lose. And, if there's anyone in this world you do not want to lose it's him.

There's no refraining, there's no hesitation, just the growing pace of the kisses, and the way you're so enthralled with how beautiful he feels squeezing you tighter to him. "[Y/N]," he moans, hating himself for how far he wants to go with you, yet he craves your touch, nearly supplicates for it. You want to feel his skin, and the aching throb below you seems to deafen any other screams of stopping, and yet, your fingers move to the end of his shirt, peeling it just enough to expose the solid wall of his abdomen. "[Y/N]," he stops you, breaking the final kiss, his hand covering your wrist, while your eyes frantically search the side of his face, "We- we can't,"

You haven't seen him since, because of the boundaries that were crossed and would have been farther crossed if Taehyung had not had the strength to stop. The pair of you have been best friends since childhood, and neither of you wants to take anything beyond for the sake of feeling empty, but he assured you that night, even after your panic of apologies pouring from your mouth, after the humiliation that shackled your system, even after the daunting assumption that your friendship was over- he cupped your cheek, promising that he was still here and that he would never end your attachment over something, you both will never regret.

It's a secret you've suppressed for some time. Taehyung calls every so often when he can; dealing with his broken-hearted father on top of two jobs consumes every bit of his time. Yet, you can't help but miss him, the one person who loyally stayed by your side even when you came forward to your friends about your pregnancy. And, the one friend who still loves you all the same, even after discovering his mother's affair with your father.

Rage isn't enough to describe the resentment against your father, and ever since you told your parents that you were expecting, and ever since your move, you haven't spoken to him. You'll never forget how torn your mother was- depression weighing heavy on her, and that's something that's hard to forgive.

Your mother looks frail as she twiddles the crumpled tissue in her hands. Tears brim her eyes through the silence in the car, sparse sniffles breaking your heart into a million pieces. The two of you had just come back from the grocery store to restock the kitchen in your recently new home and are now parked at the church's back door to drop you off. You hesitated upon leaving because the thought of your mother having to return home to a place of remorse is the last thing you want for her. The promise of a car was granted to you, but you turned it down, refusing to accept anything from the man who caused so much pain to your family. To Taehyung's family.

Running the tissue underneath her eyes, she speaks, "[Y/N]?"

"Yeah?" Your voice is barely a whisper, but the guilt from how stressed your mother has been is something you wish you could carry instead of her. After the betrayal of your father as well as him resigning from the church to send people away from the place they once sought refuge in- on top of her oldest daughter being pregnant with her first child is already a lot to handle. The other frustration you bite your tongue from expressing is the fact of your parents refusing to let you get a job until the time after you give birth. You want to make the money to provide for yourself and your son or daughter without the dependence upon your parents- your mother especially, yet you're grateful for her adamancy on keeping you from any risks outside of the walls of your home.

It takes a moment before your mother gathers her words, "Do you- do you think you could ask Namjoon to help take you to the hospital? Whenever it's time... for you to have the baby?"

It was easier for your mother to ask that of you because he lived in the same building, and if any emergency of your water breaking happened earlier than expected, at least you would have someone available to take you to the hospital. Your gaze clears from the zone out you've had the whole time standing in the entrance of the hallway before Namjoon left. Turning on a heel, you decide to return to your bed, slipping under the covers- you're too wide awake to sleep as of now, yet the foam of the mattress eases the soreness of your back once you lean against the pillows.

-Four months earlier-

Queasiness envelops your abdomen to where you recognize the cue, rushing to the porcelain throne to heave whatever yellow liquid is left- spurting it into the toilet while you grimace through the pain. The door swings open behind you mixed with heavy footsteps quickening to you. When large hands swoop to hold your hair back, you don't have the strength to look at the intruder due to the continuous retching that deems you defenseless.

"It's okay, it's okay," the deep voice is soft, and relief brings tears to your eyes when you recognize it to be Kim Namjoon. You're embarrassed once your stomach gives you a break, your palms pressing to your forehead while you slump against the wall.

"I'm so sorry," you whisper, swiping your mouth with the back of your hand. Namjoon scatters to find a tissue, patting the corners of your lips.

"You don't have to be sorry,"

"That... wasn't what I was apologizing for,"

A knowing glance is all he must give for you to share whatever thoughts you can't bring yourself to voice. He was your friend before all of this, yet you failed to mention to him about the pregnancy, and with him being the worker of the Church- he didn't discover your budding stomach until the day you moved in. His eyes flicker away from your stare toward the slight protrusion of your baby bump due to your ruffled t-shirt. He settles on the floor across from you, silence being the only conversation held. He isn't one to hold anger, and though you kept him unaware until your third month of pregnancy, he refuses to leave your side, making a pact to himself he will do whatever it takes to provide the care that you will need. As well as the little one.

Despite the emotional roller coaster, you remain amazed with how he keeps his patience with you. A day of depression to a random bout of laughter- memories turning of the betrayals of close friends who judged you immediately the day you put your trust in them- the freedom you craved away from the sheltered life your father forced upon you- even days where you can't seem to put your tears on pause, yet Namjoon holds you through every grieve.

"What if... what if I'm not good enough?" Your voice shakes between sobs- you had been dreaming restlessly yet another night, tossing within your bed to the point Namjoon came to check on you- rushing to pull you into his arms the moment your eyes fluttered to reveal pained tears. Your words nearly shatter him- pulling away just enough to where his eyes lock with yours.

"How can you say that, [Y/N]?" The faint light of your lampshade causes his face to glisten- angelically, you decide, yet the shadowing doubt of motherhood plagues you still, because what if you genuinely can't care for the child that you're six months away from holding? Fears encompass you like an ocean, smashing along your mind in harsh waves. "Look at me," are the words that snap you from whatever sea you were suffocating in to realize you had unintentionally switched your gaze from him. It's the calming effect the warmth of Namjoon's eyes bring when he exposes whatever faith he has in the woman you are and will become. "You're going to do just fine, believe me, I know it,"

Sniffling, you run the back of your hand along your chin where an escapee of a tear dangled, "How can you be so sure?"

"Because when have you ever given up on anyone that you care about," it's not a question, he's stating what he knows to be a fact. Something he learned of you when he first was hired to tend to the property. "You're stubborn when it comes to winning someone over. I was determined not to befriend anyone here. But you changed that for me, remember?"

A knowing tug of a smile trembles into a stretch upon your lips, "I do,"

"Same with the baby. I know you will love that little one more than life itself. It doesn't have a choice, and you'll let him or her know the second they're born,"

When a hearty snicker leaves your mouth, you notice the sticky feel of your drying face- you are no longer crying.

"You don't have to do this alone, [Y/N]. You showed me that even when I didn't know what else to do. Now, get some rest, okay? You have a doctor's appointment bright and early," the bed creaks from the gradual movement of Namjoon standing,

"Wait!" You speak before you can stop yourself, Namjoon immediately pausing- the heat of his arms is felt beneath your palms from your pounce of panic, and with evident chagrin, you shyly stare at his chest, "Can you uh, ... Can you stay in here with me tonight?" You've refrained from asking sooner due to the shame of not telling him the news that's become apparent, and even now, you haven't been able to comprehend how he's not the slightest bit angry with you. When his arms encircle you closer to his frame, no words need to be said because he's already answered by just this gesture. Nuzzling into his embrace, the side of his chin pressed to your forehead, "Whoever it is, I hope they grow up to be half the person that you are," you whisper, squeezing him tighter, infinite smiles now ending the night that cures any ounce of uncertainty.

By the fifth month of pregnancy, you finally come to the realization of how selfish you have been- it's no longer about you and your needs; it is now about the needs of your son or daughter growing within you. Namjoon catered to every grocery store trip, stocking the kitchen and in return, you choose to cook for him every meal, hoping to show as much appreciation to him that you can.

"Have you thought about any names?" Taehyung's voice muses on the other line of the phone, the sound of him bringing a small smirk upon your face. You've missed him terribly so, yet the acceptance of surprise phone calls is all you can settle with for now. At his question though, you pause with the tilt of your head, taking a quick sip of the broth that you're currently heating on the stove.

"No?" It's a brief question of guilt, something you haven't been ready to ponder, "Honestly... haven't thought that far ahead yet," you add in the vegetables to boil within the broth.

The familiar, deep chuckle is all you hear to gain an idea of what your best friend is about to say next, "I should have known,"

"Alright, Birkenstocks. What do you mean by that?"

"Breezing past that mistake. You named your Parakeet, Bird,"

"Well, in my defense, I was seven years of age,"

"And in my defense, playing basketball in Birkenstocks was supposed to start a trend,"

"Since how? I-"

"Ask Hoseok,"

"You lost a bet didn't you-"

"And, I will pay for it for the rest of my life, now won't I?"

"With me around, you will,"

Hoseok is the deacon's son who's dream of fashion has been shunned by his family, yet he designs in a sketchbook Taehyung hides for whenever Hoseok and he share the same work shifts. He's not one you have had the opportunity to communicate much with, but you're thankful Taehyung has someone to maintain a friendship with while you two have been apart. A short response of silence settles while your cheek and shoulder squeeze the phone for a moment as you stir the steaming vegetables.

"You could have named the bird, Tweety at least-"

"Oh!" You playfully growl, "Back with that again, huh?"

"Do I need to send you a link of baby names-"

"I promise you, Tae, I do not plan on naming my child, Kid, okay?"

"You'd be surprised-"

Taehyung's excitement for his future Godchild brings a simmering joy to the surface of your pattering heart. Almost as equal to the eagerness, your mother has shown with this being her first grandchild. Graciously, your mother has never been as strict as your father, hence why the past five months have gone much smoother then they would have if your father had never had an affair with Mrs. Kim.

The phone call ends whenever dinner is finished, and by that time, Namjoon scuffles through the door- the outdoorsy scent drifts to your nose while you place the sweltering bowls of soup on the table. Namjoon shimmers his feet from his work boots before hanging his coat, timidly glimpsing in your direction to confirm you're okay.

Small talk ensues with the typical questions of how each of your days has gone once the pair of you take your seats. One secret, yet another you and Taehyung have harbored, is the awareness of Namjoon's atheism- something your father must never learn of his worker. Namjoon, who will not admit it, works on the church grounds in order to provide for his family who lives a few miles up the road. Ultimately, there are many secrets not worth sharing to your parents, not only for the sake of sanity but for the protection of the ones who you've kept close, especially Namjoon. With your father being the tyrant of a priest, he used to be, there is still the potential distress of him firing Namjoon over the mere difference of beliefs. Something you refuse to let happen while you're around.

Clinking spoons replace conversation, for how long, you're uncertain; the fog of your thoughts seem to consume upon one in particular- something that has remained festering long enough, yet you have never said it aloud- figuring this moment may be the time that you do. Namjoon confided in you and Taehyung once he found comfort in trusting the pair of you- even subjects that one would have never expected him to open about. Guilt presents itself to the point your eyes squeeze shut, opening them to move your spoon to play at a piece of broccoli swimming in the potage.

"They don't know," your words are careful- slow even- continuing your vision on the dinner before you. You can feel Namjoon's soft eyes on you, his expression confused. "They don't know who the father is," that's when your gaze trails to meet his eyes just for more guilt to manifest behind them. By they, you're referring to your parents, as well as every other soul excluding Taehyung, "I won't tell them." Namjoon slowly nods with the sense of understanding, knowing the cost that will be taken if your father were to know who you're trying to bury beneath this web of fear. "Besides," you sigh heavily, "I'm surprised my father was lenient enough to let me live here," you confess, "if he wasn't so guilty over the affair, I would be homeless-"

"I wouldn't let that happen," Namjoon says suddenly, destroying whatever anger you were dwelling upon. Your mouth falls open in shock at his words and the frilly flutter of your heartbeat is hard to ignore. After living here for two months, he's proven time and time again that he means what he says; what he just said. Speechless, the rest of dinner continues in fond silence, your heart refusing to steady for the man slowly captivating your heart.

The sixth month of pregnancy gifts swollen feet and aching bones on top of your belly growing heavier by the week. Namjoon has stayed loyal- tending to your pregnancy cravings in the dead of night, aiding to your discomfort whether it involves a heating pack or a cup of ice, slipping under the covers on nights you want him to hold you, driving you to every doctor's appointment without any hesitation; with all that he's been doing for you, it's like your feelings have blossomed deeper which you know shouldn't be happening with the peril of your father finding out. The unexpected visits from your father are few, yet you usher the reminder to yourself of protecting Namjoon, though he carries the weight of facing your father instead of you who avoids the confrontation.

Night comes quickly after a day spent cleaning up the nursery that seems to be coming together, other than the crib Namjoon's been building- something you accidentally discovered when strolling close to the shed one sunny day. He's so dedicated to the unborn infant, it nearly brings you to tears, glancing around the elegant hues of multiple pastel colors painted across the room with stuffed animals, blankets, and furniture he continues to gift you amongst different items your mother has added to the collection. You always enjoy the sporadic visits from your mother, because she's free to celebrate the life that she refuses to consider as a sin.

"Are you thinking boy or girl?" Your mother elbowed your side earlier today after moving around the furniture.

"Hm," you hummed happily, thankful for the relationship that's being redeemed with her, "you know? I'm not very sure,"

"I can tell from all the colors you've chosen," she teased, "it looks beautiful," she cooed, pulling you into an accomplished side hug. You didn't want to stick to just pink or blue, so you chose every other shade in between, colliding the space with colors that could go for either or. "You're going to be a wonderful mother,"

The sound of the front door opens distracting you from the former memory, staring down at the table that now rests heaping plates of chicken and rice. The fellowship hall used to be filled with numerous rows of horizontal tables mingled with circular ones where the crowd would come to camaraderie to joyful hymnals, delicious food, reflected testimonies without any warning of the secrecies soon floating to the surface. Now a solo table, the one planted before you, pairs with a few sparse chairs just enough to seat at least four people.

"Hiya," you greet, trying to ignore the subtle increase of your heartbeat. Namjoon flashes a kid-like smile once he shutters out of his jacket, "How was your day?"

"It was good, thank you," he replies, taking long strides until he makes it to you, "How was yours with your mom?" His right-hand steadies the small of your back while his left one clutches yours to help settle you into your seat. It's hard to focus on the question he just asked when the scent from outside seems to heighten the attraction you already feel towards him, "It was good," you manage to say, reaching for the silverware to begin digging into your food, "Thank you... For helping me," the distance between your stomach and the table now is something you've been trying to get used to as well as the turmoil of trying to stand and sit.

"Anytime."

A blush floods your cheeks when he holds your timorous stare, so you avert your eyes to your dinner, letting the obvious feeling of Namjoon watching deepen the red shade on your skin. A few minutes disappear into time before you feel a shove against your abdomen from the inside. Your hand instinctively flies to press upon the baby bump, Namjoon jumping at the motion, stopping mid-chew, while his eyes enlarge in surprise.

"It's okay," you chortle at his reaction, "it's just the baby kicking," his response reminds you of the moment you felt the baby kick for the very first time- similar to a weird flutter that's hard to describe, and it had taken you a second to realize what it was exactly- just your baby making its presence known to you. Namjoon swallows the bite of food in a nervous gulp, the pang of his silverware mutes from where he lays it on the napkin.

"Here," you murmur affectionately preparing to stand to your feet. Namjoon immediately jolts from his chair, rounding the table to gather your hand in his. Instead of relying on his strength to help you position yourself, you plop back onto the seat, sliding his hand to the area where the baby kicked a few minutes prior. Namjoon kneels to level with you, his plump lips ajar mirroring the widen stance of his eyes while he patiently waits, his nervous heart pounding in his temples. It's the exuberant joy in his smile that meets his eyes in a dazzling glow the pure second the baby kicks again, and the bliss of delight smothers your heart in so many ways imaginable at this moment the pair of you are capturing together. Your hand remains resting upon his while your eyes lock repudiating from breaking contact.

"I told you that you don't have to do this alone," he whispers, and it's then you come to the awareness of how near his face is from yours, his dimples visible from his smile to the point you press your lips to each one, shocked at your act of boldness, but you can't refrain. He's too handsome and too wonderful to stay away from any longer. That's all the invitation needed, for Namjoon's lips brush yours igniting the sparks of what you've been trying to suppress for way too long. Your fingers find his hair when he leans to deepen the kiss, moving his hands to rest on the chair, fingers pressing into the wood until pale white.

At this moment, you don't care what anyone thinks.

You are in love with Kim Namjoon, and there is nothing in this world that's going to scare you away from that.

-Present day-

The pitch black outside the window brings frustration when you awaken to scold yourself for how long you've slept. Gathering yourself once the fatigue rolls off, you cautiously sit up, scooting to the bedpost until you're on your feet. Taking a trip to the restroom, you notice upon exiting the clock on the wall reads seven pm, and you wonder if Namjoon has made it inside for the evening. It's eerily quiet save for the air conditioning, but you pause when you see the lights are on in the main area of the building. Shrugging, you waddle around the corner until the sudden shouts of, "SURPRISE!", nearly knocks you to the ground.

Gasping, your eyes widen while your hand flies to your chest. A prolonged second interferes before your brain deciphers the two individuals cheering before you. Numerous pink and blue balloons hover to the top of the ceiling matching the colors of a cloth decorating the one table now adorned with a cake and wrapped gifts. "What?" You can barely speak from the light headiness taking over, but the tears that well in your eyes when you see the boxy smile of your best friend sends you in an attempt to run just to crash into his arms. He meets you halfway, surrounding you within his embrace as he rocks you back and forth muffling your wails of joy into his checkered sweater. Your soaked cheeks are wiped away from the material as been done countless times before, and his tepid palms squish your cheeks when he steps back to gesture toward your belly.

"Wow look at you! Your belly is huge!"

"I'm still in denial of how fast this pregnancy is going!" You say breathlessly, you're so happy to see Taehyung, you can hardly contain your composure. Namjoon steps forward with his hand reaching to squeeze your best friend's shoulder. Taehyung's fiery strands are curled upon his forehead, lustrous beneath the lights as it always has before, "Your father let you come?" There's a seriousness behind your voice at the question because you are cognizant of the fury Tae's father has against the church from the events that occurred what, in some ways feels like a lifetime ago.

"Well, no," Taehyung winces mischievously, "I told him that Namjoon and I were going to a basketball game,"

"Of course, you did, you sly fox,"

"You know you love me," Tae pecks your forehead before leading you to the table where the sweet whiff of cake flatters your nostrils.

"You guys didn't have to do this," you're still wiping tears off your face, though it's evident that your crying is from untainted gratitude, "What did I do to deserve the two of you?"

Namjoon kneels, intertwining his long fingers with yours, using the tip of his thumb to tickle circles upon your skin, "Taehyung mentioned how when you were kids that you loved surprises, especially if it involved a small party of some sort so," he tilts his head toward Taehyung, "And I knew how much you missed him, too. I just wanted to do something to celebrate you. And, the baby,"

It doesn't take much to smother this man in kisses nowadays, and once you express your thankfulness to the men before you, Namjoon reads your mind, snatching a small kiss in return.

"You two are on kissing terms, again?" Taehyung teases while you poke your tongue at him in mild embarrassment. Namjoon does not know of the moment you and Tae shared, and that's something you're not ready to talk about, and with the cutesy scrunch of Namjoon's face, the memory escapes to the back of your mind for now.

By the end of the night, the frosting had met all three of your faces- some smushed into Taehyung's hair while some swiped across Namjoon's neck, and your eyebrows are smeared along with the possible suspicion of some getting up your nose. Cleaning the mess takes a while, but nobody in the room would trade it for anything, and it's good stalling to prevent the night from completely ending.

Walking Taehyung to his car is the only dread overwhelming your system because you're not sure of when you will get to see him next. Tears flood your eyes, breaking Taehyung's heart as an awe of shame gusts past his lips, "I'm sorry, [Y/N]. My dad's expecting me home soon,"

"I don't want you to go," you choke, on the brink of bursting at the seams- Tae fumbles to tighten his arms behind your back- him trying to be mindful of your abdomen being pressed too firmly against his frame.

"Please don't cry," he whispers near your ear, "Please, please don't cry," His lips curl from the tears burning within his own eyes wishing with all his strength he could rid of the aching hurt that has kept your friendship separated. Tae swiftly pulls away when he remembers another present, he meant to give you earlier, whirling around to unlock his car, bending into the vehicle while his hands shuffle around the floorboard in a desperate search for whatever he wants to show you. When he turns to face you, a sharp inhale of glee echoes into the night- the lopsided plush of a heart is attached to a blue body ornamented with yellow polka dots that match its mouth. "Oh my gosh!" You squeal, "Tae, it's adorable! Where did you find this?"

Wiggling his eyebrows in pride, he hands it to you, "I made it myself. And," he pauses for effect, "since you have trouble naming things, I did the honors and named it for you. I introduce, Ta Ta."

"Ta Ta?"

"Yeah, like 'Ta Ta... for now,'"

"Just when I thought I couldn't love your dork of a self even more," you exhale, slamming your eyes shut just to bury your face further into his chest, not able to breathe in his scent from the clog of mucus stuffing your nose.

"I love you, too." His voice thickens with emotion, "Now, quit saying it like you're never going to see me again, because you know I'm not going anywhere."

"You promise?" Your cold nose moves to press into the corner of his jaw where steady breaths move between your parting mouth. It's a serene moment where he turns just enough to glimpse at you, engaging in the beauty he's always found within your heart. Taehyung's agape lips now rest centimeters from yours when his large hands raise to rest his fingertips along your flushed cheeks- the curls of his frizzy hair pressing to your forehead, prickling your closing eyes. You discover your free hand enfolding around his wrist from the daunting desire looming from what's been left unspoken, and the shiver in his breathing brushes your chin once the light touch of his nose cuddles to yours. You both stand there for a seeming reel of eternity, battling the inward mayhem of choice that's displayed itself on the invisible line tempting to be traversed.

"I promise."

He hadn't kissed you, but there was no denial that he wanted to, especially with the way your face has haunted his dreams since the night your lips met in emotional patterns of sorrow. But, deep down, he knows it's too obvious of a choice if the one for him is to be you, but the love that has been kept for you will never go away. The same as a tether of your heart will forever be his no matter how deep your love goes for someone else. Kim Taehyung will always be your poise- your muse- the soulmate of a friendship that you will always need.

Toddling to the nursery upon Tae's departure still presents the boiling tears from your tired eyes dripping off your cheeks as you set Ta Ta beside the koala plushie Namjoon gifted you; the humor involving the struggle of both Taehyung and Namjoon carrying the crib Namjoon built for the baby taunts a smirk at the corner of your lips. It's dark besides the faint light of the hallway behind you, giving you just enough to admire the scenery around you- sniffling back what you can before reaching to cover your quivering chin with your hand. You've missed Taehyung. You miss him. And, how beautiful of Namjoon to surprise you with your best friend's presence? Reuniting the three musketeers from once upon a time?

Little do they know, from the unearthing of your pregnancy to now, the two men have mended your broken heart and stitched it back together again piece by piece. You're highly uncertain of where you would be without them, and just the thought alone is one you refuse to dwell on. While memories turn like a spindle of loosened thread, a revelation halts you in your tracks. The thought rings loud and clear gracing a wide smile on your face while one more set of tears dampen the corner of your eyes.

After scolding yourself for so long for not thinking hard enough on the subject,

right here, hands grasping the handlebar of your future child's cradle,

you finally have a name picked out for your little one.

2 months later....

"Namjoon, I'll be fine," the pointed look you flash him prompts a nervous chuckle once his hands rest to rub gently along your sides. He's concerned as he's been almost the entire pregnancy, but of course, now his worries are heightened to an extreme, "I'm not due until next week. Don't worry,"

"I know," he groans, tugging you closer just enough to plant a warm to kiss to your neck, "But, I can't help it."

"I'll be fine," you drag the word with a teasing sound of a whine. Namjoon shaking his head at you with a smile you're now feeling upon your lips. "Mm," you hum into his kiss, your hands sliding to squeeze his shoulders in reaction to how impeccable it feels. You end the moment simply to gaze at him, "You'll be back before you know it," you assure him- his trip to the grocery store being the plan for the afternoon.

"Okay," he says tenderly, eyes flickering to your lips once more before leaning to brush them to his own, "I love you,"

There's a small pause, one that entails warmth smothering your chest in giddy sensations when his eyes steal yours after pulling away, "I love you, too, Joon," watching him head out the door until the truck disappears along the road.

Of course, the day doesn't go accordingly the way you expect, because on carefully prodding to the kitchen in preparation to cook breakfast, a slight ache ensues within your abdomen. "Oh," you groan, stroking the area with your fingertips before deciding to lay down for a bit instead. When reaching your room, the sharp pain of a cramp returns causing a harsh cringe as you lean against your bedpost, hardly able to concentrate on the attempt of climbing onto the mattress. You remain hunched over for five minutes, forcing slow breaths to prevent from panicking, and when you find the coast to be clear, you straighten yourself out.

Suddenly, before you can comprehend what's happening, a gush of water splatters onto the carpet soaking your feet in the process.

"No," you whisper, eyes frantically scanning your room for your cell phone. Namjoon shouldn't be far with the grocery store only being a few miles away, but in order to get a hold of him, you must find your only way of contacting him. Hands pat your bed, thrusting off the bed covers and shaking them roughly, yet no 'thump' is heard before you cast the covers in a pile onto the ground. The next destination leads to the restroom, with no luck of your phone being in your bedroom- when another wave of pain shoots within your stomach, you gasp, trying to endure through the discomfort with all your might.

Leaving a water trail behind with every step you take, you desperately search the countertops before stepping into the area that holds the kitchen, wondering if there is any possibility it may have been left behind there. Your feet meet the cool surface of the tile floor, your gape scanning the entirety of the space before a pant of relief escapes past your dry lips the second your shaking hands gather the device. "Agh!" A contraction surges, hands squeezing your phone unintentionally, yet you grimace just enough to maintain your focus on the task at hand. Managing to get the phone ringing, it doesn't take long until you hear the man of your dreams at the other end of the line.

"Hello?"

"Joon, it's time," you choke, voice thick with pain.

"Oh, shit! Hold on tight, I'm on my way, just hold tight, I'm coming-"

You just happen to be running by the church in favor of dropping off the work truck keys to your father when he unintentionally introduces you to the new employee you assume he plans to hire, "[Y/N], this is Kim Namjoon. He's going to be taking care of the church grounds for us, isn't that wonderful?"

"Hello, it's nice to meet you," you greet, underlyingly suffering from the attraction swarming to your reddening cheeks. When your father mentioned of hiring, you never anticipated the person to be this overwhelmingly breathtaking.

"It's nice to meet you too, Ma'am," Namjoon's polite nod mirrors the dimples evident from a soft grin, his hand reaching for yours to shake before your father continues the tour of the place you've grown up memorizing. But something initiates you to stay, eyes lingering on the back of the tall figure decked in a turtleneck covered by a green jacket complementing a pair of jeans along with brown shoes. There's a spark of intuition that day, one that ignited the prominent determination that you want to get to know this person even if your father ends up finding out.

Namjoon busts through the door with pure alarm etched in his voice, "[Y/N], I'm here! Baby, I'm right here," he immediately jumps to where you are, keeled over on the floor, throwing his arm around you until he lifts you out of the fellowship hall and into the work truck. Words you attempt to form are muted by whimpers, tears brimming your eyes from the pain that doesn't end, "I'm going to grab the suitcase, I'll be right back," time must be faster than you can measure for Namjoon arrives, slinging the suitcase into the backseat before slamming into the driver's side.

It takes a while for the newly found employee to warm up to every opportunity you take in order to get to know him. One thing he's slowly but surely learning is that you're not one to give up so easily- something you've noticed him picking up on, especially on days, you annoy him when he's on call to build a project. You make it clear to talk to him nonstop until he acknowledges your existence, and the times he doesn't breathe a word results in a call to Taehyung.

"Come help me," you plea hearing Taehyung's exasperated sigh on the other line.

"You are so annoying,"

"You know you love me, fool," you gloat because with defeat, your best friend reluctantly joins you, even accompanying a basketball just in case if Namjoon happens to fancy sports. Your girlfriends, Luna and Jo, were informed of your undying crush on the mysterious worker, crossing their arms in jealousy that you half-heartedly ignored.

"He doesn't even come to the services," Jo droned, "Don't you think it'd be best to get to know someone that's more... active in the church? Like the pianist's son, Min Yoongi. You two had such a cute relationship when you were three-"

You can't get past why no one seems to understand that you must win Namjoon over, and though Luna and Jo have seen the world along with you since childhood, you roll your eyes, turning on a heel, "I'll catch you later,"

Tires screech along the road while Namjoon swerves past cars on the highway, hands ghost white from the tight grasp he has upon the steering wheel. Meanwhile, your hand grips the bar above you while your other rests upon your belly- the keenness of getting to hold your baby in your arms is all you're thinking about other than Namjoon who's keeping you sane.

"Just a few more miles and we will be there. Just breathe," his voice is unsteady from the fright of this situation, but he upholds his enlarged gaze upon the road. He fumbles for his phone- trying to contact anyone from your family in order to tell them the news.

"GAH!" Leaning forward, a wail echoes within the vehicle as another contraction attacks.

"You guys aren't going to stop until I'm your friend, am I right?" Namjoon's elbows are folded from the hold he has on the basketball meeting his chest. Tae jumps sporadically in front of him with outspread arms preparing to prevent the ball from flying into the hoop.

"Damn straight," you shrug your shoulders in observation of Namjoon's tilting head.

"I thought church girls didn't cuss,"

"And I thought you'd have more game than the basketball," You retort.Tae halts, straightening his frame, eyes flickering between you and a quiet Namjoon, "Now hurry up. If you win, I will leave you alone for good. If Tae wins then we treat you to dinner and a movie. How does that sound?"

With an incredulous shake of his head, Namjoon smirks, "Okay," the scuffle of his converse is heard on the pavement when he briefly turns to toss the ball toward the hoop. The basketball pangs the ring, twirling ferociously to the point, your heart begins to sink, but to your pleasure, the ball tips off the rim, landing in a rejoicing Taehyung's arms.

"HAH!" You sprint, colliding into Taehyung's embrace while Namjoon tries to stifle the smile overtaking his lips, "Looks like it's going to be a burger and fries' kind of night," you wink, unaware of the hope that Namjoon has of wanting to gain your friendship just as much.

The hospital entrance appears after the rush of Namjoon turning into the parking lot soon helping you out of the truck. The suitcase will have to wait being he can retrieve it later, his ultimate goal is getting you within the building to where you're safe. "It's okay, it's okay," he tries to appear relaxed, but everything becomes a blur until a nurse with fluffy, black hair approaches with a wheelchair to help settle you in. His nametag reads 'JIMIN' – him rolling you quickly down the hall when the presence of a female nurse whose nametag reads 'MONNIE' helps you change into the nightgown upon arrival of the hospital room. Voices are mingling together from the pounding in your temples, but Monnie keeps her hands gentle on your back to lead you to the bed where she hooks you up to what seems like a million machines whilst providing as much comfort to you as possible.

Namjoon's calloused hand covers yours when one other nurse, Jungkook, floods the room, bringing a chair for him to sit in. You're not sure of all the commotion that's overwhelming the room, but you steady your breathing as Namjoon directs, squeezing his hand through each contraction. You recognize the doctor, Kim Seokjin, a tall man already dawned in a scrub hat, mouth mask and gloves, scurrying to where you are, "Alright, I am going to check your dilation Ms. [Y/N], just breathe in and out." Slamming your eyes shut, you whimper from the discomfort, "Alright, she is dilated three centimeters. Once you are at ten centimeters [Y/N], you will begin pushing. No worries, I will alert you as soon as I need you to begin. Keep breathing. Everything will be okay,"

"Taehyung... My mom... Dad-" you murmur deliriously between breaths, the foggy sense of your conscious outweighing how to speak properly.

"No worries baby, they're on their way. They're on their way right now," he sweetly kisses your perspired forehead, running his free hand through your tangled hair.

The three musketeers were official after the day at the basketball hoop, eventually learning of Namjoon's atheism as well as him providing for his family.

"My dad couldn't find a job that pays enough, so I promised him that I will do whatever it takes," it had been six months since Namjoon had been hired, and currently is finishing his final paint to the shed while you and Taehyung sit Indian style in the grass. "Thanks to the job here, I can afford the rent for my parents as well as give them my car since here, I just use the work truck..." Namjoon sharing more in-depth with his life story- you finally get what you've been determined to gain since meeting him.

It's weeks later that you'll never forget, leaning against a mini, red monkey bar after sharing your feelings toward the man you've grown so fond of. There's no denying the feelings he's had for you, and once he inches closer, the crave to hold his hand has never been stronger. Boldly, your fingers trail to intertwine with his, your nerves close to getting the best of you despite the persistent smile that hasn't left him. When you find the bravery to look up at him, he swallows calmly before leaning in, you stand on your tiptoes to meet halfway until your lips touch. The slide of his arms encompassing your frame feels so inviting when he presses his body to yours. The world is put on pause to you and nothing else matters other than the way his lips move so elegantly- your arms wrapping around his shoulders while he sways you from side to side.

Time doesn't seem to speed up through all this pain, but the adrenaline swimming in your veins peaks when Dr. Seokjin prepares to check your dilation again. "Ten centimeters-" He confirms, "Alright, [Y/N], the baby's coming. When I say push, you push. Okay," he positions himself though you can't see anything past your gown and raised knees, "One, two, three! Push!"

"AGH!" You grunt, a small scream vibrating at the back of your throat once you push with every fiber of strength, you can muster.

"Breathe, breathe," Namjoon's hand hasn't once left yours- sweat pouring from your scalp while the burning agony overpowers your body.

"Is she here!?" The click of darting heels enters the room and are loud enough for it to catch your attention. "Oh, honey, I'm here!" It's your mother- scampering to your side with the undeniable blur of Taehyung's red hair following suit. You want to ask where your father is, but before a chance is given, the doctor shouts, "Push!"

"AAAAAAAGH!" You manage, body straining in all its entireness. Taehyung jolts to let you squeeze his hand along with Namjoon's. His features show nothing but fear at the sight of you being in so much strife, yet he holds it together enough to cheer you on.

"I'm- I'm so glad you both are here," you cry- another sixty seconds drifting before the shout of, "Push!" erupts.

"I'm scared," you murmur in the dimness of the room. On your knees, Namjoon's soothing hands glide along the tops of your thighs motivating you to run your hands along his forearms. You don't know where your parents are, and you're too angry to care. You're bushed of the fighting so, you sought comfort in being here, with Namjoon. Taehyung dropped you off at the fellowship hall with the promise of not breathing a word- because if your parents were to find out remotely of your whereabouts, you'd hate to discover what the consequences will be.

"Me too," his nervous eyes investigate every inch of your face. You've never been with anyone this way before- secretly hidden away from the world outside trying to suppress the revealing crave of what you're curious about. Scooting forward, you drape either leg around him, propping yourself enough to where your arms lace around his neck.

His breath hitches from the gesture- your lips erotically aligning with his in slow movements, heat rising below you when you feel the hardening of his being beneath your sense, "I want you," you whisper. He knows that you're a virgin, and with care, he lays you on the bed, hovering above your frame where your bodies align perfectly. "Are you sure this is what you want," concern consumes his countenance, but you desperately bring your hands to cup his cheeks.

"I don't think I've wanted anyone so much in my life,"

You gasp into his kiss where he slips his tongue along yours- the sensation one you've grown used to from the slovenly kisses leading up to this very night. You give Namjoon permission to sneak his large hands underneath your shirt, trailing up your ribcage before swallowing your breasts whole in his heated palms. Nipples so sensitive, your heat drenches the moment he realizes the effect it has on you just by merely brushing the rising buds, lipping at your neck while he basks in the beauty of your moans. "More," you beg, "Please, Joon, more." When clothes start to be thrown off, you're determined to pleasure him, but have not an idea on how to do so. "Show me," you breathlessly demand, Namjoon's palm leading yours to encircle his twitching being. You stroke his erection as shown, biting your lower lip from the throbbing feeling of your core- him instantly finding your entrance to fill it with his fingers as carefully as he can- both of you pleasuring each other, yet still getting lost in kissing so deeply, the two of you forget to gasp for air. The sensation of heated pressed bare skin can be the most beautiful thing, especially with the way your legs entangle with his. You're surprised the feel of his prodding fingers didn't bring as much discomfort as you would have originally anticipated, but when he brings a hand to his penis, he rubs his tip along your slit letting the sloppy sound of you leak onto it. "Holy shit," he moans from how soaked you are for him- his fingertips finding your clit while yours dig into the backs of his shoulders.

Smoldering kisses move from your lips to your breasts, down your abdomen to your inner thighs where you tense underneath his touch that slides to hold your bottom half where he can scan your heat. The tip of his tongue swipes upon your slit excruciatingly slow to the point your fingers tangle with the material of the bedsheets. The smacking sound of his lips savor your taste while his tongue circles your core- you're hyperventilating from how deliciously he flicks his tongue upon your slit, screaming his name relentlessly- the speed of his skilled mouth driving you wild from the growing climax beckoning your stiffening thighs, "Oh, Namjoon, oh- Joon- I- Oh!"

He's not ready for you to finish because there's more he wants to show you. Hovering above you once again to see you coming down from your high, your heaving chest longs for his touch, and he nearly comes undone from the smile embellishing your face. His tracing fingertips parade along the outline of your body in featherlike tickles while the sounds of panting breaths mingle with shifting sheets bring subtle music to your ears for the rest of the night. The gentle parting of his lips grasps your own in smooth movements persuading arousal streaming from your core. Your fingers now link with frilly tufts of his hair, gripping the strands in reaction to the pressing of his bare chest to yours, dreaming of nothing more than to be entwined with him for what you hope will be forever. Hips grinding into yours prompts the light moan teasing his ears for more before his mouth trails to pause above your pounding heart. His hair brushing your chin, your arms glide to wrap around him holding the hope that he will never let you go. Not even for a second.

"Alright, one more! Almost done! Push!"

Sucking in one long breath, with a compulsory scream, you push with all you have left in you. Exhaustion weakens your limbs, yet a rush of relief floods your body when the cries of an infant reverberate within the room. With heavy eyes, you turn to see your mother with tears cascading down her face and onto the back of her hand covering her agape mouth- eyes remaining locked in front of her. Taehyung's gaze doesn't drop though his fingers loosen from yours at the small bundle immediately apprehending the eyes of every individual. Right then, you move your head to your other side where Namjoon gradually rises in awe- his hand still has yours. Gathering any ounce of strength, you're ready to see the child you've been waiting to hold for nine months, so cautiously you sit up until your stare meets Dr. Seokjin's. You can see the smile in his eyes despite the mouth mask, and what he says next brings you to tears, "It's a girl,"

"Oh!" You thrill, anxious to meet her while the nurses scurry to clean her up.

"Sir, would you like to do the honors?" The doctor gestures a pair of scissors towards a stiffened Namjoon whose eyes are welled with hushed tears. He can't even speak, yet he nods from the happiness exploding beneath his chest.

"Wait," Your mom says, "Is- is?"

It's a moment that seems to fit the setting for your father walks in, as if on cue, shoulders slumped from the anticipating tension now darkening the room. Taehyung's shoulders tensed at the sight of the man he despises, but for the sake of you, Namjoon and his Godchild, he keeps his composure enough to ignore the elephant now standing in the room. The fear that used to consume you upon your dad unraveling the truth about your secret vacates you when you know that you and the two men present can conquer anything.

"Yes," the answer is to your mother, but your stern glower of warning is only connected with your dad's although your mother's stare remains on you, "Namjoon is the father."

Namjoon stands with pride while he accepts the pair of scissors from Dr. Seokjin- your father, with a shocked expression, watches as the man he hired happens to be the same man who stole his daughter's heart without his knowledge. Yet, he refrains from anger, because who is he to ruin such a precious moment about to unfold here?

Pictures are taken of Namjoon cutting the umbilical cord, his fingers gently rubbing his daughter's cheek while he wipes at the tears dripping from his eyes. Jungkook takes her into his arms to weigh her before wrapping her in a plush pink blanket, "She is seven pounds and five ounces,"

Endless joy envelops your heart from the scene playing out before you; especially, when the vision of your father's quivering chin, admiring his granddaughter leaves you speechless along with the hope of redemption entering your beating heart.

"Are you ready to hold her?" Monnie's kind eyes match her smile when she touches your arm.

"Yes," you stifle a sob, "I want to hold her,"

Monnie poses her arms to where Jungkook places your daughter, Monnie guardedly turns to rest your baby into your arms. Her small face chortles, her eyes closing while she puckers her tiny lips. "She's so perfect," you cry, love in all its beauty falling from your eyes while you watch your daughter's fingers fold individually upon her chest.

"Just like you," Namjoon whispers, locking eyes with you before inching forward to give you a loving kiss.

"I love you, Joon," you whisper, pressing your lips to the corner of his mouth.

"I love you, too."

"Uh," the deep serenade of your best friend interrupts, all attention abruptly turning to see him raise an index finger in the air, "So, as the Godfather, I must ask a very serious question," the room chuckles along with him as they patiently wait for his request, "What's her name?"

"Ah," you nod, realizing that hasn't been made known to anyone other than to yourself. Your mother steps forward to place her hand upon your shoulder while your father keeps his distance enough to not cause any trouble- though the two of you share a small smile to let him know all is well. Namjoon watches you in admiration- the woman of his dreams holding his child in her arms while facing her deepest fear yet holds her head with pride about the man she will spend the rest of her life with along with her daughter swaddled to her chest. You are everything he's ever longed for and more, and he's ready to defeat any storm in life if it's with you and his daughter.

To answer Tae's question though, you return to face him, tears gathering in exhilarating bliss.

"Taejun." Her eyes slightly open at the hearing of her name as a tiny smile adorns her lips,

"Her name is Kim Taejun."

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there-are-things-i-dont-forget · 3 years

Text

SPOILERS FOR CRITICAL ROLE CAMPAIGN 2 BELOW

I just wanted to talk about how much the Mighty Nein and Matt and Critical Role have meant to me over the past few months. I started Campaign 2 in January this year, when I moved out for university and was able to live on my own for the first time. They quite literally saved me, because I cared so much for the setting and the characters and the story that Matt wove and how the players interacted with them that I hung on just to see how it would end.

For me, it was amazing how I could relate the characters to aspects of myself, and how watching them all get their happy endings have made me be able to look forward with a bit more hope.

Let’s start with Beau. I’ll be honest, Marisha’s characters are always the most challenging for me, because of how real they are. Marisha is a stunning actor, incredibly skilled, and Beau was the character I responded to the most as if it was a real person. Everyone else I could enjoy and play into the metagame of watching the players be characters. With Beau and Marisha, it was so real. Moreover, I could see myself reflected in the character (which is probably why I found her so challenging to begin with). Trauma, hurt, being an asshole to other people before they could reject her first. Not the best at compliments, giving in to anger and sarcasm, struggling to connect. And I got to watch her grow, and be accepted, and learn from her mistakes, and be appreciated by who she was, and in the end get vindication on her abusers, and find love and acceptance. Beau’s story is incredibly special to me.

In that same vein is Yasha’s. Manipulated, taken advantage of, forced to do things against her will. Yasha’s story is the one that I can relate to the most, in terms of trauma, and to see her quite literally rip the wings off of her abuser was cathartic in a way that I did not expect, but should have foreseen. And in the end, she also got her happy ending. I’m gonna leave it at that, because any more will make me cry. But I hold her and her character arc so close to my heart.

Liam’s performances are the hardest for me to watch because he feels so much, and I love it. He really gives it all to the scene and it is incredible. Caleb was a character that I overlooked for a bit in the beginning (as Jester had quickly become my favorite), but he quickly climbed as we began to see more of his character and his backstory. Manipulated and groomed by someone he was supposed to be able to trust, forced again to do things against his will, falling in to flashbacks and panic attacks, struggling to rejoin society and interact with others, a love and a passion for learning to a nearly obsessive sense, both for the love of it and for the possibility of gaining the power and strength needed to take back control. Slowly learning to love, to grow, to find friends and see that there can be more to life, that you don’t have to be ruled by your trauma or let it define you, but also still acknowledging it and its effects. But also just how long it takes, and how it can affect you in ways you cannot imagine. He also got his vindication on his abuser, and again, I cried, tears of happiness for him and of grief and hope for me, that one day I might be able to do the same.

Caleb, Yasha, and Beau are the ones I relate to the most because their story is my story, and watching them grow and love means it can happen to me as well. I cannot stress how important and incredible it is for me to realize that. In the more material sense, they all got closure and catharsis against those who hurt them, and they all learned to love again, to open their hearts and let others in again. And that means I can too.

This brings me to the Shadowgast love story. I know this is really controversial for the fandom and I don’t care. For me, their arc was perfectly realistic, and their ending was exactly what I expected for the characters. Finding a kin spirit, learning together, hesitant but trusting in the other’s passion for study at the very least, slowly and naturally growing closer and learning more about each other, revealing more. The betrayal from Essek, the scene on the boat, the slight recoiling on either side, and then learning again, slowly trusting again and teaching each other to forgive themselves, that they were both victims in a sense and that they can take back control and do better, and choose to do better and be better. Slowly healing, and healing together, knowing the worst of each other and choosing to stay but still acknowledging those parts of each other. The scene where they return to the T-Dock and they talk about time travel, and Caleb disintegrates the whole thing? That’s growth, and that’s growing together. And they continue to grow for years, and heal for years, and eventually they end up together, but it takes time. Of course it does. And Essek’s character and this ending really helped me understand some of my own feelings in terms of friendship and romance. Everyone upset that there wasn’t any “on screen” romance or whatever, to me, fundamentally misunderstood the character, especially since his love language does not seem to be physical touch at all (if anything it’s gift giving/acts of service - teleporting the M9 around? Helping Caleb solve the spell? Giving up to dunamis gem to help the M9 get a long rest?). But yeah. Watching characters like that help validate my own experiences in friendship and romance and it was fantastic.

The others I have a bit less in common with, but there’s still stuff to talk about. Veth having her body changed by someone else, something out of her control, feeling alien in this body and struggling to find a sense of self, then finding friends willing to pour everything into helping her be herself again? Fjord learning he is valuable whether or not he has powers/can serve others, that he has worth just as himself, and that that is enough? Those were stories I needed to hear, to know that something like that is possible.

Caduceus growing out of his comfort zone, exploring, learning, but still being a rock for the others (and for the viewers), and "Pain doesn’t make people. It’s love that makes people. The pain is inconsequential. It’s love that saves them."? Molly’s loyalty and “leave every place better than you found it”? Even if I couldn’t relate directly to the characters didn’t mean they didn’t have an impact, and these are things that I will carry with me always.

Jester. I have just about nothing in common with Jester, and I loved it. Her optimism, her jokes, and her art (including the dicks), just the absolute light and joy that was her character was exactly what I needed to get through some of the toughest times of my life. Watching her grow from episode one to episode 141 was insane, to mature but not lose her creativity and her fun for life. She was my reminder that there is good and light and hope in the world, even if sometimes you have to create it for yourself, and that is what kept me going sometimes.

And finally, Matt. I cannot give enough thanks to you for choosing to share this amazing world and this story with us. Your storytelling is what prompted me to finally put my ideas into writing, and now I’m working on my own book. Along with Jester, Essek is one of my favorites, and his story arc and characterization was incredibly important to me. I truly have no words for how Critical Role and especially you, with the care and passion and obvious love for storytelling that you have, have changed my life. And I cannot thank you enough.

Am I sad that the campaign ended? Maybe a little. I will miss these characters. But I truly believe that Matt ended the campaign at the perfect point, and I loved the final episode, it made incredible sense for the end of the characters (maybe a teeny bit more Marion/Babenon? But I digress). I’m sure Campaign 3 will be just as astounding.

My love and thanks to the cast and crew of Critical Role. Rest well knowing you did a fantastic job, and I’ll see you in campaign 3.

PS: I know there’s a lot of tags, I want to make sure I cover all my bases so people don’t get spoiled if they have these tags blocked because I have been spoiled too many times by people who tag badly.

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purple-possibilities · 3 years

Text

Like Father, Like Son

Rating: Teen

Warnings: mentions of death, mentions of prostitution, like slightly dark? Gritty maybe is a better descriptor, Naruto world taken seriously.

Length: 1888 words

Pairing: MinaKushi, Minato’s Canonical Dad x Minato’s Canonical Mom

Genre: romance, drama, slight angst (we know how these two ended up), crack taken seriously

Summary: the story of Minato’s parents, and how that influenced Minato’s decisions, and his courtship of Kushina. Inspired by this post about Minato being extra.

Like many children in ninja villages—and truly, just children in general, since the Warring States Era and the formation of the Ninja Villages—Namikaze Minato is an orphan. His father was a self-taught ninja from a small village on the boarder of Kaze no Kuni, while his mother was a kunoichi from Tsuchi.

Though Minato's parents had died when he was young, he was old enough to remember them. He was old enough to understand why his parents were forced to hide away from their home countries, old enough to know when and why he had to hide and lie.

He was old enough to understand why tousan had to escape in the night while he and kaachan had to flee in the cover of tousan's sacrifice distraction.

He was old enough to understand why he and kaachan had to lie about their ninja training when they immigrated into Konoha with forged papers so realistic that not even Konoha's infamous T&I, or their renowned Yamanaka clan could tell the difference.

He was old enough to understand why kaachan was forced to work in the way she did, why strange people would spend an hour or two, or sometimes even the whole night behind the door to his mother's room, why she made him leave when some specific visitors stopped by, why he eventually came home to find her laying in bed, blooms of red and shocks of shiny white against her cold, still skin.

He was old enough to remember it all—to want to change it all, one day—but his mind would always take him back to one specific memory.

His most precious memory of all.

The love in his parents' eyes.

Minato could recite the story word for word, with how much his kaachan told it—how much more she would cling to the words after tousan was gone.

Kaachan was from Iwagakure, having sworn her life to the Tsuchikage and the Tsuchi no Kuni daimyou as a kunoichi of the Rock. Touchan truly had no allegiance—his skills had come from a talent with chakra and a necessity for self-defense.

So when touchan had seen a group of Suna-nin abducting a woman, he did what any good man would do.

He saved her.

Touchan had followed after the Suna-nin in secret, waiting for the perfect moment to strike. Touchan was not sure he could defeat the two Suna-nin on his own, but he knew that with the help of the right environment and a few tricks, he could come out victorious.

With his wind chakra aiding him in both speed and his strikes, touchan caught the first nin completely off guard. As the second nin—the one holding kaachan—noticed his partner listing to the right—before the dead body could hit the ground—touchan had just as swiftly eliminated the other, catching kaachan in his arms.

Unwilling to linger at the scene, touchan carried kaachan away, until it was safe for them to stop. When touchan untied kaachan's binds, she couldn't help herself.

Kaachan pulled touchan into a kiss.

It was in that moment that kaachan fell in love with touchan. Both were alone in this cruel ninja world. The shinobi nations were in the midst of the second Great Ninja War. People were dying left and right, hundreds every day.

Who would miss one kunoichi? Who would recognise one self-taught man from the edges of Kaze no Kuni?

Who would give up on the chance of happiness, love, and family, when the world had taken so much from them?

He remembers asking his parents how they knew they were in love after just one meeting.

His mother always answered, “A selfless act of kindness in a cruel world is a rare thing to be treasured. When you find that, especially when you're alone and hopeless, it's easier to leave behind the entirety of your harsh, unfriendly life for even just a single moment with such a person."

When Minato asked his touchan, his father always answered, "There is not much kindness in this world, not much any single person alone can do to fix that. We work hard, we may try to help others, but that's not going to get any one man very far. Kaachan has a fire in her, a toughness, a resilliance which cannot be crushed. She is fierce in her mind, body, and soul. As a man forced to grow and survive on his own, I know just how valuable, and how rare those traits are. I had desperately craved for companionship, for a family, and your mother has the strength and resilliance to ensure our story will be longer than most."

At the time, Minato didn't truly understand what either of his parents meant. But as an orphan, as a boy all alone, who had witnessed the worst of the world and wanted to make it better, who had his world stripped from him in a place that should have been safe, with the weight of his parents sacrifices on his mind and the desperate urge for a family once more...

Minato fell in love.

All he knew about love was what he'd seen from his parents. With no advice, no one to turn to, Minato did the only thing he could:

He emulated the fond, much told memory of how his parents fell in love with the percotions, strong-willed, resilliant Uzumaki Kushina.

And like a blessing from beyond, like a gift from his absent parents, Uzumaki Kushina—who had only ever glared and grumbled at Minato before then—had fallen in love with him.

It hadn't been hard to use the shadow-clone jutsu and then henge them into Kumo-nin. It wasn't hard to find Kushina all alone, after tricking the ANBU who followed her with a genjutsu laid out by Uchiha Fugaku's sharingan.

It wasn't hard for Minato to gently disable (but not disperse!) his own clones, to catch Kushina in his arms, to take her to "safety" (as if she were in any danger at all).

It wasn't hard to attract her heart and capture it—not with his boyish good looks, his patience, and most damning of all—

Kushina's lonliness and desire for connection.

With her home village destroyed and Mito-sama recently deceased, there wasn't a better time for him to put his ploy in motion. Maybe to a civilian that might seem callous, but to a ninja, that was just smart planning.

What did it matter if he was using her grief and loneliness to his advantage? His company would heal that for her anyways.

(Besides, it was his grief and lonliness which drove him to do it).

Minato would grow up to be a lot of things: a hero and a curse, a soldier and a leader, a husband and—just briefly—a father.

Minato would not go on to share the story of how he got Kushina to love him with his son. Minato would instead go on to emulate his father, sacrificing himself in the hopes of giving his child a shot at a better life.

But that was for later. In this moment, in the shoddy comfort of the bachelor apartment allotted to orphaned ninja-in-training, Minato put the pieces of his plan together.

Minato was old enough to retain memories of his life before Konoha, before his parents were taken from him, but only one memory stood out.

And so he remembered.

And so he took the past and made it his present with dreams of the future on his mind.

Fun Facts!

I imagine Minato's mom to be blonde like he, Naruto, and Deidara are, while his dad has red hair similar to Kushina and Gaara. His mother's hair was smooth and straight while his father's was spikes like Minato and Naruto.

The ninja who killed Minato's father were sent after his mother for desertion. Another Iwa-nin had caught sight of her and reported back to the Tsuchikage. The nin were sent to kill Minato's parents but were instructed to bring Minato back alive in case he was useful. I kind of puts Minato's massacre of those thousand Iwa-nin during the Third War into a new light...

Fugaku only agreed to help Minato because when he initially refused, Minato accused Fugaku of not being able to do it. Fugaku, like a certain other Uchiha we know, was desperate to prove himself. Minato didn't tell Fugaku about his plan, he just dared Fugaku to trick the ANBU.

Minato had to practice with his clones for weeks to be able to fight them without them "popping." He ended up having to use a seal on them to make them more resilliant. It was his first time working with fuinjutsu, and what sparked his love for it. Kushina's interest only heightened his own.

Yes, Minato's dad only went along with kaachan's feelings because he was lonely and she was strong. Relationships have been built on less. He was a very pragmatic man. He did genuinely fall in love with her though.

When Minato and his mom immigrated to Konoha, she had to pretend to be a civilian with no ninja training to avoid suspicion, and be offered asylum as a Hi no Kuni refugee. As a foreigner (even one posing as a Fire Country citizen) and with the growing number of refugees, it was hard for her to find a job, so she became a prostitute. She was killed by a nin who was triggered and experienced a panic attack/flashback. He fled the scene after, and ended up letting himself get killed during his next mission. The case of her murder remains unsolved—not that the police did much investigating. There were more pressing issues to deal with at the time.

The harsh life Minato lived—as a fugitive and then a refugee and orphan—is what led him to want to be Hokage. He wanted to save people from the pain he and his parents suffered.

Kushina's spirit (and declaration to be Hokage) is what attracted Minato to her. His father's words of finding someone strong and stubborn enough to survive in this cruel ninja world is what made him decide she was the one for him.

Kushina is dumb. So dumb. Didn't catch on even once. Fell for the plot hook, line, and sinker. Even when, years later, Minato shared the story of how his parents met with her, Kushina did not piece his plan together.

Due to Minato using "Kumo"-nin to carry out the abduction, he made their already poor reputation in Konoha worse. This was further exasterbated when real Kumo-nin actually tried to kidnap Hinata.

Minato sacrafied himself that night when Kurama was unleashed on the village, because all he could think of in that moment was the way his father sacrificed himself to save Minato and his mom. It clouded his judgement from more logical options, like, I don't know, not casting a suicide jutsu to trap half a tailed beast in his minutes old son and his soon to be dead body.

Kushina was delirious from pain meds, having an tailed beast extracted from her, and her own hotheadedness. It was a bad mix.

In the end, Naruto learnt that rescuing a girl is the way to her heart, following the Namikaze family tradition of courtship.

AN: So, uh... This got darker than I thought. The post that inspired this was so cute too. I wrote this a few weeks ago on a night I was too busy for this bs and yet it would not let me rest until it was released. I wrote this after being challenged prompted by @books-n-guns, as crack is my apparent specialty (we been knew, I know. After the LeeKaguya fic I think I solidified my place in this fandom). I hope you enjoyed it!

#namikaze minato #uzumaki kushina #minakushi #naruto #just a little piece i wrote #sibi writes

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schnitzelbutterfingers · 3 years

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The Forgotten One (Ethan Ramsey x F!MC)- CHAPTER 3

a/n: first, i wanna wish everyone a happy thanksgiving from my family to yours! please take the time to thank everyone you are so grateful to have in your life, especially god, for letting us live and for all the blessings he gives us. do not take anyone for granted.

next, so sorry for the holdup!! finally, chapter 3 is here! we’ll see what abby feels about the attack, her and ethan conversing, and a surprise ending. read, like, and let me know your reviews! forgive me if there are any spelling mistakes or grammar errors. let me know if you wanna be added to my taglist and as always, enjoy (ɔ◔‿◔)ɔ ♥

summary: Louise Ramsey, the mother of the famous, brilliant diagnostician Ethan Ramsey, is back into his life. However, Louise holds many secrets, dangerous secrets, that could harm him, Dr. Abigail ‘Abby’ Chacko (my MC), and the very few lives he actually cares about. It is up to Ethan, Abby, and their friends to save each other from what is about to come.

pairing(s): dr. ethan ramsey x f!mc (dr. abigail ‘abby’ chacko) || dr. sebastian chacko x dolores hudson (YES YOU READ THAT RIGHT)

warning(s): angst, and then it’s pure fluff, and then a surprise ending (you’re gonna die die dieeee :)))

word count: 4289

catch up here :)

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Abby’s POV

When she wakes up it is with a headache, a throat ache and side pain. When she looks more closely at her nose, she sees an oxygen tube through them. When she looks more closely at her surroundings, she realizes she is in a hospital bed.

Lying down. Wearing a sky blue hospital gown. With an IV through her accessory cephalic vein.

Jumping Jehoshaphat, what happened this time?

Abby spent many times in the hospital during her childhood. Most of them were due to the number of cuts and bruises she got from her father, in which some of them were very serious injuries. One time she was admitted to the hospital because...

No, Abby. Don’t relive through that phase. It’ll wound you more.

There are many types of pain. Many of her pains were physical, but some of her pains were emotional. By far, she can tell the emotional pain is the hardest to get over with.

Sure, she has been cut with a knife, raped by many of her father’s friends, and whipped with a belt. To her it was normal, and she had gotten used to it. To others, the pain is insufferable.

Heartbreak hurts. Too much. It can rip people from the inside out, and change them. For better or worse.

Her father caused her many heartbreaks. In return, she studies, skipped five grades, graduated from high school when she was 13, and graduated from Hopkins when she was 21. Some might say she took it too far, but she knows it was just what she needed.

What she needed to prove to her father that pain doesn’t break her.

What she needed to prove to her horrid patients that she is not dumb.

What she needed to prove to the whole world that she is not as young and innocent as everyone thinks she is.

Death, betrayal, and pain were her three companions, with some delectation in between. She cherished those jocund moments.

And she thanked God. Seb. Jazmin. Ethan. Herself. For all the hard work.

But what happened right now? Why is she in this bed?

It feels as if she has fallen into a cactus, her heart being punctured by tiny pins and needles. It’s starting at the bottom of her stomach, and it’s slowly growing.

The anxiety.

The depression.

It feels like some kind of vaccination, where the shot doesn’t really hurt but the aftermath feels disastrous, cataclysmic. It’s leaving her breathless, as if she is running away from a ghost from her past. It is leaving a certain kind of exhaustion on her.

It’s heartbreak. But why? Why does she feel heartbreak? What could have possibly gone wrong-

Everything. Everything is going wrong. Bingo. She knows what is happening. But she can’t even speak the name out loud. It’s petrifying her. Really well.

Louise Ramsey.

Ethan’s mother who claimed to come for him and Alan.

Louise Ramsey.

The one who tricked them, including her.

Louise Ramsey.

The one who stabbed her. The one who she trusted.

The one who she believed had a change of heart didn’t have a change of heart at all.

She fooled everyone. She’s a liar. She is manipulative. She is every dark sin written across this universe. She is the next generation of Sat-

Wait. Wait a long moment.

Oh no. Oh no no no no no.

How is Abby supposed to tell this to Ethan of all people? How is she supposed to let him know his own mother tried to harm her?

But she had to.

Moisture is falling from the tip of her index finger, even if the bed sheets feel cool. Sweat is dripping from her forehead, even if the hospital room is air conditioned. An imaginary shock travels through her body. The sharpness of the pain is unequivocal and indisputable that it sends shockwaves through her bloodstream. If it wasn’t for the bed, she would have crumpled to the floor.

She is currently holding the bed frame with a white-knuckled grip.

The young doctor scratched her arm nervously, mindful of the IV, as she let that horrifying memory fly through her.

Louise stabs her in the side, blood spilling to Abby’s legs and on the floor. She couldn’t say anything, words failing to come our of her mouth, every second making it harder to breather. She starts to lose consciousness, hearing the sounds of the patients in the room screaming for security.

Louise whispers into her ear, “The game has begun.”

The last thing she sees is Louise running towards the exit and nurses coming towards Abby, before her world evades into darkness.

That’s what happened. That’s why she’s in the hospital bed, feeling like crap.

That’s why she feels heartbreak, of all the emotions she can feel. She has heard of brother cheating on brother and father cheating on his wife. But a mother disowning her own husband and son, but then comes back only for her to clown them?

That goes all the way back to Rebekah and Jacob in the Old Testament of the Bible, if you ask me.

She is back to the question on how she is supposed to tell Ethan.

Does he know? If he knows, how does he feel? Does he feel depressed?

She sure hopes not.

When something happens to Abby, he always blamed on himself. Whether it was his fault or not. She reminisces on when Ethan apologized and was filled guilt when he found out about the trial.

Or when he came back from the Amazon. He didn’t really apologize for that, but the regret and remorse lurking beneath his eyes was the only thing she needed to know. To know that he was feeling guilt. Dismay. Lamentation.

Or when he opened up his bottled-up feelings concerning his mother. He said that he wasn’t planning on ‘dragging’ her into his mess.

Or when she was in that decontamination room. She remembers his words clearly, words that were etched into her heart.

I wished I hadn’t asked you to stay away.

Or now.

If he knows.

She knows what will happen if Ethan blames himself for this. He will be a different person. He will start becoming cold-hearted to people he cares about. He will push her away. Again.

Because he tends to believe that it is all his fault that accidents happen to the people he cherishes the most. He thinks that he is a curse. A malediction. An imprecation. She remembers the night when they connected for the first time. What he said.

This is The Ethan Ramsey. The man who can save anyone except the people he gives a damn about. Not Dolores. Not Naveen. And not you.

She was torn by what he said. Not because he said he couldn’t save her, but because he couldn’t love himself.

The young doctor hopes he already knows what happened. Who stabbed her. She couldn’t even bear the thought of seeing his face crumble. The man who was stoic. The man who every one recognized as an imbecile. The man who every single doctor is head-over-heels in love with.

Ethan told her to tell him everything. Everything that makes her angry. Everything that makes her sad. Everything that makes her happy.

If he doesn’t know what happened, she will tell him. She promised him that.

*Flashback*

It's normal for Abby to have a panic attack. Keeping her inhaler with her was vital for her to go through the day. Especially this week.

It’s been one week after the incident. That incident. That incident that took two innocent lives. Danny and Bobby. It’s all her fault.

If Danny was alive, him and Sienna would’ve been a couple, loving each other. Now, she sees a Sienna whose eyes are haunted. Grave. Not filled with any giddy or joy. She doesn’t see her smile anymore, the once blushed cheeks with her beautiful grin that shows off her dimples, gone. Lost. Thrown away.

If Bobby was alive, he could’ve bought his daughter the new car. It was what he always wanted to do. Instead of enjoying his time with his daughter in her brand new car, he’s under the cold earth.

Rafael is now going under therapy, but he also feels less confident from Rafael the paramedic. She misses the way he smiles. He does smile now, but there is no joy beneath his eyes.

And for Abby, she is not okay. She wishes she died. But she knows she couldn’t. There are people rooting for her. Her brother. Her mother. Her friends. Ethan. Ethan.

When she was informed that the gas in her body was maitotoxin and there was no cure, she accepted her fate and was ready to die. She glanced at Ethan, and his expression wasn’t betraying anything. But the eyes held more feelings than ever. They were pleading. They said, “Please don’t give up.”

She then realized that if they can find a cure within one day, she’ll try and survive. If not for me, then for Ethan and all the people I love, she thought.

Abby starts passing through that hallway. That one hallway. That one hallway that changed her life. No, that one room. And then, she passes through that room.

It’s clean, all the seals, the beds inside with new blankets and pillows. But she can’t see any of that. She can only see her, Rafael, Danny, and Bobby in that room. She sees Bobby dying. She sees Danny being taken away. She sees Rafael and herself being unable to breathe.

Suddenly she runs away. She can’t take it anymore. You stupid, why would you even come back to the hospital when you’re not ready yet? she scolds herself. Because of Farley. Damn it.

Abby is flooded by her own thoughts when she accidentally runs into someone.

“Oh, I’m so sorry, I-”

Only to know that someone is the one.

She hears his baritone voice calling out to her, finding comfort and solace in it.

“Abby? What’s wrong? Are you alright?” Ethan wipes something off her cheeks, and she realized that she was crying the whole time. She was so lost in her emotions that she didn’t a single drop falling down to her right cheek.

“I-” The young doctor tries to speak but couldn’t. She can’t breathe.

“Rookie!” Ethan quickly drags her to the nearest supply closet. He asks her where her inhaler is.

“Left... pocket...”

He hastily grabs and places it into her mouth.

“Deep breaths, rookie. Deep breaths.”

She does as she is asked and takes deep breaths. After a few long moments, her breathing level starts to go normal.

“Rookie, you weren’t ready for your first day back, were you?”

Abby starts to argue. “Of course I am! Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Because you panic attack right now seems to prove otherwise.”

She sighs. He’s right. She wasn’t even ready to set foot into the hospital. The only reason she did was because of Farley’s rash, and she thought it was life threatening.

Ethan sighs, breaking her from her thoughts.

“Go home, Abby, you’ve had a long day.”

Abby is about to snipe back when he stops her by raising his hand.

“On second thought, I’ll take you to my house. We’re gonna take a day off.”

“But Ethan, we both have patients-”

“Who will be taken care of by the other doctors in this hospital. If you think I’ll be leaving you anytime soon, you’re wrong.”

Hearing his words makes Abby feel lighthearted. She is stubborn just like him, but he’ll always be there for her.

After getting a confirmation and a wink from Naveen, they are in the car. It’s 1:00 P.M., and Abby sees couples sitting on the chairs in the outside booths of a restaurant, smiling, one couple holding hands. She dreams of these moments with Ethan, but their relationship is still uncertain.

The car stops at a red light, and she turns around to look at Ethan, who is lost in thought.

“Ethan, are you alright?” she asks him, concerned.

The mature doctor cracks a dry smile towards her. “I should be asking you that.”

“Ethan...”

“Abby... are you having suicidal thoughts?”

Abby was astounded by his question.

“Ethan! Why would you think that?”

“I’m just asking. If you ever feel that, come talk to me immediately. I can’t...”

It hit her on what Ethan was thinking about. He doesn’t want her to leave. As much as the question made her a little frustrated, she couldn’t help but think about what he was feeling throughout the whole ordeal n the decontamination room.

Abby takes a deep breath. “Ethan, I’m not suicidal. I never have been. I was just uncomfortable, that’s all.”

Ethan looks at her deeply into her eyes. She can literally feel him searching for any lies at her statement, his body relaxing when he didn’t find any.

When he stops the car, she realizes that they’re here. Before Abby can take off her seatbelt, Ethan’s hand on hers stops her from doing anything. She looks up with a questioning expression.

Ethan speaks in a very stern but concerned way. “If you ever have anything irritating or frustrating you-” he kisses her on the forehead.

“Anything that brings you pain-” He kisses her on the nose, making her scrunch it.

“Anything at all, that makes you want to cry out-” He kisses her on both cheeks.

“You come and tell me. Promise me” He finally kisses her on the lips.

As the final words come out from Ethan’s lips, she wonders about how she is so lucky to have him. Tears were burning in the back of her eyes, but this time, they were tears of gratefulness. To Ethan. For being her best friend. She cracks a smile.

“I promise.”

*Back to present*

“Hello? Ma’am? Doctor?” she is interrupted from her thoughts by a male nurse. When she checks his tag, his name is Caspian Chapman, and he has a light British accent. She hasn’t seen him before. Abby suddenly feels embarrassed. Who knows how many times, he called her like that.

“Hi, I am so sorry,” she says shyly. “I was lost in thought. Were you speaking to me this whole time?”

Caspian gives her a wide smile. “Nope! I just came in! My name is Caspian, and I will be your nurse! I am new here so...” he trails off.

The young resident laughs, despite the pain on her left side. “Haha, don’t worry! I’m not one of those Karens! Now tell me, how long will I be staying here?”

“From the stab wound you received, you will probably be admitted here for a week.”

Abby inwardly groans, wanting to just go home. Of course this would happen. Even if she’s disappointed by the news, she knows that it is vital for her to recover.

“So, did the stab wound affect my liver or...” she winces at her left side.

Caspian sighs. “You are correct. They brought you to surgery quickly, or who knows what would have happened.”

“Wait, how did you know I’m a doctor?”

Caspian smiles again. “Are you kidding me? You are Dr. Ethan Ramsey’s protege and in the diagnostics team! Not only that, you helped him save Dr. Naveen Banerji! You are also popular on Instagram. Anyone would kill to be in a spot and reputation like you.”

Her cheeks grow red.

“I suppose so...” she trails off.

The new male nurse speaks. “Anyways, I should let Dr. Ramsey, Dr. Banerji, and your family know that you are awake! They will be at relief.”

Wait, what? Ethan is here? Naveen is here? My family is here? They must’ve found out the harsh truth.

As Caspian turns to leave, Abby stops him. The nurse turns around.

“Yes? Is something the matter?”

“I just wanted to know if they knew who stabbed me.”

Caspian grimaces. “Yes, they are well aware. Do you not wish to speak to them?”

Oh no. Ethan knows. What will she do? Should she call in her family first? No Abby, he'll think that I’m mad at him! She inwardly slaps herself.

Okay, Abby, deep breaths. She took a deep breath, held it for three seconds, and exhaled.

“Can you do me a favor and call in Eth- Dr. Ramsey first?”

“I will,” he replies back.

______________________________________________________________

Ethan’s POV

He is terrified. Terrified to go and see her. Terrified to talk to her. But he has to. He has to let her know he loves her. He has to let her know that he can’t live without her. He feels a hand on his shoulder. Seb.

“Ethan, buddy, remember what I said. Tell her you love her. Make yourself happy. Make her happy. And she will never blame you for anything that happened. She’s a very reasonable girl.”

He looks into Seb’s eyes, and sees that there is something he didn’t tell him. Some kind of sadness, but there is happiness mixed in. He will find out later.

The older doctor turns around and sees the support written in their faces. Seb. Jazmin. Naveen. They are smiling broadly.

Naveen claps him on his back. “Now go get your woman, Ethan.”

Ethan smiles back. “Thank you, guys.”

He took a deep breath and opened the doors.

There she is. Abby. At once, she turned her head around, and at once, dusky brown met ocean blue. She looks tired, her body a little weak, but she still gives him a wide smile that sends his heart swooping forward. Oh, he has it bad.

“Ethan. Hey.” Abby welcomes him and pats at a seat on her bed. He, however, was hesitant to do so.

“Are you sure? I don’t want to hurt you...”

She rolls her eyes. “Ethan, I was stabbed, not hit by a truck. Now, be a good boy and sit on the bed.”

He does as he is asked, sitting on the edge, eyes never leaving hers. “How do you feel?”

“My side’s kinda sore, but I’ll survive... How are you?” she asks hesitantly.

“W-What do you mean?” he stutters. Ethan Ramsey never stutters.

“...I know who the perpetrator is, Ethan.” So she does know.

Before Ethan can say anything, Abby replies. “I know you are blaming yourself for what your mother did. But I will say it again and again until it gets through that smart head of yours. It’s not your fault, do you hear me?”

His eyes are shining with tears, his heart all the way up to his throat.

“Abby... I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” He blinks, and a droplet fails to stay in his eyes, escaping from the confinement.

The young resident suddenly sits up, wincing a little at the abrupt movement. Her eyes are full of alarm. “Ethan, c'mere.”

And he does. He hugs her tight, mindful of her side, his nose nuzzling his neck. Abby wraps her arms around him and strokes his hair. The motion gives him a sense of peace. His eyes drop a few more tears. I will tell her.

“Abby, I love you.” She tenses. Before she says anything, he cuts her off.

“No, Abby, please listen to me. I’ve loved you since the first day you’ve stepped foot into this hospital. I love how you’re always a colossal pain in my ass. I love how your eyes sparkle every time you hear good news. I love how your dimples pop up when you smile. I love how you bite your lip when you think about something. I love everything about you. Your courage. Your admiration. Your passion. I love you body. I love you face. And i now know, that I never want to let you go again.”

When Ethan pulls back and cups her face, he can see the tears glistening, failing to hold still and dropping down onto her cheeks. She half-sobs and half-laughs.

“Ethan, I love you, too.” And that is all he needs to hear.

He kisses her cold lips gently and pulls back, finding his sense of relief. She, in return, kisses his forehead. He promises to himself one thing: he’ll never let her go again.

______________________________________________________________

Seb’s POV

Seeing them crying of happiness makes him smile, his heart feeling elevated with joy. They deserve this joy. They both’ve been through a lot lately, and confessing their love for each other was their first step towards recovery.

“Psst! Seb!” Amma. Behind her is Naveen.

“How is it going there?”

The surgeon smiles triumphantly. “Our plan worked.”

Quiet cheers came out of their mouths.

“Finally!” Naveen sighs. “I’ve been waiting for this moment for months. Ethan’s too damn stubborn for his own good.”

Seb laughs quietly. “That he is.”

Amma scratches his wool sweater. He just realized the feeling of itch on his skin because of the wool. And he can’t wait to take it off. But they won’t be leaving Abby’s room for the next two days. Not him, at least.

“Will it be alright if we go in and interrupt them?” Amma asks hesitantly. “I have an urge to hug my daughter after the incident.’

“I am sure that will be alright.”

Amma knocks the door. After hearing an acknowledgment, all three of them walked in.

“Hi Ethan, is it alright if I hug my daughter? I do not mean to waste any of your-”

Ethan looks at her incredulously. “Why would you ask me if you want to hug your own daughter? I don’t mind at all.”

The famous doctor looks at Seb with a questioning look, who shrugs.

Mother rushes forward and hugs Abby carefully, sobbing as she kisses al of her face. The resident sighs.

“Amma, look at me.” Abby forces Jazmin’s face to her. “I. Am. Fine.”

“Sorry, Ladoo, your mother was just very worried when we got the call. I won’t try to cry, alright?”

The Chacko smiles easily. “now that’s what I wanted to hear from you. My Amma is strong.”

Abby sighs and looks at Seb and Naveen, smiling cheerily. “Who’s next in line for cuddles?”

Seb comes forward, finally at ease when he kisses her forehead gently. He hugs her as tight as he can, the injury preventing him for hugging her more.

“Please, for the love of Pete, please never scare us like that again.”

She laughs lightly and cuddles closer to him. “I’ll try not to.”

Seb looks up and sees Ethan with a light smile on his face. He finally feels light, free.

He then hears Jazmin’s stomach grumble lightly. Abby laughs hearing this. “Why did you guys not eat? All of you need to get food. Now.”

“I’m not gonna leave you this time around,” he replies.

Seb’s sister groans. “I knew you would say that.”

The surgeon has an idea. “How about I get all of us some burgers from a nearby restaurant? Since I doubt Ethan’s gonna like what he gets from the cafeteria.”

The famous attending shrugs and then grins easily. “You know me so well.”

“Only for you.”

Abby is on a strict water diet for two days, so he considers buying a cup of chocolate pudding for her. As he leaves the room, he sees Naveen hugging Abby, which brought some emotions to the Chacko. Naveen is like the father he never had before.

Seb is really joyous and filled with triumph at the love confessions between Abby and Ethan. He only wishes it could happen to him.

But it can’t. Because he lost the love of his life last year. Due to a seizure. While she was giving birth. All of their promises. All of their hopes and dreams. Gone. Forever

I miss her... I miss her a lot.

Suddenly, he hears a whistle. A familiar whistle. It sounds like her.

When she was alive, they used to whistle a lot. it was a form of their communication. The whistle that heard now was a way of saying, “Turn around.”

No, Seb, he thinks. You’re just letting yourself get too emotional. Stop hallucinating.

But then he hears it again. And it’s behind him. A little far away from him.

He’s afraid to turn around. He can’t move.

He forces himself to turn around, like the whistle had told him to.

And then he sees her. He sees her. He actually sees her.

No way, it can’t be... Suddenly, Seb speaks.

“...Dolores? Is that really you?”

She smiles. That smile. He missed that damn smile. Her face and hands are covered with small bruises.

And she talks. “Yeah, Seb. It’s me. Dolores Hudson. I’m alive. I really am.”

______________________________________________________________

Mystery Man’s POV

I give Louise some cash that she was looking forward to.

“Great, thanks!” she says with a smile.

“Anything for my wife,” I reply, with an emphasis on the word ‘wife’.

She rolls her eyes. “Ugh, don’t call me that. I married you to destroy them, not to love you. Now where’s that manicure you promised?”

Louise is annoying as hell. Sometimes I wonder how her former husband Alan dealt with her. What a man, I think.

She gives me a mischievous grin. “Now give me a kiss.”

I groan, and I quickly give her a kiss, not wanting it to last for long.

Then, I feel a vibration in my pocket. It’s my phone. I pick it up.

It’s one of my guards. And I can’t believe what I’m hearing. I bark him an order. Blood rushes through my veins, and for the first time in a long time, I feel fear.

I hang up the phone and look at Louise, whose eyes held confusion. I decide to answer her questioning glance.

“Missing captive alert. Dolores Hudson has escaped.”

______________________________________________________________

a/n 2: hope you liked that ending!

a/n 3: i know dolores died of a seizure while under an emergency c-section, but in this au, i refuse to believe so :)

tags:@missmiimiie @aylamwrites @starrystarrytrouble @udishaman @caseyvalentineramsey @queencarb @choicesstan1 @newcolonies @arcticrivers @angela8756 @takemyopenheart @rookie-ramsey @ohchoices @ohvamsey @ohramsey @natureblooms24 @drariellevalentine @maurine07 @lucy-268 @thanialis

@openheartfanfics

@choicesficwriterscreations

#pixelberry choices #choices stories you play #open heart #open heart choices #pixelberry #pixelberry open heart #ethan ramsey #playchoices #ethan x mc #ethan ramsey x mc #ethan ramsey fanfiction

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duhragonball · 3 years

Text

Hellsing Liveblog Ch. 45-50

This is the “Soldier of Fortune” arc. I thought there was a song by this title and there is! Give it a listen.

youtube

This opens with a flashback to Pip Bernadotte’s childhood, where he finds out his whole family is a bunch of mercenaries. His grandfather confirms it, and I should point out that Grandpa Bernadotte is the most mercenary-looking dude I’ve ever seen. He’s wearing a friggin’ beret while he tells Pip about how his dad died in some war to raise money while Ma Bernadotte was pregnant with Pip. Was Pip’s mother a merc too?

I guess my point is that this whole scene feels really stupid to me. Kid Pip grew up among mercenaries, but he’s literally the last person in town to find out about it. How do the kids at school know? Are the Bernadottes that well-known? I always assumed mercenaries tried to keep a low profile. Then again, they are entrepreneurs, so maybe the kids in school found ads about the Bernadottes in the phone book.

Even so, was Pip’s family trying to keep this a secret from him? Because Grandpa sure wasn’t. Not with that beret he’s got on. It’s like he’s been waiting Pip’s whole life to tell him, so why didn’t he mention it before? You’d think he’d want to raise the boy to follow in his footsteps, the same as Pip’s dad. Did Pip’s mom not want him to grow up to be a mercenary? It just seems like she should have known that wouldn’t work out.

Anyway, Grandpa Bernadotte waxes philosophical about killing people for money, which doesn’t seem like much of a justification. Pip was very upset about the whole thing, and I don’t think Grandpa said anything to make him less upset, and then we flash forward to the present day, where Pip’s a mercenary.

I mean, what was the point of that flashback? Pip was horrified to find out his family kills for profit, and then at some point he got over it and joined the family business. Why didn’t the flashback show us that moment instead? It seems more relevant.

At any rate, I feel like the flashback is overlooking the true point of Pip’s character arc. He starts out a soldier of fortune like his father and grandfather, but by joining up with Hellsing he’s now fighting for a much nobler cause, ridding the world of unspeakably evil monsters. He still seems to look at it like just another job, but it’s still important. His defense of the Hellsing mansion is a lot more heroic because he’s fighting against daunting odds with very little hope of surviving to see another sunrise, let alone his next paycheck.

Back to the main story, when Millennium’s forces invaded London, they sent a company to the Hellsing HQ on the outskirts of the city. Zorin Blitz was tasked with leading this group, but she was ordered to hold off on attacking until the Major gave the word. The Major then fired rockets at the mansion, only for Seras Victoria to shoot the rockets down... and Zorin’s zeppelin. Now, Zorin is trying to lead a ground attack on the mansion, except Pip has turned the entire yard into a minefield.

Seras disapproves, but Pip doesn’t care. In this sort of conflict, he and his men, the Wild Geese, are at a complete disadvantage. Vampires, even the weaker, artificial vampires of Millennium, are faster, stronger, and harder to kill. He hints at some sort of vampiric ability to read an opponent’s movements, too, which might have something to do with that whole “third eye” trick Seras and Alucard use. Against all of that, landmines are a sensible precaution, since they’re powerful enough to kill a vampire in one shot and don’t rely on a human operator with killing intent. Seras can gripe, but if Hellsing had used mines back in volume 2, the Valentine Brothers never would have made it inside. Pip clearly read up on that debacle, since it must have taken weeks for his men to bury all these mines.

The landmines do kill a lot of Zorin’s troops, and the Wild Geese lay down heavy fire from the mansion to keep up the pressure, but Zorin won’t give up so easily. She uses he powers to create some sort of zany illusion, where everyone sees a giant Zorin Blitz attacking the mansion.

So what the hell is Zorin Blitz, exactly? I thought she was a vampire, but reading this manga has revealed that Rip Van WInkle is a werewolf, which led me to suspect Zorin is a werewolf too. But the manga is silent on Zorin being one or the other. I check the Hellsing Wiki, but it contends that both women are vampires, and the term “Werewolf” just refers to the group of officers in Millennium. This group includes literal werewolves like the Captain and Schrodinger, but not Blitz and Rip.

Maybe it doesn’t matter that much, but I find it a little silly to call all four of those characters “Werewolves” and then only two of them are really werewolves. Clearly, all four of them are a cut above the Major’s other troops, and none of them show any interest in drinking blood, or any other vampire-exclusive traits. On the other hand, this whole battle takes place under a full moon, and none of them seem to be affected by it. Unless the Major chose this particular night to launch his offensive because he wanted them all to be at full power. Maybe Zorin couldn’t do this illusion thing otherwise.

Anyway, the Wild Geese see this giant woman slashing at them with a scythe, and they all panic. Seras sees it too, but she somehow intuits that it can’t be real. Then she sees Alucard, who reminds her of her third eye. I’m not sure if this is a flashback or Alucard is using telepathy to coach her from the deck of the H.M.S. Eagle.

Either way, Seras uses her third eye and not only sees through the illusion but lines up a shot on the illusion-caster. But it only grazes Zorin. It disrupts the illusion, but it doesn’t end the threat.

And even though the illusion is shattered, it still distracted the Wild Geese long enough for Millennium troops to enter the mansion. Seras manages to shoot them down, but there’s more where that came from.

Because the Nazi bastards figured out a way past the mines. They just threw a bunch of knives on the ground and played hopscotch to get across. I guess this means they can only get in one at a time, but it’s still bad news for the good guys.

So Pip adjusts his tactics accordingly. He and his men will regroup and hold up in a defensible location, while Seras roams the building to take the fight to the enemy. I guess the idea is to divide Millennium’s focus. They can attack the Geese or watch out for Seras, but not both. For some reason, Seras calls Pip “sir”, like he’s in charge, and maybe that is appropriate in this situation, but I thought Seras was in charge of their training.

Then one of the Geese pats her on the butt and Pip steals a kiss. I’m not sure what the hell this is about. I guess they were trying to lighten the mood before they go to face certain death, but if my life depended on some vampire girl killing all the bad guys before they can rip me to shreds, I probably wouldn’t sexually harass her, or do anything else to tick her off. But that’s just me.

Pip seems resigned about their chances. He’s confident in Seras’ ability, but there’s only one of her and like... 30? Let’s say 30, thirty Nazi Vampires heading their way. If even one of them gets past Seras, the Geese will all die horribly. But they took this job and the risks that come with it, and besides, there’s nowhere for them to run anyway. He seems to accept the situation with a mercenary sense of honor. Like, a mercenary should expect to die in some unwinnable battle, and they shouldn’t complain about it, since it’s the nature of the business.

Anyway, it doesn’t go well. The nature of the comic doesn’t really make it clear how the Wild Geese are operating, but I get the impression that they’re doing sort of a fighting withdrawal concentrating their forces as they give ground. But they suffer a lot of casualties in the process.

This leads to the Geese holing up in the big conference room where Integra met with the Royal Order of Protestant Knights before the Valentine Bros. attack. One guy panics and wants to bug out, but Pip reminds him of what I said a minute ago. They’ve got nowhere else to go, and they all got into this for the action, so they should stick to their principles, even in the face of death.

There’s this one guy from “B-block”, who I guess was covering a certain hallway, but B-Block got cut off before they could join the others in the Round Table room. Zorin Blitz decides to have some fun with him, so she uses her weird powers to make him see himself back home, with his dead daughter.

This seems especially cruel, because it’s not like Zorin needed this diversion to kill one dude. She’s just really sadistic.

Meanwhile, some other Millennium guys are eating the Wild Geese they already killed, and one of them shows off his ability to tell blood types just by taste. It’s this really sick moment, but at the same time it humanizes the characters, which is a weird thing to say when discussing Nazi vampires, but you know what I mean.

Then Seras blows the dude’s head off, which is extremely satisfying.

So Seras is holding up her end, and growing more resolute with each kill. She’s really improved a lot since the last time she was in action. Yeah, these Millennium vampires probably aren’t that much tougher than the vampires she killed back in the summer, but there are a lot more of them, and they’re trained soldiers on top of that, and she doesn’t have Alucard backing her up like she did before.

By now, all that’s left of the Wild Geese are in this barricaded room, and they’ve run low on silver bullets, which means even the few shots that don’t miss will have almost no effect. Pip is determined to hold out, confident that Seras will save them, but...

She runs out of bullets before she runs out of enemies to kill. When she arrives to save the day, she’s still has to go through Zorin Blitz.

But Zorin doesn’t see this as a problem, and she uses her freaky mind powers on Seras, forcing her to relive memories of her days at the orphanage. Yeah, Seras was an orphan, remember? Alucard asked Walter about her parents a while back, and Walter said they were both dead. How did they die?

Well, Zorin Blitz is about to find out...

#2021hellsingliveblog #hellsing #seras victoria #pip bernadotte #zorin blitz #alucard #a bunch of no-name wild geese dudes #i sometimes feel bad that i can't keep track of them all #but then i remember that kouta hirano never gave them names in the first place #so there's young commissioner gordon with the dead daughter #and the chubby faced guy who wants to run away #and the guy who cops a feel on seras #and the other guy who gets blown in half by a rocket launcher #and that's basically it

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raphianna · 3 years

Text

So, a while ago, I re-watched a few Sanders Sides episodes, and some of them really made me think about the characters themselves and some ships. I, don’t know whether or not to count the Asides videos as a part of the true Sides episodes. I think they’re just cool, but important instances in Thomas’ life involving the Sides not truly canon to the Sides episodes. Sorry if I’m wrong.

I know I’m not the first one to give my opinion like this, how I feel on certain ships, so I’m sorry in advance if I’m basically saying things other people have already...

And I apologise if Prinxiety seems more... talked or thought about than others. This was at first just about Prinxiety, but then I started thinking on some other ships as well :)

Now I’ll be honest, before I ever fully got into the Sander Sides fandom and really knew who the characters were, I did sort of ship Prinxiety and Logicality, because those were the ships I saw the most when I started seeing Sanders Sides in my social feed. But I still was iffy about shipping them as I hardly knew anything about them.

However, when I started watching the videos once I found Thomas’ channel, I began questioning why Roman and Virgil(before I knew their names) were shipped.

Mainly because through the episodes that involved Roman and Virgil, whenever Virgil made an appearance, Roman always made his dislike of Virgil quite known. He never treated him nicely, gave him mean nicknames many times, and in general didn’t seem to want him there.

However, there was a nice moment between him and Virgil as cited in The Dark Side of Disney at 5:45 at the end card:

Roman: Okay, uh, how about Mulan? Virgil: There’s never a wrong time to dress in drag. Roman: Lion King! Virgil: There’s never a wrong time to dress in drag-- Both: --and do the hula! AAAAAAAAAAAAA

And this was BEFORE any character development between the two, so, there, maybe I could see them being frenemies or something like that.

Then there was the Accepting Anxiety videos. In the first video near the end, it was made painfully clear that Roman did not like Virgil as evident at 7:18, where Thomas pointed it out in flashbacks

That was redeemed in the second video, where at 7:11, Roman went through a character arc where he realised how important Virgil was to the group:

Roman: Anxiety, you’re... what pushes Thomas to rehearse and rehearse before performances. You are that nervousness that he feels right before going on stage, but just as he does so... you ease up. And... you let his excitement and passion for performance take over. I think that’s as good a sign as any that you’re willing to work as a team. And that you make us... better.

Which by then, I saw them as going from barely acquaintances to friends throughout videos as Roman tried to be more understanding and nice to Virgil.

In the most recent Asides video, it shows how much they care about each other- Roman sees that Virgil is nervous and tries using alternate, less direct ways to get the man’s attention at first. And when those don’t work, and Roman decides to give up, Virgil rushes out of his comfort zone to help Roman and give Thomas a chance.

But in the first Asides video, Roman says at 10:21:

Roman: Look, this is how I show my love.

After Logan points out he rigged the vote to watch Frozen, then made fun of it. I then saw people in the comments saying that Roman makes fun of Virgil, that means he could love him.

And I’m like... no... that, shouldn’t be how it’s perceived because that’s toxic. You wouldn’t want a friend that insults you around, much less be in a romantic relationship with you.

And it’s revealed in the Selfishness v. Selflessness Redux that Roman has low self confidence and needs someone to be there for him.

Sadly for me, that person isn’t Virgil. He tends to take insults directed at him lying down and even contributes to them. (’Less modest, more self-deprecating ... I talk bad about myself’; 9:47, Fitting In (Hogwarts Houses!))

I do not believe they would work together as a couple, especially with SvS Redux as the current video with so many issues unresolved and a lot of them feeling pretty down at the moment. But after working through their issues that they both have, sure, they could be a couple, but, I believe they could be closer friends more than anything.

Likewise, I don’t think Logicality would work, as both Logan and Patton have issues that need to be worked as well. I know this pairing is the second most popular in the fandom, but, from what I’ve seen, it just wouldn’t work.

Patton is controlling and a little forceful, even though he doesn’t mean to be. I saw this mainly in Learning New Things About Ourselves and Selfishness v. Selflessness. In LNTAO, Patton repeatedly tried to force Logan into doing something he didn’t want to do.

And in Selfishness v Selflessness, Patton was rather forceful and insistent that Thomas was a good person and could do no wrong. And yes, I am aware that in both cases, Patton was able to learn from these things and grow as a person.

But these instances show that Patton is very open and emotional. Whereas Logan is the opposite. He’s cold and can be distant, and only faintly expresses how he feels. The one that really stuck out to me was Logan saying how he wasn’t a joke, also in LNTAO.

With someone like that, you can’t pressure them to express themselves- that will only lead to hurting the person and maybe yourself as well in the process.

To me, this couple, if they got together, their relationship would have major bumps and problems. Logan has a hard time expressing and Patton has a hard time backing down- but if these issues were worked on, they’d be a nice couple I suppose.

I do however believe that Analogical and Royality would work.

For Analogical, this pairing works- it really does.

Not even speaking for Sanders Sides here for a minute, logic tends to calm anxiety down. I myself have used logic in midst of anxiety/panic attacks. It takes a while, but anxiety will listen to logic and ease up after a while.

Throughout the series, Logan and Virgil have never once really been rude to each other.

In fact, they rarely lash out at each other and help each other more than anything.

I’ve seen this mainly in My NEGATIVE Thinking, Fitting In (Hogwarts Houses!), the Moving On videos, and a bit of Dealing With INSTRUSIVE THOUGHTS.

In MNT, Logan in a sense made Virgil feel better about his ‘attempts’ at the debate. In FI(HH!), he agreed with Virgil’s concerns about standing out and seemed the most eager to help him. In the Moving On videos, he and Virgil were unspokenly working together, and Logan was the first to realise Virgil was having a panic attack and tried to help him. In DWIT, Logan helped Virgil understand that he was right and those dark thoughts didn’t have any true meaning to Thomas’ character.

There was also that bit in the Sanders Sides Q&A!, where Virgil said that Logan understanding reality comforted him. :)

I also did like The Sanders Sides 12 Days of Christmas! for Virgil gently explaining to Logan how insults work ^^

Logan is the rock that Virgil needs, and Virgil can give Logan a hand to know when he needs to take his time.

Their relationship would be a bit rocky at first, with both Logan and Virgil unable to really express the correct emotions. That being said, they are the two Sides able to best read the air and understand certain gestures. So when they open up, I think they’d be able to really understand each other :)

For Royality, in terms of how they treat each other, I really think this pairing would work. These two seem to be the Sides that show most emotion and seem to encourage each other a lot. And quite a few times, they wordlessly agree with each other.

I saw these things mainly in Am I ORIGINAL?, Growing Up, and Moving On Part 2.

In AIO, Patton was supportive of all Roman’s ideas and helped him feel better about not having an original idea all the time. In Growing Up, Roman and the others are reminded of Patton’s contributions to the group, and he has the biggest reaction in my opinion(’That is... Wow, I am ashamed of myself!’; 10:58, Growing Up) and both of them helped with the Mind Palace. And in Moving On, Part 2, Roman admitted that he might’ve been hurting Patton by holding onto the past. On a less sad note on the same video, I also liked that after Logan gave Patton his cat hoodie, Roman conjured puppies for him~

Of course, as it goes with all couples, they’d still have problems, as no one is perfect, but for me, they’d have the least problems.

I’m going to mention one more pairing: Remus/Janus. I, don’t know their ship name .-.

Truth be told, I don’t know how they’d totally function, since they haven’t truly interacted in front of us yet, but going by Dealing With INTRUSIVE THOUGHTS, and how they were portrayed there, I think they’d work.

Going by Remus’ song:

‘Speaking of honesty, recently a snake offered me a morsel from the tree of knowledge. He said, ‘You’re wanting to be more honest and be direct dealing with your issues? No longer will you deceive yourself about the ugliness within you.’ Neat!’, 7:54

This shows that Janus does care about Remus and wants him happy, and Remus appreciates the attention. Most likely because Janus is the only one who doesn’t view Remus as disgusting.

I think this ship could work, but have its ups and downs- mainly because picturing these two together, I’m just seeing a chaotic duo lol.

I’m going by all of the Sanders Sides videos in order, and as I said before, with SvS Redux as the current video, a few of these ships just would not work. But as the series progresses and the above issues are tackled, yes, these ships could work. Though I personally ship Analogical, Royality, and Remus/Janus.

I hope that I put an equal amount of thought into each ship after Prinxiety- I really tried to see every aspect of every possible relationship I listed and hope they’re all equally fair. I’m not by any means attacking any ship and I hope I don’t give off that impression- I was just listing my opinions on each based on how the series is currently.

Thanks for reading :)

#sanders sides #my thoughts on pairings #not all of them #prinxiety #logicality #analogical #royality #remus/janus #i'm trying

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trashforgubler · 5 years

Text

Paralyzed

Word Count: 1065

Summary: Amelia helps Owen through a PTSD flashback

Extra Info: Writers block was being a b i t c h so I had to raise this boi which has being sitting in my word docs from the dead and it is now resurrected. Also this fic is named after the song “Paralyzed” by NF and this dude is literally one of my favorite artists so if your into really deep just like, smart rap check him out

Warnings: Light swearing, panic attack

Requests: Open pls send (like I said writers block is a b i t c h)

Feedback pls and thank

masterpost

“Dr. Shepherd?”

Amelia turned around and faced Cross, who looked more confused than usual. His blond hair was sticking up in various positions, none of which were making him look like a competent doctor capable of saving lives. Amelia prayed that the next words out of his mouth were not I’m on your service today, in which case she might actually cry on the spot. Nevertheless, she plastered on a fake smile to hide her growing disdain for the man’s existence.

“What’s up Cross?”

“You need to go to the on-call room,” he spat out. “Now.”

Amelia furrowed her eyebrows and smirked. She couldn’t believe that any intern, let alone Cross was ordering her around like that. She let a laugh of disbelief escape her lips as she responded.

“Cross in what world do you think you can te-“

“It’s Dr. Hunt.”

Amelia’s smile fell from her face as quickly as it had appeared. She set her Surface down before sprinted to the on-call room, her mind playing out a thousand scenarios about what she would find when she opened the door.

Is he sick? Probably not, he looked fine this morning

Is he horny? Always a possibility, but not a situation he would get Cross involved in.

Is he upset? Did he lose a patient?

She could hear Owen before she even opened the door.

He was pacing from one side of the room to the other in the darkness, shaking his hands down by his sides and muttering something Amelia couldn’t make out under his breath. Slowly, she began walking over, making sure not to startle him.

“Owen,” she whispered. “Owen it’s me, it’s Amelia.”

Owen didn’t acknowledge her, instead, he kept pacing, completely oblivious to her presence and letting the sounds of his erratic breathing be his response. His chest was heaving wildly as beads of sweat dripped down his temples and onto his shirt. The wringing of his hands was becoming increasingly faster as his breathing was becoming more and more of a wheeze and less of a breath.

There is no way he’s getting enough air. Amelia thought to herself.

“How can I help O?”

“You can’t help him. No one can help him, he’s dead.” “Owen no one’s dead, do you know where you are?”

“He’s dead, I- I killed him.” Owen finally stopped pacing and looked at his hands, his eyes widening in fear as tears began flowing down his cheeks. “I killed him, I killed him.” He repeated between gasps.

“Here, come sit down.” Amelia coaxed. Owen ignored her again, his shoulders rising up and down as he began to hyperventilate even more. “I k-killed him.”

“Breathe, breathe, you’re okay. You’re safe, everyone’s safe.” Amelia moved in closer to him, close enough to feel the heat radiating off his body as she ran her hand up and down his back, hoping to ground him, or at the very least calm him down enough so he could take a damn breath.

Owen shook his head. “He was right there and I just…” he paused for a moment. “I just let him die.” His voice cracked as he finished his sentence, and a new stream of tears began flowing down his face, staining the neckline of his shirt.

Amelia wrapped him in her arms, holding him tight against her small frame as he shook. “Breathe.” She whispered in his ear. Owen couldn’t hug her back, so they stood there, in the middle of a dark on-call room, with Amelia holding tight onto his shaking body, and Owen’s arms dangling limply at his side.

When his breathing finally started to slow, Amelia led him by the hand to the bottom bunk and sat him down. She untied his shoes and wiped his forehead and cheeks with the edge of her lab coat.

“Do you want some water?”

Owen looked up at her for the first time, finally registering her presence.

“I- sorry what?” he asked, completely disoriented. The last thing he remembered was walking into the on-call room because he needed a break from the ER. He had no recollection of anyone coming in or sitting down. And he definitely didn’t know why he felt so hot.

Relief flooded through Amelia’s body as she heard Owen’s voice. He sounded much more lucid then he had just moments ago. She studied him and found that his eyes had finally lost the glossed over look they had had for the past half hour.

“I said do you want some water?”

“No, I’m good.”

Amelia nodded, just being thankful he was finally breathing normally.

“What happened?” Owen asked.

Amelia crouched down in front of him and took his hands in hers, running her thumb over his wedding ring.

“You had a PTSD flashback,” she started, “A bad one.”

Owen nodded, still not remembering. “You were pacing and having trouble breathing which is why you might feel a little tired or light-headed right now, but you're okay. Everything is fine.”

Owen looked at the ground in embarrassment. He hated when that happened. He hated when Amelia saw him like that, and he especially hated when she had to take time out of her day to babysit him.

“Sorry.” He muttered, biting his lower lip as to not let anything else out. It appears he had already done enough damage; he didn’t need to cry on top of it.

“Owen no,” Amelia said firmly. “Look at me.”

Owen shook his head, not wanting to let Amelia see that despite his greatest efforts his eyes were watering, and his lip was trembling and there was nothing he could do to make it stop.

“Look at me.” She ordered.

Owen obeyed and cast his teary gaze up to her.

“You do not get to apologize for this, you hear me? This is not your fault, and it sure as hell isn’t in your control.”

“But I wasted your time…” he mumbled miserably.

“Owen, do I look mad?”

Owen shook his head, too afraid to say anything else in case he broke down again.

“You are never a waste of time, okay? You can always call me if you’re scared or sad or angry or happy or anything and I will be there, no questions asked.”

The smallest smile found its way onto Owen’s lips as he realized how goddamn lucky he was.

“Okay,” he said softly

“Okay.”

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bywandandsword · 5 years

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Ok so, just now for that last post the generator shot out ‘Simple Country Protagonist of Noble Birth’, and that’s essentially one of my OCs so here’s her story if your interested

The takes place in the 1880-90s. When the story starts, Simon’s been on the run for almost five years, dressed as a boy, and half the time she forgets that she’s not one. She spent six months riding up and down the river on the steamboat and got off in Missouri to find other work, hopping from job to job, always reading the papers for any news from New Orleans, and has gotten very good at pretending to be just another young man looking for work. She spent a few months riding the rails, with the vague notion of California or Canada or where ever, just always on the move. Margaritte’s family down south has gotten very powerful, and even more so when she married again, this time to an oil baron turned senator. Simon doesn’t know if Marg is still hunting for her, but isn’t about to risk being found. At the start of the story, she finds herself in Kansas, following a river she was told would lead her to a road, which she could follow to a railway, but either she’s lost or it’s way father than she anticipated, she’s almost out of food, and it’s late September, so it’s getting cooler than is comfortable for someone without a jacket at night. That’s when she sees a farm, miles away from anything, and all the residents are having their lunch outside, enjoying the some of the last few pleasant sunny days of the year. Well, this is too easy, Simon thinks, she’ll just take a bit of bread, a bit of meat and cheese, maybe a better knife, and be on her way with none the wiser, just like she’d done a dozen times in the last few years, she’s long gotten over any moral debate about stealing. Only this time after she grabs what she wants, an incident involving an insistent horse leads to her being discovered. The oldest son Michael (who has two younger twin sibs), wants to take her into town right then and hand this thieving boy over to the law. The father, an older man named Mr. Elias Blez, sees how travel worn and ragged the youth is, how he didn’t take anything but food, and knows that winter is almost upon them, and thinking they’ve been needing a bit of help around the farm anyway, makes Simon a deal. If Simon agrees to work for them as a farm hand until May, they’ll let him leave with as much food and supplies as they can spare and won’t turn him into the law. Mr. Belz also makes it clear that if Simon does try to run, he wouldn’t make it out of the county. It’s black mail, but Mr. Belz think’s its ultimately going to prevent Simon dying of exposure or worse somewhere. Simon, who doesn’t feel like she has much of a choice, agrees. Almost immediately, Mrs. Johanna Belz figures out that Simon isn’t a man, but Simon is like, “We already have an agreement, I won’t be treated any different because of this realization” (cause guess who doesn’t ID as a woman anymore but who doesn’t have the vocabulary to say she’s genderqueer!) and the family hesitantly agrees to let this weird half-feral runaway be. So, she helps them do the last of the harvest and the culling and the rest of the winter preparations. Michael expects Simon to rob them blind and run away any moment now. Simon is secretly glad to have a place to stay for the winter and actually grows to care a great deal for this family, though she still puts up the distanced grumpy front she started with. They go into town sometimes and Simon always presents as male. As winter goes on, Simon gets the first taste in a long time of what it’s like to be in a family again and all the feelings she’s suppressed start bubbling up. Once, after a long day, a family friend and his kids brings over some food, booze, and instruments and the two groups have an impromptu party. Simon gets shnockered and when she gets pressured and dared to sing something, she grabs the fiddle and preforms an old diddy her father used to play in French, then a piece by Bach, then a waltz. And once she’s felt the shape of French in her mouth, her first language, she doesn’t release it easily, the more she drinks the more French she speaks and the more the Belzs wonder how the hell a ragged vagabond they found stealing from them acquired training in classical violin and learned French.

Flashback: Her full name is Marie Simone Madeline Lereau de Saint-Maxent, but everyone just called her Maggie. She got this absurdly long name cause she happens to be the eldest child of the wealthy merchant Saint-Maxent family, living in New Orleans. Her father is gone a lot for business and she’s an only child but she has her mother and tutors for company and spends most of her childhood receiving a strict, classical education, even spending a few summers at a boarding school in Paris. When she’s 14, her mother gives birth to her younger brother, Jean René, but she dies shortly after. Obviously everyone is devastated, but Father decides his children need a mother and, as was commonly done at the time, he marries a recently widowed woman with three children of her own, Margaritte. It starts out pleasant as it could be, but as Maggie ages, and Father refuses to change his will to prefer Margaritte’s children over Maggie and Jean, Marg gets manipulative and controlling of Maggie, though never towards baby Jean. The years roll on in this tense way until, when Maggie is 17, Father, Maggie, and two of Marg’s children catch the Fever. Father dies, but Maggie and the other youths recover. Marg uses this as an opportunity to force Maggie to sign paperwork denouncing her claim to the inheritance, and produces a forged will to back it up. She’s paid off the police and the lawyers to make it stick and threatens that if Maggie turned up dead, no one would know that she didn’t die from fever too. Maggie refuses and that night, men sent by Marg break into her room and try to drag her out, but she manages to get free of them, grab one of their guns, and kills one of the assailants. The others flee. She grabs as much clothes, money, and just, stuff that she can fit into a bag and runs. She catches a train that night to Baton Rouge. She’s still got the gun and the whole train ride, she’s processing wtf just happened and cleaning the blood off her hands and worrying about her brother and wondering if it was really fever that killed her father or poison, but by the time she gets to Baton Rouge, she’s together enough to think. She uses her mother’s maiden name, gets in contact with a friend, the son of a family servant, and rents a room in a low-key b&b and waits for the newspapers. Sure enough, they report that all members of the Saint-Maxent family had died, except the youngest, and that Marg find herself a fortunate and exceedinglyy wealthy new heiress. Her contact reports that Marg’s men are still looking for Maggie and offers to help her disappear. They sell what valuables Maggie brought with her, except the gun, she cuts her hair, starts going by Simon. She buys some of men’s clothes clothes, using enough money to bribe her way onto temporary employment on a steam boat headed north.

Simon doesn’t say anything more about it until almost February. By this point, she’s grown to love and trust the Belzes and their community and vice versa, Michael has grown to trust her too (especially after Plot and Hijinks), and when he stopped being a dick to her, she befriended him and has feelings for him but like hell is she going to admit it to herself much less anyone else. She’s starting to think this might be someplace she can stay, actually build a life, a home. Then Marg’s name shows up in the paper. I haven’t figured it out but for business reasons Marg has bought a house in the closest big city, maybe Kansas City or Dodge City? and is using it as a base of operations for a branch of her business. But that means she and many of her people are less than a stones throw away, practically breathing down he neck, and Simon just fucking has a panic attack. What if her step mother comes to their town? Are they still looking for her? What if someone identifies her? What if one of her men recognizes her? And what’s happened to her brother, who’d be about ten? Well, Mrs. Belz finds Simon clutching the newspaper, hyperventilating, and after that, the truth comes pouring out. Everyone is shocked. I haven’t actually thought much past this scene, where Simon tells her story to the very shocked Belzes, but Stuff will happen. The Belzes talk her out of just bolting for Canada, Simon will eventually encounter Marg again face to face after she rogues into the house for some reason. Marg has a delicate little pistol, but Simon still has that old blood stained revolver. Way after this, Michael will fistfight one of the goons, and the story will eventually be brought to light, but I have no idea how that will all play out or the consequences.

#Sword speaks #READ IT!

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aceyanaheim · 5 years

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Okay let’s try this one more time.

Questions from this thingy that I saw a friendo do last year.

Introduction: Acey. That’s it that’s the introduction.

Diagnosis: I’m working on getting a Diagnosis but Autism and some form of attachment disorder.

As of 2019:

Neurocognitive and Cognitive Disorder due to Seizures

Major Depressive Disorder

General Anxiety Disorder

Social Anxiety Disorder

Personality Change Due to Seizure Disorder ( later confirmed by a second psychiatrist to be Borderline Personality Disorder)

C-PTSD symptoms ( still waiting on final diagnosis but symptons have been confirmed and disorder is very likely.)

Autism more or less confirmed by multiple professionals but still waiting to be able to afford testing.

Symptoms:

Autism/ASD : Can’t read tone. Hard time with social interaction. Sensory issues. Adherence to routine. Stimming. Scripting. Childish behaviour. Meltdowns. Hyperfixation.

Attachment Issues: I tend to attach/get attached to people really fast. At the same time I push them away or tell myself I don’t matter to them. I also have a hard time getting attached to people. It’s either super quick or like pulling teeth. I want to be with people all the time. Codependence I guess is the word I’m looking for.

Social Anxiety: I’m...basically always scared when I’m talking to people? I’m scared I’ll say the wrong thing. I have my answers and messages rehearsed and proofread and sometimes vetted by someone else ( unless it’s sensitive info) and I still feel like something comes across in a negative way. ( like This is too cheerful, That’s too morbid, does that sound dismissive? If I say This I fuck up in this way but if I say THAT I fuck up in another) It couples with my autism since that...actually makes me say awkward/wrong shit all the time.

Has come down since starting Lexapro but still present.

Emotional Flashbacks: Feelings that were there while you were experiencing the traumatic event. Happen at random triggers. Incredibly strong. To the point that they don’t correspond to the stimuli and feel freshly felt. ( tied to C-PTSD)

Hyper-vigilance ( tied to C-PTSD)

Anxiety attacks

Panic Attacks

Don’t act as mature as other people my age/more at home with younger people.

Hypersensitive to any perceived rejection.

Brain fixates on bad memories and repeats them : C-PTSD

Constant fear of it happening again: C-PTSD

Black or White thinking: I’ll think someone’s sick of me or can’t stand me at stuff like being left on read while also deciding I love them and they’re the best person ever when they do something nice to me. Intense but have some modicum of self awareness. ( i know on some level people dont dislike or hate me, i still spiral though)

“Duckling Syndrome” ( is what i call it) : I’ll see someone be nice to me and all I can think of is how much I want them to adopt me, to take me home, to make me part of their family. It’s too strong to be anything but disordered. It hurts. ( possibly part of bpd)

Has in the past put self in bad situations to not be alone ( connected to bpd/attachment disorder)

Other Stuff I either need to mention to my shrink and/or hasn’t been tied down to any of my dx disorders:

I want things to be Just So. Like I want a certain kinda paper for certain kinds of mediums in art. I want my food in a certain order. I eat it in A Certain Order I get really uncomfortable otherwise.

I think I’ve depersonalized or dissociated at least five times..but..only when things get REALLY bad...like when I spiral. I still get those two confused even after reading the definitions but it’s like….I don’t feel anything? But I’m weirdly aware that I’m supposed to? Like I flipped a switch. Also mixed with this weird its not real feeling. I hasn’t happened in roughly a year tho so I dunno if it counts? Its been happening again this year. Still unsure if disordered or stress reaction.

I tend to struggle with depressive episodes from time to time. Like I’ll just lay on the bed and not wanna do anything. I have games to play, I have hobbies I could indulge in but I just..don’t want to. Don’t see the point.

Have thought that I’d be better off not existing. ( AKA suicidal ideation) Currently under control.

I’ve developed these like...weird paranoia spells? Like this one time a cop yelled at me ( to mess with me) and I was suddenly terrified of him following me and hurting me and my dad ( which yes can be attributed to the amount of police brutality you hear about, especially to people who don’t speak english fluently but like I saw it in my mind’s eye and it would not stop and the dude left and I was still seeing in my head him like following me home and hurting us) or like just recently some man asked about my dog and how much she was worth and this weird ass alarm went off in my head to get the hell away from him and what if he follows me home? What if he takes my dog? What if he follows me home AND takes my dog? They’re pretty sporadic ( though not as much as I want them to be) but they’re also really intense. Have stopped since I started Lexapro.

Physical Self Harm in the past to ground, to punish myself, in times of high emotion. All of the above. ( has stopped as of last year. Even intrusive thoughts about it are at a minimum.)

Obsession with being “good”: If I ever do something I think is a mistake I all but turn on myself. I beat myself up. I think of myself as a bad person ( there’s only Good and Bad for me..but only in regards to myself) I have to be nice. I have to be kind. I have to be good in a way that’s disordered. ( this compounds with my social anxiety and bpd to bind me into being a “good person” ( someone who never gets mad never talks back never does anything but niceness irregardless of the fact that..it’s impossible) I tend to think if I’m “bad” that people need to punish me, yell at me, or hurt me. That I need to Atone) ( could be part of CPTSD due to past abuse. Answer pending)

Intrusive thoughts: mostly about self harm but also about “learning my place” and...calling myself things I’d rather not say. I’ve so far at least managed to recognize they’re intrusive ( might be related to any of the disorders listed above but also with past abuse but unsure at the moment. Shrink thinks its tied to bpd. Could be tied to past abuse I haven’t discussed in therapy yet.)

Disordered Eating of sorts: due to my mother being paranoid about unhealthy food I’ve gone days where I can’t bring myself to eat something because I’m scared it’ll hurt me. There’s times where I’ve needed my friend to tell me to eat. There’s times where I feel like if I eat I have to exercise it off. It’s about control, it’s about fear, it’s….about everything but weight. Hella strong last year. More or less brought under control as of this year. But remain as intrusive thoughts and pop up as intrusive thoughts from time to time.

React badly to being alone, especially at home and not getting social interaction. Depression kicks up, sometimes depersonalization ( might have ties to childhood epilepsy -having to be on lock-down and kept indoors a lot due to my own risk of being hurt via seizure- but combines with bpd/attachment disorders)

Have Shown Signs/Moments of Age Regression ( more often than not with the emotional flashbacks but not always)

Literally all the symptoms act up at night/around bedtime. Mostly anxiety but some others that have now been associated with bpd. Causes sleeping problems ( I hesitate to call it insomnia because I do sleep but it can get as bad as 3 hours a night until i just conk out at the end of the week -or 2 weeks- out of sheer exhaustion. Has been present since I was a teenager.)

In The Past: Recklessness and disregard for personal safety and care.

Sometimes get this physical feeling like my brain is overloaded. Often with hypervigilance or spirals where my mind races.

Stigma:

“I’m autistic” “I’m so sorry”

“I’m autistic” “And you’re sure you wanna go for that major?”

“I’m autistic” “But not that kind of autistic right?”

“I mean if you need accommodations to take a test then are you really cut out to have that kinda job?”

I consider myself a very patient person.

“She doesn’t know any better. You know she’s special” ( I was standing right there)

“I guess you don’t love anyone huh?” ( I was uh..I was nine years old)

“You’re codependent as fuck” ( that one my abuser said to me...after...making me codependent on her..yeah)

“You talk like a robot. It’s like you don’t feel anything.” ( eeemotianl detachment due to CPTSD in my teenage years)

“You’re choosing not to grow up” ( when expressing fears of develomental problems/disordered behaviour that could cause lack of maturity. I was asking for help)

“You’re a lot”

“People with your disorder tend to be a problem for other people”

“You need therapy” “I am in therapy” “Then why are you still acting like this.”

“You’re just making excuses.”

“It’s like you like to cause trouble.” ( circa 2013)

“You just wanna hurt people that’s why you’re doing this.” ( circa...most of the 2000s)

Multiple people in my family constantly make it a point ( or have in the past like..for most of my life) to tell me no one’s wanna live with someone like me ( I’m forgetful and before I figured out some ways to help it and the depression was bad uber messy)

Multiple people in my family try to discourage me from trying things because “you know you have that...thing”

And I mean..the usual constant bombardment of Autism being something you have to Fix. Of it causing people you love pain, and them never being happy because of it, of it being a defect.

People around me use autistic as an insult.

General comments about how horrible living with my mentally ill family must be ( ignoring that I’m mentally ill as well) and how my parents probably wish we weren’t disordered ( ignoring that they are also disordered) and how basically there’s no way for us to be happy.

I think at one point someone actually said to me something along the lines of “I bet your parents wish you and your siblings were born differently”

“I’m so proud you can do this incredibly easy thing that I think is all you can really do and I’m gonna talk to you in the most condescending tone about it like who’s a good lil autistic person look at you, talkin and solving basic problems and everything.” ( obvs paraphrased but thats...usually the gist)

Define Your Disorders

Autism: a developmental disorder that affects communication and behavior.

Attachment Disorder: the condition in which individuals have difficulty forming lasting relationships ( it was the only one I can find that doesn’t talk about RAD as I don’t have the criteria for that. This one’s tricky cause I don’t have the proper diagnosis for it yet, for all I know it could be part of a bigger disorder)

BPD:a mental health disorder that impacts the way you think and feel about yourself and others, causing problems functioning in everyday life. It includes a pattern of unstable intense relationships, distorted self-image, extreme emotions and impulsiveness. Symptoms include emotional instability, feelings of worthlessness, insecurity, impulsivity, and impaired social relationships.

Major Depression Disorder: Depression is a mood disorder that causes a persistent feeling of sadness and loss of interest. Also called major depressive disorder or clinical depression, it affects how you feel, think and behave and can lead to a variety of emotional and physical problems. You may have trouble doing normal day-to-day activities, and sometimes you may feel as if life isn't worth living.

General Anxiety Disorder.: Excessive anxiety and worry (apprehensive expectation), occurring more days than not for at least 6 months, about a number of events or activities (such as work or school performance).

Amnesic Disorder Due To Epilepsy :Inability to remember events for a period of time.

Myth about your disorders and the truth

Autistic people are dangerous

Autistic people are unfeeling

Autistic people are uncaring

Autistic people are all nonverbal

Autistic people are all mentally challenged. ( I ??)

Autistic people ar a burden on their families/a parent who abuse or even kills their autistic child ( which happens so much it’s an acknowledged problem) deserves sympathy.

Autistic people are brainy and mostly male.

Autism is a spectrum disorder. People exhibit different traits and while some hyperfocus on things that help them academically some hyperfocus on things that don’t or that even make their grades suffer like other interest tend to. ( my hyperfocus was fanfiction and I failed like five classes because of it) I have a friend who’s autistic and likes to party and drink and hang out with people. I have another friend who’s autistic who likes to skate and science. I’m autistic and I like neither of those things. We’re all over the place in every way even when we do share some common traits

Literally we all have people and things we care about.

Literally all of us have affectionate moments. I’m fairly physically affectionate if I’m close to/feel safe with someone.

Nonverbal and autism aren’t always correlated. Further, some autistic people go nonverbal for a bit but can speak other times.

Autism looks different in girls/afab people because we’ve been socialized differently.

Parents who kill their autistic kids are just straight up horrible people and I resent having to be told to have sympathy for them while simultaneously wishing I had “autistic” written on my forehead so I could be angry without a guilt trip and also simultaneously hoping to god I never stop passing for neurotypical because apparently the moment you show too many traits no one cares if someone hurts you or worse.

The whole “autistic people are dangerous” thing is mostly people showing videos of meltdowns which only happen under high stress and is something people use to demonize us and make us seem like burdens...and is actually why the whole “sympathy for an abusive/murderer parent of a neuroatypical” thing is fucked ten ways from Sunday. We aren’t dangerous.

I don’t...have a lot for the attachment disorder since I’m still waiting to figure out what that one’s really about and I haven’t really….met anyone else who has anything like it or shares symptoms with me.

I think off the top of my head it’s when people think it’s “cute” that you’re super clingy or go the other way and say people with attachment issues are uncaring. The first one romanticizes a behaviour that you’re trying to work on fixing/curbing and that is honestly hell. The second one is...is just as untrue as saying an autistic person is inherently uncaring ( or any mentally ill person for that matter)

I’ve also seen people say that people with any kind of attachment disorder are broken and that I feel confident enough in saying that they’re not...and I’m not.

I’ve been told people with BPD can’t be aware of their own disorder and have been denied testing due to this.

I’ve seen people say people with BPD are a problem to others.

Anxiety: I’ve seen a lot of people who think it’s fake. And also that the only way you can have anxiety if you’re rocking back and forth gasping for breath.

There’s actually multiple ways to have anxiety attacks.

Tips for those who know/love someone with same disorders/symptoms

Well, starting off with, and keeping in mind that I’m not a proffesional or expert in...literally anything ever like ever ever....

A very dear friend of mine once said “it’s a whole lot easier to be supportive than it is not to be” Let people with disorders tell you what they need, and then respect it. Open communication and making them feel safe is key...to everything. Being informed is important but at the end of the day, different people will experience things differently and what they need is really down to them. Don’t assume that reading about their disorder means you know what they need better than them. Don’t talk about how their disorder affects you. Even if you have good intentions, you’re going to make them feel bad. If you’re a parent, don’t talk to others about your child’s disorder in front of them. And if they don’t like a therapist, listen to them as to why. Don’t assume it’s just because “they’re disordered” that’s lazy parenting.

Take triggers seriously, talk to them about what symptoms they need help with, and which they’d rather process or deal with on their own. Just..show that you have that initiative, that you’re there for them. Listen. Be patient. Establish boundaries gently but firmly. If someone with my attachment disorder is ringing you a lot and you need time to yourself, let them know. Explain. Don’t go radio silent. People with autism can be bad at reading you. Again explain, be patient, but don’t just....leave them there to guess what they did wrong. C-PTSD is traumagenic in nature so I’d add to taking triggers seriously, be ready for Tragic Backstory drop behind disclosing some triggers ( and understand how much they have to trust you to disclose that.) but also be ready for “I just don’t want this in my field of vision and I don’t feel comfortable talking about it just yet.” Don’t push for details. Don’t push period.

And also just....treat em like people you know. Disordered people are still people, let them exist outside their disorders and do the things that people in that relationship that you have with them. ( whatever relationship that is) do.

How your disorder/s affect your relationships

In the past -and before I was a bit more self aware- it’s made me uber clingy. I would call friends constantly, message them a lot. Think someone was my best friend or even closer than they really were because they were nice to me. It scared people off.

On the flip side I would also convince myself people didn’t like me or I was nothing to them the moment I caught myself having strong feelings. ( which as said before would happen mcquicklike)

As one can imagine this would put a lot of pressure on new friendships. Often it would sour them, sometimes it would make people dislike me. Sometimes it’d make them unconfortable. Which as my disorder also affects how I receive rejection...was..really bad.

On the flip side of the flip side I was also incredibly ride or die and it left me open to a lot of manipulation and abuse from friends. I couldn’t be mad at them if they hurt me. I couldn’t say no to anything they said. I needed them.

My anxiety also contributes to this as I would constantly go through a checklist of how many good interactions vs “bad” or awkward interactions I had with people before I let myself feel like I was safe to call people my friends. Or even say I did okay interacting.

I had a lot of nights while I was making friends in college where I just felt like I was nothing to anyone. Like I was messing up. Looking back, it was just standard new friend interactions.

The more people mean to me, the more I’d freak out-I didn’t want to lose them. So it made it hard to even enjoy the friendship milestones I did achieve.

I’m using past tense because it’s gotten a lot better as situations that were making this 10 times worse have alleviated somewhat but there’s still seeds of it and sometimes it flares up. I’m just aware enough I can sometimes if not stop it identify it as my disorder talking. I don’t keep lists anymore but sometimes the thought pops up.

Facts About Your Disorder You Wish People Knew

I wish people knew what scripting and autistic burnout was. And that adults can have autism. And that vaccines don’t cause autism so stupid ass people didn’t risk their kid getting sick because they’re scared of my neurology.

I wish the only thing when I search about

I wish people took triggers seriously.

I wish more people knew about attachment disorders period.

I wish people knew how hard it all is sometimes.

Favorite healthy coping techniques

Plushies, pillows. Physical grounding techniques that include physical stimming. I’m very tactile when it comes to my autism and stimming so grounding techniques were Good Textures are involved help double.

For attachment disorder spirals: Watching YT animators or vloggers. Like a lot. It recently chased off my sleeping problems.

Playing with my dog.

Walking outside.

Going to the beach.

Looking at buildings. ( I don’t..I don’t know why?? It’s like a visual stim I guess? Like buildings that stand out to me due to their shape or being different than I usually see)

Basically going outside. ( to look at buildings, to look at nature, to the dog park, out in the grass in front of my building just..Outside Good, Inside Bad)

Sending fun stuff to friends/doing things for them.

I tend to get a good happy chemical surge from helping people/doing nice things for people so that’s something I really like using to my advantage. I’m looking at volunteer options.

Also cartoons and Disney Channel shows I watch a lot of those.

Cooking. I can’t understand this one either but cooking and baking sometimes even gives me more energy.

Current biggest struggles with your disorder/s

Being at home tanks my mental health. I don’t drive. So I’m home a lot.

Seeing families be happy hurts sometimes. And that’s my main confort narrative.

Seeing my friends with their families hurts sometimes. All I can think of is how much I wish I was a part of that. So I have to...not spend time with my friends.

I’m afraid to live alone.

I can’t get anything done sometimes. My train of thought has been crashing to the point that I completely lose it and I miss goals and deadlines almost every month. I need to get assignments done, build a portfolio, at least keep shrink dates, its all a hurdle lately. Even before that it’s hard for me to get stuff done when I’m home on my own ( aka when I’m supposed to be doing things) because all my brain can think is “we’re alone we’re alone we’re alone. It’s too quiet. We need to talk to someone.” According to my shrink DBT will help with this. I can’t wait.

It’s hard to see a myself having a good future sometimes. Because of how many hangups I have and how late I am in addressing them ( I’m 28) and how much there is to do.

What not to say to a person with similar/same disorder/s

“You’re making it all up”

“You should just get over it, it happened so long ago”

“You’re bringing me down stop talking about this”

“Its all in your head”

“Every one feels that way really”

Anything dismissive.

Anything from the stigma answer.

Literally any kind of pity (granted thats more a me thing due to childhood epilepsy meaning i had to deal with a lot of that. But honestly I’ll stand by it bc I’m not sure anyone really ...likes pity. )

Ways in which your disorder/s affect your daily life

I deal with executive dysfunction which makes it hard to get anything done. I feel like I’m starting over constantly. I feel like my age doesn’t match my brain. All of this augments my depression. I have to take days off in the middle of the week to just do nothing or catch up to all the stuff I haven’t done. I miss deadlines or just barely make them. I’m also a budding workaholic which I used to do to avoid dwelling on all these feelings so having to take breaks isn’t….something I’m used to or really like. I at one point handled school, work, and 2 editing jobs. I used to do martial arts, I like running, I like swimming. I’m the kind of person that needs to be on the move and lately that’s hard because spoons and energy.

Also a lot of basic self care is hard to get done because of the dysfunction mentioned above.

Things that give you hope

The fact that I’m finally getting therapy.

I guess having people I can talk to about it.

My family isn’t as bad as it was back in 2014.

I guess I know that even if I feel like I’m at a dead end, I’ll figure something out. That’s what I do. I mean that’s life, you think things are never getting better or that something’s the end of the world but really time marches onwards and so do you and you figure it out. Things fall into place. I believe life has a funny way of working out. If anything because it kinda has to, it can’t stand still yknow. I have moments of clarity where I just kinda remember that ( its not my first rodeo.in regards to hard times or Things That Happen..its not even my hardest rodeo so..if I got through that..you kinda figure you can muddle through this and see what comes next yknow) I’m oddly hopeful for the first time in a long time so, it’s p cool.

Treatment types and personal choices

I spent most of my childhood, and teenage years...and early 20s dodging therapy and help due to it being controlled by my mother and having really bad experiences with it in the past.I do regret it sometimes but I comfort myself with the fact that it was what seemed like the best decision and i didn’t have the information I now have about keeping her out of things.

After finding better insurance and getting into university I found a way to get myself a psychiatrist and am working on finding talk therapy. For the most part I tended to patch myself up a lot by finding ways to quiet the thoughts I had ( saving text messages to remind myself people dont hate me. Talking myself down. Joining social activities. That sorta home brew stuff. I’ve been soloing a lot of shit I probably shouldn’t have been until recently but hey live and learn. Also I didn’t have insurance.) As of recently I’m on an antidepresant and hopefully going into DBT. That reminds me I have to call them.

Your support system

I’ve found some really nice friends like they’ve kinda just collectively adopted me and when your disorder stems from losing family that..that’s been incredibly helpful. All my close friends are long distance but they help me. My younger sister is also there although i try to limit how much she’s privy to as she just turned 18. My brother and I tend to spend limited time together due to him having his own stuff goin on but I’d also put him there. My parents sorta count as....one supportive unit? ( they try with the best of intentions but it uh..thats..thats really all I can say about them)

Reactions from those who learn about your disorder/s

I get told I can’t possibly have them because i “look too successful” or whatever ableist rethoric they got going. When I talk about C-PTSD symptons I get side eye for “trivializing” it as they don’t believe I can have it and think I’m exaggerating anxiety symptons. When I talk about Attachment Disorders…..I often don’t because people always say something along the lines of “people with that are often too damaged and you don’t fit the bill” which..ouch.

Mostly it goes from “you don’t look like a damaged and/or psychopath crazy person” to “oh...I guess you are one” with a bit of “okay thats fine” but still anger and impatience when I show symptoms.

I don’t talk about my disorders a lot.

Future hopes and dreams

I’d like to get my attachment disorder under control as it’s the main life wrecking thing I have. After that or along with that I’d like to live somewhere where I get the social interaction I kinda need.

I wanna be happy with whatever profession I have and just..my life in general.

I hope DBT helps. Whatever it is It’s my first time even trying it.

I have a couple of personal creative goals but I don’t wanna jinx them by disclosing them ( I did mention I had anxiety)

Interactions with other people with the same disorders

I follow some peeps with BPD and also folks on the spectrum on tumblr. I don’t really have a lot of analog interaction. ( again no driving + suburbia = being cooped up A Lot) My sister and I share some disordered traits so we talk about them often and that helps a lot.

Things you want to work on/improve

The whole black and white thinking and maybe getting things done on time. I’d like to get the spirals under control too.

Work/school experience with disorder/s

Shit’s hard.

Often I don’t get the help I need and have learned to overcompensate/regulate so I can still get things done. I pretty much need to work since i don’t believe I’d qualify for disability. I get in trouble a lot for spacing out ( dissociating) and forgetting things at work. Work friendships are also slow burn if not just nonexistent due to my autism and people..not really knowing what to make of it. I’ll probably have to quit working while I study since I can’t really split focus enough to do both lately. Further, a lot of my energy needs to go into school things staying afloat and that tends to mean I can’t do things that contribute to my mental health ( i.e spending time with friends, going out, sometimes even therapy, taking breaks) as I’ve found out that sends me way back in recovery.

Free space!

Here’s a picture of my cat. She’s a demon. What it said Free Space.

Family history of mental disorders?

Mother has Bipolar disorder and depression. Sister has bipolar disorder, anxiety, depression, and eating disorders, Brother has anxiety and shows signs of ADHD, Dad has what we suspect is ADHD and possibly some disorder traits from past trauma. Used to have anger issues.

I uh..I used to call us “The Madhouse” for most of my late teens and early 20s.

Media representation of disorder/s

Attachment disorders: characters who are stalkers and so desperate for love family and acceptance they’ll do anything, even hurt people to feel it. Also often don’t have depression and can do things like learn villain skills.

Autistic traits are often cherry picked and portrayed in an unfavorable light. I think I’ve seen some rare cases of actual representation though.

How do you feel about talking about your mental health?

I don’t...like it as much as talking about mental health in general. Most of my life is...me running away from trauma and trying to reclaim a life outside of it. It’s what I did with my epilepsy of course that one was easier because the seizures went away.

Talking about it feels like going back. I wanna just move on with it. But I’ve reluctantly come around to see that talking about it is a way to move on. And I mean its not like dodging it’s worked out that well for me so.

The true face of mental illness (Selfie if you’re comfortable with it)

Aww yiiss. Selfies.

#mental health #mental illness #mental health awareness #mental health awareness 2018 #mental health awareness 2019 #mha2018 #well..2019 but thats what they said to tag it #depression cw #anxiety cw #self harm cw #suicidal feelings cw #ableism #abuse mention #fillicide mention #uuuh I think that covers it #here goes

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ganymedesclock · 6 years

Note

Your meta is singlehandedly responsible for all my opinions and characterization of Shiro tbh and I kinda just realized something. Tell me if I'm wrong but I get the feeling what you're trying to say about after-s2 Shiro is just: This is Shiro, except now all his stressors are Worse.

I mean, Shiro’s not the same person he was in the first two seasons just as much as none of the other paladins are the same person they were in the first two seasons, but, I definitely think Shiro since then has built on what was established as his essential character that’s growing and changing.

Part of it is he’s under a lot more pressure. Part of it is, when Shiro first came to the position in s1 he basically took all of his trauma and survivalism and tried to stuff it back into the mold of the Garrison’s Golden Boy. And ironically, I think it’s s1 Shiro who’s a lot more callous- look through the early episodes and see how many times Shiro interrupts, corrects, shoves or silences Lance in particular.

He’s determined to make a good impression early on, and, frankly, Shiro’s first impression of Lance is not favorable- he seems to regard him as just fooling around when the paladins need to be serious, they need to commit to this.

He’s also the one to chew out Keith for demanding Pidge can’t leave and was about to make, frankly, a very bad decision by letting Pidge wander off alone into the universe without even questioning how even a very resourceful and clever fifteen year old intends to survive in a hostile spacefaring empire they know almost nothing about. And it’s pretty clear, I think, rather than fair judgment, Shiro’s letting his personal sense of guilt, believing he failed the Holts, rule in this context.

Yes, people shouldn’t be shackled to paladin duty, but given Pidge’s custom jet booster had a good chance of making the pod explode (and by good, seemingly as high as 50% since it was used twice and the second time it detonated) on top of everything else, it’s clear if she’d gone off alone the way she meant to, she would have died.

Shiro in s1 is trying to be a perfect leader for everyone and frankly, who he’s become since then is better. It stands that he’s come a long way that Hunk, Lance, and Shiro himself all agree it’s unlike him to snap at people and bark orders.

At a glance, Shiro might seem as if he’s doing worse, but to me, I think it’s an incredibly heartening sign that Shiro’s character development appears to be an exercise in learning to ask for help.

Because while Shiro’s not a tyrant of a leader the way Zarkon leaned alarmingly close to in s3e7 on multiple occasions- it stands that Shiro, too, especially early on, suffered from that disconnect. He kept his own problems incredibly close to his chest. It’s obvious that he desperately latched onto being Black Paladin as a way to cope- as a way to redefine himself by something other than what had just happened to him.

Shiro in s1 is a tight-coiled spring. He’s uptight, he argues with Lance over the littlest things, in s1e1 on two separate occasions he breaks up arguments just by yelling for them to stop or “Stow it, cadets!”

Shiro’s growth as a character involves climbing off the pedestal he was sitting on at the beginning of the show. And he’s not the only one who was enforcing it, either- Lance flat-out says Shiro was his personal hero.

In the comics, Pidge can’t conceive the idea of defeating Shiro at all even though he’s really not that much a better fighter than the other paladins- before she gets her head in gear and is able to knock him out, she just reflexively looks to him as an invincible paragon which is a pretty big cognitive slip in an issue all about Pidge’s ability to gather and keep data.

In s3e1, none of the team can really see themselves conceptualizing Shiro and a lot of their overtures seem to suggest, more than none of them are suited to the Black Lion like Shiro is (fair!) that... not a lot of them really understand what Shiro was doing. Even Keith, the closest to Shiro, leads as a Red Paladin. He says he can’t do this like Shiro can but he never seems to clarify what that entails.

What I personally think began in earnest in s3, though there were small things building towards it all along, is the systematic demystification of Shiro as the perfect leader, as the team’s paragon.

There’s kind of a point that, as Zarkon’s specific counterpart, enemy, and successor, Shiro is going to be called upon to succeed where Zarkon failed.

And Zarkon’s failure, what led to his death and downfall as a paladin, was twofold: he failed to listen to his team when they had valid points, and he kept all of his personal suffering privately away from them.

Zarkon gambles everything to rescue Honerva in s3e7, and it goes disastrously because he lies to his team the entire way leaving them completely unprepared- so when he ends up outside of his Lion and faced with a devastatingly powerful opponent, he’s surrounded and killed while the rest of the team is not in a position to do anything to help him.

Shiro in s1e11 leads the team in an equally desperate gamble to rescue Allura, and it works out. It works out because Shiro has the team’s consent beforehand, and even people who disagree (Keith) still consent to go. So when Shiro ends up outside his Lion and faced with a devastatingly powerful opponent on two fronts, it’s not his personal skill as a fighter that keeps him alive.

It’s Keith going toe to toe with Zarkon to buy Shiro time to get back to the Black Lion.

It’s Lance, Pidge, and Coran holding off the majority of the empire’s forces.

It’s Hunk smashing in to break Allura out, and it’s her and him together that come to save Shiro’s bacon from Haggar who had already seriously injured him and could easily have killed him in that moment.

It’s pretty obvious that Shiro being honest and transparent with his team is what’s keeping him from getting killed. They’re his saving grace, time and time again, Keith especially- which is a big deal, when Keith is Alfor’s successor, and while Zarkon broke with the entire team, it was his refusal to listen to Alfor that was the nail in his coffin.

And in s5e3 and s5e6, what’s steadily moving into position to save his bacon from Kuron? It’s not just Lance being the team’s interpersonal Heart as usual- but rather, that Shiro is finally, decisively, opening up and connecting to the person he’s been at odds with from the start.

And while a lot of people take that as a “boo hoo, poor Lance”... it’s really more to Shiro’s detriment than Lance’s. After Shiro and Lance argue, Lance is the one who has multiple people verbally taking his side (Hunk, twice, and Allura personally talking to him about it with her concerns, and Shiro himself apologizing)- while Shiro clearly is falling back on bad habits and withdrawing from the team about his issues.

Because Shiro, in a very catlike manner, starts avoiding people when he’s feeling awful. Which is why I think it’s such an unsung glorious moment when in s5e6, when Lance hasn’t even brought it up again or prompted it- Shiro is the one to bring it up and basically tell Lance to keep looking into this because something’s really wrong.

S5e6 is a glorious day for Shiro’s character because, some time before the car has set on fire, Shiro’s actually rolling down the window and telling someone “hey, the door’s locked and I don’t know where this thing is going, and this is kind of a problem. Can you... get help, please, I’m terrified”

So in that sense, much as I purport to be take it or leave it about clone theory, that’s why I really hope this is the original Shiro at hand... because everything he’s learning here is incredibly good and important for his long term emotional health and I’m pretty sure what we’re gonna get out of Kuron is a strong positive emotional arc for Shiro and Lance.

Shiro’s moving away from being the team’s perfect leader, but that’s nothing to mourn, because instead of a perfect leader he’s becoming an honest, emotionally healthy person who knows he can actually trust his team. And my multiple posts talking about how Shiro really wasn’t that perfect once you take the rose-tinted glasses off isn’t dunking on him or calling him lame-

it’s pointing out that he really wasn’t doing anybody a favor by pretending to be ideal leader. In s1e9 he had a full-tilt panic attack and immediately jumped into realizing Allura was still in danger and they had to act fast to prevent them all from being destroyed- which is fine, except the part where... he didn’t unpack or process any of that afterwards.

Sendak dug up a huge volume of Shiro’s insecurities, trauma, and frankly fear of himself, of the idea of being irreconcilably changed by what the empire did to him. This is a big problem. The implication is on some level Shiro is genuinely not comfortable in his own skin and that... wasn’t the only allusion to it.

S4e4 is basically a whole exercise in the paladins and how they relate to image (and how they really don’t) and with Shiro, the main thing Worm!Coran focuses on is Shiro’s body.

Shiro’s body, that, seemingly, he prefers to keep covered as much as possible given even though he prefers pretty close-fitting attire, he’s also pretty consistently one of the most modestly dressed of the paladins. That, as mentioned, Sendak was able to maliciously play on the fact that Shiro has some lingering anxieties of what was done to it, and that pervades his flashbacks and reactions to his missing year- the repeated implications of medical torture emphasized less by pain (sedatives are frequently shown) and more that things were done to him, that he doesn’t know the extent of, and he was powerless to stop.

And Shiro- perfectionist, anxious about how people see him (s1e6 for example), with these very serious insecurities about bodily autonomy and the aftermath that he’s been living with...

(he has a large facial scar, lost color in part of his hair, and is missing an arm, to say nothing of any other scars he might have that we as an audience haven’t seen, and, personally, his body type to me suggests that he lost weight in prison and his super-defined musculature is less about athletics and more a lack of proper subcutaneous fat)

...has Worm Coran repeatedly telling him to show off his body. The relatively innocuous (before Coran gets brain-wormed) start of it all even has the script make a joke about how Shiro only has one hand, that he gives a “really?” aside look at.

I can’t help but feel like the implication there, when all of the other prompts poke at existing insecurities-

Allura feeling like she’s just an ineffective replacement for the person no longer with the team when she was one of the loudest unhappy voices about him drifting away, Hunk being relegated to his gastrointestinal problems and his genuine quick wit and keen sense of humor ignored, Pidge being ignored because “nobody cares what you’re saying anyway!”, and Lance the actor basically spending the entire time indulging the fake, flashy casanova persona he uses to cover all of his own insecurities

-that there’s something significant that, again, all of s4e4 for Shiro is talking about his body, especially his muscles, which is seemingly another change after the missing year- he doesn’t seem nearly that built in the Garrison pictures, though it could be that he’s just wearing more modest clothing, it’s still very suspicious especially when Haggar’s endeavor was to turn Shiro into her personal fighting machine.

Shiro’s got a huge amount of things that have been quietly eating him from the start, and the good news is, they’re actually starting to bubble to the surface- he’s actually breaking down and talking about them with less and less impetus, which is important, because back in s2e7, Shiro made it clear that his connection with Black, that any ideal connection, needs to be rooted in trust. And while he’s heavily spun that as, he needs to be trustworthy to others...

If Shiro never talks to the team about his problems, no matter how he might spin that as not wanting to burden them or that he’s able to deal with it on his own, he’s not trusting them.

And again, that Lance is seemingly the catalyst for this is amazing to me, because Lance?

Lance is the trust guy. Lance is the feelings guy. Lance is the uncrowned king of literally every thing Shiro has been struggling with the absence of here.

Lance is both the guy who genuinely gets in Shiro’s face when he feels like Shiro isn’t listening to him, but he’s also the guy talking about how Keith needs to trust the Black Lion because Black wouldn’t ask him to do this for no reason (when Black is Shiro’s Lion, and Keith draws many obvious explicit parallels between Shiro’s requesting him to fly Black and Black taking Keith as their replacement paladin).

Lance is the one who tells Allura that Shiro is ultimately not their enemy, that they’re on the same side, and who’s vindicated when Shiro is now clearly working with Lance against Haggar, telling him that something’s wrong and that he doesn’t feel right, hasn’t felt right for a while, which is the last thing Haggar wants Shiro to do.

Lance trusts Shiro, but not blindly. He’s compassionate, but not to the point of self-neglect. He is exactly the head that Shiro needs on his team right now. And that experience is gonna mean a hell of a lot to Lance, as well.

#voltron legendary defender #vld #Shiro #Lance #readmore #guess who's pumped for Shiro and Lance in season 6 #this guyyyyyy #Anonymous

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luftballons99 · 6 years

Text

how alone you are

fandom: Kuroshitsuji/Black Butler

relationships: Platonic Sebastian Michaelis & Ciel Phantomhive (s*baciel shippers don’t touch!)

summary:

“I have no one,” Ciel whispers, shaking. “I have no one.”

“You have me, my lord, until I bring you victory,” Sebastian assures him softly.

Ciel lets out a short, frost-bitten laugh. “Until you claim my soul,” he corrects.

A Faustian pact is a poor cure for nightmares.

tags: Hurt/Comfort, Friendship, Angst, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Torture, platonic fluff, Platonic Relationships, seriously if you ship seba/ciel dont touch this fic please, Trauma, References to Book of Murder and Book of Circus, venting, Nightmares, Panic Attacks, Banter

chapters: 1/1

read it on ao3 here or under the cut

(i dont know why but somehow i found myself catching up all the way on the black butler manga after years of not reading it and was hit with the urge to write a fic that 1) explores sebastian and ciel's dynamic as unlikely friends(???) and 2) allows ciel to reach something of an emotional catharsis with the help of the only person (entity?) who, for better or for worse (probably for worse), actually understands him (kinda). they're both incredibly tough characters to write so i hope i at least somewhat got their personalities right? the idea of ciel venting is in and of itself pretty ooc but i suppose if any fanfiction was perfectly in character, it would all be canon, so. yknow.

anyway i cannot stress this enough i do not want any s*baciel shippers in my notifs ok? don't comment. don't even look at this fic. though i guess if youre reading this you already did, in which case, fuck you for not checking/straight up ignoring the tags. point is i dont wanna hear any shippy shit alright keep it classy. ciel's 13, give him a break. he needs a guardian, not a love interest, especially not one thats thousands of years older than him. yikes.)

There are some things - however few - that Sebastian cannot protect him from.

He is content to leave it that way, at first. It’s not his job to be a shoulder to cry on or to chase away nightmares. That was never part of their deal and he wagers that Ciel would prefer to keep it that way. Whether it is because of self-delusion or pride, he will not confide in Sebastian; not when it comes to the scars that lie beneath his skin, invisible but lethal. And truthfully, it is just as well; Sebastian is unsure what he would even do with the information. Handling someone’s emotions without exploiting them is not really his area.

All he needs to do is keep Ciel alive and healthy. All he needs to do is watch the corpses pile up at the foot of Ciel’s throne. All he needs to do is kill some time before his next meal.

And yet all Ciel needs to do to keep Sebastian at his heel is call his name.

And that, as much as it pains Sebastian sometimes, was very much part of the deal.

It has been a while since Ciel has had a nightmare; at the very least, it’s been a while since he’s had one terrifying enough to rip a grating shriek of his butler’s name from his lungs and through the quiet air of the Phantomhive manor. Sebastian has noticed, however, that Ciel has not been sleeping well, regardless. Just this morning, the young lord nearly fell asleep on his feet as Sebastian slipped his silk eyepatch on for him, and then later did fall asleep in his study, drooling into the pages of a book. Something is weighing on his mind, and while usually Sebastian would argue that it’s none of his business what goes on in his little lord’s head, it seems to be becoming his business right now as he rises from his desk and ascends the stairs to answer his master’s call.

He is at Ciel’s door in a matter of seconds and, because no one is around to see it, conjures a tray of warm milk and honey with an elegant flourish of his wrist. He sighs inwardly. He knows that Ciel is still plagued with trauma; has ruined too many gloves wiping vomit off the corner of Ciel’s mouth and reminded him to breathe too many times to forget. Still, he was hoping that his young master would have grown out of his nocturnal panic attacks by now.

After all, a violent flashback while witnessing a child’s murder makes sense to him. A nightmare after a quiet, peaceful evening at home does not.

Regardless, Sebastian dutifully knocks on Ciel’s door three times, signalling his presence. He waits before entering, watching the warm milk he prepared ripple in the flickering candlelight illuminating the hallway. He hopes the young master has enough sense to swallow his pride and invite him in before it gets cold.

“Sebastian?” he hears Ciel call after a moment, his voice raspy and muffled on the other side of his door.

Slowly, Sebastian pushes it open and steps inside. Warm light from the hall spills into the room, a slant of yellow cutting across the young master’s trembling form, tucked deep under the covers. It disappears as Sebastian shuts the door behind him.

“That’s right, my lord,” he replies softly. He balances the tray in one hand as he walks toward the sconce attached to the wall by Ciel’s bed. Knowing that Ciel will want to be able to see him clearly, he pinches the wick of the candle between his forefinger and thumb, and when he lowers his hand, a small flame has already begun to burn at the tip.

Sheets rustle as the young master stirs, emerging from his linen cocoon with a white-knuckled grip on his thick blanket and a terrified stare aimed at Sebastian. Sebastian smiles down at him pleasantly, unfazed by his master’s horror. He sets the tray down on Ciel’s nightstand and wordlessly spoons honey into his cup of milk.

“Nightmare, master?” he asks idly, stirring. Ciel doesn’t answer, still busy panting from lingering panic. “It has certainly been a while since I’ve had to come feed you milk in the middle of the night like a starving pup- “

“You shut your mouth this instant ,” Ciel barks, voice raw and loud and sudden enough to make Sebastian’s hand still and his eyes go wide, his smile slipping cleanly off his lips and leaving his expression blank. He glances up from the tray he brought, meeting Ciel’s multicolored glare. “You forget your place, butler .”

Sebastian releases the spoon he was holding, letting it clink lightly against the rim of the cup. He places a hand over his heart and bows deeply.

“My apologies, my lord,” he says evenly and, because he is sure Ciel won’t be able to see it from this angle, arches an eyebrow at the floor in incredulity. His young master certainly has a shorter fuse than usual this evening. It is true what they say about children becoming agitated when deprived of their nap-time. “Please forgive me.”

He remains still, awaiting the boy’s response. It comes a moment later in a frightened, colorless whisper.

“Come here,” Ciel says, lacking his usual authoritative tone. It’s like he’s reverted back to how he was on that first night, skinny and quivering and sick with fear. The only difference now is that he’s a few inches taller and that instead of smacking Sebastian away and commanding him to keep his distance, he seems to need human proximity - or the closest thing to it he can get his hands on. Sebastian glances up, taking a step forward and kneeling obediently at his master’s bedside.

Ciel regards him fearfully, as if Sebastian might disappear into thin air like smoke from a snuffed out candle. He reaches out a small hand from underneath the covers and curls his nimble fingers into the collar of Sebastian’s shirt. He squeezes and releases the crisp fabric repeatedly, like he needs to make sure both it and Sebastian are really there.

Sebastian remembers something Doctor Arthur said on his first and final visit to the manor; about how, in sleep, the young master looks a little less like an Earl and a little more like a Ciel. He may posture as much as he wishes, but he will always remain that battered little boy sticking his blood-brown hands out from in between the grimy bars of his cage; the boy who was forced to grow up so fast that he didn’t truly grow up at all. The boy who spit upon God and shook hands with the devil. The boy who chose hell over happiness.

“What is it, my lord?” Sebastian asks, curious and amused as Ciel continues to pat down the front of his jacket with frantic hands. They still suddenly, cupped around Sebastian’s shoulders as the young Earl thinks, his face indecipherable. Sebastian looks up at him, waiting patiently.

Ciel’s face crumples like parchment over an open flame. The ominously glowing magenta mark of the covenant in his right eye flickers as he blinks back his tears.

“I’ve had enough,” he whispers, voice trembling - from rage or sorrow, Sebastian is not sure. Rage at his own sorrow, perhaps. His fingers dig into Sebastian’s shoulders, tight like twin mouse traps. If Sebastian were human, he might flinch. “I’ve had enough of this.”

Sebastian places his hand over one of Ciel’s in what he thinks is a reassuring gesture. “Enough of what, my lord?” he wonders.

“I asked you,” Ciel starts, gritting his teeth, “for power. That was our deal, demon.”

Sebastian cocks his head to the side. “Has my service been unsatisfactory?”

Ciel smacks his palm over Sebastian’s mouth. Sebastian blinks. He does not try to pry his master’s hand away, even though it would be easy. He could snap Ciel’s arm like a twig, if he wanted to, and has mused about doing so before. But they have a deal, and it demands that Sebastian never let any harm come to a single hair on Ciel’s head. And besides, it has been a while since Ciel, difficult as he is, has inspired any violent inclinations in him, and that includes now.

“I asked you for power,” the boy continues, “and yet my mind remains weak.” His voice tapers off into barely a whisper, as if he’s still afraid of admitting it out loud - even to someone who already knew. The true horror for Ciel, Sebastian knows, is not so much the torture he endured three years ago, but the fruitlessness of his efforts to take vengeance.

“The dreams do not cease,” he hisses in disgust with himself, “and I will never leave my cage.”

Sebastian is quiet for a long moment. He could say, This is the lightless path you chose. He could say, There is a difference between power and strength. He could say, You are only human. And he could spend the rest of the night with a red, stinging cheek as a result.

Ciel’s hand slips from Sebastian’s face and grips the silky lapel of his jacket. He seems to want an answer, after all.

“My lord, you are overtired,” Sebastian says gently, deciding to hedge his bets. “Please help yourself to the milk I brought; it may soothe your nerves.”

Ciel scoffs, releasing Sebastian’s jacket and hugging his knees. Sebastian stands and attends to the tray he left on Ciel’s night table, letting his hand hover over the cup of milk and feeling satisfied when it warms his palm. It hasn’t gone cold quite yet.

“I’m not a child,” Ciel spits suddenly. If it weren’t for his small stature, anyone else might believe him. He carries the title of Earl and the weight of the underworld with it on his tiny shoulders and not once has anyone but Sebastian seen him buckle under the weight - and even that is a rare thing. He’s proud, he’s greedy. He’s the worst that humanity has to offer, and he’s the best at being so.

He’s thirteen.

“Of course not, my lord,” Sebastian says graciously, though the amusement in his tone is not lost on his master, who snaps his head up and seems to bristle like a cornered cat. “Shall I take it away, then?”

Ciel’s response is an immediate, “No.” Sebastian grins down at him knowingly. “Stop that.”

“Stop what?”

“That smile. It makes me sick.”

Sebastian picks up the cup with one hand and tucks his smile behind the other. “Please accept my sincerest apologies once again, young master,” he says, voice wavering as he tries not to laugh.

“Your ‘sincerest apologies’ don’t do me any good, Sebastian,” Ciel points out hotly, accepting his cup when it is offered to him. “Just do as you’re told.” When he looks up at Sebastian, his eyes are still glassy with poorly-masked fear. His emotional refractory period is not as short as he would like his butler to believe.

Sebastian watches Ciel peer down into his cup with a shaky sigh before taking a tentative sip of from it. After ascertaining that it isn’t too hot, he closes his eyes and tilts his head back as he continues to drink. Eventually, he lowers the cup so it rests in his lap, held in place by his small hands. His eyes remain closed as he takes a steadying breath.

“Are you sure you’re alright, young master?” Sebastian pries gently.

“My emotional state is none of your affair,” Ciel shoots back, eyes still stubbornly shut.

Sebastian’s eyebrow twitches in irritation. Obstinate brat.

“I see,” he says, tone cold. “That must be why you summoned me to your chambers in the middle of the night. Of course. How foolish of me.” He gives Ciel an icy look, patience wearing thin.

(Yes, he is immortal, and yes, he will have an eternity left at his disposal long after Ciel has died, but hours of managing the boy’s schedule while attending to the daily calamities the other Phantomhive servants cause has made him reluctant to waste time. Every minute he spends in Ciel’s chambers is a minute not spent planning their itineraries for the coming day or preemptively preparing himself mentally for his coworkers’ blunders.)

On that very first night, Ciel ordered him to never lie. Sebastian had figured out quickly that the little lord would not afford him the same luxury.

Ciel gapes up at him, appalled. “ Excuse me,” he starts indignantly, “Since when do I owe you an explanation for my orders?”

“I would never dream of expecting such a thing,” Sebastian assures him, but they both know it’s insincere. “I simply wished to express my concern for…”

He lets the statement taper off into silence when he realizes what he’s trying to say, his jaw going slack before his mouth snaps shut.

Ciel’s eyes shoot wide open before narrowing into skeptical slits, luminous amethyst and candle-lit sapphire shimmering through his lashes. “Your concern for what?” he asks, insistent but wary.

Sebastian considers his master for a moment, thinking. So much for hedging his bets.

“...Your well-being,” he answers finally, and it isn’t until the words slip off his tongue that he tastes their truth. He blinks.

Ciel’s brows pinch together, the eyes underneath searching Sebastian’s face like a bandit looting a vagrant’s corpse. He flounders. Finally, in a test of Sebastian’s meaning, he says, “Your concern is unwarranted. As you can see, I am not injured.”

And it is true - Ciel is healthy as can be; he hasn’t suffered so much as a papercut in over a month. And it has been, by all accounts, a quiet, peaceful evening.

And yet Sebastian has not felt at ease ever since he heard his master scream.

“Indeed,” he says thoughtfully, brows knitted, “but it is not an injury that had you calling my name.”

Ciel’s eyes widen as he looks up at Sebastian, stunned. “I’m fine now,” he insists after a moment, suddenly impatient.

“‘Fine’ has variable definitions,” Sebastian points out and Ciel rolls his eyes, “None of which I would use to describe your current - “

“So what?” the young master demands, incensed, the very foundations of the manor Sebastian built him quaking at the sound of his voice. Sebastian closes his mouth. “I’m alive. That is all that has ever mattered to me.” Ciel’s thin fingers press tighter around his cup of milk as if he’s trying to crush the delicate, flowery design painted on its exterior into oblivion.

What outstanding hypocrisy. Sebastian has had enough.

“You,” he begins in a rough sigh before dropping into a crouch in front of his master, unimpressed, “are quite the nuisance.”

Ciel gapes, immediately raising one hand high. Sebastian’s arm snaps forward before the young lord’s palm can make contact with the side of his face and squeezes his brittle wrist tight.

Ciel flinches, fear striking his features like lightning, and Sebastian is surprised when he doesn’t feel satisfaction at the sight. When did that change? He loosens his grip, but does not let go.

“How dare you ,” Ciel spits, outraged. Tears blur and distort the smoldering mark of their covenant. Still, he swallows a hiccup and growls, “You are trying my patience, Sebastian.”

“What a coincidence,” Sebastian remarks, feigning enthusiasm. “You are trying mine.”

The dam breaks. “You insolent - ” Ciel begins in an angry sob, face twisted in agony, but cannot seem to struggle to the end. His gem-like eyes overflow, his princely nose leaks, his heart-shaped face is blotchy and red. In this moment, he is no Earl.

Why, then, should Sebastian masquerade as his butler?

“It is your stubborn refusal to confront your emotions that results in these puerile night terrors of yours and my subsequent subjection to your misdirected, hysterical outbursts,” Sebastian informs him strictly, red eyes cold. Ciel, through slime and salt water, manages a powerful glare and a snarl. Sebastian is undeterred. “Therefore, if there is so much as a ghost of a chance that you airing your grievances now will result in even a single night more uninterrupted by this nonsense, I believe it is in our best interest to take it, wouldn’t you agree?”

Ciel begins to wrench his wrist out of Sebastian’s grasp and Sebastian allows it, even though he anticipates the sharp slap to his cheek that follows. He sighs loudly in annoyance and looks at the floor, listening to the boy in front of him sniffle and hiccup pathetically. He takes a moment to compose himself; to let the flicker of anger in his chest to go out, eyes falling shut.

He does not anticipate Ciel’s arms hooking around his neck in a distraught embrace.

Sebastian tries to remember the last time he was held.

It was probably by Mey-Rin; she trips over her skirt or her shoelaces or other people’s shoelaces or the floor at least twice a day, and it is often Sebastian who catches her before she falls and breaks her nose - or worse, the dishes she carries. And though the encounter did not leave much of an impression on him, he did sleep with Beast to find information about her benefactor.

This, however, is obviously, markedly different. This is his young master. This is a child desperate for emotional reprieve. This is a little boy in need who would rather die than admitting so.

Carefully, Sebastian places his hand on Ciel’s head, cautious and curious as to how it feels to comfort someone he’s actually invested in. He smooths over Ciel’s tousled dark hair; feels tears seep into the collar of his shirt; thinks vaguely about all the laundry that’s piled up this week. Ciel shivers against him pathetically, muffled whimpers spilling from his lips into Sebastian’s shoulder, and Sebastian keeps stroking his head the same way he’d stroke a cat’s - sans the enamored cooing.

“I hate this,” Ciel grits out spitefully, yet holds Sebastian tighter. Sebastian chuckles softly, amused by the contradiction. Ciel always has been a walking, crawling, squirming juxtaposition.

“If I may be so bold, my lord,” Sebastian offers quietly, “You need this.”

Ciel responds with a pitiful hiccup. Sebastian lifts the hand not occupied with Ciel’s hair and runs it down his back in slow motions that he can only guess are soothing.

“I have no one,” Ciel whispers, shaking. “I have no one.”

Sebastian almost asks, I thought you had no need for emotional attachments? , but manages to restrain himself. Now is not the time for banter, and he’s already been slapped once tonight.

“You have me, my lord, until I bring you victory,” Sebastian assures him softly.

Ciel lets out a short, frost-bitten laugh. “Until you claim my soul,” he corrects.

Sebastian was not expecting that. They do not discuss that part of their deal often, despite both knowing its inevitability. Strangely, the pang of hunger he feels in his core at the reminder is accompanied by something else - different, but equally as painful. While hunger leaves him hollow, this seems to fill him past capacity. He is being torn apart.

“Victory first,” he vows after a quiet moment, suffocating his feelings like he would a kitchen fire. “You have my word, sir.”

Ciel’s fingers dig into Sebastian’s back as he buries his leaking nose deeper into the crook of his neck.

“How cruel,” he whispers bitterly, “that the same hand protecting me is the one by which I will die.”

Sebastian’s hand stills mid-stroke of Ciel’s ducked head. He had never thought about it like that. Ironic, yes. Poetic, yes. But never ‘cruel.’ When he thinks about it, he finds the word fits just as well.

“You chose this, my lord,” he reminds the boy and himself, but still does not feel absolved.

“Indeed,” Ciel agrees and holds Sebastian tighter. He is never this clingy unless his life is in danger. Sebastian supposes that, in a sense, it is.

“Now, now, sir,” he chuckles, slowly leaning out of Ciel’s embrace. It is late, they have a busy day ahead of them, and one of them has to be the first to stop playing house. “I have kept you awake for far too long already.”

Ciel’s arms loosen around Sebastian’s neck as he pulls away, though his hands remain clasped at its base. His eyes are swollen red, his cheeks flushed and glittering with moisture to match. Sebastian tuts lightly and shakes his head as Ciel sniffles, reaching into his pocket and producing a handkerchief. He rubs the boy’s cheeks and nose clean, suddenly rocked by the memory of the last time he had to do this - just under three years ago. Ciel was ten and still readjusting to life outside of cages and cult rituals. It took a while before he started bothering to wipe his mouth after a glass of milk or his nose after a sneeze, and it was Sebastian who would remind him by example.

Once again he is filled with that emotion he cannot place. Confusion wrinkles his brow and parts his lips. Ciel seems to notice and gives him a curious look, but before he gets the chance to investigate, Sebastian is pulling his handkerchief away, slipping it into his pocket, and rising to his full height. Ciel’s mouth, which had fallen open when he meant to begin his interrogation, shuts silently. Sebastian cannot decide if it is a relief or not; that Ciel isn’t prying.

(He wonders - long after tonight - what Ciel does not say.)

When Ciel finally does speak, it is to interrupt Sebastian’s movement to extinguish the candle bathing the room in soft orange light with a firm, “Wait.”

Sebastian tilts his head questioningly, retracting his hand. “Master?”

“The light,” Ciel says quietly, tired eyes drooping as he looks up at his butler; his confidant; his murderer. “I like it. Don’t put it out until after I’ve fallen asleep.”

Sebastian smiles, deciding it is safe to tease once again. “The esteemed Earl Phantomhive, unable to sleep without a nightlight. How sweet,” he cooes, a hand over his heart. Ciel narrows his eyes at him. “Shall I tell you a bedtime story while I’m at it, my lord?”

“I dare you,” Ciel challenges him irritably. Sebastian knows better than to accept. He grins and watches Ciel’s eyes fall shut.

“Then I take it I am not yet permitted to retire for the evening?” he asks with a put-upon sigh.

“Do you even sleep?” Ciel wonders flippantly in a yawn that he does not bother to cover with his hand. He rolls onto his back and pulls the covers up to his chin.

Sebastian is surprised, but not put-off, by his master’s interest. “No, sir,” he says, “however, like you, I do require rest.” He pauses, chuckling. “Though obviously not as much as humans do.”

Ciel snorts. “Obviously.”

“Well then, master,” Sebastian begins pleasantly, standing with his back to the wall adjacent to Ciel’s bed, “I will remain by your side until you fall asleep.” And until the day where you do not wake up again.

Ciel hums in acknowledgement, rolling onto his side away from Sebastian and curling into a crescent shape against the mattress. Sebastian, although - or perhaps because - his master can’t see him, allows himself a genuine smile. There will be no more nightmares tonight and, hopefully, for the foreseeable future.

“Sebastian,” he hears the young lord say suddenly and glances up to the back of his head, dark against the soft white of his downy pillows.

“My lord?” Sebastian prompts softly, standing at attention.

There is a long pause before Ciel speaks again - so long that Sebastian wonders if the boy has finally succumbed to sleep - but just when it seems like the conversation is over, Ciel breaks the silence once again with a firm, albeit sleepy, “You did well today.”

Sebastian blinks. He has lived a long time; has seen many things and met many people. He is not easily stunned.

Hearing those words from his master, however, will shake him every time.

I invoked your ire to the point where you slapped me, part of him - the same part that got him slapped, incidentally - wants to remind the boy, but he keeps his quip to himself. They have gone back and forth enough for one night. Surely there is no harm in accepting the gift of his master’s acclaim.

“My lord, I am most honored by your praise,” he tells him, smiling in gratitude and pride. “If I may offer my own - “

“Oh, spare me. All I did was ruin your shirt with my stress-induced optic and nasal secretions.”

Sebastian grimaces at Ciel’s wording. “Now, my lord, surely there is a more graceful way to - “

“Just accept the compliment without patronizing me, Sebastian,” Ciel huffs, frustrated, and rolls over to meet his butler’s eyes. He points at him decisively. “That’s an order.”

Sebastian, still smiling, sighs and raises his hands in surrender. “As you wish, young master,” he concedes.

With a final nod and fluff of his pillow, Ciel settles under his covers. When his eyes shut this time, Sebastian knows they will not open again until morning. He shakes his head, leaning back against the wall with crossed arms as he watches the young lord’s thick covers rise and fall with each of his steady breaths. When Sebastian is sure Ciel is asleep, he extinguishes the light. The room plunges into the comforting darkness of night, softened by milky rays of moonlight filtering in through the window.

Sebastian collects the tray and dishes he brought, being sure not to make a sound when he lifts them up from Ciel’s nightstand. He glances down at the boy over his shoulder before making his way out of the room, remembering his words - You did well today, Sebastian.

A bittersweet smile forms on his lips as he pushes Ciel’s door open. With one last look back at his master’s sleeping form, Sebastian whispers, “As did you, my lord,” and slips out of the room.

#kuroshitsuji #black butler #ciel phantomhive #sebastian michaelis #fanfiction #fic #my fic

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welcometoyournewhell · 6 years

Text

What Family is For

Well that was a waste of time. Not many people read oc based stories but I was hit with the inspiration this morning. I promise I'll get my ass going on the prompts I owe!

WARNING: Contains violent themes, talk of PTSD, gore, and other relating themes. Also contains tickling and fluff.

"People die because you want them too. You kill for pleasure. " The room went silent. It was as if time it's self had come to a standstill. "You call me a monster," The Galran general Voltron had captured spat at Allura. "You've been letting one live with you the entire time! "

Jerome felt sick. He felt like he was going to puke to be exact. His body felt cold, and his eyes burrned with tears that threatened to pour put. "That little fuck has taken out how many people huh? How many?! "

The sound of two hard objects colliding filled the room. The eighteen year old dared to look up to see his uncle looking over the general, a Galran gun in his hand. He had bashed the back end I to the man's face.

"Shut. Up." Adam's orders were simple. The general spit out a wad of blood and a few teeth. "Buddy your attacking the wrong man, " he croaked. "That boy has killed planet leaders. He's killed innocent people, good people! Yet you defend him? " His eyes narrowed at both Allura and Shiro now.

Adam bashed him with the him once more. "I said enough! " Voltron was out on another mission, lucky for the the prisoner. "You think you have any right to cast judgement against me? " Adam looked up at his husband. If he kept beating the guy he may cause some more damage, meaning getting information from him would be a lost cause.

Shiro shook his head before looking at Allura. "Should we put him in a freezing pod until he's needed? " The princess thought for a moment before casting a glance at her nephew. He looked mortified. His face was filled with horror.

The team knew what he had done to an extent, but maybe it was revisiting all the memories that was causing this reaction. "Probably for the best, " she nodded. Shiro walked down to help Adam lug the guy away, leaving Allura, Coran, Krolia, and Jerome alone.

Jerome felt as if his feet we're cemented to the ground. He felt so sick and cold. He wanted to cry, but he also wanted to lash out. He wanted his dads.

A hand clapped down on his shoulder. She wasn't his father but she was a close substitute. Krolia gave her grandson a loving smile trying to reassure him. However Jerome wasn't having it.

He looked down before finally feeling the urge to move. Biting back his gag reflex he thanked his grandmother for the encouragement before leaving.

The three exchanged looks of concern before returning back to their stations, after all... they had a job to do.

Not long after Jerome had curled up in his bed, his baby blanket held to his nose. He was such a child at times but a comfort item was called a comfort item for a reason. Stompers curled up behind him for the warmth radiating off his body.

Flashbacks of his time away from home flipped though his mind as he quietly started to shake and cry. His first time meeting Asmar, the take down! He was resourceful and used the "handcuffs" to his advantage! Because of that he was sparred, but at a cost.

Their next show down the shark-like creature destroyed everyone else in the arena, everyone but Jerome. In the midst of battle the other prisoners thought a sacrifice would calm the beast.

They pinned him down, allowing easier access for the beast. It backfired greatly as Asmar went for then first, but after he left a mark Jerome would always remember.

He clutched his metal arm, the burning sensation returning from the memory. His teeth slowly piercing the skin, breaking the bone and flesh. It was so slow, so agonizing.

They didn't pull him out of the arena either. They all watched as he went for the boy's leg next. Fitting from the foot to mid thigh in his mouth he closed in for the chomp.

Jerome screamed in pain. It was bloodcurdling, however it was unheard over the masses cheering in entertainment. However they stopped once Asmar retreated to his water bed under the arena. After what felt like hours the Galran guards brought him to the infirmary.

The rest was a blank. Just like when he disappeared. The last thing he remembered was saying good night to everytime, when he woke up in the morning he was in some motel room with a dead man in the bathtub. The man turned out to be the king of that planet. He was a small creature, he looked innocent.

Being charged for his death Jerome was locked away until the Galra invaded and dragged the prisoners and civilians on board.

He had no memory of killing him, nor did he have any for the other crimes he had committed. He'd stopped getting of the ship when they would land. Aliens wpuld riot accusing him of different things that he had no recollection with, making it harder to form alliances.

He was broken. He'd been put into so many screwed up situations, like being strung up and fed only vitamins in a dungeon waiting for his marriage to Lucius.

He was strung beside Lotor, the prince's father. He was to be sacrificed the night of their wedding before Lucius became emperor of the Galra empire he had remade in the name of his grandfather, Zarkon. Haggard had taken him in after Lotor tried to recreate the thrown.

She pulled the strings behind the puppet show, buts till catered to the boy's wants and wishes. Despite being his grandmother, she acted as a mother for him. A mentor. She took him in when the world had turned against him at a young age.

But being g locked up for days just hearing the annoying man beside him squeal and whine about everything imaginable, even trying to tell him stories of Voltron; it was a lot.

Killing the prince, and saving his family was the easiest of events so far. Being a hit man living with Asmar. All his memories we're flashing by so quick that he didn't hear the panicked calls.

He was shaking so badly that Stompers had jumped off the bed in annoyance. The skunk now watched as Shiro and Adam tried to pry the boy's arms away from his face.

Shiro felt his heart breaking at the sight. He'd gone through hell and back, he'd never wish it on anyone else. But watching his nephew crumble before him? It was awful. He couldn't help him, especially when the kid refuses to open up anymore about things.

"Jerome." Adam had crawled behind the boy, trying to cuddle. He hoped that it would calm him down. "Jerome it's okay. Daddy and papi are coming back soon. Okay? " Still nothing. The sobs became louder, he was stuck within his own head.

Something the team had grown used to. Shiro would go into similar fits. However, Keith or Adam could usually bring him out of it. It took a while, but they could. Jerome however was a bit more difficult.

Adam pulled the shaking form into him as he started to hum softly. As his husband did they, Shiro started combing through the dark locks of hair. "It's okay, we're here now, " he whispered softly.

The sobs became less patterned and more heartful. The shaking had slowed slightly as two blue eyes peered out from behind the limbs. Jerome whimpered slightly, but his eyes pleaded for help.

Crawling under the covers as well both uncles held their nephew trying to sooth him before his parents returned. "It's okay.... Shhhh... It's alright, " Shiro couldn't bounce him as he did when the boy was just a babe. More often than not he found himself stepping in to help like a father rather than an uncle. But they were a close family.

Finally the shaking ceased. Looking down both men noted how exhausted the boy looked. He needed sleep. But sleep was where the memories laid. Keith could tell what nightmare he was having based on his scream and body action at this point.

The boy was broken. They all knew it. But they didn't stop their love.

After fully calming down the boy nuzzled into Shiro. Something he'd done since birth when Keith or Lance was absent. "I'm sorry, " he whispered softly. "For what, " Adam asked as he leaned his head on lazily.

"For being a damn child, again. For having to bother you to help me as I sob like a five year old. " Shiro furrowed his brow. "Your not acting like a child Jerome, " Adam had beaten him to it.

"Just don't worry about how others see you, alright? There's no need to be ashamed of this. It's something your going to need help with. Your uncle still does. Your parents go through similar things as with everyone else on this ship." He looked over at his husband while speaking.

"It's not a burden on anyone. We're family, we want to help. " Shiro blushed slightly. He had similar insacurities and would try to hide his panic attacks from Adam.

Jerome nodded silently before letting out and 'okay'. Shiro had wanted to ask him about the general but decided now wasn't the best time. "I don't want to sleep, " Jerome mumbled with thick, heavy eyes.

"I know you don't, but you really should. Uncle Adam and I are right here, we'll protect you. " Jerome shook his head. "You can't protect me from things in my head. You can't protect me from stuff in the past, " he argued.

"But we can protect you from things in the future. " Shiro suddenly came up with an idea. He smirked mischievously at Adam who looked a bit wary. "Everything except well... The tickle monster, " he spoke calmly before Jerome dissolved into giggles.

It was a cheer up method he'd used on Keith growing up, it worked pretty well in his nephew too! Adam ran his fingers up and down the small back, as Shiro played with his ear.

Jerome giggled happily and sleepily, not putting up much of a fight. "It tickles, " he squeaked as Adam began to trace his side, he stopped when he felt a bump under the thin shirt. "You weren't going to bed were you? " Jerome shook his head.

"Good, you should sleep with this on," he lectured as he pulled on the bottom of the binder softly. It was like having four parents, it really was. The eighteen year old squirmed slightly, as demanding more physical attention.

His uncles gladly gave into the request tickling under his arms and his belly. "Nahahah, " he squealed happily. "Does it tickle? Huh, " Shiro teased. Jerome nodded happily, exposing more of his body for acsess.

Both adults chuckled briefly before tickling their nephew to tears. By the time they stopped loud foot steps could be heard echoing down the hall. The door slammed open revealing both Lance and Keith in their armor.

They were panting heavily, a look of panic on their faces. "Jerome, " they exclaimed in sync. The boy remained against his uncle as he put his hand up to slightly wave. Adam and Shiro gave a smile before allowing the parents their rightful places.

"Sleep tight kid, " Shiro said before ruffling the boy's hair. Adam copied the motion before they left the room.

"Baby, you okay? " Keith was practically smothering him. "Yeah dad, I'm okay. " Lance was quietly holding him. Whenever it came room the six month absence he got like this. His depression just came rushing back.

"We love you, " he spoke softly.

"I love you guys too. "

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fans-of-fiction · 6 years

Text

Tozier, Meet Right Hand - Richie Tozier x Reader (IT)

I owe the anon that requested this an apology because this imagine is over a month late. I feel so guilty for not getting this out sooner but I’ve had a whole slew of mental and physical health problems over the past 4-6 weeks and my emotional PTSD has been weighing me the fuck down. I hope you know that your requests mean more to me than you will ever know. With so much love, E <3

Prompt/Plot: #3 - Anxiety/Panic Attack. Richie has a very hard time admitting his love for Y/N—especially when she seems so close to Bill—but after she shows up at his house in a snowstorm, and helps him after he has a panic attack in Neibolt, he’s ready to make an exception.

Warnings: Richie has a panic attack. Swearing and mentions of masturbation (it’s Richie. What canya do?)

A/N: Written in Richie’s POV. There’s a flashback to the snowstorm that’s acknowledged with time marks. Not a BillxReader though it may seem like so at first.

Words: 5659

July 1989

“Fuck,” I mumbled as Bill, Eddie, Y/N and I stepped into Neibolt. The stale and visibly dusty air wafted around us like smoke in a wind-tunnel. “Wonder how many lepers’ve died in here.”

“Sto-” Eddie gagged audibly. “Stop with the leper talk, Richie! It was,” A click-wheeze came from Eddie’s aspirator as he breathed in deeply. “It was one time!”

I chuckled and looked over at Y/N. She laughed as she knelt down to tie her shoelace with a happy tranquility that almost made me forget we were standing in the middle of a crack-head house. If it wasn’t for the creaking of the heavy, wooden door struggling shut behind us—locking us away from Beverly, Ben, Stan, and Mike—I could have easily thought that we were standing in the middle of the old, dark section of the library where they keep the original copies of Shakespeare, right next to Jesus’s passport.

Bill—our own fearless leader—turned and spoke once he found his bearings. “Guh-guys,” He croaked. We could all tell he was scared, but he stood his ground and hid it well. “I th-thuh-think we sh-ssh-shuh-” He couldn’t get it out.

Y/N stood beside him and slung one arm over his shoulder to calm him. Something bubbled in my stomach. “It’s alright, Bill.” She reassured, her voice soft. “Take your time.”

Bill smiled down at her and she smiled back. The bubbles churned. It was like someone was boiling a kettle in my guts. I looked at the word Freese’s on my shirt. What the fuck? I asked, almost out loud. You’ve had beef burritos before. Would you cool it?

“Th-thanks, Y/N.” Bill managed, ready to start again. “I th-think we shuh-should split up.” His stutter had nearly disappeared with Y/N at his side. Yeah, I chimed in my head. Let’s all split up, Bill. I’ll bet my allowance you and Y/N will find each other anyway. Something clicked in my head. I didn’t do it often, but I found myself stopping to think, and suddenly the feeling made sense. It wasn’t the burritos. It was seeing Y/N help Bill. It was watching Y/N hug Ben when he gave her his spare change for gum. It was hearing Y/N say, ‘I’d hop in Brian’s parachute pants.’ when we watched The Breakfast Club on VHS in Beverly’s apartment. It was because I don’t look like Brian from The Breakfast Club, or Bill, or Ben. Fuck, I thought. The realization crashing over me like a black, choking wave. Richie Tozier, you jealous shit. I could feel my cheeks going red and my pants growing hot. Fuck, I groaned. Fuck. No. Not here. Not in fucking Neibolt. Run your mouth, Tozier. Crack a joke. Spit a remark or something. Do a voice. Do a voice, Richie.

And like that I was Shaggy. “Like zoinks, Fred!” I carolled. “It’s like, get another catchphrase or something, huh-ha!”

Y/N chuckled—Success—but quickly shrugged it away so she wouldn’t make Bill feel bad, but Bill didn’t care. He was determined to find this made-up, whack-job clown. “Ruh-Richie and E-Eh-E-” He tried.

“We get it, Bill.” Click-wheeze. “ Richie and I can stay Can stay on the ground floor if,” He pointed a finger at Bill and Y/N. “You two wanna go upstairs.” The kettle clicked on again broiling harshly. It was so hot that I almost missed the joke opportunity. That’s my cue, I thought.

“Yeah,” I laughed, wrapping my arms around Eddie. “Oh, Bill!” I squeaked. “I’m so scared, Bill! Won’t you hold me?” I shuffled my arms dramatically up and down Eddie’s back and hair, making loud kissing noises. “Mwah mwah Mwah! Oh, Bill! Mwah mwah mwa-”

“Richie!” Eddie shouted and squirmed. “Richie my hair! Have you even washed your hands in the past twenty-four hours, Richie? Richie!” He pushed away, hands rushing up to his head to fix the mess. I doubled over, laughing so hard I could barely breathe. All the heat left my stomach. I managed to stand up and wipe my glasses off, but looking at Y/N I saw that her cheeks were red. Really red. She was embarrassed. Welp, I concluded. That’s it, Trashmouth. You threw away any shot you had. Tozier, meet Right Hand.

Bill put an arm around Y/N’s shoulder and they turned towards the rickety staircase. Wanna go for broke, Tozier? My thoughts were coughing at me. I know well enough that my mouth’s a badly cracked dam, and it’s impossible to stop the leaks. “Be safe you two!” I spurted as they walked away. “Use protection!”

There was a scoff from Eddie. I grinned a Trashmouth’s grin at him but turned back around to find Y/N looking at me. She was disappointed. I would have walked back to my house and locked myself away until I died if Eddie hadn’t scolded me once she and Bill were out of sight. “Are you serious, Richie?” He chided. “Would you just tell her you like her already?”

I turned to Eddie so that I could glare at him through my thick frames. “Gee, Eddie.” I quipped. “Let’s see, if you’re the only Loser I’ve confessed my love for Y/N to, and believe me, I regret that… well… I suppose two and two equal no. Fuck no. Never.” I adjusted my glasses, which were sliding down my hot face. “She’ll never know because she’ll never feel the same way.” I turned to walk away. Anywhere but there under Eddie’s decrypting gaze. “And that’s the story, Eds.”

I made my way to a small alcove—It looked like a living room. In the middle, a lone chair sat in a slew of tangled roots and dead vines, sprouting from the ceiling—but I didn’t make it far. “Richie,” Eddie called. His voice sounded different. Less frustrated and more confused.

It enticed me to look at him again. “What, Eddie?”

He stared at me, eyebrows furrowed. “Richie, you said ‘love.’”

When did I say Love? I thought. I tried to remember but I felt about as confused as Eddie looked. “What the hell are you talking about?”

Eddie suddenly smiled. His cheeks turning up to mock me. “You finally said it.” He chirped. “You wouldn’t admit it before, but you just did. You said ‘my love for Y/N’, Richie.”

A floodgate opened. I did say that. Richie Tozier is a bastard in love, Ladies and Gents. I could feel my cheeks catch fire, probably a vivid crimson, and as I mulled over Eddie’s words I could hear his voice, somewhere else, somewhere distant, somewhere on the other end of a telephone line.

Winter 1988

“Richie, could you tell Mrs.Douglas that I won’t be in class tomorrow?” Eddie said into the receiver.

I chuckled. “What’s the matter, Eds? Rather tickle your pickle while your mom’s at work than sit through math?”

Eddie when to sigh but his shitty lungs spat a wheeze instead. “No, you idiot.” Click-wheeze. “My mom’s taking me to the doctor.”

“Why,” I quipped. “Dick stuck in the VHS player again?” He scoffed, but I laughed.

“Richie! That’s gross!” He wailed. “I’m going to the optometrist, dip-shit. My mom wants to make sure I don’t need glasses.”

“Just where my extra pair,” I suggested.

It was Eddie’s turn to laugh. “I can see Jupiter in those fuckin things.”

We both giggled, but the moment was cut short by the doorbell. I listened closely to see if I could hear my mother’s footsteps, wondering if she was sober enough to be awake. Silence. “Hold on, Eds.” I sighed, knowing very well that she was unconscious. “Doorbell.”

Put the phone down, but didn’t hang it up, and ran down the stairs. The front hall carpet was cold, a sign that the snow storm blowing outside was as bad as the weather goons had predicted. Putting a hand on the cold, brass doorknob I noticed that I never knew who to expect when opening the door. It could’ve been a salesman, or a dinosaur, or God himself. Frankly, I would have expected anyone else before I expected her.

It was Y/N. I knew her face immediately because whenever she passed in the hallway it was all I could see, though Eddie was the only one who ever caught me staring. She looked cold. So cold that she was shaking, her hands clutched to her chest. Even with frostbite, she was stunning. So stunning that I forgot to crack a joke, or at least say Hey.

“Richie!” She exclaimed, her voice barely audible in the wailing wind. I noticed her teeth chattering in between words. Don’t be a pussy, Tozier. Let the pretty girl in.

I moved out of the way and put one hand on her shoulder, guiding her into the house. “Holy shit, Y/N,” I said, stunned. “What the hell are you doing outside in that storm.”

She chuckled. My concern wasn’t a joke, but even in the cold, her laugh was warm, like Saturday morning sunshine. “It wasn’t this bad before.” She assured. “It was nice enough to walk to Mr.Keene’s, but all of a sudden the wind picked up and the next thing I knew I was on your doorstep.”

I chuckled, feeling an odd sense of honour that she recognized my house and felt safe enough with me to seek shelter from a snowstorm with me. “You can stay here until it passes if you want.” I offered, hoping and praying that the storm would last forever. Now’s your chance to get to know her, Richie. I thought. Now’s your chance to impress the hell out of a pretty girl from the safety and comfort of your own home.

Y/N smiled gratefully. “Thank you, Richie.” She said. “I really appreciate it, especially because,” She paused. “Well, I guess we don’t know each other that well, do we?”

I thought about it for a second, but only because it took me aback. I felt weird to think that I’d known her for any less than forever. I shrugged my shoulders. “Frankly my dear, I don’t give a damn.” I lulled casually in my best Clark Gable impression before turning towards my kitchen. She chuckled. I felt a sense of success I rarely felt with my parents. My Dad always working, my Mom always drinking. It made me feel good. Hopeful. Like I’d been working in a sulfur mine all my life and just caught my first breath of fresh air.

I was looking at her differently now. I didn’t just see a beautiful girl I’d love to parade around the school beside. I saw a beautiful girl who—despite being frozen—radiated warmth and light. I felt a sudden urge to sweep her up in my arms. Shut up, Trashmouth. My head spat. You’ll only ever be the kid who lived in a warm house when she got caught in a snowstorm. The thought hurt, and though I tried to push it out, it pushed back. You shouldn’t flatter yourself, Richie. The least you can do is help her enjoy her stay in your dark and lonely house before she forgets all about you. Now, go be a man. I took a deep breath. “You look freezing.” I acknowledged, motioning to her shaking hands.

She chuckled. “I guess so.” I could still hear her teeth chattering. At the bottom of the stairs sat the clean laundry my mom was going to take up before she popped the cork on what was probably her second bottle of wine that day. I grabbed a blanket and walked over to Y/N, pulling it around her shoulders.

“Here,” I mumbled bashfully. “You should probably warm yourself up.” Her face was so close to mine that I could smell her chapstick. Cherry. She smiled as we made eye contact and then reached up and fixed my glasses, which were sliding down my face. I chuckled. “Thanks.”

“No problem.” Her smile grew. “Thanks for letting me stay for a little while.”

I rubbed the back of my neck, trying to calm the goosebumps. “No problem.”

We made our way into the kitchen. I flicked the kettle on. As I was searching through the cupboards for the box of hot chocolate mix, Y/N took a seat at the table. I could hear her pull the wooden chair out and sit down on its creaky seat. I looked for the hot chocolate a little harder, with hopes that I’d find it soon and could distract Y/N so she couldn’t notice how dusty and cold the house really was.

As if to confirm my worries that she was looking around, eyes scanning the walls and shelves to find some secret part of my backstory that she could crack, I heard her chair push back on the linoleum floor. I heard her step around the table to the wall with the family photos on it, her socked feet making only soft sweeping sounds. Please, I begged, practically tossing bowls and cups across the floor. Please don’t look at those. They’re not me. I’m not my family. I’m not my mother, the alcoholic, or my father, the worker who ignores his trashmouth son. I’m not them. They’re not me. They’re not-”

“So this is your family, huh?” Shit. Her voice was soft and polite. Enough so that I ignored her almost presumptuous question.

“Yeah,” I joked, ignoring the mess of kitchenware and the fact that I probably had no hot chocolate to begin with. I walked over and stood with my back to the photos, facing Y/N. I smiled an overdramatic grin. “Don’t we look alike?”

She chuckled, seeing clearly that my parents and I held little resemblance. “Are either of them home?” She asked, eyebrows furrowing. She was wondering why she hadn’t thought of asking earlier.

I debated lying to Y/N. Telling her that both my parents were in Venezuela on an expedition or something. But looking into her eyes I found something pure. Something whole that said ‘I won’t judge you, Richie. You can trust me.’ And so I trusted her, but not with the whole truth. “My dad’s at work,” I explained. “My mom’s having a nap in the den.” Quick thinking, Richie. If you were only that quick on your feet, maybe you’d have less trouble with Bowers. My stomach hurt just thinking of the mulleted asshole, so I focused on Y/N. I studied her face and found no signs of judgement, only curiosity and beauty.

“Oh,” she said. “Will she be mad if she sees a girl in the house?”

I thought about it for a second. The answer was yes. She would probably be appalled. She may even throw Y/N back out on the street before she could slip her boots on again, but she would definitely notice me. Maybe even see my cry for love and attention and give me some for once. But it would take something drastic. Something that I wasn’t willing to drag Y/N into. Something that I hadn’t even noticed was about to happen anyway, because I hadn’t heard the TV click off, or the scuffling of my mother’s slippers. I hadn’t noticed her standing in the doorway, already positioned—slightly off-kilter with the wine in her system—to rip both Y/N and I apart.

“Richard Tozier,” She tried to boom, but it only came out as a deep slurred mess. I could smell the alcohol on her breath from several feet away, and with Y/N standing unfortunately in between the two of us I knew that she could smell it too. She was probably already figuring out the basics of the Tozier household. Drunken mother, working father, under-acknowledged Richie Tozier. “Did you think you could sneak some tramp into the house without my knowing?” Her eyes were distant, glazed over, never quite finding what she was looking at.

Y/N turned to look at me. She wasn’t as offended as she was concerned. Thanks for blowing it, mom. I could tell she wasn’t quite sure what was going on, but she was smart enough to know that it wasn’t quite right.

My mother spoke again. “Turn the kettle off and get her out of here, Richard.” She babbled. “I want you to do your homework, not this-”

“I don’t have any homework, mom.” I corrected her. “I told you that when I got home.”

She squinted her eyes at me, her eyelashes curling against her eyelids. “Don’t lie to me, Richard,” She tried. “You said that you had a science project, remember?” She sounded so sure of herself that it sparked pity in my gut. Pity for both her and myself and Y/N for having to watch it all unfold.

“That was last week, mom,” I mumbled. “Last week was the science fair. I had to carry my project four miles to the school and back. Remember?” I could feel tears threatening to spill behind my eyes, but I refused to cry in front of Y/N so I held them back. Looking at her gave me enough strength to subdue the urge to let them fly, but it also made me aware of her new expression. Her eyebrows turned up ever-so-slightly. She understood what was happening fully now, and she pitied me. She pitied poor, ignored Richard Tozier, who only craved knowing that his parents gave half a shit about him. She was as witty and observant as I was. I wondered if she also felt like she was too smart for her own good, and as she saw me wonder I saw her scheme.

Her eyebrows relaxed, her eyes gained a sense of confidence they didn’t have before, and the corners of her mouth turned up in a grin. I had no idea what she was planning to do, but the thrill of it was almost enough to send me over the edge.

“No, no,” My mother mumbled defiantly. “No that was today, Richard. I remember it like my own name and I won’t have you lie to me. Now go do your homework!” She tried to raise her voice but only hiccuped instead.

Before she could turn away to return to the den, Y/N stepped back towards me, wrapping her arms around my waist, pulling me in. Suddenly she wasn’t herself. It gave me a strange sensation, like I was watching myself do a voice or host an impression. She became someone new.

“I’m sorry, Mrs.Tozier.” She cooed, one hand reaching up to pull off my glasses smoothly. “But I doubt that Richie’s gonna get to do any sort of work today.” My mother—though disoriented—was still coherent and fully noticed the handsy actions Y/N was putting out. Her face went red. “I’m afraid,” Y/N continued. “The only thing he’ll be doing today is-”

My mother had had enough. “Young lady!” She managed, though still slurring. “I’ll have you-” Hiccup. “Get your hands off my-” Another hiccup. “Off my son!”

Y/N laughed, and like that, I saw her plan in full light. It was brilliant. She was brilliant. “Oh, I can manage that,” She grinned. “The real problem is keeping Richie’s hands off of me.”

My mother yelped and tried to run out of the kitchen, but she could only manage a slumped set of lunges. “Oh, my!” She cried out. “I need another drink.” The thump thump thump of her crashing steps faded as she left Y/N and I standing together in the fluorescent-lit room.

I turned to Y/N, who was smiling so fiercely her cheeks strained to keep up. “That should get her to pay attention from now on, huh?” She laughed, but I stared in awe, hyper-aware that she hadn’t yet let go of my waist. I could feel her warmth radiating through my Hawaiian shirt. Suddenly the white lights didn’t feel so cold. The room didn’t feel so empty. My house no longer felt lonely. Y/N—with only her smile and her divine presence—filled the void of the house I’d been fighting to fix for years. My house was the sulfur mine, and Y/N was a million breaths of fresh air. I would’ve stood and stared until I died, if she hadn’t pulled away.

“Thanks for saving me from the cold, Richie.” She said, still grinning from ear to ear. “And I’m sorry if I just got you grounded, but I thought maybe-”

“I don’t care if she throws me out.” I interrupted, half aware that my mouth was moving. “That was the coolest fucking thing I’ve ever seen.”

Y/N smiled bashfully and looked at her feet. “It was my pleasure.” She assured. “But I should probably head out now. My parents will be worried if I’m not back soon.”

Her smile faded as I nodded. We made our way to my front door. She started to take the blanket off her shoulders, but I told her to keep it for the walk home. “Once again, Richie,” She smiled. “Thank you.” She leaned forward and kissed me on the cheek. I could feel my face go red. She noticed my crimson cheeks and giggled, before stepping out the door, and just like that, she had gone as softly and abruptly as she had come.

“Holy fuck,” I said out loud as soon as the door shut. “Wait ‘til I tell Eddie.” I stopped for a second. “Oh, fuck, Eddie!” I took the stairs two at a time, raced back up to my room, and threw the phone up to my cheek so fast I almost took off my glasses. “Eddie! Shit, man I’m sorry dude.”

Eddie scoffed on the other end of the line. “That was a long time, Richie. Who the fuck was at your door?” He paused. “And if you say something witty like ‘It was Y/N, the hottie that I’ve been eyeing for months. We boned for a while until our love sparked a fire hardy-har-har’ then I will walk to your house and slap you myself, Tozier.” I laughed. Long and hard enough to get Eddie very concerned and very curious. “What the hell are you laughing about, Richie.”

And though it took some convincing and a promise or two, I made it through the story of the past twenty-five minutes. “Jesus Christ, Richie,” Eddie mumbled. I could practically see the dumbfounded look on his face. “I knew you had a crush on her, but shit, the way you’re describing her… Richie Tozier is a bastard in love, isn’t he?”

I laughed, but in surprise rather than amusement. No matter how much I liked Y/N, no matter how much I wanted to scream from the fucking rooftops that I would happily marry her, I would never tell Eddie that I was in love. Not willingly. I would never admit that I loved her—out loud, especially to anyone else—until I knew she felt the same way. “I’m not in love, you idiot.” I spat. “She’s just hot, you know.”

“Oh suure, Richie.” Eddie retorted sarcastically. “You’re not in love and my mother wants me to roll around in the sewers as a hobby.”

I laughed back at him, but it felt forced. I couldn’t let him know. Not now. Not yet.

July 1989

“Okay, so what?” I asked. Throwing my hands up and turning towards the alcove again. “So what if I said it, it doesn’t matter because she can’t hear me and even if she could, she wouldn’t understand.”

“That’s bullshit.” Eddie fought back. Though I was facing away from him I could practically see the scrunched, ‘Would you get a load of this guy?’ look on his face. “You know damn well that she feels the same way about you, Richie. Why would she help you with your mother if she didn’t care? You know she only lives a block away from you, right?” In honesty, I didn’t know that. I would have turned around to look at Eddie and ask how he knew but a piece of paper caught in the dead foliage demanded my attention, though that didn’t stop Eddie from talking. “She could have made it through that storm easily, but no. She remembered where your house was that one time you had that garage sale, remember Richie? She knew where you lived and she took shelter with you because she fucking loves you too, dip-shit!”

His voice sounded distant. It was like this paper, this flyer, had sucked in all of my senses. I reached the roots and plunged a hand in, clutching the sheet and pulling it out to reveal a face I saw every day in the mirror. It was my school picture. I was smiling up at myself through my glasses, which were nearly covered under my hair. At the top of the page, in massive, attention-grabbing, black letters was the word Missing.

My head clouded over as the room began to spin. Eddie was talking but I couldn’t hear him. I could barely hear myself wheezing. Air. Shit. Where the fuck did the air go? Suddenly I found myself craving the old, dusty air of the Neibolt house. I was choking for anything and no matter how hard I tried I couldn’t assume control over my body. My heart was pounding so hard I could practically see it. Cold sweat was causing my glasses to slide down my nose, but with my aching hands grasping the paper I didn’t bother to fix them. My diaphragm tried to draw air in but it kept hitching in my throat.

“Richie?” Eddie called over, concerned. “Richie, you look really pale. Are you ok, dude?” I couldn’t answer. My tunnel vision was hyper-focused on the paper. I could feel myself beginning to black out. Eddie screamed something but fuck if I knew what it was. I was too busy shaking to figure it out. My knees were beginning to buckle underneath me and if it weren’t for the hands on either one of my arms, helping me sit down, I would have collapsed. Someone took the paper from my hands. I wished and I willed for my eyes to focus, and after a little while, they finally did. My eyes cleared to reveal Y/N. She had tossed the flyer off to the side and knelt beside me, her hands on either side of my face. She was staring into my eyes and though I couldn’t hear her, I figured she was pleading. Probably for me to calm down, or take a breath, or stay alive. Believe me, love, I thought. I’m trying.

But I couldn’t. I couldn’t stop struggling. I wondered if Y/N had read the flyer and figured out why I’m in my current state. She was certainly sharp enough to do so. As if to prove me right, her voice broke through. “Richie, you’re here with us. Look. Look at us, Richie! You’re not missing!” She hit the nail on the head, and much like when she saved me in my own house, she was saving me now. It was as if I’d been trying to listen to her through fifty feet of water, drowning in the sea, but she managed to swim to my depth and pull me up again. I could see and hear and breathe and for the first time in the past forever I felt calm, though my heart was racing. I raised a hand and pointed at the Missing poster. “B-Buh-But I-I-” Eddie thrust his aspirator at me. I took it graciously.

“You’re here, Richie. You’re right here.” She shuffled forward on her knees and pulled me gently into her chest. “I know that this scares you, but if you ever went missing, the Losers and I would never stop until we found you. Understand?” I murmured. Y/N pulled away for a second to look in my eyes. “You understand that, right, Richie? We would risk life and limb to get you back if that’s what it cost.”

I nodded, still trying to gain my composure. She smiled. “Wanna hear a joke?”

I mustered a half-smile. “You-” Wheeze. “Bet I do.”

She chuckled. “What’s the difference between a tire and 365 used condoms?”

I stared at her for a second—who would’ve guessed that Y/N had any dirty jokes in her arsenal—then shrugged my shoulders.

“One’s a Goodyear, the other’s a great year.”

I let out a howl of laughter, hunching half in between my knees. Oh, I noted. There are my lungs.

“Fuck panic attacks.”

I smiled. “Y-yeah.” I squeaked. “Fuck” Wheeze. “panic attacks.”

Y/N laughed with me and then spoke. “How about we get you out of here, huh?” I nodded again. Y/N stood up and turned to Bill. “Could you help Richie outside?”

Bill nodded excessively. “Uh-of course.” He knelt down, slung my left arm over his shoulder, and helped me stand up. Y/N helped Eddie crack open the front door. They walked out first and explained what had happened to Mike, Ben, Stan, and Beverly.

“T-thanks” Wheeze. “for helping me, Bill.” I managed. “I r-really” Wheeze. “appreciate it.”

Bill chuckled softly. “That’s f-fine, R-ruh-Rich. I-I know p-puh-panic at-tacks can be s-ss-scary. Yuh-you’re just l-luh-lucky that Eh-Eddie yelled up f-for Y/N.”

“Yeah,” I mumbled. “I’m sorry for joking about you and Y/N earlier, I didn’t mean to-”

He cut me off by laughing. “Th-that’s ok, R-Richie. Y/N was w-wuh-worried about the j-jokes at first, but I just t-tuh-told her it was b-because you l-luh-love her.”

My heart skipped a beat. “What do you mean? I-I don’t love Y/N.” I shook my head and forced a fake laugh, but it was too late. Bill already knew.

“Th-that’s ok, Eddie. We c-could tell. Th-th-the hard p-part was convincing Y/N ab-bout it.”

“Y/N,” I had to stop myself from screaming. “Y/N knows?! Bill, I totally annoy her, why would the-” His furrowed eyebrows made me stop. “What?”

“You d-d-don’t know?”

I shook my head, lost. “Know what?”

“Y/N l-luh-loves you.”

For a second I couldn’t breathe again. I stopped walking and stared at him. “There’s no way.”

He laughed. “Shuh-she does, R-ruh-Richie” He said matter-of-factly. “Y/N told the l-luh-losers wuh-weeks ago.”

I stared at him. “Weeks ago? Dude, why didn’t anybody tell me?!”

“She w-wanted you to f-fuh-find out on y-your own, Rich.” Bill walked down the stairs and over to his bike. I made note that the rest of the Loser’s had picked theirs up too. Mike, Ben, Stan, and Beverly were all looking at me, concerned.

“You ok, Richie?” Mike asked. I nodded and then glanced at Y/N. She met my eyes and gave me a warm smile, taking the chill out of my chest.

I knew that Bill was telling the truth but there was no way in hell I could accept it. I looked at Eddie. You knew the whole time, didn’t you? I spat sarcastically in my head. Eddie turned as if he could feel my glare and looked back at me, the corner of his mouth turned up in a smirk. Asshole. I chuckled and then looked at Y/N again. She was on her bike, one foot on its pedal, ready to ride away. I remembered how she stood up for me in my house, how she radiated warmth and light, how she kissed wrapped her arms around me when I introduced her to the Loser’s and they let her join, how she was my breath of fresh air, both within my house and the Crack-Heads’. Jokes may help you in your sulfur mine of a house, Tozier, but they won’t help under water. I told myself. Go chase your air.

I knew exactly what I had to do. I scuttled down the Neibolt steps, across the lawn, and over to Y/N’s bike. Glancing at Eddie I could see his content expression. He knew what I was doing. Don’t flatter yourself, Eddie Spaghetti. I chuckled in my head before standing in front of Y/N’s bike, my hands on her handlebars.

She put her pedal-foot down and began to speak, but I cut her off. “Y/N, I-I’ve been meaning to… to tell you that… well… I-I kinda-” Once again I couldn’t get the words out, and upon further inspection, I realized that Y/N’s lips were on mine. This is the kinda silence I can get behind. I could taste her cherry chapstick and I could smell her shampoo and I couldn’t help but close my eyes before pulling away. It was as if I’d just taken seventeen thousand hits of Eddie’s aspirator.

“I love you too, Richie.” She chuckled. All I could manage was a wow. She laughed again but louder. I leaned in again to kiss her cheek but the moment was broken by Eddie’s screaming.

“I fucking told you, Tozier!” He yelled, a smile overtaking his face. The Loser’s—myself and Y/N included—burst out in a swell of laughter.

I walked over and gave him a noogie. “I guess ya did Eddie Spaghetti.”

“Richie!” Eddie squealed. “My hair, Richie!” I laughed, reached down, and grabbed my bike. Bill pedalled Silver forward, the first to kick up the gravel of Neibolt Street. The rest of the Loser’s weren’t far behind. With Y/N and I riding in the back, we headed into town. Along the way, I couldn’t help but stare at her. She loves me. Y/N loves the Trashmouth, and the Trashmouth loves her too. And so we rode through Derry, forgetting all about old houses, and dusty air and fucking clowns. Instead, I appreciated the warmth of the July sun, the smell of what Stan calls Phlox flowers, and Y/N, because thanks to her, I can breathe.

I fucking love all of you lovely readers and I wish you all the best in life.

With love,

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