#i had therapy today + when this went down i did not throw hands or cuss someone out

[panb1mbo]

someone was rude and racist to me. and look, it did hurt my feelings. but it made the people who love me angry when they found out about what happened. like really, really angry. like i might have to lay low for a while angry.

[lewdmommie]

Not again

HusbandKönigxreader💗

Summary: König leaves a surprise for Y/n after her shopping trip

🎀Warnings🎀:SFW, fluff,language,brief nudity

“Hey babe I’m going shopping I’ll be back soon.” You stamp a kiss on König’s cheek. He leans into your touch, closing his eyes for a moment.

“Alright, I might head down to base but I’ll be home for dinner.” He calls as you grab your purse from the kitchen counter making sure all your items are accounted for. Keys. The most important piece of the puzzle, he watches in amusement as you dash around the small space,searching like a mad man. You were always losing things, it was adorable. He stands making his way over to you stealthily, your head smacks the corner of the counter top as you shoot up. Lucky for you his hand covered the sharp edge giving the blow some cushion.

“Looking for these?” He snags the keys from the decorative fruit bowl.

“How did they get in there? Hmm… okay well I’ll see you later!” You chirp, skipping out the door.

-Later that Day-

The house is dark and quiet when you step through the door. He must be working late again, you think. You toss the plastic shopping back on the couch and saunter to the bedroom, might as well have a bath after a long day of retail therapy. The hot water from the tub makes you feel like a brand new woman. You still had to make dinner so you finish up quickly, grabbing the towel from the rack as you step out of the bath. You moisturize and apply your skin care, the usual after bath routine; you add a spritz of König’s favorite perfume to top it off.

Pajamas were next on the list, you slide on your slippers and walk over to your shared dresser. You settle on something simple and sexy, the classic T-shirt and pantie combo. The front door creaks open and closes gently as König finally makes it back home. You grab the first Black tee you see and slide on your plain pink panties first. You lift the shirt over your head pulling it down the length of your torso. Something was off, there was an unfamiliar breeze on your chest. You look down and see your nipples poking through two large holes.

“What the-König!” You yell. Heavy footsteps approach from the hall,he throws the door open frantically.

“What happened are you Alright?-“ he stops immediately in his tracks and falls into the wall laughing. His legs turn to Jell-o as he cackles uncontrollably, you glare at him holding back your own laughter.

“I know you did this.” You accuse, grabbing a pillow from the bed,tossing it at his head.

“I’m sorry I must have gotten our shirts mixed up again.” He explains.

“Good thing I went shopping today.” You sigh.

“What did you get while you were out anyway?”

“A bunch of new T-shirts.” You both burst out laughing.

[littlelambscandyland]

Four Versus One (Part One)

Platonic Yandere Rise Brothers x Fem!Reader

Warnings- Tv Self Awareness, Panic Attacks, Reader has siblings and a niece, Stalking (if you count watching someone thru a screen without their knowledge as stalking)

You lounged gingerly on the couch. Rise of the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles droning on as your niece starred in wonderment at the screen. You'd introduced her to the show as means to get her to stop making you watch (insert stupid show here). You told your sibling you'd watch over them the next few days as the birth of their second child happened. Today felt like it went on a bit longer. Tonight was the last night that your niece would be here.

 You couldn't say you didn't have fun. The show you stopped watching years ago was now, apparently, coming out with new episodes and you and your niece hyper fixated on it hard. With all that said, however, you were glad to get your space back. Glad to have your own little bubble of childishness without the responsibility of another human.

Deciding it was a calm enough scene not to be missed, you got up to get a well needed snack. 

Calling into your niece. "You want anything from the kitchen, chicken pop?"

She giggles at the odd, but well deserved nickname, and asks you for orange juice.

After pouring drinks and grabbing popcorn you made your way back to the living room. The scene had switched to Donatello's lab. They were making some sort of gun. Words like "portal" and "interdimensional travel" were being thrown around.

You wondered slightly as you laid the snacks out what this weapon had to do with anything. The episode didn't seem to call for it, but maybe you missed a more vital scene than you thought?

You thought a bit more as you watched the show how different it was from what you remembered. There were more fourth wall breaks and sometimes one of the turtles would randomly throw out compliments to the watcher.

Not that you minded the change. It was just different. Nice, but different.

~~~Time skip brought to you buy me writing this in my therapy waiting room~~~

You had successfully made the trade off of your niece, delivering her back into the hands of one of her parents. You'd cleaned up the house, and finally felt yourself relax.

You had turned the tv off for a little while. A part of your agreement with your niece to wait to watch the show again together. Obviously, that was a lie. You had turned the tv back on after cleaning. Ordering a pizza and deciding to have a "me night". 

There was something you noticed when you turned it back on though. The fourth wall breaks and the compliments happen more often. The plot seemed thrown out the window and everything seemed almost more mature than before. 

Because of all of this you made the executive decision to Google it. It'd been a while since you'd been a part of the fandom so you figured it'd be quicker just to get straight to the point.

You felt your heart drop from what you read. Confusion and honest panic grew in its place. There were only two seasons. That was impossible. There were obviously more. What had you been watching? 

"Uh ohhhhhh," You heard Leonardo's voice drone. "Hey guys, I thinks she's figured it out!" He calls his brothers.

Your eyes wide as the character seems to stare into your soul. The others gather into the screen. A mixture of smiles and anxiety are what stared back with animated eyes.

"I see. So she did... Ahem. Greetings, Darling!" Donatello says, clearly staving off his own anxiety.

"Hi..." You answer. You hoped this was a dream. Fear wrapped up into a ball in your gut. A feeling telling you to cut off the tv, to run far away and not look back ever again.

"Awww! She's so cute! Look at her eyes, they're so pretty!" Michaelangelo exclaims happily.

"We know dude. You're so cute doll. Really you are." Raphael addresses you with a nervous smile.

You look down in panic. The only logical thought is you had lost your mind. This is a dream, or you've snapped and this was a hallucination.

"What is happening?" You pant out. "This isn't happening. This cannot be happening..." Your breath ragged, and your voice hoarse. Tears gathering in your eyes.

They're faces shift in remorse and panic. Four animated eyes looking guiltily at you with frowns. Grimaces held by all as your body flies into a panic attack.

"Oh no, no. Don't cry, it's ok cariño. You're ok..." Leonardo coos at you in an attempt to calm you. 

The others gather in on the "comfort". They're words prove worthless as you spiral further. 

Finally gathering the courage you throw your phone at the tv in a frenzy. Perhaps not the best choice as the momentum and pressure crack your tv. Fizzles heard from inside the machine can be heard as the broken screen cuts off.

Sad for you, your nightmare doesn't end there.

[gz-missfit]

God these are live thoughts about this but Tazercrafts dynamic today. Their undoubted attachment to each other fucking hurt today.

Let's see how long this gets.

So first of all its definitely obvious that both still carry wounds from the prison, there's no doubt about it and while Mike definitely showed that a lot more over the last weeks we all kinda picked up on Pac not being okay, on how he was doing his best to move on for Mike. To stay sane for Mike. to ground him when his intrusive thoughts got bad or when he woke up from nightmares after seeing Walter Bob.

We all could see through his facade even if it was just based on instincts and small actions and words he said during the beginning, we knew he wasn't fully okay but no one else did cause above all else this dude is an incredibly talented liar if he has a reason and goal for it.

Now why do I bring that up?. Because we saw him express not being okay today! Mike saw him not being okay today for the first time since they escaped cause even if their minds are melded together by a bond that goes beyond words they're able to keep secrets from each other, and with his own emotions being a bubbling mess there was no way Mike could've noticed that a lot of those were also Pacs.

We saw it with how he got trapped, how he was panicked beyond believe and I think that's the first time Mike noticed that Pac is still very much not okay, because Mike was calm. He noticed Pac be so close to a panic attack to something that usually wouldn't bother him so his mind realized there that Pac was also still hurting, that Pac also needed help just like he did to calm down. While Pac helped him cool his boiling anger, Mike realized he needed to help Pac with his drowning anxiety. That's why his calm response to calm Pac and tell him he'll be okay hurt so much.

It was Mike first realizing Pac needed him too, especially now that they went back there.

The next was when the code attacked, both were so. Helpless. Obviously in typical Pac behavior he ran towards Richas, the ever selfless Pac throwing himself infront of his son like he does during any threat. Which is honestly a scary trait of him if I think about it too deeply (I swear this dude needs therapy but that's a whole other box I'd have to open) and the code zoned in on him. Teasingly hitting him while again, Pacs anxiety bubbled in his throat as he desperately called out for Mike. And Mike again, was helpless staring at his best friend, his souldbound because he couldn't help. He couldn't hit it no matter how much he tried, so he tried so hard to calm Pac but you could tell that this time even Mike was cracking at the seams. Pacs fear and pain meddling through their connection and filling his brain that when the Pearl teleport hit them he passed out on the spot. While Pac kept standing just through sheer adrenaline and blood loss fueling him alone.

This is also the first time forever got to see Pac panic, his constant repeating of words being the worst show of his anxiety we've had so far.

And when Mike finally came back to, and he and Pac could breathe to explain. But Pac vanished, ripped from the reality that surrounded them while Forever, Richas and Mike could do nothing but watch as his vanishing left the faintest purple particles behind, proving that he didn't do this on his own.

Now...I'd like to think that Mike logging off was a connection of multiple things, his hands reacted faster than his mind could comprehend so while Pac got transported through nothingness only to be dropped in ice cold water Mike teleported home.

And then he broke.

There's no doubt that Pac and Mike's minds are tied together, like I've said before they'll always be 2 hearts and 1 soul for me as they're soulbound since childhood. Destined to find each other and stay together till the end of time. So when Pac got teleported Mike could feel the fuzz of the forced teleportation in his own mind, could feel the ice cold water chill him down to the bone knowing that for Pac that feeling was a thousand times worse. And I think the thing that did it, that hit him the hardest was feeling his soulbound snap.

To feel the connection that was usually constantly flowing go dead silent. To feel part of his soul rip apart. To feel part of himself go dull and fade as he could do nothing but hope that this wasn't the end. That he would be able to call out to his partner in crime again and receive a response rather the static that screamed at him now whenever he tried to tap into their connection.

The silence was deafening for Mike, the echos of Pacs voice shouting through his brain as he could nothing but stand there and watch. Stand there and feel as his other half vanished into nothingness.

So his mind shut off, white noise flooding his mind as he fell unconscious and this time having no one by his side. His body laying safe in the arena they built together.

And I think deep down he knows what he'll wake up to, an empty arena. No one looking after him as much as he looks after them. A voice that usually filled his mind with a constant flow of conversation being gone. All while he has to desperately try and rebuild the part of himself that he lost. Just waiting and hoping that this isn't the last time he saw him, that his mind can take this hit better than when they took Walter Bob cause this time he has to be strong. Just like Pac has been for him since their escape. He has to hope and wait and try to find Pac.

Because in Mike's mind, in their shared soul Tazer was now offline.

Leaving Craft alone.

[wormdebut]

omg for the spotify wrapped list......... 85?

Hi!! Thank you for sending in a number! Number 85 on my Spotify Wrapped is Sowing Season by Brand New!

----

'You're here Eddie! You're awake and you have your whole life ahead of you while Max is fucking fighting for her life. So get up and do something! We all went through it Eds, and I know you're hurting. God, Eddie, I know. But, the kids miss you--hell man, I--' Steve's voice cracks. 'I miss you and it doesn't even make sense to me, but I do. We are all here for you man--call me when you figure that out.'

It runs through his head on repeat. It always does. That was sometime late April. Today is June 4th. Today is June 4th and Max is awake and in a wheel chair…just like Eddie is.

Max had a hard time at first, once she woke up, curled in on herself. Kept things in…just like Eddie did. He was shocked when he saw her that first time in May, wheelchair and all, throwing rocks at his new government funded trailer window. They worked through things together. But she was really the only person he had spoken to since--all of it--besides Uncle Wayne.

Max went through hell and is rebuilding, going to physical therapy, seeing her friends, finding the ability to laugh again. Just like Eddie…isn't.

But her legs were broken…they would heal. Those damn bats had gone and taken one of Eddies--

Eddie shakes his head, unruly curls falling over his eyes. He needs to stop comparing. He needs to stop pouting and whining. Max has to be tired of it…Wayne has to be exhausted by it. Eddie can't do this anymore. He needs to get his life back.

'We are all here for you man--call me when you figure that out.'

He needs to call Steve.

Eddie will never get used to having to wheel around everywhere…hopefully he won't have to for long though. Owens had said something last month about paying for a prosthetic for Eddie which…well, it fucking terrified him, but he was turning over a new leaf. This morning, when he woke up, the same as he had the day before and the day before that--he had been ready to wallow just like he had been doing since he woke up in that damn hospital bed, down a leg and with Wayne and Steve Harrington staring at him with wide eyes. But, what Steve had said in April ran through his mind…like it had been since it happened and today? It stuck.

Wayne was out. He'd left a note on the fridge. Eddie would never be able to repay Wayne for all the love and patience he had poured into his mess of a nephew. But, Wayne wouldn't have let him, even if he had a way.

Eddie is lucky. Eddie is alive and he has been wasting away feeling sorry for himself. He sighs, reaching up for the phone. Being in a damn wheelchair made him feel nine years old and four feet tall.

Eddie holds the phone to his ear, reading another sticky note. One that Steve had left behind when they had last seen each other.

His hands aren't shaking as he reaches up to dial…they aren't.

He's trying to control his breathing as he listens to the ringing through the line.

"Thanks for calling Family Video, this is Steve. How can I help you?"

Eddie lets out a breath he didn't even know he was holding. "Stevie?"

Surely, Eddie isn't imagining things when he hears Steve take a sharp inhale of the other end of the line.

"Eddie?" He asks. His voice is soft, just like it had been when Eddie had woken up terrified and confused in the hospital.

"You told me--you told me to call when--when I figured it out. I wanna get better Steve. I need to be better." Eddie says. He'll deny the shakiness in his voice until he dies.

Steve laughs, and it's bright and Eddie wouldn't mind hearing that sound for the rest of his--anyway Steve laughs. "I've been waiting for your call." Eddie can practically hear Steve's smile. He can't help but smile too.

"I'm sorry, I kept you waiting big boy." ----

"I'm on the mend, at least now I cay say that I am trying."

[milawritesstuff]

We took an L today bestie :( can you do a pedri x reader where hes feeling down from his injury comeback because he feel like he hasn’t given his all. Kinda like how she’s noticed he’s been down & she asks his brother & they finally realize it after the Rayo game since he opened up & talked to her about it so she comforts in & just makes him feel less disappointed in himself. Just like fluff & like a hug in words if that makes sense lol thank u 🫶🏼

A/N: That lost hurt so much and IDK why.

But writing this was therapy so here you go lol.

......

The sound of the front door swinging open and Pedri throwing his backpack on the floor of the quiet home startled you. You smiled as you made your way to greet him. He had been gone for an away game in Madrid.

-Amor.- You said as you approached him.

-I played like shit.- He said rubbing his eyes, for the first time since the game being able to let it out. You noticed the sides of his hand were now red, surely from hitting the steering wheel of his car as he drove home after arriving from the airport. He clearly looked upset.

-Come on Pedri, it wasn’t that bad.-

-Did you see when I lost that ball? They almost scored.- Your mind went to the game. The way you had screamed at Pedri through the TV when you saw the horrible decision he had made. You wouldn’t dare tell him now

-But they didn’t.-

Pedri left you standing there as he walked towards the bedroom saying profanities in between his breathe. You knew better than to take it personal, after all it had been a pretty horrible game. You heard your phone ding and see a message from Fernando, Pedri’s brother, come in.

-Esta cabreado.- He is pissed off.

-Thanks for the heads up, he already came in here throwing stuff and yelling.- You replied sarcastically.

-He called me on his way home. He says he disappointed everyone.-

The sound of the television coming from the bedroom you shared with Pedri called your attention as you placed your phone down. You walked slowly over and found him sitting on the edge of the bed starting to rewatch the match against Rayo. You stood at the door and shook your head.

-We are not going to do this right now.- You took a few steps closer to him and took the remote from his hand, turning off the television.

-What the fuck are you doing?- He responded. You tried your best not to let his words get to you.

-You can say whatever you want but I am not going to let you sit here and eat at yourself replaying the match. It’s over, it’s done. I’m sure tomorrow Xavi will talk to you about what you can do better. But that’s enough for now.-

-It’s like they were all looking forward to seeing me play again and then I play like shit.- He went on.

-Come on Pedri, they all know you’re human. You can’t be our savior.-

-But that’s what they expected, they wanted me back so we could play again and instead what am  I doing out there? Losing balls, not passing enough.-

-Don’t say that Pedro. What about the passes you did make that your teammates didn’t end up scoring? It’s not just you, everyone needs to do better next time and you need to stop thinking about it for tonight.-

He stood up and gave you a side eye as he directed himself to the restroom slamming the door behind him. You rolled your eyes and threw yourself on the bed. You should have seen this coming. Being with Pedri was for the most part nice. But he was too in love with this game that sometimes you ended up hating because of what it did to him. He felt like he had won the lottery when he got signed for Barça and now felt like he owed his all to the club and its fans. This type of mentality wasn’t good for him when the team lost, specially when he knew that he hadn’t done a well enough job. 

You laid there with your eyes closed as you heard him slam something in there and then the water faucet begin to run. Minutes later the door to the restroom opened.

-Lo siento.- I’m sorry. He said. You opened your eyes and looked over at him. Still sadness in his eyes but he looked at you with a little pout which truly melted your heart.

-Are you feeling better now?-

He shrugged his shoulders as he began to walk towards the bed, taking off the beige Barça hoodie that made his beautiful brown eyes shine. -I don’t know about better, but I know I shouldn’t take it out on you.-

He sat on the edge of the bed as he took off his shoes. You moved over to be behind him as you wrapped your arms around his body and rested your head on his right shoulder. -You know I don’t deserve you, right?- He whispered as he smiled at you, taking in the warmth of your hug and realizing that’s exactly what he had needed since the end of the game.

-You know we don’t deserve you, right Pedrito?- You asked mentioning the club and its fans.

-Come on, let me help you relax.- You said as you brushed your fingers on his jaw and he tilted his head back. Your lips making a quick connection to his neck. He closed his eyes and enjoyed your touch. Your hands went to move over his chest and you felt as his body trembled at your touch.

-This is very relaxing.- He managed to whisper as you smiled. You let go of him and motioned for him to get into bed with you. He finished taking off his shirt and pants and got under the covers with you.

You immediately grabbed his jaw and began to kiss him, allowing for his gentle tongue to dip inside and begin to dance with yours. His hands around your body and eventually cupping your ass. It was unbelievable how in love you were with him, even being away for one day had been too long and you yearned for his touch.

You pulled away after a few kisses and stared at him. You smiled. -You know I would love you even if you scored 100 self goals on us, right?- He stared at you for a few seconds and then rolled his eyes and began to laugh. -I’m not that bad.-

-I’m just saying.- You said smiling right before he leaned in and began to tickle you. You laughed and eventually began to yell at him to stop because you felt like you couldn’t breathe. He laughed at how dramatic you were and stopped tickling you as he hovered over you. He smiled and leaned down to place a small kiss on your lips.

-Te amo.-

The two of you ended the night in each other’s arms as you watched a series until falling asleep.

TAG LIST: @cinderellawithashoe @httpswiftie @simpingmyassoff@bubblebeep69 @fictional-l0v3r @httpspedri26 @0alanasworld0@l0verl4ne @gaviypedrisbride @footballerficsposts @fashphotolife@beaschampagneproblems @jvsgnjrtpdar5stkd-tv-m @ikkehehe @jjishotasf @quemirasboboandapaya @maricciardo @gaviswh0re@pedriwifefrfr @dustell @elijahslover @formula1mount

[theherdofturtles]

Fandom: Hetalia Prompt: therapy session Rating: G Word Count: 6,412 England goes to family therapy and regrets everything. Especially when Ireland shows up. This had more comedy in it than I expected. @badthingshappenbingo

It was in Haltwhistle, in a grim grey gloom of early morning mist from an earlier morning drizzle. The pale street was darkened by the moisture, and the sun added a silvery tinfoil glow to the cold concrete through the thinning clouds. England was waiting outside the building, about six minutes late to the appointment.

An all-morning headache throbbed behind his eyes from what he knew was to come and England stared dead at the doorknob.

His fingers touched the cold brass and opened the door painfully slow, resonating every ear scraping squeak of the hinge through the waiting room inside.

This was not appreciated by the blank-faced human, who stood behind the counter, and ever-so-slightly dropped their fake smile.

England closed the door behind him, approached, and tapped his fingers on the desk.

“Sir Kirkland,” the human nodded. They were straight laced, holding a practiced pearly smile that anyone could choke on. Every non-English human looked almost exactly the same to him… this one was no different. German. England only entertained this for Germany's sake.

The person clicked diligently on their computer, then gestured for him to follow, “right this way." They stepped in front of him to lead him to a hidden, deeper door down the hall. "I must remind you that you are not permitted to harm any living being in these premises or carry a weapon.”

England scowled. He wasn’t unreasonable, he asked beforehand to be certain was all. Having no weapon made him feel naked.

They came to a door, which had the homeliness of an office space. On the white, plexiglass, clouded window door were the printed and unimpressive block words, "The work you do today determines where you will be tomorrow." England stared at it with half-lid judgement for a moment.

England reluctantly steeled himself for the upcoming migraine. It took him a moment to mentally prepare, focusing on the words being spoken in two different, but familiar, accents behind the door. The memories came back, the sentiments, listening very carefully. Then he pulled himself forward. The human opened the door.

“Take a seat…” the human said.

He entered with a sigh, and sat down with a firm resolve.

"This was your idea," Scotland growled.

England scowled.

This was a mistake, was what. England wished he'd never brought it up, he wished he could go back in time and slap himself with a brick. Who thought any of them were capable of sitting still and talking about feelings for an hour? Why did he consider it could even help? Some things were so broken they didn't deserve fixing.

And now the three of them were flopped onto light grey therapy couches rather ungentlemanly, sinking into the cushions as if throwing off a long day. Unfortunately, this day wasn’t even close to finishing and he couldn't deign himself to treat this activity with respect.

"It was a good idea," Wales encouraged. His eyes were brighter than everyone elses and he swayed as if dancing in his chair.

Of course he thought it was a good idea. He'd given England the final push to mention it to the Prime Minister. He couldn't backtrack, now. This was Wales's fault, too.

"Blame Wales." England tossed his brother under the bus. "He said I should bring this off-hand idea to the PM."

Scotland tossed Wales a betrayed, questioning look, as if asking for a defense or for the real truth… maybe he was even willing Wales to give him a lie.

Wales gave him the sheepish, apologetic half-shrug he didn't want. "It was a good idea."

Scotland rolled just enough to face away from both of them, unseen, looking suddenly rather weary behind a blank shuttered mask.

Wales went to stare at his feet, and England went to stare out the window.

The day was middling in more ways than one and if the therapist didn't show up soon a war would start. The peace of the British Isles was unhappily in the hands of one human with a measly pHD. Sorrows. Story of the modern world. England should've stayed in bed today. A thousand things that were better left alone were spinning in his head, and above all those writhing half-baked thoughts hung the rather large and block-like fear of potentially having to share the thousand things that were better left alone.

This truly had been a miserable idea.

When the thought to try therapy had first struck him, it had been suggested by a human being at a pub and drunkenly accepted as sound. He'd written the whole idea out in barely legible letters on a stained napkin: a two way plan to be a normal family. He'd almost tossed the paper into a bin the following day, certainly would've if Wales hadn't found it first, managed to read it, and then went and mentioned it to one of his former EU peers. After which the news travelled down low through the ranks. 'Very mature,' they said. Everyone was shocked. Out of character. Then the boss found out and considered the gains. Everyone except England loved watching him squirm his way into an awkward family dinner, but then he felt a need to prove them all wrong.

The door opened. He casually looked up, expecting the therapist. Instead England almost choked.

A man strode in with the doctor, mid-speech. "The lads caught the fish foaming at the mouth, thinking it was cursed. Once beached they pelted it till it dried out in the sun and I haven't seen so many spiders in one place since," the last man England wanted to see explained with flapping hands to the therapist.

Ireland. In all his lacking glory.

He hadn't taken his tweed coat off inside, he kept one hand shoved into a pocket and had a pair of sunglasses sitting on the bridge over his nose. Mind you they were inside while the weather was currently clouded. His dark red hair scattered windswept over his face and was fully unbrushed as if he'd rolled from bed and then let a cow lick it for good measure.

How was he here?!

England gaped and stared and Scotland and Wales jumped to their feet like proper siblings.

"Ciarán!" Wales shouted. He nearly tripped over the table to clasp Ireland's outstretched hand, giving it a hearty shake before falling into a sideways hug. "Whatever are you doing here?"

"A rumor caught the butt of my lung and I couldn't miss a day as dour as this." Ireland turned to grin. He quickly found England, and looked down on him. He flipped his useless sunglasses up to meet England's cold, sharp eyes. "He's destroyed, surely," Ireland muttered.

Just because he signed for therapy didn't make him destroyed.

Scotland grinned and said something fully unintelligible to England, but which made Ireland laugh.

He didn't know what they said. Habit knew it had to be at his own expense, though. He straightened in his seat and squared his shoulders. “What is it?! Say it to my face,” England growled.

“Would you like to see a health specialist?” Ireland asked.

“What does that mean?!” England pushed himself up from his comfortable spot on the couch.

But nobody got another word into the budding fight. At least, nobody worthwhile. The human being who'd been given the grand task of fixing the mental discord of the United Kingdom plus Ireland, apparently, politely interceded.

"Thank you all for coming today. I am doctor Christal. If you are prepared to begin, I will start by asking if you know about different psychotherapy techniques, or if you are fully new to therapy," the human said. She carried herself tall and casual, with a rather impartial tone that was obviously trained. It must be their default response to derail conflict. England felt he was three steps ahead of this human, and therefore, he felt he'd be too intelligent for therapy to work on. He felt the discord between his siblings would be too much to fix, anyway, which added two more reasons to why this had been a terrible idea.

“Yes… I'm sure I know the basics…” England sat down once again. He never had to do a thing to his siblings, yet his actions were always received negatively. That was fine with him… he'd lived with it for years, he could live with it longer. Especially after the day inevitably fixed nothing.

His siblings also came to sit, two to teach side of the room, turning the therapy lounge into a four way staring competition.

Wales sat next to England, quietly in the corner and carefully keeping the attention undrawn to himself. Scotland faced across from England with every limb on his body crossed, and Ireland, facing Wales, sat with his head leaned back over the top of the couch letting the air dry his tongue.

"Everyone's progress in treatment is subjective," the therapist said. She sat at the head of the table, turning their staring square into a five-star circle of tension. "And the best results come if you do your best to cooperate. Today, I would be happy to support you in addressing improving meaningful family communication, but you should not be discouraged if progress is, at first, slow. Learning how to communicate in any relationship can be difficult."

Scotland had a great interest in the wall; Wales listened intently to the therapist; Ireland had an incomprehensible smirk on his face.

He just knew he was going to hate this day forever.

"Structured exercises that encourage communication can benefit relationships. The exercise I've prepared today can help start to strengthen abilities of expression. Each of you will be given an equal number of legos-"

"legos?" England raised a brow. "What do toys have to do with anything?"

"Honest to God, this'll be a great game," Ireland promised without looking at England. His head still lay tilted back, still staring at the ceiling with his stupid smirk. Under his sunglasses England had no clue if his eyes were closed for a nap or wide alert.

"Shut up, you weren't supposed to even be here," England retorted. Ireland clearly wasn't taking this seriously. He didn't know how or why Ireland had even shown up if it was a game to him, but England would get to the bottom of it. One of his brothers must have tipped Ireland off to this event… he suspected Wales. Wales tossed him under the bus and a tooth for a tooth would do the trick. England wouldn't let any of them get away with this.

"Your boss gave me an invite," Ireland simply said.

"Lies."

The therapist patiently waited, but the therapist also did not care for their spat. "I will explain their usage in a moment," she said, cutting between them, back on track. "The player who starts first will draw a card, read it aloud, and respond to it. If two or more other players decide the response is appropriate, the player gets to place a lego piece on their base. If less than two decide the response is appropriate, no lego piece is placed. Play moves to the next player. The next player draws, and we repeat. We play until one player has his base covered, and that will be the winner."

"What's the prize?" Scotland finally pitched in. He briefly put his attention into the room, dragging his brooding thoughts from whatever depth of detail on the wall they'd fallen into.

"One month of no government paperwork."

Audibly someone sucked in a breath.

One month of no paperwork? England hated paperwork. Paper cursed the modern world, he missed being able to do anything and go anywhere without filling out boxes or filing requests. Back then, the king or queen just waved everything off, the perfect system. Who would do his paperwork while he was free? Decidedly, England did not care. His heart already lurched greedily after what it wanted, and England had to have it. He did more than his siblings, it was only fair. He worked late nights breaking pencils and ruining his eyes on pixels. They did so much less for this country.

England cast a quick glance at Wales, and Wales cast one to him, then to Scotland. Each cast glance was precarious, hesitant, but determined. Everyone wanted a blessed free month. Nobody was sure they were willing to sacrifice what it took to get it. England steeled himself for a new type of fight: bonding. Ug.

Over in his corner, nobody could tell what Ireland was thinking hidden behind his sunglasses.

England was starting to think him a clever bastard.

"Is there a volunteer to go first?" The therapist asked.

"I can," Wales half lifted his hand. It withered back a bit, shrinking before even being protested against. "I'm just curious. I could also wait."

Wales was rarely first to anything, or one to speak out about opinions. It almost surprised England how quickly he'd responded. But then he remembered that Wales was the most willing to trip over himself in order to save another person any level of discomfort. It meant Wales was usually the first of his siblings to fall and least likely to leave.

She gave an encouraging nod and nobody else protested. They all eagerly watched to find out what would happen.

A stack of cards was proffered to Wales, which Wales took and placed onto the centre table. Wales slid the top card off and flipped it over to read:

"Tell about a time that you were emotionally hurt."

Wales nervously smiled, slightly. Wales, equally nervous, chuckled. "Not sure what I expected? Therapy couldn't be easy." He shrugged.

He placed the card down into his lap and tapped his thumbs together in thought, staring off, but leaving just enough of himself present to indicate he was participating.

England could tell the moment he latched onto a thought to begin.

"This happened several times…" he paused "I've never been invited to a meeting. Or asked for a diplomatic opinion, of course. Because I don't have official autonomy. But I've tried to give diplomatic advice at least once, and you've all said… that I wasn't a real country. You don't even hear me out. I think that stings."

Wales looked to each of them, and his fingers slowly creased the edges of the card in his lap.

They were all quiet for an awkward moment. No one dared say anything. As a matter of fact, if no one ever spoke again that would be grand. England didn't know why hearing Wales share his personal struggles sucked the air from him because England didn't even really care. He felt annoyed and—he wanted to dig out of the room. Why'd he ever think this was a good idea?

"Thank you for sharing," the therapist said.

Wales smiled, half shy and relieved for any response at all.

England was going to toss himself out of the window before the day ended. There was no way he'd survive this. Oh, but he wanted that month of vacation—but the thought of sharing anything with his siblings sounded worse than a paper cut to the eyeball. But he wanted that vacation.

"Now we're started," Ireland said, "very sorry about that, Wales. We'll have a drink sometime and I'll hear you." He waved at the therapist. "Give the man a lego."

Scotland gave a nod of agreement, and England gave the stack a sliding, terribly wary eye as Wales put down the brick on his plate. A terrible restlessness crawled under England's skin, compressing his itching chair into a stringed cage, taunting him with the stupidity and uselessness of this whole game.

Everyone looked at him.

He felt the stares and the restlessness grow worse, but England had the guts- or stubbornness- to not fall short under anybody else's expectations. He resisted the urge to tap his foot.

Reaching for the card and turning it over to read, England stared at the prompt and silently read. The quiet, hidden tension slowly left his shoulders.

That wasn't bad. That was so easy. England could easily do that. This was stupid as he thought, he could easily survive the day.

"Compare this family to a musical instrument," he read aloud.

He gave a little pleased smile to the therapist, as if he'd won a lottery and had some fortune to show for it, and was beating the house at their own game.

Wales hummed with sincere attention all on England. England's smile shifted into a more hesitant mirroring frown and he discarded the card in his lap.

Why was Wales looking at him like that? How could a question like this garner that kind of attention? It wasn't important, was it? Surely not.

He cleared his throat. "An untuned kazoo."

Wales looked less happy, like the answer wasn't what he wanted and England had no idea why.

"Does one need to tune a kazoo?" Ireland mused.

"I don't know," England snapped, "we've managed to untune it."

"Managed most the work yourself," Scotland said.

England seethed quietly and folded the card in half. "Well, that's my answer. Live with it."

"No lego for the man," Ireland declared. He announced with the same smile and volume he'd commended Wales with, and Scotland, once again, nodded agreement to the eldest's judgement.

"What?! I answered fairly!"

"But why? Why's it an untuned kazoo?" Wales asked. "You have to explain at least."

No. He shouldn't need to explain, it was straightforward enough—they all annoyed one another, and nobody wanted to listen. A kazoo was equally annoying and nobody listened to it in their free time, either. No respectable instrument would be caught in a composition with one, and if another instrument happened to be forced to work with them, their family wouldn't even be tuned enough to make the proper harmony.

He crossed his arms and turned his head away. "I don't have to explain anything."

"Mr. Kirkland, creating a meaningful experience today may require attempts at difficult or seemingly unnecessary communication."

Screw the therapist, too. His brothers were all going to gang up to keep him from winning.

"We can wait as long as it takes for you to form an answer," Wales helpfully informed. England felt like shooting someone.

"This is pointless," he muttered, "pointless. But if you have so little ability to solve it out, it's because untuned instruments fail even when performed to the exact instruction; they're unable to play in a composition. And kazoos are annoying."

Ireland nodded in mock serenity. "You're still a caterpillar. Break up your boy-band. Solo should do you kinder."

Wales snorted a laugh, and Ireland smiled at Wales, pleased with himself.

England had no clue what he meant, but once again, he knew this was at his expense. England felt his cheeks flush with hot blood, blooming red, and skin being whiter than white, everyone knew every time anyone got to him. He was going to shoot more than one someone, and he didn't know if he'd spare himself in the aftermath.

"Give me my brick," England demanded.

He got his brick. It was only fair, Wales had said. England added the child's toy to his plate and noted the off-colourness between brick and base, and found the film of the brick's unwashed surface highly agitating. Both heightened the noise of restlessness in his body, traveling up through his fingers.

Next was Scotland, who took a card as calm and bored as he'd take a cigarette.

"What do you like about the way you fight?" Scotland read carefully. He put the card back down onto the table and crossed his arms. "I don't talk words," he said. "Only do action."

His cold green stare steadily focused on England before boredly drowsing back to the wall.

England held his hands closer. Scotland fought more in actions, but at the end of the day, that was Scotland's weakness, too. He learnt that long ago. Scotland got to fighting before he'd even read a room, he struck quick and clean, which made him venerable but easy to out-maneuver with a document and speech at Whitehall.

Back when England was backwater and weak he used his words to his advantage. England had always been best and warfare in language, and that made Scotland's answer one England, too, appreciated.

Never change, England snidely thought.

He didn't like the bruises their scuffs got him, though. He should nag at him. "Make him explain more, he didn't give enough words," England said.

If England should suffer, so should the rest.

"… I think that one explained itself," said Wales.

Ireland gave Scotland a thumbs up. "I'd drink health to that. Simple, easy, and the type of spat that can be done with quickest in this family."

This response affirmed all of England's obviously correct calculations. His siblings were gained up on him. Irleand and Wales had backed Scotland but failed to back him.

England should not lose in the field of words.

Therapy was his antithesis… the plain, true speech of morons stripped the power of information withheld. Nobody kept their cards close. England thrived so long as he kept his cards close… all warfare was deception.

Scotland added his brick, and Ireland rubbed his hands together before taking his card.

"What is something that you would not give up?" Ireland read and shook his head pleasantly. "Several things, though one presently needing declaration. So I'll have you a riddle! There are two skulls in Ireland, one of a person when he was a boy of ten years, and the other of the same person when he grew to be a man." He raised two fingers in demonstration as he said it. "They sit kindly side by Cromwell's under a loose stone in my wall."

England blinked. His brows furrowed.

An indignity caught a spark and burned into a sudden blaze.

"I asked you to give me my skulls back! You said they were lost!" England stood to his feet.

"I'm your devil when your head's astray. You shouldn't've lost a head twice at my house."

England was shooting himself first. Then he was shooting everyone else.

"I can't believe you--"

"Why do you want to keep those?" Wales interrupted.

"Because he's psychotic," England said. He was psychotic and orderless.

Irleand tapped two fingers to his lip in thought.

"At his age ten, I was an island born from druids and fed by Catholics. Call it indulgence… I even kept mother's finger. We like our dead." Ireland, oddly pensive, frowned. "But at his adulthood, I wanted to curse him." Ireland suddenly fell from his odd spiel with a grin.

Curse?

"What did you put on me?" England narrowed his eyes.

"You would love to know, wouldn't you?"

Pressuring would prove him correct and England felt particularly petulant. An injustice had been committed against him. He brought a quick hand to his current skull to feel it, flat against his forehead.

"That first part was oddly touching," said Wales, "the second one wasn't, but it was understandable. We've all cursed one another at least once. Nothing debilitating."

Who put Wales in charge of mediating? What was the therapist doing?

England looked at her and she looked at him.

Her blank, unreadable face bore a hole in him.

England looked away.

The sight that greeted him was worse: Ireland got a brick and Wales got a new card.

"Do you say 'I'm sorry' before you are ready?" Wales put the card down. "I think so… or… I'm not sure. Sometimes I say it to end a fight, that may be readiness. I don't want to be responsible for perpetuating any hurt or conflict."

Once again, the reigning choir of crickets arose gloriously from three completely dead silent brothers. Nobody wanted to say anything to Wales. Each time Wales spoke, England irrationally wanted a shovel. For himself. To get out of the world.

"That must have been uncomfortable," the therapist said, saying what no sibling wanted to say.

She could be interacting with Wales the most. England tried to remember how she'd responded to each of them, and he suspected he was right, as usual.

"When we apologise before the time is right, we can still feel empty inside afterwards. But holding onto our anger can gave us a harmful, and false, sense of control in difficult situations. We should acknowledge that we apologise in order to help us forgive ourselves. If we cannot forgive ourselves yet, or feel no need to do so, an apology may be too early."

England wanted to snap any response of denial possible.

"I don't believe in apologies," England said. He couldn't stand this pat-on-back seasick sharing fest. "Apologies are selfish. People do it to feel good about themselves."

"Is feeling better about oneself bad?" She asked.

"It's selfish," England repeated.

Ireland stared at England, and England could already hear his voice. Bold words from a selfish man. England knew what his brother thought of him. He knew what all of them thought.

"Just give Wales his lego so I can fail to win a week off paperwork," he grumbled and swiped a card from the deck.

"Are you so determined to win that you don't listen or really look for a solution? No. I'm not. I listen, I find a solution, then I win."

"Load of shite," Scotland said, staring at his wall.

"Has yourself, or another, been put in danger to achieve one of your victories before?" She asked.

"Ha! I'm a soldier, what do you expect the answer to that is? That's all I ever do." He ought to leave. This day was indeed a waste, he was determined to remain unsubdued. Why? He never had to think about why. He didn't know, he couldn't stop throwing words away. He hated a comfortable smile, it wouldn't be reasonable to accept. It wouldn't change anything. He hated anyone who promised otherwise. Those moments he felt he was being lied to, and he only entertained a good lie when too smashed drunk to remember it.

"Do I get a brick or not?" He demanded.

The circle of silent, undisturbed faces said the answer was no.

He was right. They disliked him because he was right. An apology wasted breath… he couldn't count how many words and treaties everyone had broken. A spat ended with never again,, I'll change,, we'll make it better, but the very next day the war continued. They should skip the formalites.

"Forget it, go on, Scotland," England snapped.

The unbearable moment sponged into the resuming, tense air. They were acclimated to it, they didn't bother with it.

Scotland took the next prompt and read, "Do you fight someone else's fights?" He shook his head. "Not if I can't help it."

His finger tips rubbed together as if he wanted to roll tobacco into his mouth. Instead Irleand rolled a lego into his hand.

Ireland, ever untouched, moved freely despite the tension. He escaped the world without leaving the world, tearing England's speech from his tongue. The air was warm for him wherever he went, so privileged and natural like nature itself had given him an edge over everyone else. England didn't matter to him. No voice, decree, or weapon could damage the high head he carried and each room he entered he navigated easily as water changing shape.

England breathed through his nose and focused on his empty hands.

"Tell about one of your most frightening experiences," Ireland read. He dropped the card and leaned backwards, hands laced behind his head, falling to where his sunglasses caught a glint of the artificial lights. "Ah, there was a year at Colman's college I took, passing for a student, when I realised the boys hadn't got a word of gaelic. All my years before that day, there never came a minute I thought of Gaelic as being in danger. It struck me so sudden. How the old people were heading off, and there would be a generation with both languages, and then a generation that hadn't got gaelic at all. Then my island sounded like a foreign country. I almost preferred going to a foreign country, living there rather than see a land without a word of Gaelic in it. Ah well-- I did what any would do, finding sudden isolation on their brink. I dug me heels in. Never going to let the amount of my own language fall to nothing. Do chum glóire dé agus onóra na hÉireann. I'll keep the words close to heart until the people have them again."

Both Wales and Scotland would agree. They did agree. Every problem Ireland had they had also had, because both of them were stuck to England. And every problem they had had, they had either conquered or learned to deal with through an imitation of one another.

England was the only odd one out, because England had no common problems with them… nothing he had discovered or would share.

Everyone was then one piece ahead and England had no more reason to entertain this place with his time other than for show.

"What was one of the happiest moments of this last century. Oh. Hm. I don't know." Wales never said he knew. Wales continued onward with what he knew. "Sri Lanka sat on a bench with me in Rome, we argued over who had the better flag."

"Alright, and then?"

"That's it."

"But who won?"

Wales shrugged. "I don't remember if we did."

"Ah, I see." Ireland leaned over the table with his grin. He did most of the interacting today, the therapist did some pointers but had lost interest in her job compared to Ireland. Scotland engaged only if he had no other choice.

The bricks kept stacking.

And then it was England's miserable turn again. The only comfort he had was the lack of initiative he felt for this so called 'game.' England had no reason to answer with the truth, or answer at all.

His new card read: I wish I were less __ with a big, awful blank on the end. One short void for one short answer that he could never fit on a card. The space provided was too small and England didn't have enough graphite to fill it. It burned through his fingertips.

He blinked at it several times, resisting the urge to tear it.

"I wish I were less blank," he read. Agressive, incompetent, well-known, difficult, vocal… England scowled. "Short."

He should never have to answer this question.

He could use an extra few inches.

Shave himself away, replace it with a new stature. Maybe he'd find the respect he wanted to give himself and take from others, then. Maybe that would fix it. He crumpled the offending question in his hand.

The council reluctantly gave him his little lego brick and moved on without pressure or questioning.

Scotland's next card had to do with quotes, and he said something in a language England didn't know.

After, Irleand talked about a riot in Dublin, and a trial, against him the council written in the English law. He bragged of denying his guilt before the unclever court.

And the brothers talked, barring England. He skipped his next turn and Scotland got his question:

Tell about your greatest concern for this family.

He flatly informed them all that it was England which earned them amusement.

Another story came around about an idiot who flew through Iranian airspace, and required international attention.

England was having a strenuous day, and was becoming wary of any voice at all.

Each click of a tongue or shuffle of a foot scraped under his skin. England couldn't settle it, his head tilted slow, very slow, side to side as if trying to escape it.

"Do you pretend that the fight isn't important or laugh about it?" Ireland immediately agreed. "Of course. Most spats aren't worth losing a year to the pain."

England sunk deeper. He didn't know what he wanted. He wanted to leave.

Wales got another card about fighting, yet another, all about fighting. He knew the day was to adress family fighting and communication, he didn't want to talk about fighting again. Who do you fight with best/worst? Wales didn't understand how he could answer the question and took his first veto.

That left him second to last, and only Ireland and Scotland to fight for a first.

For the hell of it, England took up his next question and regretted it immediately.

I will feel accepted and part of this family group when _.

He felt the same, familiar, irritated muchness with the world filling his stomach. It felt empty, full of nothing. Everything was distorted, out of proportion to the cause. England didn't want to continue this. Not for two rounds.

He folded it in half and leaned back into the couch.

"Play on," he said.

Nobody questioned him. He hated that worse, he was so, deeply, terribly relieved. Instead there was a huff and a sense of patience wearing thin. The noise rubbed worse on his eardrums.

Scotland began his next reading:

"I feel most loved when, blank." He grumbled under his breath. "when I have scotch, a fireplace, and m' dogs."

His fingers rubbed the couch armrest. England didn't want to be here. Any moment spent longer in the room while he could think of nothing else became intolerable. He saw the cards, each scrape of paper scratched his ears. England didn't want to be here. His feet planted stiff on the office floor and England had to, he couldn't be here longer. They'd talk about it but he couldn't stay. England stood.

Several gazes hit him at once. Ireland's hidden gaze was worst of all because he couldn't tell. England hated being unable to tell. What he was thinking, if he was actually gazing.

He held his breath under their gazes, and only breathed easily when he slipped through the door to leave.

England felt a thin pin prick of annoyance in his chest. His frown deepened.

In the warm artificial light outside, in the hall, England stood straight in a firm immobile stance, in the usual strung-up orderly manner, keeping his appearance composed. Everything itched. The room behind him murmured. His siblings maybe talked about him. They maybe said nothing about him. Two outcomes England immediately noticed and decided he couldn't take. He didn't even know why he had to leave. Nearly two thousand years of life and these were the things that bothered him through it all. What a pathetic existence.

The door opened again.

Wales steadily closed it, carefully. England never realised his carefulness until the world burned and every sound was too much on his nerves.

"You lied," England said.

"I didn't."

"You said you apologise to end fights. Nobody does. Not in this family."

"Do you want an apology, Arthur?"

"Do it. I don't care. I'll keep accusing you of being a liar. I'll bring it up tomorrow. This family doesn't drop anything."

Wales came forward and- and- hugged him.

He flinched. It travelled like a jolt through his spine, quick and shocked and discontent. The jolt settled and spun and then it vanished, like seafoam fizzling away after a wave. England was left stiff.

Stop.

Don't ever leave.

England relaxed.

"I can't stand you," England said. And he meant it. He couldn't stand anybody, he always wanted them around when he was terribly alone and always he wanted them gone when they were with him. The isolation got worse the more people he had in his life, the isolation got worse and he looked for more people and ruined his hopes worse.

"Then we have a conundrum. Because I can stand you, and I like you, even," Wales said. He let go of England and took a step back. "But I think you like us too. I don't want to believe otherwise."

England thought, standing in the hall, under an artificial light, he didn't want to think about it. The world had been a better place and the ice thickened only just enough to keep war from cracking through between them, but he imagined the plunge was but a few reckless inches away. It was thirty years ago he shot Ireland… Ireland had peeled him off by pretending he didn't notice; Ireland got a certain perverse joy from continuing to remain indifferent to his existence. Like it didn't matter. Like England wasn't but a minor inconvenience, a slapable fly. The taste for righting wrongs was in Europe's reluctant air.

England turned down the hall to leave, walking out and into the same lobby past the same human who barely acknowledged them with a customer nod. Wales followed.

"He wants to annoy me to death, he didn't have to be here. I give him a bullet he gives a grin—came to screw with me, that's why he's here." "He wants to support your choice to sign for therapy." "He could've done that with a card." England crossed the threshold into the street.

A wet glisten sparkled in the road where his foot landed and England blinked. Water. Yes, water, always water, but glinting water. The road sparkled in the sun.

He looked up at the sky.

Blue sky.

A clear patch cleared through the early white grey wisps of clouds overhead, receding the early morning haze into the lime-green earth.

He heard Wales sigh behind him. "What a day." Wales smiled, breathing in the clay-wet air, basking in the golden sun. His palm cupped flat to the open sky, feeling for an already fled rain.

"Indeed… what a day," England murmured, watching him.

'I don't know why you're still around,' he thought.

[thatstonedwriter]

⋆｡˚ 「 Family History 」 ⋆｡˚

◉ Sinopsis; Blitz tells Loona about the Circus Fire...

◉ A/n- this scene takes place following the events of the party in the Queen Bee episode. Tbh I'm not quite sure how much Loona canonically knows about Blitzø's past, so this is written under the assumption he hasn't said anything to her at all. This is also my first attempt at a longer fic (other than the song drabbles), so hopefully all goes well.

◉ Warnings; mentions of injuries (severe burns), trauma, vomit, swearing

___˙•˚∘✮🌙ᯓ🪐˙•˚∘___

It's not often Blitzø is genuinely vulnerable. It doesn't come easily to him, knowing that talking about his mistakes could mean his worst fears coming to fruition- that everyone he loves will see him the way he sees himself.

After taking care of Blitzø, Loona goes to her room, closing the door and sitting on her bed.

What did he mean about "dying alone"? Sure, Loona has been around Blitzø enough to know he has something going on, but it's not like either of them has sat down to have in-depth emotional discussions. Now, Loona thinks maybe they should.

Loona's snapped out of her thoughts when she hears Blitzø in the living room.

"Fuuuuck.. I did need to throw up."

She chuckles lightly, debating on going out there to clean up and make sure Blitzø was alright- but then she hears him snoring and decides whatever mess is out there can be cleaned in the morning.

Of course, Loona comes to regret that sentiment. Cleaning dried puke off the floor first thing after waking up isn't how she wants to be spending her time. On the couch, Blitzø groans in his sleep, rolling over, only to fall off the couch and land on the floor.

"You're so lucky I'm almost done cleaning or you would've landed in your own puke," Loona snickers.

"Ugh.. Fuck. Thanks, Looney.." Blitzø groans, bringing a hand to his head and wincing. "Shiiit.." Blitzø stumbles as he stands up, falling back onto the couch and sighing as he gets comfortable again.

"There's pain meds and some water on the side table for you.." Loona says as she finishes cleaning up. "You should take it easy today. You went pretty crazy last night." As Blitzø reaches for the pill bottle and water, Loona sits on the opposite end of the couch, casting a concerned glance at him.

"You uh.. Wanna talk about why you drank like five gallons of Beelzejuice?"

The question is more loaded than she realizes, and it hangs between them like a dense fog. That fog had always been there, but only now is Loona realizing how much it obstructed her view of Blitzø. She knew he crossed himself out of pictures, joked about his relationships and therapy, and had.. unusual coping mechanisms- but she never considered why. Loona had no reference for how fucked up either of them were, because they'd both been through so much.

"Dad...?" That tentative question is enough to get Blitzø's attention. His neck practically snaps with how fast he turns his head, but upon seeing the worry on Loona's face, the excitement of being called "dad" wore off, and a new, hauntingly familiar feeling began to creep into his chest.

"I'm sorry, Looney," Blitzø's voice wavers. "It was just.. a rough night."

"You'd said that.. but I'm worried about you. I should know what's going on so I can help you. Loona's eyes dart towards the photos on the wall, and she sighs. "Please?"

Blitzø breathes in deeply and turns to face her. "I.. went to Ozzie's. With Stolas.. and I ran into a couple people I used to know..."

There were so many questions Loona wanted to ask- when had he invited Stolas on a date? And why? Who does Blitzø know that would even be working at Ozzie's? As curious as she is, she doesn't want to get side-tracked.

"Who was it?"

Another loaded question. For a moment, Blitzø doesn't answer. It was bad enough seeing Verosika when she'd been working at their building over spring break. How was he supposed to tell Loona that a pop star he dated- along with his former best friend who he never told Loona about- verbally harassed him in song at a nightclub? A nightclub he was at with his... Stolas- all because he wanted to stalk Moxxie and Millie.

"It was- um- ugh, fuck it. I ran into Verosika and my old friend, Fizz. It wasn't- I didn't know they'd be there."

As interested as Loona would be in hearing about what happened with Verosika, she'd never heard Blitzø mention any past friends before.

"Fizz?"

"Yeah, Fizzarolli. I was in the circus with him for a long time, but.." Blitzø's vision gets blurry as tears well in his eyes. He's quick to wipe them away, clearing his throat, "But that was a long time ago and that asshole doesn't know anything about me anymore!" Deep down, Blitzø knows it isn't true. Even after fifteen years of not speaking, Fizz probably knows Blitzø better than the I.M.P squad.

Loona racks her brain for any memory of Blitzø bringing up this "Fizzarolli" but nothing. But if he's on par with Verosika in Blitzø's mind, he must be pretty important. There are still so many questions jumbled up in her head- and before Loona can think about it, she turns to Blitzø and asks,

"What.. happened.. between the two of you? Why haven't you brought him up before?"

Of all the questions Blitzø dreaded, those were the top two. He tenses, and this time, the tears form and fall faster than he can wipe them away. His chest begins to heave as his eyes dart around the room. "It- It was all my fault.. He has every right to hate me for what happened. But still, for him to fucking take those shots at-"

Blitzø slows down when he feels Loona's hand on his back. "Woah slow down.. what happened?"

Blitzø sighs, scooting further away. It's probably time Loona knew the truth...

"Fifteen years ago, when I was still in the circus, I- I was trying to give Fizz a letter. Fuck," he groans, "It was an accident! I didn't do anything, I just-" Loona stops him. "Hey, you're getting ahead of yourself. It's okay."

Blitzø nods, still not able to meet her gaze. "It all happened so fast. I didn't give Fizz the letter- I shoved past this guy- I didn't see he had candles.." Blitzø decides to leave out the facts that 1, the letter to Fizz was a confession, and 2, it was Fizz's birthday when Blitzø caused the fire.

"The next thing I know.. the tents are up in flames. I went to go back for Fizz, but then," his hand comes up to the scar covering the side of his face, "I tried- I tried to get help but my family's tent was on fire. I had to find-" Blitzø chokes back a sob and wipes his face again. Loona gets up, grabbing some napkins from the kitchen and handing them to Blitz before joining him on the couch.

"I started the fire that burned down the circus. Fizz.. his injuries were so, so bad. I wanted to visit him in the hospital but he didn't want to see me.. and I guess I can't blame him. I wouldn't want to see me either.."

He sniffles, staring down at the floor. He may have adopted Loona, but she's an adult- and could walk out at any time. After this? Why wouldn't she? A moment passes before she speaks up.

"But it was an accident."

"What?"

"You didn't start that fire trying to hurt anyone. It was an accident- a big one- but still."

"I know, but-"

"Listen," Loona said sternly, just to get Blitzø's attention. Once she does, Loona softens her tone, "what happened sucks, and I don't even think you told me everything." She shoots him a knowing glance, to which Blitzø shrugs. "Either way, that doesn't define you. You.. you're good.. and you matter to a lot of people.. so don't act like you're some irredeemable monster! You made a mistake.

Blitzø doesn't say anything. He's not sure if what he heard was real or a projection of what he wanted to hear. But then Loona brings him in for a tentative hug, and he knows for sure; he's not alone. He's not going to be left. Loona doesn't hate him the way he hates himself.

Blitzø's arms tighten around her as he begins to cry.

"Thank you, Looney.. I love you so much.."

He can't see it, but Loona smiles, resting her head on his shoulder.

"I love you too, Dad."

[missmoonfrost]

Survivors - a wolfstar microfic

March 8 - Pepperup Potion - 739 word

Sirius came home, left his things in a heap on the hall floor, and went straight to the kitchen cabinet.

Remus leaned against the doorframe with crossed arms. “Hello? Welcome home.”

“Where’s my Pepperup?”

“Didn’t know we had one.”

“It was right here!”

“You can’t keep potions in unmarked bottles. That’s flat-out dangerous.”

“Not if you don’t move them around!”

“Stop being a child!”

“Stop screaming at me!”

“You’re the one who’s screaming.”

Sirius slammed the cabinet door shut so hard Remus could hear several bottles fall over inside it. He stomped straight to the bedroom and slammed that door shut after him as well. Damn it! Why did Sirius have to be so moody?

Remus sat down on the living room sofa, rubbing his face and sighing deeply. He was no better himself, to be honest. Maybe even worse at times.

It had been going on for months. At work he was bored, waiting to get home. At home, he was waiting for Sirius to come brighten his day. And almost without fail, Sirius would come home tired and on edge, leaving Remus both worried and irritated. The quiet life they once dreamed of now seemed mundane.

Who would have thought it was this hard living together? They loved each other, for Merlin’s sake! Or, Remus still loved Sirius, that was. Some days he found himself doubting it was still being reciprocated. Days like this.

The suspicion hit him like a pang in the chest. Maybe he was seeing someone else?

He heard Sirius roaming about in the kitchen but decided to leave him be. Doubt still tormenting him.

Maybe he should just ask? Get it over with? He poured two glasses of whiskey. There was no way he was having that conversation without a strong drink at hand.

Sirius came out in the living room with two cups of tea. He snorted when he saw the two glasses already on the coffee table. “Yeah. We need that, don’t we?”

He put the tea down but kept standing. As if he hesitated to even sit close to Remus.

“How are you?” Remus asked in what he hoped was a level enough voice. “Catching a cold?”

“I’ve not been feeling great today. But it's better now. I found it, the Pepperup. I… eh… put it on my nightstand yesterday and forgot.”

He was still standing. Still not looking at Remus.

“Are you seeing someone else?”

Sirius stared at him. Then pressed a hand to his eyes and started sobbing. Remus suspected the worst. A confession or something.

“How bad did I mess up for you to ever think that,” Sirius let out between sobs, “You mean so much to me, I… Remus, I would never.”

That broken voice was all the reassurance he needed. Remus sprung to his feet and hugged him tight. “I’m sorry. I know. I’m so sorry. I love you.” They slowly rocked back and forth together.

“How can it be so hard, Moony?” Sirius complained into Remus' shoulder. “We’ve been through bloody war. I’ve been to bloody prison. I thought everything else would be easy after that and it’s just… not.”

They collapsed on the sofa, still clinging to each other.

“Maybe we’re just not trying hard enough?” Sirius suggested. “Everyone else seems to do it just fine.”

“Maybe we’re trying too hard?” Remus countered. “Just because the war is over doesn’t mean it didn’t happen. Maybe we need to scream and cry and throw things sometimes?”

Sirius smiled with one corner of his mouth. “Yeah. Or maybe we need to go to therapy?”

Remus smiled, too. “What? You’re going to be the reasonable one now?”

Sirius cupped his hand around Remus' neck and inched closer. “Maybe I need you to hold me like you’re not sure I’ll be there tomorrow again?” Then he quickly shut his eyes, “I mean, don’t think for a second I miss that time, but –“

Remus kissed him, shutting him up. “I get what you mean.”

In fact, that particular desire he understood perfectly. He climbed into Sirius' lap and painfully easily fell into the pretence. Tasted Sirius lips as if he might not get the chance again. Reverently unbuttoned his shirt. Trailed his finger down his chest, heaving with each shaky breath, and into his trousers, as if it might be the last time.

After all, if they didn’t quit the idiocy of lately, it might just be.

[shivering-isles-cryptid]

DC Villains With Your Interests

Ive based each reader for each villain on what I thought would be fun, like the reader for Mad Hatter is based off Cheshire, and the reader for Killer Croc is based off Poison Ivy. As well as some that I thought would be good opposites, like the reader for Zsasz is based off Catwoman, and the reader for Two Face is based off Giganta. The readers for each are male.

Warnings: Graphic violence, comic book violence, language

Two Face - Chemistry

When he met you, he was still Harvey Dent and you worked at ACE Chemicals.

He was there to fund a new serum that should give the same effect of a steroid with none of the negative side effects.

You were the lead scientist there, and the board of directors told you to show him the lab and introduce him to the current research in order to convince him.

They told you to get his funding by any means necessary.

When he arrived for the tour, he was instantly infatuated with you.

He thought you were beautiful and he had to have you by any means necessary.

You walked him through the lab, explaining everything you could in great detail.

He could hear the love and joy in your voice as you described your work.

He decided then that he would do anything in his power to hear that in your voice again.

After he agreed to fund the research, he made sure to visit the lab every chance he could, each time spending it with you as you described your current experiment.

He bought every Chemistry book he could find just so he could keep the conversations going.

When he did become Two Face, he flipped his coin on whether or not he should risk scaring you just to see you again.

It landed on tails, meaning he would risk your fear and disgust just to see your face one more time.

That's when he found out about your powers.

He broke into the factory to find you in your lab, sitting on the floor of the trashed room. Dents and crack in the walls and furniture.

You had ripped clothes and messy hair and were balling into your knees.

He placed a hand on you, his normal one, and when you looked up, instead of pulling back in disgust, or flinching in fear, your eyes filled with joy and comfort as you launched yourself into a hug.

You cried into his shoulder while explaining what happened.

Your partner got tired of waiting and experimenting on rat, so he strapped you to a table and injected you with the serum, giving you the power to grow to the size of a building.

Harvey calmed you down and brought you to his house, where you two would live the rest of your evil lives together.

He would have his goons steal any chemical you wanted so you could keep experimenting.

You made him gas bombs, poisons, and any other concoction he asked for, giving him a special one that would melt half a person's face off for your 5th anniversary.

He still adores listening to you talk about Chemistry, the two of you spending hours at night just laying in bed and talking about your lateat experiment.

Due to Harvey's high school level of Chemistry knowledge that he got from his desire to bond with you, he understands what your saying some of the time, but most of the time he has no idea what you're talking about.

But he will still listen to you talk, or watch you as you make his weapons cuz he just loves the amount of joy it brings you.

Reader inspiration: Giganta

Bane - Swords

You two met when Bane was robbing a weapons shop.

He did it just so Joker, Two Face, and Scarecrow wouldn't get their hands on any of the items.

You were there doing some retail therapy, since today was the "There's A Blade Pressed Against Your Throat, So You're Going To Give Me Everything I Ask For" discount.

When he showed up, you just kept throwing swords that interested you into your cart, along with the different oils needed to keep them clean, and some cool stands.

Bane tried to take the items in your cart, but was not so pleasantly surprised when you fought back.

He kept trying to land a punch, but you were faster and more agile.

When he went to activate his serum, you wrapped your legs around his neck and placed a sword under the tubes, threatening to cut them if he didnt let you out of the store with your loot.

The next time the two of you met was at a League of Villains meeting.

He wasn't so pleased to see you, but you were definetly happy to see him.

You kept gropping his arms and very blatantly flirting with him, which weirded out everyone in the room, but was just surprising to Bane.

You two frew closer, Bane eventually falling DEEPLY in love with you.

He would watch as you fought Wonder Woman and Batman, your fighting style matching the twos almost perfectly.

He defiently wouldnt understand your fascination with blades, especially when he found your Sword Room.

But he still watches you with adoration as you train with them or clean them, and will even let you spar against him.

He'll hold back since he doesn't want to damage your Sword and risk you going into a rage driven frenzy, stabbing him in places that not even he could stand.

Reader Inspiration: Talia Al'Ghul

Zsasz - Jewels

Your first meeting was when your current boy toy, Black Mask, hired him to be your muscle on your heist to break into the Gotham Museum to steal an Ancient Emerald.

When the two of you met face to face, you felt an immediate attraction.

He was defiently off put by your very, VERY blatant flirting, especially since Black Mask referred to you as "Baby Boy", but he had to admit, you did look really fine in that leather cat suit.

It turns out, you would have no use for him since you were such a good thief that the heist only took a minute and a half, but only because you took a small detour to also steal an Ancient Egyptian cat statue for your living room.

You made sure that Zsasz stayed in touch, hiring him to be your muscle on jobs that both of you knew wouldn't need any.

Black Mask was obviously suspicious of your relationship, especially when he found out that Zsasz was stealing jewels with out you, and those jewels were somehow ending up in your possession.

Eventually, you ended things with him. Zsasz doesn't know how you did it, but you were also able to get him to leave both of you alone.

Zsasz would always come home with a new jewel for you. Big or small, they were always real gems.

You did t ask how he got them, but you always you d out by the latest news story.

'Lady found dead, ruby necklace worth millions missing!' The news said as Zsasz put your new red necklace on your neck.

'Home of Millionare Veronica Cale robbed last night! Only thing missing, a decorative swan made from a mixture of white diamonds, sapphires, and onyx!' You heard while clearing room on your mantle for the jeweled bird Zsasz surprised you with.

Character Inspiration: Catwoman

Killer Croc - Plants

You two met at a protest.

It was released that ACE Chemicals was experimenting a steroid on rats, and then releasing the ones who lived into the sewers and turned the dead ones into fertilizer.

Waylon was there because the new, buff mice were messing with his home, and you were there because you found out that they were selling the fertilizer to the Gotham City Park, and it was having.... Side effects on the plants.

Waylon showed up with a sign, ready to have a peaceful protest to convince them to stop.

You showed up surrounded by vines, tearing cops and security guard in half.

He fell in love with you the moment he saw you use your powers to shove two tree roots down someones throat, out their ass, and then rip them in half.

He followed you to Eden, the forest grown by Poison Ivy.

When you stopped walking, it was becuase you were confronting him.

You had wrapped a vine around his legs and pulled him upside down.

When you saw his face, Waylon was ready for you to scream in terror, or disgust, but instead, you put a hand on his face and rubbed a circle into his cheek before setting him down.

The two of you spent the night together, you introducing him to the different species in the forest and him telling you about the different types of animals out there that are often confused for crocodiles.

You two did come across Ivy once, but when she saw you two together, your hands intertwined and your head in his.lap, just just smirked and winked at you befire walking away.

You two met up everyday, each time you taught him abiut a different carnivorus or poisonous plant. First day, Sundew. Second day, Hemlock. Third day, Pitcher Plant. Fourth day, Poiosn Oak.

Waylon would get one of the girls in the League of Villains, probably Cheetah, to get him some books on botany and plant species.

He would learn whatever he can so he could impress you.

Character Inspiration: Poison Ivy

Obviously

Joker - History & Mythology

You met when he was robbing the same museum as you.

He wanted the jewels and such, you wanted the ancient scroll that depicts a ritual to summon an army of spirits to do your bidding.

Obviously Joker was annoyed when he found some dirty boy in a loincloth standing with his back to him.

That was until black smoke and golden sparks floated from your hands and tore the sealed down off the wall and crumpled it into a ball the size of a mango.

At that point he was impressed as shit.

When you were escaping, he grabbed your hand as you were about to teleport away.

He tried charm on you to get you to join him in taking over the city, but your fave remained cold and uncaring.

You flicked his chest and he flew back, smoke and embers swirling around him.

He pulled a gun and pointed it at you head, but then he heard you whisper something, and your form changed to a much cleaner version of you, wearing sweatpants and a tank top.

You ran to his side to make sure he was okay, and decided to join him.

He would make sure to grab a few scrolls or stone tablets whenever he robbed a museum or archive, and if he didnt, he'd stop at a bookstore and grab you a book on Ancient Mesopotamia, or a book on Ancient Celtic Folktales.

He had saved the scrolls you stole when you first met, but you told him to burn it so your other side wouldn't use it to, you know, enslave the entire planet including him.

He readily agreed.

When he's had a long day, he would be the little spoon as you whispered taled of ancient gods, or evil monsters into his ear.

Alot of times that would be the only thing that could quiet the laughter.

Character Inspiration: Enchantress (Mostly Suicide Squad version)

Mad Hatter - Assassination

You met in Arkham.

You were assigned as his cellmate, the warden probably thought he was funny.

Little did he know that you two would become best friends.

This was, lets say uncomfortable, for both the guards and the other residents.

The World's Greatest Assassin and a man with the ability to control minds.

When you escaped, and you both began doing your villainy again, Jervis was co fused by your methods.

He appreciated your stealth in getting to the victim, but you also killing them without even letting them know? He doesn't get it.

He lets you do your work, occasionally lending you his mind control gas, but only if you join him for his next game of Hatter and Alice.

Character Inspiration: Cheshire

The Riddler - Acrobatics

You met because he pissed you off.

You figured out his riddle in about 3 minutes, and his latest target was the Gotham City Gymnastics Center.

You basically ripped the doors of his lair off the hinges and threw the now dedused bomb at his feet.

He was impressed with you, but also annoyed.

You're so smart, but you ruined his plans.

He was about to have his goons kill you, but you grabbed his tie and pulled him to his knees, telling him to leave the center alone.

He agreed.

The next time you met was at a bank.

He was about to rob it, then he heard the alarm go off and saw you running from it carrying two trash bags and carrying a baseball bat.

He followed you to your apartment and broke in.

The next riddle he gave you was sappy and simple.

But it was cute, so you let him live. And come back.

He isn't the most limber person, so he is definetly impressed when ever he sees you stretching, or when your doing an entire gymnastics routine to get away from the Bat.

He was even more impressed when he watched you kill 5 Arkham guards while wearing a straight jacket, and then getting yourself out of the jacket.

He loves your flexibility, but he does find it a bit unnerving when he can see the back of your legs, but is looking you in the eye.

[mrsaltieri-real]

His Perfect Victim (Mickey Altieri x OC!Dahlia Levine)

Chapter Ten: Hello?

Words: 2.2k

Warnings: not a lot of warnings here, language, brief mentions of Dahlia’s trauma, therapy, making up, mentions of sex, mentions of angst, etc

A/N: More of a filler chapter than anything, but it’s still important. We’re making some serious progress and it’s a big push forward so don’t miss it! Next chapter is going to be heavier, smuttier and have some angst thrown in for good measure. You’re not going to want to miss it! Thank you once again to @bisexual-horror-fan for your help, beta reading and editing this for me. I appreciate your help more than I can put into words!

@lizey-thornberry as you want to be tagged.

Therapy sucks. Therapy sucks even more when it wasn’t even your choice to attend sessions to begin with.

Sitting in front of a stranger staring at me with faux concern was agitating to say the least, especially when she’s getting paid a hundred dollars an hour to do just that, stare at me until I break and confess all my deep dark secrets and let my trauma seep through the cracks left behind from Woodsboro. The only reason I attended in the first place was due to my parents and my doctors.

I’d spent the first few sessions sitting in silence, watching as the arms of the clock ticked and tocked until an hour went by, and I could go back to moping in peace.

I was getting better now, slowly. That wasn’t down to the therapist, the doctors or my family. It wasn’t down to Sidney or Randy. It wasn’t even really down to Mickey as much as at the time I believed that to be the case. No, I now know it was down to me, giving myself the opportunity to be raw and open with another human being, completely vulnerable in ways I never had before.

Life’s too short for regrets, so I don’t regret it at all.

The one thing I did regret, however, was how I’d left things with Randy.

I’d been seriously neglecting my friendship with him, and I knew reconciliations had to be made sooner rather than later. The issue was the two of us were both too stubborn to make the first move into forgiveness. Even as kids, when we fought, we simply wouldn’t talk to one another until one of us would throw a toy at the other and hit them across the head. But we were adults now, and I don’t think I’d get very far if I threw a Barbie doll at him anymore, as amusing the image in my head was.

“Dahlia Levine?” The sweet looking receptionist called my name with a warm smile, to which I half-heartedly returned as I forced myself to stand up, making my way down the familiar hall to my therapist's office, Dr. Lorraine Galloway.

The door was already open, but I still tapped my knuckles lightly on the wood twice, and she twisted around in her chair, nodding and smiling politely when she saw me, loosely gesturing toward the huge armchair across from her. I obeyed quietly, settling down on the comfortable cushion and folded my hands in my lap.

“How are you doing today, Miss Levine?” She asked, the notebook already settled onto her lap, simple, small, lined paper and one of those curled metal spines that binds the pages together, looking like a coiled phone cord. Her hand rests on the page, holding her dark blue and gold fountain pen, her position in her chair is relaxed, one leg folded over the other as she observed me, waiting for my response.

I shrugged, eyes trained on my hands as I responded, “Better, I guess? And please call me Dahlia.” I’d already had a fair number of sessions with her and asked to be referred to by my first name every single time, it was beginning to annoy me and that must have been evident in my tone, judging how I heard the light scribble of pen to paper, making me suppress the urge to roll my eyes. Was she seriously making a note of that?

“How’s college treating you, Dahlia? I haven’t seen you in a little over two months.”

Shrugging again, fingers itching to twist my ring, I replied, “Things have been good. I haven’t felt the need to bother coming in.”

I could feel her eyes fixed on me, and it was already pissing me off. Dr. Galloway wasn’t like my old therapist back in Woodsboro. She actively tried to engage with me, try and get me to speak and fucking feel, although she learned fairly quickly I was completely unwilling to discuss Stu. No amount of therapy will ever make me want to consciously relive any of that.

“Is there anything you’d like to discuss or share? You have the whole hour, remember?”

I hesitated for a second, teeth sinking into my bottom lip. Dr. Galloway seemed to grasp at the straws and quickly added, “I’m here to listen,” before lightly placing her notebook onto her desk, leaning back in her chair and pushing her glasses up her nose.

“I… Uh…” I shifted awkwardly in my seat, settling on playing with my ring to try to comfort myself, push myself into talking. “Could I talk about my friend, Randy?”

“You can talk about whatever and whoever you want to, Dahlia. These sessions are yours.” Her hands opened, as if inviting me to go on, to which I awkwardly did so.

With a small sigh, I began to tell her about the last few months. About Mickey and Randy, and how impossibly guilty I felt that I’d been neglecting my friendship with the latter, practically threw him aside for some guy I was dating. She listened intently, and it honestly felt good that someone was listening to what I had to say with no judgment, even if she was getting paid hundreds of dollars to do so.

“Has Mickey ever given you or any of your friends reason to think he’d hurt you?” Dr. Galloway asked once I’d told the tale. Hesitating again, I nodded my head once, and she rested her chin against her hand, eyes urging me to go on.

“Well, a few months ago, before we started dating, Mickey fucked-” I cringed slightly at the word choice before correcting myself, “-sorry, slept with this girl at a party. Tricked me into going into the bedroom, so I’d see it.” I physically flinched at the memory, seeing that girl's face twisted in pleasure and Mickey fucking her from behind, eyes fixed on my face with that sick smirk on his face.

I hadn’t thought about that in a while, suppressed it to the dark dusty corners in my mind along with my other painful memories I’d sooner forget all about.

“And did Randy know about that?”

“No, I never told him. But I think he had an idea because it was after that night he started having reservations about Mickey and I- I just don’t know what to do.” Fuck, is this why people went to therapy? I could feel so many suppressed emotions rushing to the surface so fast it was making my head spin.

“Maybe your friend has a reason to be concerned, then.” She suggested with a small shrug.

“He doesn’t.” I insisted firmly, halting the twisting of the ring and shaking my head, “Yeah, Mickey can be kind of a dick, but no one else sees the side of him that I do. How patient and gentle he can be.”

“Then maybe that’s something you need to talk about with Randy. Communication in friendships is important, and it’s clear that he’s important to you.”

Randy was important to me. I thought about it as I walked back to campus, shivering at the crisp air and silently cursing myself for forgetting to bring my jacket with me.

He was important to me, so was Mickey in a very different way. I thought about how much I missed Randy, discussing everything and anything with him until the day turned to night. How he was a huge part of the reason I was even able to recover, him staying at my bedside whilst I was in the hospital, doing everything he could to make me smile, the perfect friend.

Once on campus, I found myself making a beeline toward the one room I knew Randy would be in; the theatre. He enjoyed working on film projects there, so I wasn’t surprised to walk up the steps and see him perched on top of a prop wall, legs swinging and brows furrowed in concentration as he squinted into the lens of his camera.

“Hey, Rand.”

He jumped at the sound of my voice, camera nearly tumbling out of his hands as he looked at me, blue eyes wide. His face twisted to something akin to indifference as he eyed me up and down, lips pursed, before he mumbled, “Hey.”

I anxiously inched closer to him until I was leaning beside him, looking up at him seriously, “I’m sorry.”

His expression changed to shock as his head cocked to the side, and he exclaimed, “The fuck did you just say to me?”

The grin broke out across my face before I could even register it, playfully pushing Randy’s leg with a, “Shut up, dickhead.”

“Sorry, I just never thought I’d live to see the day Dahlia Levine apologizes to me.” His tone was only half teasing.

“It’s long overdue. I’m sorry, I’ve been a really shitty friend lately, Randy.” I said with a sigh, eyes dropping.

“Dahlia, it’s not you I blame, you know that.” His tone had an edge to it, and I instantly knew who he was in fact blaming.

I looked back up at him, practically pleading now as I spoke, “Randy, please, you don’t have anything to worry about. Mickey isn’t going to do anything.”

Randy rolled his eyes with a scoff, carefully placing the camera down beside him, “So you actually are dating him? For fuck's sake, D.”

I was getting mad, but I kept it inside, taking his free hand that wasn’t gripping the camera slightly harder than was probably necessary into mine and squeezing it gently.

“Even if it is a mistake, it’s my mistake to make. He makes me happy, Randy.”

Randy frowned, looking down at me with his brows knitted together, “He really makes you happy?”

“Yes, he really does.” I spoke honestly, maintaining eye contact with him all the while. Randy knew I didn’t lie, so he had no reason to suspect otherwise. He simply sighed, placing the camera in his other hand down beside him before moving it to place over the top of mine and nodded his head, saying softly, “Fine. For God’s sake, I still think he’s a fucking dick, but if anyone deserves happiness, it’s you.”

“So we’re friends again?” I asked hopefully, biting my lip as I awaited his response.

He rolled his eyes at me again, this time affectionately and released my hands, jumping down from the wall and pulling me into a tight hug. I closed my eyes, my arms wrapping around his waist as I hugged him back and his chin rested on the top of my head, the feeling comforting and familiar.

“Of course we are.” He said. I could tell he was smiling, but I know it didn’t quite reach his eyes in the way it should have, but at that moment, I was too happy to have my friend back to take much notice.

If only I’d noticed. If only I’d listened and was more critical.

After that, things were better, at least for a while. Mickey and I were growing closer with every passing day, listening to music in his dorm and just chatting mindlessly about anything and everything. He showed me some bands I’d never heard of when the movies got a little too much. I could tell his built-up wall was gradually beginning to crumble, allowing me to really get to know him, or the part of him he wanted me to know, but he was still always just a little distant. Not as much as before our night together, but a hint of detachment still lingered in the air.

Something was happening. I knew that was the case, something about it just spells it out, you know, like when a storm is coming in the summer? The lack of sound and the feeling in the air tattles on what is to come, announcing it long before a single flash of lightening or clap of thunder does.

One night, Mickey had already fallen asleep, but I simply couldn’t, so I just laid flat on my back, staring unseeing at the dully illuminated ceiling from the streetlights outside, when my phone began to buzz quietly on Mickey’s bedside table.

I glanced at his alarm clock, the bright letters stating it was three thirty in the morning.

Who the fuck would be calling me at this time.

I still felt uneasy about receiving phone calls and everybody in my life already knew that, but the anxiety that it could be an emergency got the better of my, so I flicked the phone open, taking in the unknown caller printed across the screen for a second before answering it, pressing the phone tentatively to my ear with a whispered, “Hello?”

No response.

I swallowed thickly, trying to get rid of the lump forming in my throat before asking again, a little louder, “Hello?”

Nothing.

Mickey stirred next to me, rolling onto his side and groggily opening his eyes, lifting his hand to rub them gently.

I sat up, hand shaking as I repeatedly whispered “Hello?” into the speaker.

“Whose that?” Mickey's voice was thick with sleep and the minute the words were out of his mouth, the line went dead.

Read Chapter Eleven HERE

[snowe-zolynn-rogers]

Who Let Us Have A Group Chat?

Pairings: None

Word Count: 1,210

Summary: In which, Lunar needs some more therapy for his anger issues.

Warnings: Cursing, Caps, Self Worth Issues (mentioned only), Anxiety (mentioned), Trust Issues (mentioned only), Self-Esteem Issues (mentioned only), Trauma (mentioned only), Limb Lost (mentioned only), Child Endangerment (mentioned), Bolide please do not commit child endangerment, Death (mentioned only), Panic Attacks, Allergic Reaction, let me know if I should add anything else.

Chapter 4: Lunar, Please Tone It Down

12:15pm Who Took My Hat?

Lunar: Why in the living fuck are all the seven year olds covered in fucking glitter glue, SUN?

Sun: Um

Sun: You see

Sun: During craft time

Lunar: I DON'T CARE ABOUT CRAFT TIME WHY IS THEY COVERED IN GLUTTER GLUE!?

Sun: The kids found my stash of glitter glue

Lunar: Moon, we're never buying glitter or glitter glue again.

Moon: Duly noted.

Kill Code: Now that you're not being yelled at, how was therapy yesterday?

Sun: Oh, it was okay.

Kill Code: Dug into the self-worth issues?

Sun: Dug immediately into the anxiety.

Eclipse: rip Sun.

Sun: Yours was anxiety first too?

Eclipse: Oh no, Dr. Leeson went for the god complex to get that in check first.

Blood Moon: Dr. Pierce said I have trust issues.

Harvest Moon: Ryans going straight for my low self-esteem.

Lunar: Fucking Marin always goes for my trauma.

Moon: Dr. Allis went for my self worth

Kill Code: All of you act like it's the end of the world.

Moon: You try talking about your feelings!

Kill Code: I do. Dr. Halloway and I talk about my anger issues every two weeks.

Heliosphere: rip

Bolide: rip

4:18pm Who Took My Hat?

Lunar: I'm confiscating your hands, you dirty motherfucker.

Moon: LISTEN

Lunar: NO

Kill Code: Why are we losing our hands now? Not that I'm complaining, I'll just stay in here for it.

Lunar: THIS BITCH JUST THREW A KID!

Kill Code: Moon

Moon: KC

Kill Code: Moondrop Celestial

Moon: Crescent Celestial

Kill Code: Oh, given name now. Moon we agreed to not do things such as throw children when I agreed to behave.

Moon: Crescent, we agreed to YOU not getting child endangerment charges, not me.

Kill Code: It was a given, Moon, that we both participate.

Moon: No it wasn't!

Kill Code: Lunar, I've got control of our hands for today. Moon effectively doesn't have hands, your welcome.

Lunar: Thank you, Crescent.

Kill Code: No problem, my child.

Lunar: Nope keep that family title away from me.

Kill Code: Fine. No problem, Lunar.

Lunar: Better.

5:17 pm Who Took My Hat?

Lunar: Okay, nevermind, throw Jonas again.

Kill Code: I strictly do not endanger children and neither does Moon.

Lunar: I hate both of you.

Lunar: Blood Moon, come toss a child!

Blood Moon: At therapy, talk later.

Lunar: Harvest, come throw a child!

Harvest Moon: Little busy with something. Don't wanna weld my hand.

Lunar: ECLIPSE

Eclipse: Listen, Dr. Marin will kill me if I do that.

Lunar: YOU ALL SUCK

Bolide: I'll come throw a kid.

Lunar: Savior.

Bolide: How do I get there.

Lunar: Internal navigation.

Lunar has sent their location

8:27pm Who Took My Hat?

Eclipse: Dad Alert.

Moon: Fine.

Kill Code: What is this about?

Eclipse: Harvest welded his hand and I can't get it off and Blood Moon came home from therapy and started crying. Helio has been trying to help but we can't really defuse either situation and both of the twins just want each other but Ves can't really leave and Bee won't come out of his room.

Kill Code: I'm coming, give me a half hour.

9:05pm Who Took My Hat?

Sun: So...It's Crescent?

Kill Code: It can be either. KC is the first I was given, Crescent is merely the name I adopted autonomously.

Sun: So, it's Crescent.

Kill Code: You could say that.

Sun: Will you agree or disagree?

Kill Code: Neither.

Sun: I hate you so much right now.

Kill Code: Good.

Sun: How did that Dad Alert go?

Kill Code: Oh, me and Moon had to replace Harvest's hand casing, calm him down, calm Blood down, calm Eclipse and Heliosphere down and send them to bed because all of them were exhausted after simultaneous panic attacks. Turns out Dr. Pierce dug at his separation anxiety with Harvest and, when Harvest didn't come to comfort him, he panicked and broke down. Eclipse was panicking over not being able to detach Harvest from the machine and Helio had his first panic attack trying to get to Blood Moon.

Sun: Your kids amaze me sometimes with how uncoordinatedly coordinated their panic attacks are.

Kill Code: You and me both.

11:45pm Who Took My Hat?

Moon: I'm having a crisis.

Kill Code: What kind of crisis are we going through today, Moon?

Moon: Ate three buckets of ice cream crisis.

Kill Code: Please tell me it was nondairy.

Moon: They don't make nondairy bulk tubs.

Kill Code: God, we're going to die.

Moon: But the caramel pecan is good and the chocolate cherry drowns out my pain and almond fudge makes me happier.

Kill Code: GOD HELP US Cherry!? We're fucking allergic!

Moon: But poison tastes so good.

Kill Code: I'll beg, someone hook us to the computer and tell it to shoot us with a two rounds of epinephrine.

Sun: On it.

Blood Moon: Why the hell would you eat cherry when you know you're allergic?

Moon: I was having a crisis, okay!?

Kill Code: At the expense of our body slowly trying to shut down to fix itself.

Sun: You two are heavy, you know that?

Moon: I know this, Sun.

Kill Code: I'd love to see him struggle to lift my body in your head.

Moon: You're lightweight in my head, dumbass. You're body is literally mostly hollow, you just look terrifying to people who haven't seen it before.

Kill Code: I am not lightweight.

Moon: You are a twig!

Kill Code: And you're lanky!

Moon: Yes, but I accept it.

Sun: Okay, you said epinephrine?

Kill Code: Yes. Two shots. Just ask the computer for one for cherries and one for dairy and they'll do the work for you.

Sun: Okay, they said completed.

Kill Code: Now we get the waiting game to see if we wake up tonight or tomorrow morning.

Lunar: I hope in the morning because I don't like you.

Moon: You don't like me?

Lunar: No, the other one.

Moon: Yeah, yeah. Got it.

Lunar: Look, I know you hate yourself but I fucking love you, Moon. Don't you ever doubt that.

Moon: I'm totally not crying.

Kill Code: He's crying and making me cuddle him.

Moon: SHUT UP!

Lunar: Just cry about it, we all know you have issues believing people love you.

Kill Code: He's sobbing, thanks, Lunar.

Lunar: Anytime, Crescent.

Kill Code: Hate you.

Lunar: Convenient, I was gonna say that.

Sun: How about we all just go to bed after such an eventful day?

Blood Moon: Everyone else here is asleep already. I don't sleep at night.

Lunar: Like you're even going to make it to bed, Sun, stop lying to yourself.

Sun: It was mainly targeted at you, Cressy, and Moony.

Kill Code: Oh, more nicknames now, joy. How do you and your brother pick up the same damn nickname without coordinating that?

Sun: Same way we both came up with Luney and Bloody, we do it by instinct by making someone's name sound cutesy like Sunny and Moony. Hell, we referred to Eclipse as Clipsey for like a few months when he wasn't obsessed with the Star.

Eclipse: bg74398fcip490r-28509345%#^%$&*GVHJyuh66%^%*

Kill Code: Thank you for the input, Eclipse.

[necromaniackat]

Cruel Summer.

Chapter 2: Welcome to Heelshire, Evelyn

Image is of Felix

The drive from London was long and grueling, your butt went numb about half an hour in. Thankfully, you always keep a spare pillow in your car just in case. Not only did the pillow help ease the uncomfortable numbness but it gave you an extra few inches to see over the dashboard. You weren’t incredibly short; five, three to be exact, but it’s always nice to have a few extra inches.

The two-and-a-half-hour drive went by faster by the music you played. It was like the cosmos knew you needed to keep your mind from wandering so it spat out the greatest series of songs on your playlist. You couldn’t help but belt out the lyrics and drum your hands against the steering wheel. Anytime someone would look at you singing in your car you’d smile like an idiot. This was your morning routine usually. You’d pick an upbeat song and blast in your car on your way to work. It always made you start the day on a good note.

Although you had to turn down your music once you realized you were lost. The lawyer even gave you the address of the mansion in case you forgot where it was. You plugged the address into your phone this morning and everything. But the streets were labelled oddly, or not at all. And you didn’t remember a damn thing from your childhood.

You grumbled through gritted teeth then picked up your phone to look at Google maps. The thing about smaller towns in the countryside is that mobile phone service is spotty at best. You inhaled deeply in an attempt to not throw your phone out the window. Google maps kept reloading the page, sending your location all over the map.

“This bloody country needs better cell service,” you cursed, tossing you phone onto the passenger seat. The only thing you can do now is ask someone for directions. You pulled over when you saw a shop. It’s common knowledge that people who work in shops know where everything is.

You parked your car in front of the shop. As embarrassing as asking for directions is, it’s less embarrassing than driving around aimlessly.

There were a few people in the shop when you entered. It was as if on que all eyes were on you. You felt them burning holes into you as you awkwardly looked around. You wandered over to the counter where there was a shopkeeper; a tall, clean shaven Middle Eastern man.

“What can I do for you today?” he asked kindly, his accent was thick, but his English wasn’t broken. You felt embarrassed heat rush to your cheeks. You’ve never had this problem before. Then again, you rarely left London.

“I’m lost. Do you know where this address is?” You questioned, showing him the address the lawyer wrote down on a piece of scrap paper. The shopkeeper peered at the paper for a moment before looking at you.

“That’s Heelshire mansion,” he announced loud enough for everyone in the shop to hear. “–Why do you need to know where Heelshire is?” A light dusting of blush rested on your cheeks. You don’t know why this was. You weren’t overly embarrassed by the Heelshire side of your family. Sure, growing up you’d hear stories about them. While your dad was alive he was very frustrated with your grandparents and how they chose to grieve the loss of their precious baby boy, Brahms. Maybe it wasn’t your grandparents you were embarrassed by, maybe it was Brahms. Having to lug a doll around in place of a real child. Sure, baby dolls are good for parents to grieve and say goodbye but usually with that type of therapy the doll is integrated out of their lives. But you weren’t grieving the loss of your uncle. You never met him. You were born shortly after he died. The only reason you still have the doll is to sell it.

“You’re not the new nanny, are you?” The shopkeeper inquired in a worried tone. You recoiled slightly, unsure of what was happening. Nanny? For who? There hasn’t been a child in that house for eighteen years.

After a moment of confusion you shared a smile, probably s very uncomfortable looking smile, and shook your head.

“I’m the new owner,” you replied confidently. A false bravado in your voice. The shop went dead silent, you could hear a mouse piss from across the room. You could feel eyes boring into you from all angles.

“You’re Evelyn Heelshire?” A voice said from behind you. You turned to see an elderly woman staring at you from around the corner of the shelves. She was about your height and very ashy looking. Her frail boney fingers clutched the basket until her knuckles were snow white.

“Yeah,” you murmured. “–I am.”

“Cursed,” the woman whimpered, her voice quaking with fear and hate. Your eyebrows knitted together as you looked at that woman.

“Excuse me?” You flashed a shy smile, hoping you didn’t hear her correctly. Her knuckles cracked and popped as she uncurled one hand from the basket handle. The woman lifted her hand, pointing her ashy white honey index finger at you. A sudden wave of fear and dread filled you.

“Cursed is the child born of Heelshire blood,” she said in a stone cold raspy voice. It sent a shive screaming up and down your spine, raising every hair of your body.

“Don’t start this again Meredith,” the shopkeeper warned in a gentle but assertive way. You couldn’t take your eyes off her. For some reason, you were afraid she was right. It seems silly now that you’re eighteen, but earlier in your teenage years you believed your family was cursed. You don’t know why, or where that idea came from, but it’s stuck with you for years. Like a lemon in the back of your mind, sometimes it sours your thoughts and leads you down a rabbit hole that goes back generations.

You sucked on the sour mental lemon as you stared at this woman, who was going off on a tangent. About what? You have no clue, you were so far away in your mind you weren’t overly aware of your surroundings. You could see the woman being escorted out of the shop by the shop keeper and another kind woman, but I wasn’t registering anything around me.

You were jerked back to reality when you felt a warm hand touch your bare arm. You jumped and your gaze snapped in the direction you were being touched. You were met with, as your mum puts it, you were met with a goddamn drink of lemonade on a summer day. This man standing before you was made of marble; pale skin but defined muscles in his arms and shoulders. He was tall, maybe just over six foot. He had shaggy black hair with matching deep brown eyes that seemed to glow in the light. He clearly takes care of himself; his skin was clear and glowed with health, and his dark bushy eyebrows were well groomed. He had a handsome but friendly face. The expression he wore told you that he was mildly concerned for you.

“Don’t mind Meredith, she truly means no harm,” the mystery man told you in a kind tone. You swallowed hard, gulping down the giddiness of being touched by such a beautiful human being. You pursed your lips as the haziness in your mind cleared and you processed what had just happened, and what is happening now. You gently pulled your arm away from his warm touch and looked back to the door.

“I don’t know what universe where telling someone they’re cursed isn’t considered ill intent,” you commented, turning your attention to meet his soft gaze. He frowned momentarily, diverting his gaze away from you. But his expression and attention changed. His jaw flexed and you were the center of his dark studying eyes.

“Are you really Evelyn Heelshire?” He questioned, crossing his arms over his puffed out chest. You noted he was purposely flexing his arms as well. If your mum ever taught you anything about the male population, if they think you’re cute, they’ll flex. It doesn’t matter if it’s muscles, money or cars. If an man is proud of something that belongs to him, he’s gonna try and impress girls with it. It’s the law of nature.

A sly half smirk curled at the corners of your lips as you looked him up and down before meeting his stare. You turned your body so it was facing him and mimicked his stance; crossing your arms over your chest, boosting you breasts up ever so slightly.

“Depends on who’s asking?” You shot back in a snarky tone. The mystery man broke out in a smile and small chuckle, before it snowballed into a full chuckle.. You dropped your arms back down to your sides cracking a full smile as well.

“My name is Felix, I’m your delivery boy,” he told you with a hand on his chest. Your eyebrows fell together and you tilted your head to the side confusedly.

“My delivery boy?” You repeated. Felix nodded but then caught on that you have no idea what was happening.

“Your grandparents set up weekly grocery delivery. Usually they have Malcom do it but he and that last nanny bailed one night, never to be seen again. So I’m your delivery boy now. And I can take you to the mansion if you’d like,” Felix explained to you. Your eyebrows stayed knitted together as more confusion clouded your mind. He’s the second person to mention a nanny at the mansion. Who’s the nanny for?

You sucked your teeth for a moment, contemplating if you should trust Felix or not. He already knows where you live which isn’t bad except for the fact that he wants to show you to the mansion when you’re by yourself.

You mentally shook those paranoid thoughts out of your head.

“Promise you’re not a serial killer…. –Or like rapist?” You said in a little voice. Felix looked down at you as if waiting for a sign that this is a joke. When he didn’t see one he sighed heavily and nodded.

“I promise I’m not a serial killer or rapist,” Felix replied in a convincing tone. Either way, you stuck up your pinky finger and stared into his soul.

“Pinky promise?” Felix sighed again and begrudgingly wrapped his pinky finger around yours. You gave him a sure nod and smiled briefly. Felix told the shopkeeper that he was going to show you your way and will be back soon as he escorted you out of the shop. You got back in your car as he went to the one parked a couple meters behind you.

Once you got in your car you sighed heavily and rested your head against the headrest, closing your eyes. If only you had better service, you could’ve avoided this entire fiasco. You thought your stay at Heelshire would mean you’re left alone, yet here you were, being escorted to your new home by a handsome but complete stranger Also a random old woman just told you you’re cursed because of your bloodline.

‘What a way to begin this new life.’

[granulesofsand]

🗝️🏷️ vent, discussion of luck, trafficking

Our system used to physically throw pity parties when we had a particularly bad time. We don’t have an oven to make the chocolate ‘world’s smallest violin’ cookies or a limp noisemaker, but this week would’ve qualified.

We ended up on the floor yesterday while moving dorms. Our cart lost a wheel and one of the energy drinks in there fell and spilled everywhere.

We had been staying in a temp dorm because our roommates were uncomfortable around us, and one of the prostaff had helped us with bedding then. That staff member passed by, grabbed us a napkin holder from the dining hall, helped us for a while and then had to leave. The last thing they said to us was “hope your week gets better!”

Our week has not gotten better. I dropped some photos down an elevator shaft and got stuck between the doors, had to wait three rounds for that same elevator to get back so I could grab everything I dropped that time, and promptly knocked a different cart off its wheels.

I had to wait to do laundry because apparently 6pm is prime time in the basement, and all of my sheets and clean clothes were sticky. I missed my therapy session that day, but I did get to eat twice after three days of just bagels.

Time is weird so idk if this was all the same day or not, but I also got to talk to the dean of students about why she thought it was okay to let my parents know I said I’d been trafficked (I included that they already knew and actively participated in that, but she didn’t hear that when the police told her).

She also told them I was ‘not grounded in reality’, which she never actually apologized for. She didn’t apologize at all. She did say that the staff would do the best to help me as an individual, but not at the expense of the community.

I made an appointment with legal services and I was told to go to the campus police, but I’m holding a grudge because they were snippy and tried to dump us in an empty room with no blanket or clothes besides what we were wearing.

Today I went to get my free bagel and coffee and the coffee leaked all the way down the seam in the cup. I put it in a second cup that it also leaked through and lost my phone in the process. I had to have those staff people looking for it because our sorry ass fucked up our back while moving. The phone was in a cooler for drinks.

At this point I was smelling like a cafe and took the bus to change, but it was packed full. I got on anyway because it’s upwards of 80 degrees Fahrenheit. The driver insisted everyone stay in the seat area, so I got the pleasure of fainting directly onto someone. They actually caught me, so that was good.

We had food garbage from what had spoiled while we were in the temp dorm, so I went around the residence hall looking for the big dumpster that’d been there for two weeks. It was gone, I just tossed what I had in a barrel bin so it wouldn’t rot where we sleep. I then fainted next to the garbage can.

It must’ve only been a few seconds but I skinned my shoulder on the ‘pick up after pets’ sign and there was a bee on my hand, where my ID and arm were dangling in the trash.

Our family will be visiting this weekend, couldn’t turn them down, and I’m doing my best to keep them out of the dorms.

How much shit can go wrong for one person before they die? We must be winning statistically to be so unlucky and yet only 1/4 the age we’re expected to live through. I should be able to put this on my résumé. I might do that if I can find prettier words.

[itjazzbicch]

More Than You Know

Pairing: Darius Martin x Reader

Summary: The Reader and Darius are best friend, supporting him through his ACL injury, taking him to physical therpay sessions and decidining to join him one day, where they connect like never before..

Warnings: N/A

Requested by: @hooks-martin (I hope you enjoy it!)

Word Count: 1k

Tag List: @demonqueen29 @peachy-satan00 @new-zealand-chic   @crowleysqueenofhell @unoficialy-married-to-ace-austin @thatpanpal @damnnhausen @irish-newzealand-idian-dutch @linziland13 @xxx-jazz-xxx @writtingrose @whenimakeitshine1234 @cuzimacomedian

I DO NOT OWN THIS GIF: 

“Thanks a lot, Y/N,” Darius smiled to me as I pulled into the parking lot, “I know it must be a hassle having to take me to physical therapy.”

“Dude, you’re my best friend!” I smiled, parking up front so he didn’t have a far walk, “I’d take you anywhere and have no complaints. As long as I’m with you.”

Darius had the most adorable smile, especially when he was blushing. This year has been quite rough on him since he tore his ACL, not sure exactly when he would be returning to action. Wrestling is what made us best friends in the first place and I know for him, not being able to wrestle, I had to be there for him and keep his spirits high.

“You’re the best,” He smiled back, me waving my hand:

“Aww, I try. I really do.”

“What are you doing?” His mind wondered while watching me grab my gym back from the backseat, a bit surprised when I smiled:

“Today, I’m gonna do it with you. I haven’t got a workout in so, lets go.”

That wasn’t entirely the truth. I could tell by his behavior lately that he was in the blues. So today, my plan was to go in there with him, help along and put that passion back that I knew he had. All he needed was a little push.

“Really?” He wanted to reassure and I just nodded, taking the keys, throwing them in my bag and hopping out.

I went and held the door and heading over, he had a smile, not opposed to the idea at all and I smiled back, joking:

“Better be ready to sweat!”

Since this was my first time at one of his therapy sessions, I let him show me his routine and how to do the particular exercises that was best for his injury. It was all pretty simple and I stood along side every exercise, beyond proud to see how his progress has come along.

ACL injuries can be so severe that they can end your career, taking long periods of time to heal, and I have never seen Darius so focused and serious while doing any kind of training.

We still knew how to crack at one another, having a good time and he saved his hardest exercise for last.

One legged squats with his bad knee and it did kind of make me nervous, so I went first, Darius instructing:

“And please listen to me, and take it slow. Okay?”

“How hard can it be?” I shrugged, picking up one leg and when I went to squat with the other, my balance was off and I started to fall over, catching myself and staying still to make sure I was planted firmly, head turning to follow his laughter.

“You didn’t see that shit you got it?” I pointed, making him laugh even more.

“I told you to take it slow!” He breathed, “Balance isn’t as easy as it seems. Just come over here, we’ll do it together.”

“You better not laugh if I fall over again,” I giggled, standing alongside him and following his every move in sequence.

This time, I had it in the bag, doing it with ease, but as we kept going, I noticed how he began to struggled.

A bead of sweat dripped down his temple, a zoned out but focused look in his eyes, how he’d puff his cheeks while taking deep breaths.

“Hey,” I stopped and stood in front of him, taking both of his hands, “You can do it alright? Just a few more.”

He only nodded, squeezing my hands and taking his time, but making the progress. I watched how his knee bent, seeing his leg shake a little, so I kept cheering him on:

“Remember that balance. You’re a whole lot better at it than me. You got this, two more.”

The whole time, we shared a gaze and a smile grew bigger on my face, so proud of how far he’s come and even with some struggles along the way, he always prevailed.

“See?” I smiled once he was on both feet, bouncing softly, “I knew you could do it!”

I got on my tip toes a little too high, almost stumbling into him, but I caught myself, playfully pouting when he began to laugh more.

“You are such a kluts!”

“Why are you always making fun of me?” I pretended to be upset, pouting more and turning my head, trying not to smile when he rolled his eyes playfully:

“Can’t take a joke?”

I whipped around with a gasp, giving puppy dog eyes to intensify my pout:

“I thought I was your best friend and you treat me like this?”

“You are my best friend,” He acknowledged and smiled, “Let me make it up to you.”

“Hm, I don’t know, it’s gonna take-“

My heart about exploded in my chest when he kissed me, eyes wide open at first, but shutting softly with a tender, softening that made me relax, feeling real love and pulled into a world of it, gravitating into his arms and hugging.

“Those puppy dog eyes make it hard not to given in, you know,” He admitted, smiling just as bright as me:

“Oh, you’re going to regret saying that.”

Laughing, he held me closer, laying my head on his chest and swaying in our hug, happy tears in my eyes when he laid his head on top of mine, cooing:

“I have never regretted a single moment I’ve had with you or took it for granted. I love you, Y/N.”

“Really? Because,” I swallowed a deep breath, still a little disbelief, but being honest, “I love you too.”

His smiled kept growing his nod, kissing softly, “More than you know.”

[commaclear]

Imagine it's the Friday before fathers day and quackity sees fundy working on something but chooses to keep quiet. Then at the end of the day when everyone heads out, quackity sees fundy come up to his desk.

"Need help with something kiddo?" Fundy keeps his eyes glued to his shoes.

"I- " Fundy wasn't sure what to say, " Can you give this to my dad?" Quackity looked over at his desk to see a surprisingly well-colored card to Wilbur with a big "Happy Father's Day" drawn on the top. "Ah," "She kept throwing away the ones I made at home." "Oh..." Quackity had a guilt-ridden face before smiling sadly, " He'll love it, I'm seeing him tomorrow ill give it to him then?" Fundy nodded before leaving the classroom. ------ "Visitation is until 9 tonight Quackity" "Alright" Quackity walked into Wilbur's room and sat on the bed.

" Hey Q" Wilbur spoke softly "Hey baby," Quackity tucked some hair behind Wilbur's ear, "How was your day?" "Good..." Wilbur looked down at his hands, "We had therapy circle today." Quackity laid on the stack of pillows on Wilbur's bed to get his mind off the bandages peeking over the sleeves of Wilbur's sweatshirt, "Yeah? How was it?" He continued to fiddle with Wilbur's hair. "Nice... felt weird talking though. Bunch of people hearing me talk about him." Quackity didn't need to ask who Wilbur was referring to. It's been almost a month since he got here but at least Wilbur making progress. Quackity looked over at his bag and saw a piece of paper stick out of the front pocket. "Hey, I got something for ya." Wilbur turned his head over to quackity who was grabbing something from his laptop bag. Quackity held out a sheet of paper with neat color-pencil coloring. "This is..." Wilbur took a minute to register the words at the top before feeling tears prick his eyes. "He really wanted to give it to you himself..." Quackity rubbed wilburs back, "Its been a rough few months for him over there without you" "I-" wilbur let a sob rip out his throat before crying softly onto quackitys chest. "Its okay, you'll be okay wil" "I miss hi-him so much q..." Wilbur whispered into quackitys chest. "I know, He knows that too" Quackity continued to comfort wilbur quietly as he sobbed. ------ "Mr. Quackity." Quackity looked over at his desk to see fundy picking at the straps of his backpack. It changed from the fox one he had a few months ago. Instead, it was a dark brown bag with beige embroidery. "Fundy." Quackity said in an equal tone. "Did you um... did he like my card?" Fundy asked sheepishly. Quackitys usual apathetic face morphed a soft smile, "He loved it." "Really?" Fundy smiled. "Yup, Im positive it made his father's day." Quackity nodded, "How was your father's day kiddo?" Fundys frown slowly returned, "Alright. We went to this weird breakfast place... didn't really feel like a fathers day though." "Im sorry about that." "It's fine. What did you guys do?" Quackitys brain short wired trying to say something, "Ah well, we went to IHOP with slime before taking him to the hospital to see karl." Quackity regretted the lie as soon as he saw the dejected face fundy wore. "oh, so you guys had a good time?" Quackity nodded. "That's nice I-" "FUNDY CAN YOU GET YOUR LEECH OFF OF ME" "SHUT UP TOMMY" Fundy sighed before running over to dream and Tommy. Quackity thanked anything out there that heard his prayers before yelling at Tommy to quiet down. //end - Lol sorry for basically a whole chapter, <3 ****** Anon

Hm.... Do I sense a ring of truth for the future?

Nah :)