#ill try getting another letter done then take a break - see how much time and brain power ive got left and decide if ill do more

[ambersky0319]

Screaming

[ask-pokeprofvoid]

Pelipper mail!

[Oh! It's a letter from Polaris!]

“Dear Dewdrop and Drea,

I am so so sorry for my lack of a letter on Tuesday. Things are really staring to kick up at the sanctuary and I simply did not have the time. So today you are getting a Thursday letter instead of a Friday letter to try and make up for it.

It seems that we have resolved the Walrein issue. Unfortunately, it seems that the only Walrein that the pod will accept as their leader is…Wallace. It’s going to break my heart to see him go, but it’s for the best for both him and the pod.

Drea: Hi darling. Of course I can help you with the service mon stuff when I get home, it would be my pleasure. It can be a bit nerve wracking, but you’re being very brave asking me about it and I promise I will train you up the best and most gentle service mon. I see Ingo and Emmet are visiting! A shame that I missed them, they are excellent battlers and I would have loved to have a mock battle against them. Another time. I’m sure they will train up your Larvitar to be wonderful and strong! It’s lovely to see Liam and Dune getting on well.

Viv: Hello dewdrop :) Augh I’m missing you so much. My futon is lonely without you in it. I would say cold but it turns out Bird is quite clingy at bed time haha. I got an idol commissioned for you, a carved on of a crowen gyarados. And one for Drea of a sudowoodo but that’s a surprise. It’ll be ready next week. Ah. Speaking of. It’s going to take me a bit longer to get home. Skie got it in xer head that while I’m here I should do an interview on the main Sanctuary account, so it seems that’s what I’ll be busy with next week. But I’ll be on my way home as soon as that’s all done. Lovely to hear that Queenie and the babies are doing well. How is Dreamie? I’m missing seeing her little face in the tank by my bed every morning, lovely little girl.

I love you both bunches and bunches!

-Your Starlight and Birdie”

[ There's photos like always; The babies seem more round and have their bristles now, looking like small pom poms while one dramatic photo labeled as 'Mr.Mischeif' shows a feisty lil bab using Bounce on a toy. There are several photos of Dreamie too, mainly with her sleeping on things or chasing a small ball toy around her tank.] Hi Opie! That sounds super nice! Uncle Ingo taught me about batles Battles and types! All the mons are super duper cuddly this week for some reason but Miss Viv only smiles sadly when I ask why :( Maybe they are cold? I might have to bring them my blankets!

Alots A lot of things happened at school too! My teachers are now letting me write with a pen and they say i'm learning very fast! Plus!! Miss Viv said she's getting me a therie past! I don't know what that is but she says that they will help me get better and to be prepared if they ask sad questions because they want to help me get better!! We cannot wait for you to get back home all the Pokémon miss you loads! [Theres another piece of tape that has many little Eevees on it, Seemingly as another border for the letter.] Hello Starlight, It is lonely without you. I swear im used to the smell of you baking in the kitchen haha. Had to get out the old Crown cook book to make some stuff, My mum sent over some recipies to make when you get back.

Take as much time as you need pumpkin, I admit some really weird things have been happening and Xena of all Mons is really on edge. Might need to take her out of the house to relax a bit the poor thing...But, don't worry. I am sure it's just one of those months where odd things happen.

I guess ill need to set up a new shelf for all the trinkets you bring back home, huh? Dreamie is missing you, I swear as soon as you left she started making little hissing noises; most likely doesnt understand where you went but I assure you shes getting alot of love along with all the other mons. Had to hide this photo but I thought you would love it Starlight. I love you and please keep safe. -your Dewdrop [Theres a sneekily hidden photo of all the mons in a cuddle pile; Andrea is cuddled up with them too having dragged all her blankets downstairs to nap with them all]

[ao-s]

I have helped friends do chores at their homes before and i wish i could have someone in my life who could do the same. Im overwhelmed with the amount of things to do at home and dont get as much help from my partner as I need. My friends and partner all know this.

Literally the only person who was willing that I was close to and my partner was okay with having in our home is now incarcerated lmfao.

im excited for my 3 day vacation, but i also cant help feeling, damn. i wish my presence was enough they were ok just doing menial tasks or supporting me by just being around to encourage me as I try to get shit done. whenever i see people on a day off i feel like i end up doing so much i end up even more tired returning to work and still have nothing accomplished at home.

tldr, i wish i had a support network that was more than online words. the only motherfucker who was becoming that had to go do dumb shit and get himself arrested. and so now i have just online friends and his letters.

but that doesnt give me hugs of encouragement, or a tea break to recharge with good conversation, or saying "lets go donate these boxes. ill be your copilot", or lending a physical hand which is what I'd like the most. "idk how i could help you do laundry" do laundry with me?? walk with me to the apt washers? help me fold towels? y'know l a u n d r y?

I have a hard time not comparing, knowing they've helped another friend organize or run errands before, but dont seem willing to help me even though ive told them how i struggle doing it mostly on my own. theres still shit from moving that hasnt been unboxed.

but im also practicing taking people at face value and if me asking about errands is met with resistance, then i know i need to not ask again and just accept if someone is unwilling.

[lostinwildflowers]

viii. That Night To Remember

Summary: Being the Princess of Marley wasn't going as smoothly as you were hoping. Illness plagued you, and with some trouble in your faux paradise, the doctor comes up with an answer.

Word Count: 1.8K

Warnings: Mentions of vomiting, Angst as usual, Mentions of weight/eating, Insecurities

A/N: Here is chapter *8* of this series! Wow!! We are getting so close to the end, and MAN this has been a good one to write! There's some tension in the palace!! Ooooo! -Birch<3

Masterlist

Next: The Pendant

Previous: Broken Spirited

At three months of living in the castle, being crowned as a princess, everything was too much to handle. Your mysterious illness hadn’t gone away, and you had still been intermittently vomiting, and you were completely exhausted.

You had gone to see the doctor that following morning after Zeke asked you too, but he couldn’t figure out what was wrong with you. All of the tests and exams that he could perform he did, and they all came back normal.

So when your illness didn’t go away, both you and Zeke were concerned about your health. When the third month passed, Zeke practically begged you to go back to the doctor, that something needed to be done.

You were generally pale all the time now, weak, and always kind of achy. You knew it wasn’t a hereditary thing, your family had great bloodlines and you knew that.

But you agreed to go, hoping to ease his conscious, as Zeke was surprisingly adamant about keeping your health up.

“Zeke,” you asked softly from where you were sitting in a plush chair in one of the common rooms. He hums quietly from the desk that he’s sitting at just a couple of feet away, writing a letter.

You take a deep breath, rubbing at your eyes as you continue, “Would you be able to send for Mikasa?”

He turns toward you inquisitively, setting his feather down from where he had been writing, his eyes on you in a flash at the weakness of your voice. “What’s wrong, Y/n? Do I need to fetch the doctor as well?”

You blush shyly under his gaze, embarrassed as you murmur, “No, I’m going to go there now, I would just appreciate having another lady with me.”

Zeke nods as he stands up, straightening out his coat as he begins, “Well I can clear my schedule this-” “That’s alright, Zeke,” you state as you shift from where you were sitting, “No offense, but I’d like it to just be me, Mikasa, and the doctor.”

A flash of hurt slides across Zeke’s face, but it’s enough for you to see it, and you sit up a little more hurriedly. You wave your hands in front of you as you say, “It’s not that I don’t want you there, of that I’m sure. I just didn’t want the doctor to feel pressured with too many of us there, and I can just tell you what he says afterward, alright?”

You can still see a look of hurt and resignation on Zeke’s face, but he nods in understanding as he replies, “I see, Y/n. I will go get Mikasa now.” And he leaves without another word.

You sigh as you sit back, an unpleasant feeling resting in your stomach as you turn your (colored) eyes toward the clock hanging on the wall. You weren’t trying to push Zeke away, you still didn’t know how to feel.

Porco still came across your mind quite often, still wounded by the way he left you, breaking your heart. But then Zeke… he was there for you, which took you by surprise. He was kinder than you had imagined, and had been nothing but supportive throughout your bout of illness.

You knew that he was your husband and that you were his wife, but there wasn’t any romantic love there. Or at least, you didn’t think so.

It was hard to tell how you felt about the bearded blonde. The way he comforted you late in the evenings when your stomach couldn’t contain itself made you feel safe. On cooler nights, he would sometimes rest his hand on your hip, gently, as if he were afraid to startle you, and to give you the option to be untouched.

There were some things that he said that really caught your interest, or made you check your reality. Most days he would even compliment you, even if you weren’t putting on an act in front of his family, the maids and butlers, or any visiting royals.

His words could make your cheeks heat up in an instant, but in a genuine way that wasn’t laced with any of the playfulness and teasing that you were used to from Porco.

The door swinging open catches your attention, and you startle as Mikasa walks in alone. You instinctively reach for your shoes, bending over your stomach to grab at them.

Mikasa’s grey eyes catch on your motions, her eyes lingering around your waist as a frown settles on her features. She joins you by your side, leaning down to help slide your shoes on, silent for a moment.

As you sit back, embarrassed that you were struggling to put your shoes on, you hear her say something softly.

“Have you… have you been sneaking snacks in from the kitchen, Y/n?” she asks quietly, finishing sliding your shoe on before sitting next to you again, her features full of concern.

You blink at her in surprise, insecurities washing over you for a second as you stutter out, “N-no I haven’t, why do you ask? With all of my vomiting, I’ve probably been eating less than normal.”

Mikasa just nods, her face going back to its usual neutral position before she nods toward the door and says, “Alright, let’s get to your appointment then.” She stands up and offers you a hand, one which you take as she pulls you to your feet.

Just as you’re standing up, Zeke reappears, his face blank as he glances at you and Mikasa. She gives him a respectful bow before walking to the door and opening it wide for you.

You look at Zeke, who had already returned to his desk and to his letter, and you sigh before turning away and walking through the door. Mikasa follows you, gracefully shutting it behind the door of you before guiding you down the hallway, walking you to where the doctor’s office awaited.

It’s a bit of a walk to the other side of the castle, enough time for you to gather your thoughts, calm the beating of your heart, and attempt at presenting yourself like a princess.

Mikasa’s quiet voice once again breaks you out of your thoughts as she quietly says, “Listen, Y/n, I know this is none of my business, but, have you and Zeke ever, you know.”

Her gaze gets more intense as her cheeks dust pink, and you feel your own warmth bloom in your cheeks as you furiously blush and reply, “No! Absolutely not! I would never let him touch me like that!”

Mikasa nods once, and is quiet for a few more steps before she continues, “Have you ever been with another man? Prior to Zeke?”

You frown as you go shake your head no, but then you stop. And you remember.

You remember the day that you were summoned to the castle and the way your parents told you that you would be married to Zeke in three days' time, shipped off to the castle the following day,

You remember rushing home that evening, the way you rushed to the Galliard’s farmhouse to tell Porco what was going on.

Porco. You remember that night you spent with Porco, all night, making love to each other because you knew it would likely be the last time you’d ever get to be together the way you were used to.

You stop in your tracks as your gaze drops to the floor in front of you, and a wave of emotion washes over you, with tears flooding the corners of your eyes.

You had given yourself to someone before, someone who you had fully loved with your heart and your soul. You thought he too, loved you like that, but Porco Galliard had been silent from that night he left you.

An intense wave of emotion washes over you, and you feel faint for a second, and that’s when Mikasa grabs you by the arm firmly.

“Y/n? Let’s get you to the doctor’s, he’s just down the hall,” Mikasa states softly, her grip firm but yielding as she starts to drag you down the hallway with care. The doctor’s office is just up ahead, so you do your best to stumble along with Mikasa as you brush the tears off of your cheeks.

The door swings open before Mikasa can even knock, and a shorter, brown-haired man appears before you, the noise of a yell coming from behind him as he gives you a smile.

“Hello there, Princess Y/n,” he says cheerily, “My name is Doctor Moblit, and I’ll be tending to you today. Doctor Hange is quite busy in the lab, so I told her I could walk through your appointment with you today.”

You give him a weak smile and nod, and as he takes in your condition, including how you were leaning on Mikasa, he slides to your other side, taking up some of your weight to guide you into the private office.

Mikasa helps you into a chair before she turns around to leave, her hand reaching for the door. You quickly call out, “Wait! Please stay, Mikasa… I would appreciate you being here with me.”

Mikasa freezes as she comprehends your words, and simply shuts the door before sitting across from you and giving you a small nod and smile. You give her a small grin in thanks, but your attention is quickly drawn to another scream that came from deeper in the complex that was the doctor’s office in the castle.

Moblit just chuckles as he sits down at his desk, gathering a clipboard with a patient’s chart on it and shucking his lab coat off. He adjusts his glasses before stating, “Please don’t mind Doctor Hange, she gets very excited about new things in her lab.”

All three of you chuckle for a moment while Moblit writes a few things down before looking up at you with a kind smile and asking, “Alright Princess Y/n, I was told that you’ve still been having the feelings of sickness in the mornings?”

You give him a nod as you shuffle in your seat to get comfortable before replying, “Yes sir, and as before, it’s not every day where it’s affecting me. It’s only some, and it’s been harder to eat sometimes. And sometimes I want to eat some weird conconctiosn that the chefs are kind enough to make me.”

Moblit nods as he writes a few more things down, and you glance at Mikasa as you take a shaky gulp, but she gives you an encouraging nod.

Sighing, you clear your throat and continue, “Well, Doctor Moblit, there’s actually something I do want to talk to you about specifically.” Moblit raises his eyebrow as he gestures toward you, signalling that he was listening to what you were going to say.

“Well, I think I-”

Tag list: @xxdragonwriterxx @tejxswini @mysterystarz @mortedeveles @vs-redemption @kal0psi-a @gin-no-g @starstruckkittensweets @kitacharm @sukosie @shirari @animated-moon @mitzwinchester @elitparadox @yumeyooa @angels-main @missyasma @sasha-geyo

[calpops]

less lonely | l.h.

You move in with Luke and he realizes all of the time he’s missed out on with you and his son.

From my prompt list: I can’t do this anymore & stay with me

1.3k words

living with luke masterlist | feedback and reblogs mean the world

Copyright © 2021 calpops. All rights reserved. This original work is not allowed to be reposted on any platform in any format (translations included).

Luke looks around his house, the once clean and comfortable home turned upside down. Boxes and suitcases litter the floor and footprints sweep across the tile from friends helping in the endeavor to move you and Luke’s son in. Luke’s still in awe and shock at the revelations you brought to his doorstep the previous day but an excitement sits in his heart that he can’t deny. His son sits in a baby swing and giggles as Luke crouches down to face him. Robbie reaches a hand up and gives Luke a grin.

“Hey bud,” Luke coos and takes Robbie’s small hand, the baby’s fingers tiny in his hold. “Welcome home.”

“I think he likes it here,” Luke hears you say from behind him, he spins on his heel and faces you, stands to be at eye level and watches as you place a box on the coffee table.

“I hope so,” he mutters, runs a hand through his hair and eyes all of the things that have accumulated around the house. “Is that the last of it?” Luke asks as the door shuts behind Ashton and Michael both toting boxes. Affirmative nods come Luke’s way. “Lotta stuff for two people.”

You laugh and Luke feels a little lighter through all of the adjustments. “Believe it or not, most of it is his,” you retort and send a fond smile over to Robbie. “I may have gone a little overboard.”

Luke shakes his head, knowing that he would have done the same if given the chance. He can’t imagine what he would have done for his son as a newborn, he doesn’t know what ridiculous things he would have sought out. It hits him once again that there’s eight missing months standing between them. His heart aches and his mind wanders through the time he lost but he shakes himself, knowing that letting himself drown in those missing pieces won’t do anyone any good.

“It’s too bad Cal’s not here to help,” Ashton chides lightly even though everyone knows why and would never hold it against him.

“Have you heard from him? How’s Mila doing?” Michael asks and Luke tunes in for an update; his favorite niece fighting an illness that’s left Calum by her side at all times.

“Better,” Ashton informs and the entire room lightens. Luke catches his breath and peers over at Robbie, unable to imagine what it must be like to be in Calum’s shoes. “Cal said if she’s doing even better by the weekend we can go see her.”

Luke leans back down to Robbie and picks him up, suddenly needing to know that he’s okay. Protective instincts kicking into gear at the mention of Mila and the anxiety that looms. Luke rocks Robbie, swaying himself from side to side as the eight month old delights in the motion.

“We’ll go meet Mila, huh, I think you two will be best buds,” Luke whispers with all of the hope his heart can muster.

Ashton and Michael stay long enough to help build and set up the essentials. They stay until it’s dark and rejoice in the new bundle of joy that’s joined the family. Michael makes promises that Robbie is his favorite nephew and vows that this time he’ll be the favorite uncle. Ashton only chuckles and waves a hand at his friend. The day goes by smoothly and Luke finds himself restless as night claims the sky and silence settles into the once bustling house.

It’s late when Luke finds himself sitting on the couch sifting through cardboard boxes, fingers finding a photo album and curiosity getting the better of him. He pauses, knows he shouldn’t pry but the photo of Robbie on the cover allows him to indulge. You’d already promised he could see photos of the times he missed. Alone and under nothing but moonlight pooling in from the French doors Luke assumes now is better than later. He flips the album open and takes a deep breath.

He’s met with the sight of a newborn Robbie, his height and weight written in the margins of the book. He flips through the pages, watches as Robbie grows bigger and hurt makes a home in his heart. Photos of Robbie with you scatter the pages, photos of Robbie with people Luke has never met blow hard truths into his mind. He keeps flipping, restless in his endeavor to catch up on all that he’s missed. He hears the floor creak behind him and turns to find you tiptoeing down the hall.

“What are you doing up?” you ask.

“Just… looking,” he says, voice low and quiet. He turns back to the album and finds Robbie with a smile that could melt and break hearts. “I can’t do this anymore,” Luke mumbles and snaps the album shut.

“Do what?” you question as you approach and see the album now discarded on the coffee table.

Luke sighs and covers his hands with his face as he leans back into the plush cushions of the couch. He rubs his eyes and then drags his fingers down his face and eventually settles his hands balled into fists in his lap.

“Pretend that I’m okay,” he chokes out and feels the dip of your weight on the cushions beside him. “Pretend that it doesn’t kill me that I missed so much of his life.”

“You don’t have to pretend,” you whisper and Luke hears the pain and genuine sentiment in your voice. It almost makes him feel better to know you don’t expect him to be okay with it, that he doesn’t have to put on a strong front or act detached from his emotions. He looks over at you and a realization hits him.

“I don’t want to”—Luke begins and shakes his head and all of the anxieties inside of him—“but I can’t help it. I look at you and him and how bonded you are, I see all of the time I missed to have that with him. I look at you and I blame you.”

“I know,” you say and shock Luke, leave him coming up short and make his heart beat uncomfortably hard in his chest. He didn’t expect that. “And I’m sorry.”

Luke sighs and feels his emotions spike. “Could you really not find me?”

He waits with bated breath, heart beating out the time it takes for you to respond. He feels himself cool, the accusations and blame boiling over and sending a chill up his spine. He instantly feels regret bite at him when he sees how glossy your eyes have gotten and how distant you become.

“I tried,” you say and it sounds like a promise, a plea for Luke to understand. “I wrote you but I didn’t know where to send the letters.”

It goes silent for a moment and Luke collects himself. He realizes you did all you could given the circumstances. One night stands didn’t usually wind up like this. Without his number or address it was all just shots in the dark trying to find him.

“And I was scared,” you admit in a whisper and Luke furrows his eyebrows in confusion. “Suddenly I was pregnant and alone and didn’t know how to find you; I didn’t know if you’d believe me if I did.”

Luke sags, his shoulders dropping and weight sinking back into the couch. He didn’t know that. Didn’t think that you might fear his response, fear that he may not believe you or take Robbie as his own.

“I believe you,” Luke says and turns back to you. “I’m sorry too. I don’t blame you, I shouldn’t have said that.”

Moonlight and pain sparkle your eyes as they gaze at the floor. Luke watches your hands, your fingers curling into your palms and dragging across the length of your legs.

“Do you want me to go?” you ask and Luke feels a hidden meaning within the question.

“No, please don’t,” he responds quickly. He reaches a hand out and captures yours, he hasn’t felt a spark simmer under his skin in a long while, but with emotions on high and the night being so dark he feels it under his skin and in his bones. “Stay with me?”

You nod and Luke feels a little bit less lonely as the night fades away.

***

If you’d like to be added to my tag list just let me know!

Tagged: @rosecolouredash @golden-hood @who-do-you-love-5sos @caswinchester2000 @wildflowergrae @cuddlemecalx @malumsmermaid @babylon-corgis @outerspaceisbetterthannothing @mariellelovescupcakes @xhaileyreneex @gosh-im-short @feliznavidaddycal @loveroflrh @findingliam-o @flowerthug @g-l-pierce @talkfastromance4 @cashtonasfuck @sc0ttish-wildfl0wer @wastedheartcth @notinthesameguey @lukesfuckingbeard @myloverboyash @treatallwithkindness @haikucal @wiildflower-xxx @calum-uncrowned @egyptiangoldhood @drarryetcetera @another-lonely-heart @megz1985 @idk-harry @dinosaursandsocks @wildflower-cth @idontneedanyone @everyscarisahealingplace @myfavfanficsever @stormrider505 @karajaynetoday @333-xx @calumshpod @calumsphile @calumrose @justhereforcalum @grreatgooglymoogly @calumance @ahoodgirl @chicken-ona-stick @wish-you-were-here-hood @hoodhoran @awomanindeniall @saywhatnow07 @liati2000 @babylonflvrd @hazardosterfield @valentynecalum

[heli0s-writes]

It Is Knowing*

HI THANKS FOR EVERYTHING. It’s been a wonderful ride. Here’s the last part of Bag of Tricks. It’s tender and smutty and stupid. All mistakes are my own.

Please stop reading if you are not over 18!

Bag of Tricks Masterlist

He’s terrified.

Suddenly he’s looking at you one way, and then in a flash, the same dumb grin you always give him— the crooked one on the cusp of an ill joke— turns bright white.

It goes brilliant like star fire and during a storm inside a standard-issued cabin hideout, Bucky thinks he must be losing his mind.

And maybe he’s been losing it for a few weeks now, but he’s done a great job dodging the reality of your confession so far. Doesn’t matter what you mumbled—cracked out on exhaustion and sleep-talking—because in the end, you’re his friend and you love him the same way you love everyone else: annoyingly. Nothing’s changed about that.

He hazards another glimpse.

“Help?” You ask from the table, angrily scratching out blocks of an attempted crossword puzzle.

Do it in pencil, he tried to warn earlier, but you only called him chickenshit because you’re—yep—annoying.  

“Foudre,” Bucky says carefully and you perk up at the sound of his voice. “It’s a… six-letter French word for thunder.” He clears his throat, gesturing toward the window splattered with rain.

“Oh-ho-ho,” you snort, “Smart boy, aren’t ya? FOO-DRUH.” An incredible bastardization of the term, and you sing around a chewed-up pen cap between your teeth. “My name’s Smart-Boy-Bucky and I know French, Russian, and Updog.”

“What the hell is Updog?”

Your face steels.

“Nothing much, how ‘bout you?”

And instead of going over there to kick your ass, all he can do is stare wordlessly as you break into a laugh—his entire body electric like a live wire.

-

He keeps telling himself there are only a few days before someone drops in to collect. He just needs a little bit of distance, some time alone to clear his head and get over this—thing.

But his brain feels like it’s melting while he waits, his stomach is probably developing an ulcer, and his heart is so fast and fierce that he can almost see the pulse in his sternum throbbing errantly.

Too many things are wrong. You’re his friend— and Bucky wants to throttle himself a little bit for ever letting you be his friend. You’re an unfiltered, oblivious dumbass and he doesn’t like that at all. You cry over animals and when he gets hurt because you’re an insufferable drama queen, too. He hates that. He does.

The sound of something enormous slamming on the ground makes him dash into the shared bedroom and—oh god, Bucky thinks he’s going to throw up.

First, the mattresses are on the floor.

Second, you’re. wearing. that. stupid. shirt.

The blue one. The one he used to love, hated for a bit, came back around to wearing, and now—yep, he officially hates it again.

“I think you’re too tall for the bunk.” You’re pushing the beds together, unaware of his clenched fists. “So if we sleep diagonally your feet won’t hang off—and can you believe it—” you point to the hem of cerulean brushing against your skin, “I packed three raincoats and no pajamas.”

At the sight of your creeping smile, Bucky loses it.

“Why are you going through my stuff?!” He shouts, gripping the doorframe with enough force to take the molding clear off. “Why are you touching my shit!?” And he probably sounds insane, flying off the handle like this, but he’s got a million grievances against you and this is just the tip of the iceberg.

“Mind your own fucking business!” He’s still unloading, unreasonably frantic at the sight of that terrible color hanging from your shoulders.

Bewildered, you plop down clumsily on your knees, gawking like a deer in the headlights.

Your bare legs, your fingertips on your thighs, the thin sleeves oversized and loose on your forearms, that smear of toothpaste on the collar, the hollow of your throat taut from holding your breath—it makes him want to grab you by the shoulders and shake you dizzy.

It makes him want to touch you. It makes him want you.

He’s sick. He’s dying. He’s so, so fucked.

“What…” Bucky quietly trails off, gasping helplessly as realization sinks in, “…what the hell is wrong with you...”

“Me?!” You shriek back, “What the hell is wrong with you? I’m over here worried about your crusty feet hanging off at night and you just swing in and take a dump on me?”

Bucky groans, miserable and guilty. “I’m sorry,” he says quickly, “Shit. I’m—I don’t know.”

“Eat my ass, dude!” you sneer, already tucked under the blankets. “I’m going to sleep. Turn off the fucking light you’re going to stand there looking like a dumbass.”

A feeble sigh as Bucky pushes his hands into his face, gripping his hair, pulling his own head back until he’s glaring at the ceiling, listening to the patter on the roof.

“You’re the dumbass,” he whispers.

You’re the dumbass with the emotional regulation problem. The idiot with the temper. The head full of sawdust. But, if it only took three careless words from your blundering mouth to make Bucky fall entirely apart, you must be right after all. He is the dumbass.

He feels split open like the sky—torn up completely, unable to make out anything in his own turbulence.

Fuck.

The sheets shift until he hears them slide off. Then, a pattern of bare feet across hardwood. He must look disastrous in the doorway, bent out of shape in uncharacteristic disarray.

“What is going on with you?” You find his arm, fingers wrapping around his wrists, tugging until they peel off his wretched face. “Why are you so upset? I wear your clothes all the time; I’m always in your stuff.”

He chuckles defeatedly because you really are always in his space. Throwing yourself into in his room. Eating chips in his bed. Squirreling away in his brain. Everywhere. Always.

Bucky presses his lips into a thin line, grimacing as he looks at you. Wordless and vulnerable, he can feel his brow sinking lower, throat narrowing around a swallow as he attempts to fix himself. A stutter falls out, then another, crackling syllables like surfacing thunder but never quite forming a sentence.

The earth groans, shaking the cabin and his precarious soul.

“What is it? Why are you looking at me like—”

And then, under a streak of lightning, recognition splits across your face.

“Don’t,” he pleads to the silence, “Don’t say it.”

The seconds stretch into horrible eons of slow passing time. You tilt your head this way and that, eyes going from his face to his hands, limp at his side with your own fingers still grasping on.

“Jesus, Bucky,” you say gently, “You’re—my best friend.”

Bucky shuts his eyes. “I know. I’m not trying—"

“Bucky,” you interrupt, faster now. “Bucky,” suddenly elated and laughing. “Bucky—shut up.”

And then the entire room bursts into flames. Your lips are searing hot against his— plump and eager, leaving scorching trails everywhere they touch, and Bucky burns up like a solar flare trying to catch his breath.

“You’re an idiot,” you laugh, kissing him again. His cheeks, his jaw, his chin. “A real idiot.”

He’s terrified and dizzy, fumbling with a million possible outcomes and failing painfully each time. Relationships never quite work out for him; he’s dated a few girls and liked them a lot, too, but they’ve never turned out how he wanted them to. And this one—this one, he really can’t fuck up.

He’s got a bad track record, and with you, never knowing is much better than losing.

“Hey, you’re going crazy in there. I can hear it.” A sweet smile as your lips hover over his. The sweetest your face as ever looked. “Stop thinking, Bucky. Kiss me.”

Your lashes are so long and pretty. The dip of your cupid’s bow, a shape he adores. Even the tiny scar on your neck and the way your hair moves— wispy strands framing your face. Sounds of happiness tumbling out, hand firmly inside of his.

“It’s just me.” Joyful. Comfortable. “You know me.”

Your eyes glimmer—a familiar color calling him home.

“Yeah,” he chokes out, “Yeah, I do.”

Steve was the more competent linguist in their old days. Rolling French r’s, dropping ending consonants, silky smooth in pronunciation. Bucky’s tongue had always been more supplant to the Eastern European languages but, he knows enough of French—remembers enough from the war to recognize this:

Coup de foudre.

It’s the thing romantics exalt, the thing that half-strikes him now. The thunderbolt.

Love at first sight, even though it’s not quite first sight at all.

It’s not infatuated or starry-eyed. Not blind. Not feeling.

It is knowing.

And yeah, Bucky watches the way you pull him to the floor, euphoric and aglow, Jesus H. Christ, he knows.

This is it for him: your chaos, your entropy, your impulse. Your lack of personal space and foresight and good fucking sense. But—your kindness, too. Your care. Your heart.

Calm and patient as you settle down into his lap, the warm weight of you seems to be the only thing keeping him on earth.

“Can I touch you?” You ask shyly.

His voice is barely audible, hands unsure of where to rest, heart swollen in his throat.

Bucky flushes, and in the split second of your tongue sweeping over your bottom lip, he tells himself do it, you coward, just fucking do it—and god help him, he does.

He presses his face into your neck, kissing hungrily, anywhere he can, down to your collar and chest and then he’s lifting you up by the thighs and instinctively pulling everything off.

You’re both surprised and excited, blinking at his urgency, and then you start scrambling, too.

His shirt gets flung behind your back. Both pants disappear somewhere else. One hand goes into his hair, other guiding him between your legs where you smear all over his fingers.

Bucky stutters breathlessly like he might go into shock. “You’re all fucking— oh fuckin’ hell.”

You only arch into it, holding his chin between your thumb and forefinger, kissing the bristles of his jaw. You’re soft and warm and he’s utterly overcome. Little noises fall from one mouth to another. An awkward shift and your thighs slip off his, head knocking into him, but neither of you are bothered.

He feels perfect in your hands. A silly grin blooms on your lips before you tip forward and glide yourself over his length, rubbing back and forth, hips moving easily.

His abs clench in time with his fists, wet fingers digging into his palms, bit-back groans barely contained. You keep going, marveling at the way he’s sensitive, kissing his neck, letting him feel good. Bucky begins to protest, embarrassed at the way you’re moving, at how he’s unquestionably powerless.

“S-slow—hold on—“

“Let me do it, Buck.” He’s so hard it hurts. “I wanna learn everything you like.”

Jesus. Fucking. Christ. Bucky holds himself to calm down, other hand steadying your teasing. Nothing’s happened yet and he might already blow his whole fucking load.

“Okay—just—will you give me a second--"

Using the position you’re already in, he lifts you up and brings you back down, a bit at a time until you’re landing on his hand with a gasp. He uses his fist as a stopper, letting you have it slow, feeling you shudder from inside your goddamn bones with every further inch until he takes it away and you shimmy down to the hilt.

Your eyes roll back. And you look perfect.

“Was it good?” He blurts, “With Thor?”

He doesn’t know why it slips out; he never thinks about it, honest. It was a hook up. One time—and he’s not jealous like that because you’re all adults, and it’s not like he’s a virgin or an ascetic, either. You freeze, but he really is an idiot because instead of apologizing or rectifying that outburst, he cuts you off.

“I can give it to you better.”

Because Bucky wants to. He really does.

He presses onward before you can respond, taking hold of what little courage he has, making you whimper, feeling prouder as he goes. Another one and you’re meeting him with a roll of your own hips. Another one, harder now, and you’re shaking on top, tipping him backward into the cushions, grinding recklessly with that exhilaration he adores.

“Bucky, you feel amazing.” Tongue-tied like a schoolboy, he’s keening after your words. “Can I have you all the time?” And Jesus wept who knew you could talk so sweet and filthy.

“Yeah, sweetheart,” Bucky promises, his jaw hanging open in awe, “I’m yours. You can have me as much as you want— anytime.”

You bite your lip, skin of it pulled taut and snapping back bruised, light-headed and reeling. Glistening across your collarbones with his spit, body trembling like a high note. He feels it— just a little more— god, you look incredible— he’s gotta hold out for this— and then—fuck. 

It’s wet and divine when you come. Slick and tight, dragging him under as you ride out your orgasm, pulling him in like he belongs in you forever.

And he knows. He knows, he knows, he knows.

Bucky could die happy seeing your face like this every day.

-

It’s rougher in the morning. In the shower, soaking together. Faster.

On the couch, next. With him asking you to put your hand here, move your leg there.

He wants to learn everything you like, too.

You eagerly change positions, giggling when your knee slips and you pitch forward onto his chest. The two of you take a moment to compose yourselves, pinching each other, kissing in-between. He commits to memory the way your lids flutter when he touches you. The way everything moves easy and wonderful, sometimes lazy, sometimes harried, but always fun.

Yelping when you bite too hard. Biting you back even harder. Positions neither of you have surprisingly tried before, but why not start?

Cursing. So much cursing. A lot of it good—fuck me, yes, more, don’t stop—but truthfully, most of it stays about the same.

Barnes, you got a juicy ass.

Will you shut up!

And he never thought a person was supposed to laugh so hard during sex, or if maybe that’s just your own brand of love, but he doesn’t want to find out with anyone else.

It’s the fifth time, and Bucky’s dick is about to fall off—how are you still doing this—just a few thrusts in when the banging on the front door frightens the both of you into your clothes.

Sam swings it open and Bucky is desperately tucking himself into his pants before—please, no.

“It smells like ass in here!” Sam hollers, “The hell have you two been—oh my god.”

“Shut up, Sam!” You respond from the corner of the room, head ripping through the neck hole of a sweater, legs wiggling into a pair shorts. Bucky is still shirtless, hoping he might spontaneously combust.

“Oh my god,” Sam whispers again, “Oh… my god.” He sputters on the verge of either eruption or death.

“You freaky little—” he hisses, before screaming, “Oh hell no! I’m here picking y’all asses up. Landed the damn jet like two miles away, walked my happy ass through the rain— you butt-ass-naked in here—” He stands ram-rod straight, hands on his hips angrily. “I’m tellin’ on y’all.”

“Telling on?! What are you, five!? You’re so annoying, Sam!”

“Annoying? What’s annoying is—I’m wet! And well— you wet too, huh?”

“I hate you.”

Sam snickers, high-fiving himself before crossing his arms, “Really though, believe me when I say this for everybody who’s ever met you two: finally. Now get y’all freaky asses outside so I can go home and drink myself into forgetting I ever saw Barnes’ dick.”

You pat him on the shoulder, “It’s nice, huh?”

Sam dry-heaves, “Uh-uh. That’s enough. Go wash your damn hands.”

A few minutes later, Bucky locks the door to a now silent cabin, damp with sweat and the smell of earth. It’s torrential still, two days bucketing and the ground is so wet mud goes up to his ankles. Luckily, and he wants to laugh at that, you packed two extra raincoats.

Thunderclaps shake the very ground he stands on. Bucky turns to look at you, marveling when electricity bounces off your eyes, lighting up your face. He reaches over.

A squeeze to your hand that says I’m yours.

One more, tighter. I love you.

You slot your fingers between his. I know.

You smile at the next streak in the sky. Me too.

[an-angel-in-the-garden]

Hello I was wondering if you could do a male reader x feral shadow wraith any thing works but please can reader also be a photographer like wanting to take photos of his wairth! Thank you

Male Monster x Male Reader

This took me so long and I'm sorry for that. I got two ask with wraiths one wanted dating headcanons with just a wraith of any kind and had no preference for gender so I'm mixing them with a fic about a male reader meeting a feral wraith and a second part with the dating headcanons for said wraith because this became so long hope you enjoy! CW: Cursing and when letters look like this its for thinking and this is the monster

It had all started with a job offer one that would send me to a small town within some mountains. Though it was nearing winter the pay along with the amazing sights I would be able to see made it to good to pass up so with a contract signed I got ready to set off for two weeks of hopefully blissful work. The first few days after arriving wasn't to bad the town had a nice cabin that could be rented out the stores had good products to buy and the people were welcoming, even telling me some places that would be great for my photography. After settling in and looking over the maps and walking paths of the mountain I asked one of the people I had seen walking the trail each day for some help.

" So I haven't seen one on the maps but I was told there was a small waterfall and lake on the mountain" I handed him the grainy photo I had been given" The man who payed me wanted me to take a better picture of this but I'm not sure how to get there." The man hummed taking the picture from me and looked at it for a moment " Well I've never seen it while walking but from the looks of this its not on the mountain its at the base" He smiles handing me back the print." You could ask Marie she gathers plants and the like from the base of the mountain she might have been there! I nodded, talking with him for a few more minutes before taking my leave hoping to catch Marie before she started work for the day.

I got lucky managing to speak with her about the photo and seeing if she knew about the area I was looking for. After walking with her to her shop Marie told me that she had in fact seen something like this before and if I was up for it could take me tomorrow, I agreed letting her know that I would see her the next day. We met right as the sun began to rise and the morning air was cold enough it seeped through my layered clothes. It was then I met Steven a man who headed down the mountain during the sunrise and came back to town once it set it seemed he would be the one taking us down. The ride was mostly quiet with small bouts of chatter every once and a while about both the town and places I've been before we would settle into the silence enjoying the view.

We arrived at the edge of a forest tall trees spanning who knows how far and looking full of life." I tend to take the main path when I'm looking for certain plant life but" Marie trails pulling a small parchment from her bag" since your looking for a lake we need to travel off it" "That's fine with me but hey Steven" He looks over at me" Would it be ok to leave those two bags in your truck I wont need them till tonight" Yeah sure no problem I'll be back right before sun down so just meet back up here" He laugh's" Not like I need to worry Marie wont let you get lost. I chuckle thanking him before taking my equipment bag out and grabbing my camera for if I saw something nice on our walk. Marie and Steven talked a little more while I looked around it was then I thought I saw something; quick and dark it rushed past the trees startling some rabbits that had been by one of them. " Is there something we need to worry about while were out here" Hmm not anything to bad most the animals can be scared off why" Just wondering" I turned back hoping to catch a glimpse of what it could have been.

Marie nodded before patting my back slightly moving past me to start walking down our off road path. It took maybe an hour or two for us to reach it. The large open body of water at the base of the mountain, from above cascading down the rocks was a brilliant waterfall the grass though slightly covered in a thin layer of frost still housed some wonderful flowers and plant life and I knew I would spend however long it took to get the perfect photo here. It seemed Marie could tell what I was thinking as she spoke up" I guess you like it!" yeah..yeah its so beautiful here" Well if you need me to bring you back here just let me know" I set my bag down on a smooth looking rock turning and giving her my full attention" I'm really grateful that you were willing to bring me Ill just stay around here so please let me know if you need help with anything" She just smiles giving me a wave before heading back the way we came with the promise she would be back when we needed to meet with Steven.

I was there for hours taking photos of wild life plants and the likes but no matter hard I tried to focus on just my work I couldn't shake the feeling of being watched. No matter how much I pushed it away "I'm in the wild its normal to feel watched" I looked around signing before setting up for another picture 'But was that really the only reason' I shuddered upon hearing a branch break near me. It took me several try's before I got some photos I would be happy to show my client but I knew I would save some of these for myself already and after that I took a break. Pulling some food I had packed out of the backpack I ate letting the sounds of the waterfall and nature soothe me. I hadn't realized I had even fallen asleep but the feeling of something cold and heavy covering me is what caused me to awake. Something unknown dripping on my skin and pressing slightly on my chest I startled opening my eyes and bringing my hands up to push whatever it was from atop me yet when my eyes adjusted there was nothing. My breathing was heavy and the feeling of sweat on me was more noticeable then ever but nothing was out of place and I was fine " Y/N!" I heard Marie call out the sun was beginning to set" Right we have to meet back up" I packed my things in a hurry looking around the open area for anything and when it came up blank I sighed and headed to the opening.

" Well how was it" Steven ask as I reach the clearing" Mostly good I still need the main picture but with any luck I can get it tonight and start any editing he might want" Tonight! you plan on staying here tonight" Marie asked voice laced with worry'' Hmm yeah the other bags have my camping gear, dont worry I'll only stay in that spot and I dont plan on taking anything". I said heading over to the truck to get my bags" He'll be fine I'll make sure to pick him up in the morning' But dont you work" Marie cut in before I could say anything it seemed she really didn't like the idea of me out here" I'm sure he wont mind coming to town with me right" Oh um what town?" I only knew of the one on the mountain." Its a larger one past the forest you take a side road to find it plenty to do there" But what if.." Ill be okay thank you for your worry but I've done this before I wont do anything risky" She finally nods patting my shoulder again and telling me to be safe before getting in the truck. Steven gives me a thumb's up wishing me luck on getting the photo and with that their off heading back up the mountain as I head to the lake hoping what I felt was just a dream.

The nights were much colder but wrapped in extra jackets and laying in my tent with my camera set and ready I waited in hopes of seeing the moon light up the clear water. I could still hear the other animals around me but the feeling of being watched was no longer present "Maybe I was just being paranoid" Honestly this wasn't so bad it might be colder then I would like but the view and sounds were so mesmerizing that it made it more then worth it I really wouldn't mind spending my weeks out here for this photo alone. I didn't know how much time had past but I felt it again, the feeling of being watched like something was lurking right outside my vision maybe it was the drowsiness or maybe it was the fact that I needed to know I wasn't imagination it but with a shaky voice I called out.

" Look I dont know whether you're an animal or not but I just need to know if something is or isn't there okay!" Though nervous of what might be lurking I stilled raised my voice" It might just be an animal Marie said plenty are out here" you can see me" I moved my equipment into my tent as fast as I could pulling my body all the way and zipping it up my breathing was heavy and my heart was pounding in my ears when the area went quite. "You saw me" The voice was a harsh deep growl sounding loud yet distant but all encompassing just the sound made me feel like I couldn't breath. Against my better judgment I answered back "It already knows I'm here why bother staying quiet"

" s-So what if I did?!" Good...." as it spoke a shadow approached my tent, Larger then any human or animal it slowly crawled? over looking hunched while tilting what I think was its head to stared at the closed tent. "OUT" the voice was louder now echoing through the trees as the beast raised its body. Though shaking I moved forward opening the tent still staying inside. "WHAT THE FUCK" My voice broke body shaking worse then before as I took in the creature before me. Towering over me was nothing but blackness like spilled ink dripping down from above it sat? stood? just watching me pure white eyes unblinking and mouth colored red from something.

The beast seemed unfazed by my raised voice or what I said it simply lowered its head a long tongue falling from its stained mouth before wrapping around my throat it was cold and rough the goo that covered its body was dripping on me and my vision became hazy. All I remember after that was the sound of purring and the feeling of being carried.

Okay okay that it for now I will very soon make the part two with headcanons of the after and dating of the monster! This wasn't meant to be this long but I got carried away so I dont want to make this any longer by adding more it might also not be edited super well but I tried to catch any major mistakes! I hope you liked this part and look forward to more! - Lilly

[whumpmatsus]

Sup fam! 👋 while I'm still organizing my own list of ways to torments the bois, I thought I'd send my first request in! Not exactly sure how the different combos can work, but maybe 19 for Ichimatsu? 😼

Definitely more to come lol 😹 but I'll make sure to spread them out so you don't feel overwhelmed. Thank you so much, I caaaare yooooou 💞💞💞

Ultimate Whump Writing Meme! / ACCEPTING!

19. Grief/mourning

OHOHO I can't wait to see your list! X3c

the combos are pretty easy, I can see where they might be confusing tho! some of them don't have letters along with the number which means it's not a 'category', it's just its own thing, but if it does have letters to go with it, you can choose one of those letters.

LIKE, say if you sent a request for a character with 1A, the 1 is "acute infectious disease", which is like, pretty broad and contains a TON of different diseases, which have their own letters. so if you just sent 1 by itself I'd spin the wheel to see which illness I felt like giving the character, but if you specify 1A, that means the request is for the character suffering from a cold!

another example, 6 is the "broken bones" category, you can send that to let me choose which bone I wanna break, but there's also the choice of different ones so if you send, ohhh, 6A, that means you want the character to have a broken rib

SO YEAH I can see where it's a lil confusing but I hope I explained it ok!!

(send ALL THE REQUESTS you could never overwhelm me XD)

anyways I've seen this idea done a couple times but I haven't seen anyone put an Iro spin on it and I was craving that Iro content sooooo...

TRIGGER WARNING though, for animal death! tread lightly <3

-

Ichimatsu has been sitting outside for hours holding the body.

It was a surprise to everyone when he came home carrying a heap of fluffy orange fur, not moving or breathing. Ichimatsu himself looked no different than usual, his half-lidded expression, probably too in shock to have an actual response. He was immediately crowded around, everyone asking questions, and all he could do was explain in that soft-spoken voice he uses when he’s trying not to cry.

He didn’t even really know what happened himself. He just told them he hadn’t seen ESP Kitty for a few days, and then tonight he went out to feed all his cats… and there was his precious friend in the alley. Surrounded by a bunch of his other cats, almost like they were protecting him, and moving only once Ichimatsu approached.

The tears started to form when he talked about picking ESP Kitty up, seeing the cat’s eyes open to look up at him. And ESP Kitty let out a weak meow, closed his eyes, and died in Ichimatsu’s arms. “It was like he was waiting for me,” Ichimatsu said bitterly, and the tears began to drip down. “Like he was just hanging on long enough to say goodbye.”

Then he pushed past all of his brothers, went out the back door, and has been sitting on the grass outside ever since.

None of them really know what to do or how to handle this. It’s the first time one of Ichimatsu’s cats has passed away, and especially one who he was so close to; who they were all so close to, to be honest. They’ve all kind of hung back, thinking he needs some time alone to process everything. After all, Ichimatsu likes to be left alone at the best of times, and none of them can imagine him reacting positively to their company right now.

However, when it’s time to get ready for bed, around midnight when they all start to get tired, Ichimatsu hasn’t come back inside. It’s not exactly freezing outside, but it’s certainly a chilly fall evening, and they’re starting to worry that he might be losing himself in his grief.

Before any of them can actually agree on who would be the best fit to go check on him, Karamatsu’s volunteered to take first crack at it. Tonight it seems like he’s the one not taking no for an answer rather than caving to everyone else. The rest of them look at each other with a silent exchange of words, and eventually come to the conclusion that, as kind and sensitive as Karamatsu is, he may be able to at least get Ichimatsu to come inside. If not, he’ll be back with a fresh bruise and someone else can give it a try.

So Karamatsu throws his hoodie on, grabs one of their thicker spare blankets, and heads outside.

Predictably, Ichimatsu is sitting in the same spot as he was the last time any of them looked out. He’s huddled in the grass near the back steps, curled up with his knees hugged against himself, with ESP Kitty’s body cradled to his chest. His head is ducked down at an angle that doesn’t allow anyone to see an expression.

Karamatsu shivers a bit when he steps out ― glad he thought to bring the blanket with him. He doesn’t say a word as he lowers himself down next to his little brother, and gently drapes the blanket around Ichimatsu’s shoulders.

The way Ichimatsu’s frame shudders suggests that he didn’t realize how cold he was until he now has something warm around him. He doesn’t really lift his head.

That’s not really promising, but Karamatsu has never been one to just give up, particularly when one of his brothers is in such a bad state. He shifts around a little, trying to get comfortable, lightly nudging his knee against Ichimatsu’s.

At last Ichimatsu speaks up in a mumble. “I don’t want to talk, Karamatsu.”

“You don’t have to.” Karamatsu matches his brother’s volume, slightly caught off guard that Ichimatsu has actually called him by name. “I just wanted to check on you. Everyone’s worried. It’s getting cold out, and you didn’t even come in to eat dinner.”

“Wasn’t hungry. And I’m warmer now. So there’s nothing to worry about.”

There is, though. There’s always something to worry about when people are mourning the loss of someone or something important to them. Although the rest of the brothers understand they can’t just tell Ichimatsu not to grieve (and that they can’t just not grieve themselves), ignoring his own wellbeing isn’t going to help a damn thing.

Karamatsu sits in silence for a moment, side by side with his little brother, before glancing over to take stock of the scene. Now that he’s closer, he can see tear tracks on Ichimatsu’s cheeks, that his eyes are red and puffy from crying. ESP Kitty’s body is resting there in his arms like the two of them were made for each other. If it weren’t for the fact that the cat isn’t breathing, it might look like he was just asleep.

Perhaps what makes Karamatsu best for the job is that he wasn’t as close to ESP Kitty as some of the others. He was still recovering from other injuries while the rest of the family bonded with him. That’s not to say that he doesn’t care about the cat, because of course he loved ESP Kitty as much as his brothers. But he doesn’t have as strong an emotional attachment, so he may not fall to pieces the way, say, Choromatsu might. Hopefully, that means it will be easier for him to comfort Ichimatsu.

He lifts a hand and reaches over, giving delicate pets between ESP Kitty’s ears; he almost expects Ichimatsu to jerk away or slap his hand. It doesn’t happen. Though he flinches a little, he doesn’t stop Karamatsu from touching his friend.

“You know,” he muses, “I didn’t know this little fellow as well as the rest of you did. I regret that. Do you think I could hold him for a moment?���

That’s what gets a reaction from Ichimatsu. The fourth eldest violently shakes his head, clutching the cat closer to him as if he feels the need to protect the cat. “No. I can’t let go of him. I can’t put him down.”

Karamatsu tilts his head, and pulls his hand away both to avoid distressing Ichimatsu further and to rub his brother’s back. He doesn’t say anything, just making sure Ichimatsu sees the inquisitive head tilt.

“I can’t let go of him,” Ichimatsu repeats. The tears start anew, spilling down his face. “If I let go…” He crumples in on himself, holding ESP Kitty as close as he possibly can. “If I let go… then he’s really gone…”

His voice breaks and raises half an octave on those last few words. He starts to sob again, pressing his forehead against the top of ESP Kitty’s head.

Karamatsu hesitates to lead Ichimatsu into a hug, fearing it won’t be tolerated well, then quickly bridges the gap once Ichimatsu leans in against him. For a long time, he holds Ichimatsu close, stroking his hair and rubbing his shoulder and letting him cry.

He doesn’t know quite what to say. Everything he says either sounds cruel or patronizing in his head.

So he’s quiet for a while, simply allowing Ichimatsu to weep, embracing his brother tightly like that will take all the pain away. He knows it won’t. And he doesn’t want to take the pain away; this kind of loss should hurt, and it’s almost a good thing that Ichimatsu can still feel pain. It means that his depression isn’t blocking him from feeling anything, that he’s still in touch with his emotions even if he has trouble with it sometimes.

Besides… if he’s going to come through his grief, it can’t just be shoved down and forgotten about. He remembers what he’s told Ichimatsu before, that sometimes when it hurts, the only thing to do is let it hurt so that it can be healed. Nothing good comes from wanting to deny one’s emotions, regardless of what they are.

He brushes a kiss over the top of Ichimatsu’s head. “He’s gone either way,” Karamatsu sighs, and he feels almost like a monster to say that. But what happens if Ichimatsu keeps holding on, never letting go? He’ll stay stuck. He’ll rot in the past and he’ll lose himself and the rest of them will lose their brother. He has to accept that, as tragic and painful as it is, his friend isn’t with them anymore.

Ichimatsu’s cries have faded to dull whimpers, stinging eyes as he wipes his tears against the shoulder of Karamatsu’s hoodie. “I… I know…” He blinks and looks down, petting ESP Kitty’s back. “But it hurts. I want him back. I’m so angry… I don’t even know what happened to him. Was he sick and I didn’t notice? Did he get hurt and I can’t see it? I promised I’d take care of him… that I’d never let anything happen to him… and now… I wasn’t there…”

“You were always there,” Karamatsu reassures, tracing lines between Ichimatsu’s shoulder blades. “You’re always there for all of your cats. I know it hurts not knowing what happened, but… whatever happened, it wasn’t your fault. You took such good care of him, and he loved you so much.”

“He was my best friend.” Ichimatsu sniffles and draws in a shaky breath. “It was just so fucking… easy… with him. He never judged me or thought I was a freak or cared about anything everybody else cares about. All he knew was that I kept him fed and I loved him and that was it.”

Karamatsu nods. That’s just the way animals are, he thinks. Animals and babies; they don’t have any ability to judge, and as long as someone takes care of them and treats them well, they love unconditionally. “He loved you, Ichimatsu. You made his life the best it could be. I understand you don’t want anyone to know this, but… you have a very good heart.”

That gets a brief, mirthless laugh from his little brother. His fingers continue to pet down ESP Kitty’s back, and he sniffles again. “He used to curl up and purr really loud when I pet him like this. And there was that time… I got all jealous because he was following Totty around…” He lets out another laugh, a few more tears falling down his cheeks. “And…”

“And it turned out Jyushimatsu had put a cat treat in Totty’s hoodie pocket to prank you,” Karamatsu chuckles. “Totty was taking his hoodie off at the end of the day, and it fell out, and you almost throttled him because you thought he was the one pranking you!”

Ichimatsu’s laughing a little harder, still crying the whole time. “Oh, my God. I was so pissed. I scooped up ESP Kitty and went to my little corner and didn’t talk to Jyushi for the rest of the night. Then the next morning Jyushi held up ESP Kitty and apologized in that stupid voice, like he always does.”

Karamatsu lets out a breath and tugs the blanket a bit tighter around Ichimatsu’s shoulders. “Jyushimatsu could never get ESP Kitty’s meow right, either. Which is funny, because he and Osomatsu are the best mimics of us all.”

“Yeah, no. ESP Kitty had the best meow. And the best purr.” Ichimatsu’s hand shifts upwards, scratching behind the cat’s ears. “He always knew when I was sad. If I was having a bad day and he was around, he’d come and curl up in my lap and purr like a Goddamn motorboat. And I dunno why, but… it always made me feel better. I could listen to him purring and feel it against my stomach for hours.”

“It was special, you’re right.” Another shiver from Ichimatsu makes a light bulb go off in Karamatsu’s head. “I remember… when it was raining or snowing, you would always bring him inside the house. And Mommy doesn’t like the cats inside overnight, but you convinced her to make an exception. It’s getting awfully cold out tonight.”

He tilts his head down, just a little, just enough that he can bring his little brother’s eyes to meet his. “… Ichimatsu. Why don’t we bring him inside?”

Ichimatsu’s face scrunches up, and more tears start a new cascade down his face. His grip around ESP Kitty tightens… but he nods.

“Y… yeah. Okay. He can warm up… and… e-everyone else… can say goodbye.” He allows Karamatsu to carefully guide him to his feet, leaning on his big brother as they walk up the steps. “Do… do you think… Mom would let us bury him back here…?”

Karamatsu hums. “If you can convince her to let him stay in the house overnight, I think you can convince her to do anything, my brother.”

The smile Ichimatsu gives is shaky, and vanished as quickly as it came. When they get to the top steps, he pauses, turning to his older brother. “Uh… do you… do you maybe wanna hold him?”

Karamatsu gives a smile in return, sad and understanding, then he gives Ichimatsu’s shoulders a squeeze and kisses the side of his forehead. “Once we get inside, I would like that. Right now, let me hold you. Alright?”

Ichimatsu takes in a quivery breath, pressing himself in against Karamatsu’s side in search of support. He knows by now that he’ll get it, even when he doesn’t really want it, but especially when he truly needs it. “Th… thanks, Karamatsu.”

So they head into the house. There’s grief behind them and grief ahead ― for how long, who knows?

At least Ichimatsu feels better walking into it with his brothers by his side than walking into it alone.

[manie-sans-delire-x]

My thoughts/analysis of We Need to talk about Kevin

From abnormal psych class paper:

The character I chose to analyze and diagnose is Kevin Khatchadourian from the 2011 film, We Need to Talk about Kevin. Brilliantly depicted by star Ezra Miller and various other child actors, Kevin is an angry, emotionally detached boy who struggles in his complex relationship with his mother. We see the unhealthy relationship develop between the two through-out the film as Kevin grows from a baby to a young man, ending in tragedy as Kevin achieves his ultimate revenge against his mother by massacring the rest of their family as well as several classmates in a school shooting.  

After carefully noting Kevin’s behavior and the way he and his mother Eva interact when he is a young child, I have decided to diagnose Kevin with reactive attachment disorder (RAD). The diagnostic criteria from the current Diagnostic and Statistical manual (DSM-5) for RAD reads as follows: 

A. A consistent pattern of inhibited, emotionally withdrawn behavior toward adult caregivers, manifested by both of the following: 

1. The child rarely or minimally seeks comfort when distressed. 

2. The child rarely or minimally responds to comfort when distressed. 

B. A persistent social or emotional disturbance characterized by at least two of the following: 

Minimal social and emotional responsiveness to others 

Limited positive affect 

Episodes of unexplained irritability, sadness, or fearfulness that are evident even during nonthreatening interactions with adult caregivers. 

C. The child has experienced a pattern of extremes of insufficient care as evidenced by at least one of the following: 

Social neglect or deprivation in the form of persistent lack of having basic emotional needs for comfort, stimulation, and affection met by caring adults 

Repeated changes of primary caregivers that limit opportunities to form stable attachments (e.g., frequent changes in foster care) 

Rearing in unusual settings that severely limit opportunities to form selective attachments (e.g., institutions with high child to caregiver ratios) 

D. The care in Criterion C is presumed to be responsible for the disturbed behavior in Criterion A (e.g., the disturbances in Criterion A began following the lack of adequate care in Criterion C). 

E. The criteria are not met for autism spectrum disorder. 

F. The disturbance is evident before age 5 years. 

G. The child has a developmental age of at least nine months. 

Specify if Persistent: The disorder has been present for more than 12 months. 

Specify current severity: Reactive Attachment Disorder is specified as severe when a child exhibits all symptoms of the disorder, with each symptom manifesting at relatively high levels. 

Kevin displays behavior that meets both criteria A and B. As a baby he cried constantly, reportedly even when held, showing an inability or unwillingness to be soothed. As a toddler he shows defiance, disinterest in social interaction, and a refusal to engage in play, such as when his mother is attempting to play with a ball with him and he refuses to roll the ball back or respond in any way, instead staring at her with a sullen expression. Kevin also refuses his mother’s pleas to say the word “Mommy”. As a slightly older child, Kevin continues to act defiantly and shows anger, ripping up the paper when his mother attempts to school him, immediately soiling his newly changed diapers on purpose, throwing food against the wall and onto tables, breaking his crayons, making nonsensical noises to irritate his mother, and destroying his mother’s artfully decorated room. When he is taken to the doctor to be examined, he shows no expression, does not speak, and stiffens his body. When his baby sister is born, he purposefully sprinkles water onto the newborn, causing her to cry. It should be noted however that in one instance Kevin seems to relax his cold exterior and accept comfort from his mother, shown by the scene in which he falls ill and cuddles with his mother while she reads him a story. He even apologizes for her having to clean up his throw-up. Unfortunately, as soon as he is feeling well again he is back to being rude and rejecting any attempt of hers to take care of him, refusing her help to change his clothes.  

As for criteria C, although Kevin has not experienced extreme abuse or neglect, I believe Kevin suffered from a traumatic birth as it was mentioned that his mother was resisting. His mother Eva did not desire a child, especially not one as difficult as Kevin, so she emotionally neglects him and is cold to him. Eva makes it very clear to him that he is unwanted, telling him straight to his face that she was happy before she gave birth to him and not correcting him when Kevin mentions that Eva does not like him. In one instance, she is accidentally too rough with him and breaks his arm, which Kevin later refers to as being the most honest thing she ever did. Kevin also meets the criteria of D through G, and his symptoms are persistent. I would say Kevin has moderate to severe symptoms as he does exhibit all listed symptoms quite regularly.  

I believe Kevin’s psychological problems may also have developed into conduct disorder (CD) as an adolescent and then antisocial personality disorder (ASPD) or psychopathy in adulthood, especially after taking into consideration the mutilation of his sister’s eye and the killing of his sister’s guinea pig, his father, his sister, and several classmates. He shows no guilt or empathy, appears to have shallow emotions besides anger, and shows no evidence of having affection or emotional bonds to anyone. He is also very manipulative; putting on a fake act of normalcy for his father, turning his parents against each other, and navigating the legal system to get his best outcome. However, I know that children with RAD can also be violent and if not treated, behave in a way very similar to conduct disorder in adolescence and ASPD or psychopathy in adulthood. The main reason I chose to focus on RAD over CD or ASPD is because I believe the root of Kevin’s problem is immense pain at being rejected and unloved as a child and that he harbors a deep desire to have that connection but is unable to accept affection.  He is so focused on and consumed by his anger towards his mother, while someone with true psychopathy may be more detached and indifferent. I also leaned more towards RAD given that he showed symptoms from such a young age and did not seem to have any problems outside of his issues with his mother, such as acting out in school or engaging in petty, impulsive crime. I do wish that the film showed more of his interaction with his peers. Lastly, I felt RAD was a more accurate choice because of the subtle signs of it that are associated more with RAD than CD, such as stiffening his body when others try to hug him, making nonsensical sounds, and not making eye contact as an infant, although that may not have been intentionally put in the film. Either way, his parents certainly needed to talk to professionals about Kevin when he was a child. Had they done so, perhaps they could have prevented the tragedy of both his life and the pain he inflicted on others.  

Response to tumblr ask:

I agree! I would have loved to see how he interacts at school, what he does when he’s alone and has spare time, and more of his childhood.

I think he had multiple reasons:

1- To make his mother suffer since he obviously has a lot of anger and resentment towards her

2- Because he doesn’t feel much positive emotion and gave up on ever feeling pleasure or enjoyment from regular life. Normal life is incredibly boring for him. He wanted to DO something- real, meaningful, make something happen. He wanted to Live. I very much relate.

3- He enjoys the attention he gets from it.

We talked about this in my forensic psych club- whether we should give interviews and all this attention to violent criminals. Our society is fascinated by them to the point where we make movies and books. People sell and collect memorabilia. They have fan-girls writing love letters and showing up to their court sessions, even fighting each other over them. It’s pretty crazy. But on the other hand, it’s important that we study them. Or is it? There’s a debate about everything.

4- His philosophy and world view. 

He is very nihilistic, he doesn’t believe life “means” anything and right/wrong doesn’t exist/is just a matter of opinion or viewpoint. His actions don’t really matter either, nothing does. I used to think exactly like he did when I was a teen, and I still do in a way.

As for your last question, it’s easy to forget one way of thinking when you’re in another. It’s hard to remember how one state was when you’re in a different one. Also, as shitty as outside life can be, life in prison is even shittier. Makes you appreciate the ability of choice and being able to do things, even just to walk around outside or buy an icecream cone. He was also only 15 at the time of the crime, and in the last scene he’s 18. A lot of chemical changes and neural development happens in that time. He matured- his way of thinking about himself, the world, and the others around him changed.

[hoe-doroki]

stay

A response to this ask:

Reader having a silent mental breakdown and trying to hide it with Bakugo and iida!( bakugo’s fine if not iida)

warning: detailed descriptions of panic attack, self-loathing

pairing: Bakugou x gn!reader

genre: hurt/comfort

word count: 2.2k

edit: I no longer write x reader but here’s my old masterlist - mobile | desktop

It seemed stupid to have any kind of mental illness around someone like Bakugou.

Bakugou had experienced near death multiple times by his mid-twenties had had witnessed the worst of the world first hand. His teens had been littered with trauma and, as an adult, his work was constantly throwing him into circumstances where his body, his life was at risk. He did this day in and day out and it wasn’t even a question. He survived it all and, more than that, he let the world think it was easy.

Sometimes just getting out of bed wasn’t easy for you.

You felt like your body was rotting. You’d been on the couch all day and it smelled stale from the layers of lazy sweat you’d gotten on it. From the shower you hadn’t taken and the hair you hadn’t touched. But was it rot from the outside in—something a bit of soap and buffing could slough off—or was it the inside out? Harder to reach, harder to fix. As your brain sent your every thought clenching on your veins, your vital organs, you couldn’t help but wonder if it was both. Rotted from the inside out and the outside in.

You tensed when you heard the door to your shared apartment click, a key being shoved into the lock. Over the cold numbness that you’d felt all day, a shot of panic sprinted through your bloodstream as a million ways to lie popped into your head. You popped off the couch and tried to think of a way to look busy, so you ran to the kitchen and started boiling some water.

This was something Bakugou couldn’t see. The last thing you wanted, the last thing he needed was for you to be another person that he had to save. Another person to risk himself for.

You eyed Bakugou when he came in, shoulders drooped, gait wide. He looked tired, but otherwise normal. You usually tried not to worry yourself with the cuts and scrapes he often showed up with after work, and, so long as he was walking, he usually told you to calm down and that he was fine. You weren’t going to test it today.

“Hi, babe,” you said, putting strained effort into your pitch, your tone, your face. Maybe your voice was too high, maybe the smile spread a bit too wide, so you turned back to the water, watching it heat.

“Hi,” Bakugou greeted as he kicked off his sneakers, voice gravely as it usually was after a shift. He was in civilian clothes now, having showered and changed at the agency. A black tee and jeans that never fit quite right on his narrow hips and tall frame. “What’re you up to?”

“Oh, I, um…” You looked down at the water, still cool enough to stick a finger into. You’d done nothing all day, having skipped out on all your classes with half-assed emails sent to the teachers. The idea of going had been too much to take—for reasons you had no language for—so you’d wallowed on the couch as the hours of the day had bled away. So the question felt like an interrogation about to put a scalpel to your flaws. “I’m just heating some water for tea. Was gonna get started on dinner.”

“What were you gonna make?”

Bakugou was in the kitchen now, coming up behind you to press a kiss against your temple. Your heart rate increased but not in the good way. Not in the way that it should. Instead of flutters it was pounding, smacking against your ribs in a reminder that he was too close, you were too visible—you might explode and you would hurt him.

“I, um, I wasn’t sure,” you said, the answer sending shameful heat to your cheeks. And then you were slapped the other way by how stupid that was. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

“Okay,” Bakugou said, going to the fridge. “I’m sure we can figure something out.”

Bakugou was always insistent on having a stocked fridge. With his job and you in your master’s program it was hard to find the time to grocery shop, much less eat consistent meals together, but those were the kinds of things that Bakugou prioritized. The things behind his sharp persona and shrinking legacy of reckless anger that made him a good boyfriend. An amazing partner and enviable roommate.

And what did you offer him? Emotional instability without just cause? A nascent—at best—career while he was climbing the pro hero charts every cycle?

Who were you kidding? You hadn’t even gone to class. You hadn’t done any of the work that you needed to do—the evening was a wash now, so you wouldn’t catch up. You were just wasting everyone’s time, like you always did.

“Hey, babe?”

By the tone of his voice, you realized that Bakugou had called you multiple times. Your eyes flicked toward him, but your head felt heavy to lift. “Hmm?” you asked, squeezing every last bit of breath into that hum.

“The water’s boiling.” Bakugou walked over to you, two mugs with teabags slumped at the bottom. He set them on the counter and put a hand on your shoulder, turning you a degree closer to him.

“Oh,” you intoned, pulling away and turning off the fire. Stupid. You were about to grab the pot when Bakugou dropped his hand down to your elbow, giving a firm squeeze.

“Are you okay?”

You ignored his gesture to stop and reached for the kettle, putting all of your effort into keeping your hands steady as you poured hissing water in one mug and then the other. Doing something was the only thing keeping you upright as your thoughts continued to swirl in your head poisoning each brain cell you had. You hadn’t done anything worth living for today. But goddamn it, if you couldn’t make these mugs of tea, then you should just walk out of the apartment and let Bakugou be better off without you.

“Woah, woah, what’s happening?”

Bakugou’s hand was on your chin as he pulled your face a little too roughly towards him. Or, rather, it wouldn’t have been rough, if you weren’t resisting it. But you didn’t want him to look you in the eye. See what a failure you were. Someone who couldn’t even overcome a bad emotional day to go to class while he’d been out saving lives—as usual. He took the pot from your white-knuckled grip and set it on the stove.

“Why are you crying?”

Were you? You hurriedly brushed a hand under your eyes and they came away slick, the water hot as the tea you were steeping.

“The…The steam…” you started, prepared to lie and lie and lie until there was nothing real left. The real stuff was too hard to hold. “I think…It just must have irri…tated my eyes.”

Your breathing was running away with you, chest heaving as you pulled away and faced the other direction. Your attempts were thin, too threadbare to hide behind. And your boyfriend wasn’t nearly stupid enough to be fooled, even by your best efforts.

“Babe, tell me what’s wrong,” Bakugou said forcibly, stepping around to face you again.

His eyes were searching for yours, but you held fisted hands to your cheek as you turned away from him. Now you could feel the tears streaming, and you couldn’t turn them off. But what was there to tell him? That you were just a big, stupid idiot who cried for no reason? That watching him become a better man only emphasized how totally shit you were? That when the two of you were on the street together, you knew that people wondered what a guy like him was doing with a person like you?

“I just want you to stop crying,” Bakugou said, and you could hear him getting desperate, only making you feel worse. You were biting your lips closed to keep the sobs from tearing out, but that only made embarrassing little huffs come out your nose, whimpers sneak past the back of your throat.

You couldn’t stop crying. How could you stop it when you didn’t understand what had started it?

“I’ll just,” you hiccupped, backing away from him. “Just give me…I’ll be fine, just give me a minute.”

“Fuck that,” Bakugou said, grabbing your wrist. “Do you want me to go because you want me to go, or because you think you deserve to be alone?”

The words felt like a trick, a riddle from some fairytale turned nightmare intended to make you fail either way. Telling him the truth would trap him in whatever trip wires had you tied in knots right now. But, at the same time, he was expecting the lie. He wasn’t letting you save him from this.

But why? He was always saving people. Why, for once, couldn’t you save him from you?

“Idiot,” Bakugou said, pulling you in to him. You cried harder, the weight of your failure dropping in your well and spilling more tears out of you. “Why would I leave you alone?”

A sob crashed out, breaking through haphazard letters of attempted defense. He needed to go; him seeing you like this only made it worse.

“It, um,” Bakugou’s voice was low, a register that was unfamiliar even to you, unsteady and unrehearsed. “It seems easier to be alone. I know it does. But…you’ve shown me that’s not true, so just. Let me show you the same, okay?”

You could feel how hard he was trying as he pressed you into his chest and you finally, finally let him. The sobbing made you weak in the knees, light in the head, but he held you. He held you up, held you close, and he wasn’t letting go.

Everyone always talked about how crying felt good. About it being a release that helped you process your pain. And maybe that was right when talking about grief or loss, but not this. These tears felt like nothing more than splashing in the masturbatory wallowing hole of your self pity. Embarrassing and stupid.

“Why?” you finally whispered when the sobs subsided a bit, letting you keep enough of the air in to at least say that.

For a moment, Bakugou didn’t say anything, and you wondered if you’d imagined the words. If you were imagining the whole thing and he really had left like you’d wanted. But then you heard breath catch in the back of his throat as he seemed to try and fail to find the words a couple of times.

“In another world,” he finally started. “I’d come home from a day of work fucking exhausted, slump on the couch, eat, and pack it in to go to bed before starting all over the next day. And I’d probably be fine with that. But I’d be a fucking idiot, because coming home to you makes it worth coming home.”

Your breathing was steadying as he talked and you could feel the tears cooling against your cheek, against his wet t-shirt.

“Even with you looking like a damn mess like this,” Bakugou said and you could hear the smile in his voice. His smile, which had grown less rare over time, was always so wide that it made his words sound different. Warmer. They managed to draw a haggard chuckle out of you. “I’m happier just to be around you than convincing myself that being lonely at the top is the best way.”

“I don’t want to drag you down from the top,” you said. “Your company shouldn’t be dead weight.”

“Dead weight?” Bakugou repeated, pulling back to look at you. “Dumbass.”

He pulled you in again, both of his arms around the back of your head so that you were nearly smothered in his chest.

“That’s the stupidest fucking shit I’ve ever heard. You’re fucking incredible, and if that’s why you’re crying today, then you and me have to do some talking.”

Another laugh managed to crawl its way out of you and Bakugou let you pull back to breathe again.

“Are you okay now?”

‘Okay’ felt like such a far ways away. But you were above water again. Somewhere next to okay, distance undetermined.

“I’m surviving,” you decided.

Bakugou looked at you, a couple different things flashing over his eyes, too quickly for you to identify. “Well, that’ll do for now, but we’re not settling for that. Just talk to me. I’m not the best at this, but…I want to be better at it.”

In that moment, you remembered that Bakugou wasn’t perfect either. That he constantly had voices in his head telling him that he wasn’t doing enough and, not only that, he had the public constantly critiquing his attitude, his skills, his work. That, to some degree, this was already something you were going through together.

“I think you’re better at it than you think.”

Bakugou smiled again, this one not so wide, but more private. “You too, he said. Whatever bullshit you’re telling yourself—you’re better than you think.”

He pulled you in close again, and this time you sunk into it, enjoying his warm muscles, the way that his hair was still a little damp from the shower. You weren’t sure if anything had changed—all your problems were still present as they’d ever been. But yet, there was one thing. Now, with Bakugou’s arms like a buttress to your shaky but standing foundation, you, paradoxically, hoped that he would stay and stay and stay.

[loversamongus]

Controlled Emotions | Zuko x Reader

a/n: all these fics end up being the reader as an advisor, I have zero creativity. anyways this is inspired by the song “every single night” by computer games because I was listening to it one day and the first lyric just screamed zuko to me idk so here it is. also i didnt proofread this oops

word count: 1.5k

fic taglist:

Advisor meetings have been tense lately. While a mixture of advisors in age, gender, and political leanings was ideal for gaining multiple perspectives on an issue, it also led to frequent arguments about what was best for the Fire Nation and deadlines being pushed back until the majority of advisors have come to an agreement. Though rewarding at times, the job was certainly frustrating. But all that paled in comparison to the most recent audiences with the young Fire Lord. 

Frustrated by another deadline requested to be pushed back, the Fire Lord’s temper had surged throughout the throne room. You didn’t disagree with him either. People in a small fishing village were becoming seriously ill and many signs seemed to point to the mutations and disease in some of the fish from the river as a result of years of pollution from war efforts. 

“It is not your fault the regime before yours was so ignorant of the people’s needs and other environmental factors.”

“In all honesty, who in their right mind would eat a fish with two heads anyways?”

“The river had been supposedly cleaned by the Avatar and his friends shortly before the end of the war, shouldn’t the responsibility lie with them?”

One after another, an advisor countered the Fire Lord’s efforts to financially back abundant medical aid for the fishing village. One after another, flames grew higher and higher nearly scorching the ceiling as the Fire Lord sat quietly. You noticed his scrunched up expression and knew it was only a matter of time before--

“Am I not, as Fire Lord, responsible for everyone living in the Fire Nation? Am I not, having been Prince of the Fire Nation during the war, responsible for how the war had affected our people? How can we sit here and deny help to our own people who are suffering?!”

After an uncomfortable silence, only one advisor stood up to speak. “And what, Fire Lord Zuko, do you plan to do about those injured in the fights breaking out in the colonies? Or the troops returning home from war injured and jobless? Or the villages in the Earth Kingdom burned down by our nation’s doing? There are many responsibilities this nation bears but solving these problems must be done with appropriate organization and objectiveness, not youthful bullheadedness.”

And with that, the audience was dismissed. 

With no clear resolution in sight, you had made your way to the advisors’ chambers to work on new proposals despite the late night. Getting down the business is usually easy but the otherwise empty and quiet workspace was not as calming and focused as you had hoped. It may have been well past sundown, but bright bursts of light kept erupting and peeking through the windows of the chambers, distracting you every time you went to read or write a new sentence. Having been an advisor for some time now and becoming familiar with the layout of the palace, you knew exactly where the light was coming from.

Abandoning your work, you walked the grounds until you reached the gates of the training space. Sure enough, your suspicions had been correct as you eyed Zuko in the center of the pitch running through different firebending forms. It was a surprise however that only the fire blasting from his fists and feet was what distracted you from your work. You hadn’t heard the angry grunts and yells from the advisors’ chambers.

The sound of the gate closing behind you was enough to make Zuko stop and look up at you. But he simply acknowledged your presence with a nod before continuing into the next set of firebending forms. You took a seat to watch on the sidelines. The silence did not bother you. In fact, it gave you time to relax from your role as advisor to the Fire Lord into friend. Or something more. The details of your relationship with Zuko have not really been sorted out or discussed but either way, you knew your role right now was to be supportive yet honest.

“He was right, you know.”

Zuko let out a low grunt as his response before letting more fire blast from his fist.

“It’s not that the other advisors don’t want to help the village. It’s that we have to divide our resources and aid equally. If we send all our healers to the village, none will be left to take care of the returning troops or the colonies or the elderly in the capital city.”

There was no grunt this time but more flames spat from his fist as he punched it forward through the air.

“And it’s incredibly admirable to see you so compassionate about your people but it would be nice to get through one meeting this week without scorching the ceiling tiles.”

“So am I supposed to rule without a conscience?” he asked coldly without looking at you, the anger he was restraining palpable in his voice.

“No,” you replied levelly. “You heard what Ji said. Objectively does not necessarily mean without a conscience. Actually,” a bit of laughter bubbled up into your conversation. “He suggested you talk more with Katara. ‘Now that’s someone who can keep their emotions in check,’ he said.”

“Having been on the receiving end of her wrath, I beg to differ,” Zuko sighed and released his fists before joining you in the stands. “And I have talked to her. She just laughed at me. She said, ‘Now you know what it’s like not to be taken seriously because you’re too emotional.”

You shifted your body when he sat down beside you so that you could still face him. He did not face you, however, and continued to stare forward at the training grounds and into the night sky. “No one is telling you not to feel or have emotions, Zuko. Just that they shouldn’t control you so much, or cloud your judgment.”

“You sound like Uncle,” he groaned before flopping backwards onto his back. In moments like this, you really realized how young the Fire Lord was. He was still mature and doing his best with such a large responsibility, but despite being five years into his reign, that moody teenager still presented himself at times. 

Leaning onto one arm so that you were closer to Zuko, you laughed softly, “I’m wondering if I should find that flattering.”

Zuko ignored your lightheartedness and continued. “People are always telling me, ‘don’t let your emotions control you.’ But why? Without them, I never could know you.”

“What do you mean?” Your eyes remained fixed on him as you tried to sort out your confusion.

“Do you remember one of the first advisor meetings you were a part of?”

“The one where we were discussing having the Kyoshi Warriors acting as your bodyguards over well-trained firebenders much more familiar with the palace and the land? Absolutely. That was when we discovered your throne wasn’t fireproof.”

“Right. And I came here to blow off some steam and you followed me to say that you were on my side and would work on getting the other advisors to agree to letting the Kyoshi Warriors be my security.”

“I didn’t follow you...”

For the first time that evening, Zuko looked at you with a knowing and pointed grin. You rolled your eyes and urged him to continue making his point. “Anyways, go on.”

“If I hadn’t been feeling so angry, I wouldn’t have come here and you wouldn’t have followed me and we wouldn’t be... I don’t know... us.” He sat up and was so close now that your shoulders brushed against each other.

“It’s not just through anger that I’ve gotten to know you either,” he continued. “When I was anxious about a speech, you were the one who volunteered to work on it with me.”

“You made fun of the way I clapped and said people don’t clap that enthusiastically for common budget updates,” you drawled.

“When I was excited about Uncle coming back to visit, you helped to make sure everything was arranged to his liking.”

“You told me never to tell your uncle that my taste in tea may be superior to his,” you proudly added.

“And when I was sad that you had to leave on a trip to the Earth Kingdom, your letters made me smile because I thought at last someone who has worse handwriting than I do.”

“You take that back!” you gasped, pointing your finger menacingly at Zuko. 

“My point is,” he grabbed your hand in his. “If I was cold and stoic as some of these advisors seem to want me to be, I wouldn’t have gotten to know you. So I’m not going to change the way I feel.”

You smiled softly, happy to see this side of Zuko. The nature of your relationship still felt undefined and you were sure the two of you would figure it out. Eventually. It was a discussion to be had, but one for another day, as this day was nearly over.

“That’s nice,” you playfully patted his hand. “But the next time you decide to feel something, maybe you could do so without destroying the ceiling. Or distracting me with your firebending while I’m trying to do my job.”

You stood up and began to walk away from the stands and out of the training grounds, leaving a smiling Zuko behind you.

“You’re the one who followed me!” he called out.

[urimaginespimp]

His Hidden Gem pt 2

Alfie Solomons x Reader – to the rest of the world, well excluding Thomas of course, he was dead. That was until Tommy had an unexpected visitor who claims to be his wife.

Read part 1 here

--------

“Margate? I bet he hates it there.” You commented, riding shotgun next to a driving Mr. Shelby.

He didn’t comment, but a ghost of a smile appeared on his face. He had to admit, at first, he didn’t quite see how you and Alfie managed to be married for seven years, but after listening to your ramblings while on your drive, he could see it now.

Your demeanor screamed dainty and rich. And yes, you are rich, but also near as crazy as Alfie.

“How long have you known that he’s alive?” You asked.

“When he sent me a letter asking me how Cyril was, though I doubt he remembers doing so.” He recalled. “And come to think of it now, he did also ask if the talks about his death was all the news people of Camden had about him. I think he was trying to know if people had discovered about your marriage.”

“Please enlighten me Mrs. Solomons, on how you both met.” Curiosity got the best of him.

You couldn’t stop your smile at the memory.

“Well if you must know, I was set to be betrothed to a man whose bare bottom only touched the finest of fabrics…” Thomas snorted at this. “I refused, saying I didn’t want to spend my life papmered next to a grown baby’s powdered bum all my life, got cut off and was left with practically nothing.”  You both chuckled.

“I ended up in Camden town, and intended to steal some bread in this poorly lit bakery, but ended up in a bargain with this weirdly attractive man, that he’d find me a place to stay if I go out for dinner with him. Three months later we got married. But because we chose to keep it secret, it was always just secret visits in each other’s places.”

“I rarely give compliments, Y/N. But I admire you for taking matters into your own hands in finding the truth. Even though seven months is a long time.”

“We all crave certainty.” You simply answered. There was a reason why it took you that long. And they were left in Camden under the care of a good friend who had no clue who their father was.

And If you had to be honest, you were trying to calm your nerves. You thank the universe that your husband is alive, but given how he’s gone so long without even trying to reach out, the question whether he’d still want you lingered.

“Should I just have settled with the information that he is alive?” You whispered to yourself.

“You’ll never know unless you actually go talk to him.” Thomas answered, having heard what you’ve said. “And you should, because I’m a stubborn gypsy man who rarely does favors, but I did this for the wife of a man who’s been a dick to me once or twice. Consider this opportunity lucky.”

“Why are you helping me then?”

“Well I’m not as heartless as I may seem. I once had a wife I dearly love before she took a bullet for me.” You offered your sympathy, and he continued. “Plus, I’m curious about seeing the Alfie Solomons possibly getting hit from a woman as small as you are.” He smirked at the thought, and you smiled in return.

“We never laid a hand on each other, Mr. Shelby. Not unless one asked to.” Thomas coughed at what you insinuated, but was clearly amused. “Though I might just need to slap this one out later.”

You didn’t know at which part of the long drive you fell asleep, but the next thing you know, Thomas Shelby was trying to wake you up.

“Oi lady.” He was waving a hand in front of your face for who knows how long. “I believe you have a husband to confront.”

Composing yourself, you slowly got out of the car. You were in the driveway of his house. From outside it was decent. Might even be a lot better than where Alfie was living in Camden.

Once you were both by the front door, you were starting to panic.

“You do think I’m making the right decisions, right?”

“I think a man who has chosen to be presumed dead without telling his wife owes her an explanation.” He nodded.

Mr. Shelby took to initiative to knock. Followed by another. And another one.

“Who are you and what the fuck do you want?” you heard your husband’s voice and his footsteps approaching.

“It’s Thomas. I brought you one of your treasures left in Camden.” He didn’t give you away, not risking not even getting the door opened.

Alfie swung the door open. “What the hell are you ta-…”  he faltered once he saw you standing next to Thomas.

You were also frozen in place.

Tommy was looking back and forth the both of you, probably waiting for the said slap to happen. You were too shocked, looking at your husbands face. Half of it now sits with scars, and an eye that was now missing the blue you love staring into.

“Y/N?” Mr. Shelby asked. This thankfully brought you back to your senses.

“Well how the hell am I to slap him if his face looks like that?!” You yelled, still looking at Alfie.

“Well he was the one who shot me on the face you admire so much, luv.” Alfie answered, still intensely staring at you. You snapped your head at Thomas, who brought his arms up in defense and started backing away.

“He asked me to.” He defended. “I think I’ll wait in the car. You two sort your marital stuff.”

Now left alone with each other, he gestured for you to come in and you obliged. But as soon as he closed the door behind him, you have thrown your shoe at the wall at his side.

“Luv, I-“

“What the fuck, Alfie?!” You yelled at him, your voice trembling. “You have the audacity to fucking call me that after not even reaching out? What, did you like your new house here so much, you forgot you had a wife?!”

Like a treacherous bitch, hot tears started spilling on your face. Alfie still stood by the closed door, looking at anywhere but you.

“If you didn’t want me anymore, the least you could’ve done was tell me.” No, out of all the scenarios you could’ve imagined, you never imagined yourself to be the first one to break upon seeing him again. But here you were. A mess.

“Of course, I still love you.” That was all he could barely whisper.

“You have a minute to tell me everything, Alfie Solomons, or you’d be dead to me forever.” You were still crying angry tears, but the determination on your face scared Alfie to the core. He knew you were dead serious.  

He started pacing back and forth while your eyes followed. He wasn’t trying to come up with an excuse, but was rather trying to figure out where to start.

A moment had passed and you took it as your cue to leave. Sighing in defeat, you shook your head and was about to head out the door forever when he caught your arm.

“I didn’t want to burden you, okay? I- I was feeling a little funny and one day I went to the doctor and he said I had this fucker called cancer.” You were frozen on your spot, looking at him, bewildered at the revelation.

“Now how could I be a good husband when I couldn’t even take care of my fucking self.” He looked away when a tear started to fall.

It was rare for your beast of a husband to shed a tear - he dreaded showing that side of him. So you knew that news of his illness really took a toll on him.

“Oh,  Alfie…” You whispered, softly cupped his scarred face.

“I didn’t marry you to become what I refused to marry into years ago. You know how much I love you. You were never and will never be a burden to us.” He finally took you in his arms.

“Us?” He caught on what you said, a glimmer on his face.

“Don’t worry my love, I tell the twins about you all the time.” You smiled at the thought of how Alfie would be a mush of a father to them.

“You were pregnant?” He pulled away and started to wiped away your tears with his thumb.

“I was three months long when you disappeared. I was hoping to find you sooner, but I just gave birth a month ago.”

“No, Y/N , I’m the one that’s sorry.” He insisted, showering your face with pecks.

“You’re going to be a great father, love.” You smiled at him.

“But half of the face you love so much is all gone now too. Hell, how am I even supposed to look after twins when I only have one seeing eye?” He stated, making you chuckle.

“Well lucky for you, I actually think the scar makes you even more attractive.” You smiled, touching them. “As for the eye, you have me. I never said you have to take care of them both at once.” You both chuckled.

“I'd hate to admit it, but I owe Thomas Shelby.” He answered and you nodded in agreement.

“We should probably invite him in, luv. We’re starting to seem rude leaving the king of Birmingham outside.” You chuckled.

“You know..." He started, tucking loose har beehind your ear. "I once said that hell would look like Margate, but I think it would actually be lovely if we finally settle here and have a place to call our own. No more sneaking around, no secret visits.”

“I'd love that.” You answered pulling him down for a kiss.

“Life is so much easier to deal with when you are dead.” He whispered.

[thomaslightwoodenthusiast]

hey you guys, here is a little something i’ve been working on! it’s going to be quite long so apologies, but i am going to eventually post it on wattpad too! enjoy!

(this piece revolves around thomastair, but is NOT thomastair only. they are going to be the main theme, but i don’t like writing pieces only on a ship. also it’s gonna be good anyways bc it has drunk and pining charles at one point)

A NOTE: i realised there is a problem. if i wrote the entire thing in a tumblr post, it will be far too long. but it also isn’t long enough for a work. i have decided i will upload in different parts. please let me know if after reading this you are still interested! if not, that’s fine and i’ll probably post it to wattpad lol. but i haven’t written in a while now and i am scared it’s not as good lol. anyways here u go

enjoy!

desc: in which christopher decides that everyone needs a pick me up after recent events, and concludes that the best way to do so is to hold a talent show at the institute. what could possibly happen?

———————————

Alastair scrunched up yet another ball of paper and threw it atop the ever increasing pile beside his desk. He had been trying for days- no, weeks now, to write a letter to Thomas. Despite feeling that he did the right thing in walking away, he could not scratch the feeling that he had hurt him. He wanted at least to apologise, and to let him know he believed it was the best decision for them both.

But was it? Alastair could not lie to himself. He did not feel as good as he thought he would. I’m doing this for his sake, he thought. He is more important to me than I will ever be to myself.

“So, what do you think?”

Alastair looked up. He’d almost forgotten about the ‘Talent Show’ Christopher Lightwood was arranging at the Institute. He was actually considering turning up to prove the point that he was not going to accept Matthew’s ill treatment of him, but he had little energy and currently could not be bothered to waste time on him. He knew that Cordelia was going. She and Lucie had chosen to audition together. They were going to act out a scene from ‘The Beautiful Cordelia’, with Lucie as Cordelia and his sister as one of her many lovers Lucie provided her with.

She was wearing his clothes.

“I think you look utterly mad. In a pleasant way, of course.” It was true. Cordelia looked amazing in his clothes. Not as good as he did, but a close second.

“Thank you, oh cheerful brother of mine. Are you quite alright? There is a rather large pile of paper beside you. Not to mention you look as if your eyes have cried the tears of the earth’s oceans,” she replied. There was the usual sibling tone of mockery in her voice, but also a tone of genuine concern. Alastair looked at himself in the window and realised Cordelia was right; he must have been crying, though he had no recollection of doing so.

“I am fine. Go and have fun. You deserve to, after this gargantuan mess.”

“Alastair, I am not stupid. I know when you are hurting. And what’s that on your desk?” she asked. Before he could stop her, Cordelia had made her way across the room and grabbed the piece of paper sitting in front of him. Alastair had not realised it, but he had written a few of his earlier thoughts on the page.

Cordelia frowned as she read out loud, “‘He is more important to me than I will ever be to myself.’ Alastair, I swear on all of the angels if this is about Ch-“

“It isn’t! It isn’t. I...well I suppose it’s just thoughts. Feelings.”

Cordelia was not having it. “If it’s not about him, who is it about?”

“Well, if you want a clue, his friend is the reason I cannot be at all bothered to attend tonight.”

Cordelia thought, and there was a long pause. She furrowed her brow. She seemed to be remembering something. “It’s not...is it Thomas?”

Alastair closed his eyes, as if the name pained him. “How did you guess?”

Cordelia had to admit; she wasn’t entirely sure. But a few observations she’d made over the past months had made her think. She remembered the time on the bridge when Thomas refused to show his tattoo- until Alastair had asked to see it. The time at Anna’s, when she had asked everyone what names they would want and Thomas had quietly admitted he would want only one, never saying who.

The time she and her brother had been speaking with Charles, only for her to notice Thomas had been staring at them.

“I don’t know. Sisterly instincts, I suppose. Do you want to tell me about it? Actually, no, hold on. I will not give you the option. You bottle up far too much, Alastair. Please, pray tell me, what this is about?”

Alastair sat for a moment, unsure where to start. “You remember the day, don’t you? When I defended Thomas in the Sanctuary? It starts long before that; but I fear if I tell it all you may miss out on your night. I had said that I followed him because you were fond of him. That was...” He trailed off. The words were not leaving his mouth. Cordelia smiled sympathetically. “It was only part of the truth. I came to find that I myself was indeed...quite fond of him. And I was afraid that if he went out alone with a murderer on the loose, something would happen. I couldn’t bear the thought of it being my fault; I have done enough damage. When I saw him being arrested I panicked and did the only rational thing I could think of.”

Cordelia raised her eyebrow. “Follow him the whole way to the Sanctuary risking getting caught by the Inquisitor, then further increase your risk of getting caught by sneaking into the Institute and hiding until you were needed?”

“What can I say?” her brother replied, seeming distant. “You do...odd things, when you care about someone.”

“Alastair, you risked your own safety doing what you did as well. I do not know what on earth I would do if something had happened to you without my knowledge.”

“My dear Layla. When one’s heart is so encompassed with love for another, rationality is quite frankly defenestrated.”

“What exactly does ‘defenestrated’ mean?”

“Thrown out the window,” Alastair replied, matter-of-factly. Cordelia moved towards the door of his room, realising she had to leave soon. “I only want to ask one more question. Is Thomas aware of your feelings for him?”

Alastair laughed to himself. “Quite. In fact, in the Sanctuary, I discovered that being held in confinement with someone who is as handsome as he is kind can result in interesting outcomes.”

Cordelia mocked a gasp. “Alastair Esfandiyār Carstairs, did you spend that whole night-“

“Ah ah! An honourable man does not kiss and tell.”

Cordelia’s eyes widened. “YOU KI-“

“Fine! Quieten down, lest mother is given a heart attack! Look, what happened is staying between us only. But I can tell you this; we did have a long conversation, in which he told me that he liked men. He also told me how he had figured that out; turns out that it was essentially me. I was quite shocked, because I thought he was referring to our school days when he mentioned feelings for me. I was, however, promptly proven wrong, shall we say.”

Cordelia’s face burst into a grin, before she sensed there was something else to the story. “Wait. What happened? What did you tell him?”

“You must understand, Layla, I really do care for him. But his friends- they hate me. Matthew cannot even be in the same room as me without hurling an insult. I cannot be with him; it is too complicated. I do not want to break that poor boy’s heart again, not after the Academy. I told him what I just told you, though I fear my last statement may have been too late. The letter you have in your hand and the paper you see on the floor are all my attempts at an apology. I just...walked away. Left him there. If only I had the chance to apologise to Matthew, this could have been different. But he will not accept it. He will not stop hounding me with comments, and I feel as though I can never stop being fifteen years old. I know I deserve better, but it can be tiring to fight when all your life you’ve been at war with yourself.”

Cordelia made a decision in that moment. She looked at Alastair and observed the similarities in how he and Thomas had been acting. Thomas looked a weight had been lifted off his shoulders, only to have one twice as heavy dropped on again. Alastair seemed even more quiet than usual. “You are coming with me. I don’t care when you turn up, you are turning up. I will ensure there is a piano nearby so that you can demonstrate your own incredible talent. If Matthew makes a jab at you, I will take care of it. If these rules are not met, you will be cut to pieces with Cortana. See you there,” she said, concluding her speech and leaving. Alastair watched as she left the house. He felt inspired by what she had said. He realised something within himself, too.

I cannot run from my past, but I cannot be forced to stay in it either. I am worth more than that.

And I’ll take any opportunity possible to make sure Matthew knows I refuse to take it anymore.

[amysteryspot]

Better With You - Thomas Shelby x Female Reader

Request: If you can could you please do one about Tommy having a sort of possessive claim over you (not in an abusive way of course) even though you’ve never looked at him in that way, and when Michael comes into the family again you two get close, which makes Tommy extremely jealous.

Requested by: Anonymous

Fandom: Peaky Blinders

Pairing: Thomas Shelby x Female Reader

Summary: Thomas has known (Y/N) for all of her life and loved her for most part of his, always disguising his claim on her as friendly protectiveness. What happens when Michael makes his way back into the family and starts to get a little too close to her for Tommy’s liking?

Warnings: swearing, mentions of war, mild smut (?).

Word Count: 3526

A/N: I had a lot of fun writing this. Hope you all have fun reading it too. An especial thank to @the-friendly-editor​ for helping me edit this, it meant a lot to me. Tags are at the end of the post, if you want to be add send me a message. I would love to hear what you think of it, your feedback is always appreciated.

 Things you should consider before reading this:

1. I named the Shelby’s mother Anastasia because I felt like I needed to do that. Also, I know that there is a lot of discussion about Finn and the rest of the Shelbys having the same mother or not. I just assumed that they all have the same mother and she died a little after giving birth to Finn. It is not something groundbreaking for the fic but I wanted to clarify just in case.

2. The boys went to war right at the beginning of it; I just ignored the information given to us by “The Ballad of Tommy Shelby”.

3. I probably forgot to warn you about something, I’m sorry.

 (Y/N) = Your Name | (Y/N/N) = Your Nickname | (Y/L/N) = Your Last Name | (Y/E/C) = Your Eye Color

If you asked Tommy how long he had known (Y/N) (Y/L/N), he wouldn’t know how to answer—fuck, it seemed like the woman had been in his life forever.

He remembered the day his mother had brought him to the (Y/L/N)’s house for them to meet the new baby. Four-year-old Tommy had complained all the way to their neighbor’s house, much to his older brother’s amusement, until their mother had given him a scolding. (Y/N)’s birth had been the talk of Watery Lane. They finally had a sweet little girl for the neighborhood to dote on.

With two sons, Anastasia was more than happy to welcome the little girl into their lives, not so secretly longing to have a daughter, and that was the reason for Tommy to be fussing over going to see the newborn—jealousy.

However, nothing could have prepared little Tommy for what was about to happen when his mother sat him down on the couch and Mrs. (Y/L/N) put the bundle of covers in his arms—his icy blue eyes stared down at baby (Y/N), who stopped crying instantly when she looked up at him with bright (Y/E/C) eyes of her own. From that moment on, Tommy knew that he would always love her.

And love her he did, since that day and throughout all of their lives. He would raise hell at home for his mother to bring him to the (Y/L/N)’s home so he could see (Y/N), and the three adults would all be astonished at how easily the baby would stop crying when she was in his arms. It wasn’t really a surprise that the first word she babbled was “Tom” or that when she started walking, on wobbly feet, it was Tommy she was seeking.

As they grew up, they grew closer, until it became almost impossible to have one without the other. When Ada was born, Tommy was worried about the possibility that (Y/N) would forget about him, that she would be too enchanted by having another girl around. Instead, as the time passed, he discovered that his little sister was one more reason for (Y/N) to spend more time at the Shelby home.

Even when he started messing around with the boys on the street, and she befriended other girls at school, they would still seek each other out whenever they could. They stuck together when their teenage years came, when Tommy started fooling around with girls from school and secretly scaring down most of the boys that showed any interest in (Y/N).

At least, he did until the day she came crying to him about not being good enough or pretty enough for anybody, not like the girls he would go out with, and breaking his heart; that certainly wasn’t what he had in mind when chasing down the boys. All he had wanted was to protect her, to make sure that she wouldn’t exchange him for some other boy. He wanted to ensure that she was his and his only.

That was actually the reason that led to their first kiss—her first kiss—(Y/N/N) had asked him, pleaded with him, through all the tears to just kiss her and get it done. Fifteen-year-old (Y/N) was sure that nobody would ever want her, and she wanted to experience it at least once. She told Tommy he was the only one she trusted with the task.

“It will mean nothing to you, Tom. You have kissed a million other girls already—I will just be another one for you—but it’s important to me. Please, Tom? Please, please.”

Her pleas had won him over, but (Y/N)’s words couldn’t have been further from the truth—the kiss had meant something for him. It had meant more than he predicted when he gave in to her begging, because the moment their lips touched, Tommy realized he was in love with his best friend and the worst part was that she didn’t had a fucking clue about it.

Then Tommy did what he did best; he pretended that it never happened, pushing it away and never talking to anyone about the kiss or his feelings. He stopped chasing down the boys who would show interest in (Y/N) and watched as she eventually started going out with some of them, laughing with him about how stupid she was to think that no one would ever like her.

When her first boyfriend got too handsy and she broke up with him—not before giving him a good left hook that left him with a very black eye, just like Tommy had taught her—(Y/N) had gone straight to the Shelby home, looking for comfort in his arms. Tommy pretended that the gnawing feeling in his chest was nothing but brotherly protectiveness instead of anger, jealousy and possessiveness—a destructive combination, especially on a Shelby boy.

(Y/N) had stayed with him that night, and the both of them slept together like they used to when they were kids. First thing in the morning the next day, right after he left her at her own house, he found her now ex-boyfriend and beat him up. Arthur and Freddie had to get him off of the guy, afraid of what he would end up doing if they didn’t stop him.

After that, Tommy had focused on channeling his frustrations into going out with every girl in town that wasn’t her. It wasn’t difficult, he was good looking and charming and he was very aware of it; that’s how he met Greta, and thought that he could get over his feelings for his best friend with her.

Greta’s parents were against their involvement at first, but he charmed them, so they started dating. His heart broke down when (Y/N) found out and showed genuine happiness for him having finally found somebody to settle down with.

Tommy’s plan was to end things between them. However, Greta fell ill and he didn’t have the heart to break up with her, so he stayed by her side until she passed. (Y/N) gave him support in the only way she knew how: by loving him.

Just not in the way he wanted her to.

When they thought that things would go back to normal, the War exploded and Tommy did the only thing he considered right in his eyes: he enlisted alongside his brothers. Their first fight had taken place on the night he told her he was leaving for France in two weeks. (Y/N) had hit and screamed at him until he was able to take a hold on her and then, then she cried in his arms the whole night, afraid that she would lose him forever.

They did the best they could with those two weeks. Once more, nothing could have prepared Tommy for (Y/N)’s appeal the night before he was shipping to France. She had come to him right after dinner. Her father was preparing himself to leave, too, and both of the (Y/L/N) women were enjoying whatever time they had left with him before he was gone.

As they both laid there in his bed, resting in each other’s arms and staring at the ceiling, (Y/N) made the decision that would seal his fate if he could survive the war.

“Make love to me.”

It wasn’t a question, nor a request—she was simply telling him to make love to her like this was the most logical thing in the world. His breath caught in his throat, preventing him from answering at first, and (Y/N/N) took that as a cue to reassure him.

“It will be like my first kiss, Tommy, just something I have to get over with. I want it to be you. I trust you. Let me give you at least one last good memory of me before you go.”

Again, he caved in, not needing much more convincing than the certainty in her eyes as she looked down at him, propped up on one elbow. Her hand rested unintentionally above his heart. Granting her wishes, he let himself dive into his own desires, touching her the way he had wanted since they had kissed for the first time.

He worked her body like a delicate instrument and pulled at her strings smoothly, engraving every beautiful sound that he coaxed out of her and the feel of her under his fingertips in his memory. When morning came, they were still a mess of limbs intertwined together, trying to hold on to a last thread of hope and imprint the last few hours on their memories.

In a way, (Y/N) was right. The boy that entered that train in 1914 wasn’t the same that got out of it in 1918. Yet, his love for her never faltered; it just became a tad more… dangerous.

Thomas lost count of how many letters they had exchanged during the past four years. He lost count of how many times he dreamt of her, of coming back home and telling her how he felt. However, any courage he had gathered vanished the moment he saw her waiting for him at the train station. He couldn’t condemn her to a life by his side, he had already taken enough from her.

Polly had told him in her letters how (Y/N/N) had helped her with the business, with the house, with Finn, and with any other thing she could. Especially after her mother, who had given up on life after Mr. (Y/L/N) was killed in combat, passed. A part of him felt guilty for not being there for her as much as she was for him when his mother passed and his father left.

“She’s a Shelby now.”

That’s what Polly had said when he asked her if (Y/N) had any remaining family.

Not much changed when they returned. (Y/N/N) still worked with them. She spent more time at the Shelby home and the gambling den than at her own place. The two of them still sought each other out, not talking much, but enjoying each other’s company. It was in those quiet moments with her that Tommy had a little peace.

Thomas drowned himself in work to forget it all, wanting to expand the business, unleashing his ambitions so long smothered by the war. They found the guns, in a strike of luck, he thought. Both Polly and (Y/N) advised him to let it go, but he just couldn’t. It was too good of an opportunity.

Campbell had come because of it, and with him, Grace. At the time, he didn’t know who she really was. He thought that the beautiful, blonde barmaid was just that: beautiful and innocent, everything he and his family were not. So he fooled himself, fell for her, and then she betrayed him and left for America.

Again, (Y/N) was there for him, and again, he found himself sinking into his love for her. The only good thing that came from all this mess was that the business was never better. He thought that it was time to start planning for an expansion, and with that came another thing that he hadn’t quite predicted—Michael.

He had planned to find Polly’s children for her. She had been suffering quite a lot lately. Even if people thought that his heart was as good as gone, he wanted his family to be okay. He wanted them to be happy.

Thomas found the boy and he came to Polly, making his way into the family and the business quickly. That included starting to get close to (Y/N) – too fucking close for his liking.

It was supposed to be natural, he knew that. (Y/N) kept the books at the shop. She was better with numbers than most of them, so it was natural that she would be the one to help Michael when he assumed the position of accounts clerk.

After they came back, he learned that (Y/N) had become very good at sneaking around without getting caught. It was rare to see her with any men whose last name wasn’t Shelby, or wasn’t closely related to the Peaky Blinders. That didn’t mean she didn’t have men swooning over her all the time, or that he was finally okay with that—much like when they were teenagers, he wanted to chase them all down—the only difference was now he was more deadly.

“I couldn’t have done it without you.”

It was Michael’s voice that brought him back to reality, and his gaze fell immediately on the boy. They were all gathered on the snug in the Garrison. (Y/N) was sitting between him and Michael, Tommy’s arm casually rested on her shoulders.

(Y/N) said, “Oh, no, you would totally get it... after a few more weeks.”

Everyone burst out laughing at her remark, but the only thing he could think about was the hand Michael rested on (Y/N)’s thigh. His own hand clenched around his glass before he downed the rest of its contents.

He didn’t notice Polly’s gaze on him. Despite what most people believed, Tommy had never been a good liar. He could get away with omitting information to people and redirecting the conversation, most of the time, but a direct confrontation was a completely different thing. Polly was always able to read him first, to know the things he wasn’t willing to share.

“Maybe we should just hire you instead of Michael, then.” He ignored the look (Y/N) gave him, taking another drag of his cigarette and looking away.

However, he couldn’t miss the lingering touches, or how (Y/N/N) leaned into Michael when he talked to her, and how she was just so comfortable with him. It made his blood boil.

When (Y/N/N) said she wanted to get home he offered to walk her, and was fairly surprised at how she didn’t say a word to him until they reached her front door.

Then she turned to face him, features painted with anger, and asked, “What the hell was that, Tom?”

He actually rolled his eyes. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

(Y/N) huffed, turning around to unlock the door before entering the house, leaving it open for him to follow. She went straight to the dressing room, shedding her coat and throwing it at the table with her purse as he followed her closely.

“Oh, you know exactly what I’m talking about.”

She was taking her shoes off, and Tommy took advantage of the moment to let his eyes follow her movements. God, was he in love with that woman.

“I’m talking about your attitude with Michael at the Garrison. That was completely unnecessary,” She said.

“Someone had to put that boy in his place,” Tommy said.

(Y/N) turned to him then, and he would be worried with that look if he hadn’t been at the receiving end of her anger for so many years.

“Oh, please enlighten me, Thomas. What is his place?” (Y/N) asked.

“For fucks sake, (Y/N/N), he was all over you!”

She rolled her eyes. “He is a boy, Thomas, a boy. He’s family…”

Tommy never thought that what would make him snap would be hearing her say that Michael was family, but apparently it was.

“He’s family, huh?” Thomas said. “He is fucking family! Then he should know better and stay away from you.”

She stared at him for a moment, brow furrowed, as she seemed to put the puzzle together in her head. “Why would he stay away from me, Tom?”

He turned around to face away from her for a moment, rubbing a hand over his face. “No, no. You won’t make me feel guilty for that.”

“Make you feel guilty for what, Tommy?”

He recognized the hint of annoyance on her tone and couldn’t ignore it anymore, the alcohol giving him the courage that he had lost that day on the train station, as he turned around and shouted, “For loving you!”

She held her breath, eyes widening as she stared back at him.

Tommy continued, “Michael should stay away from you because you’re fucking mine and I love you.”

“Tommy, I’m not your property, and you know that I love you…”

“No, you don’t,” he interrupted her, making her look at him with confusion, “You don’t love me the way I love you. The way I’ve loved you since the fucking day you asked me to kiss you when you were fifteen!”

He saw her flinch before murmuring his name, trying to gain his attention but he couldn’t stop now. The truth was finally out there and he just had to go on with it, let it all out before he lost his mind.

“You said to me that it would mean nothing, that it would be just another kiss for me, but you were wrong,” Tommy said, his breaths short.

She looked bewildered, and Tommy held onto a strand of hope he didn’t even know still existed.

“That kiss meant fucking everything. From that day on, I’ve never seen you in the same way as before, because I realized I was in love with you and you didn’t feel the same. So I ignored these feelings while I saw you going out with boys, and I’ve thrown myself into fucking every girl that wasn’t you because I knew I couldn’t have you, not the way I wanted.”

Tommy didn’t notice that he was walking to her until they were just a breath apart.

“Then I found Greta, and I thought that I could forget you, but it only reminded me that you are the only one I want. I was going to break up with her, but she fell ill. You stayed by my side, and just when I thought that I would have a chance to tell you everything, the war happened and I just couldn’t. I couldn’t, because there was no way in hell that I was going to risk going to fight in France and die. I couldn’t leave you here to suffer because of me, either because you felt the same or not.”

“Tommy…” (Y/N)’s voice was all but a whisper.

He couldn’t resist anymore, his hands brought her to him, his eyes observing hers from up close, not giving her time to talk or he would lose his courage.

“I was ready to go there and die, and never let you know how I felt. But you had to give me hope that night before I was shipped off to that fucking hell. You had to…”He took a deep breath, his eyes closing for a brief second, a flood of memories making his heart race faster. “You had to give yourself to me. You had to give me a taste of what I thought I could never have, to make me want to survive the fucking war, to come back to you, and to let you know about all of these stupid feelings.”

Tommy couldn’t wait anymore. He did the one thing he had wanted to since he had returned from France—he kissed her. It wasn’t gentle or patient; no, it was urgent and filled with passion and he didn’t know how to stop, not when she wasn’t pushing him away. He devoured her as a man starved, teeth clashing and hands grabbing at anything they could touch. They were both out of breath when they finally parted.

“You said that you wanted to give me one last good memory and it was that memory that kept me alive during most of the nights when I was stuck in the fucking mud,” Thomas said.

(Y/N)’s fingers were clinging to him like her life depended on it, like she was afraid to lose him to the War again.

Tommy took the moment to let the words spill out. “The memory of you and the feeling of you under my fingers, and all around me, and the way you tasted.”

His lips brushed against hers, fingers clawing at the flesh of her hips like they had done the night before he left for France.

He backed her up against the wall, hands trailing down to the back of her thighs, picking her up and trapping her with his body.

Tommy looked straight to her eyes as he spoke again, “How you writhed under me, all the beautiful sounds you made, and I just wanted to come back to you and make some new memories.”

(Y/N) shivered at his words. She gave him just a brief second to observe the rise and fall of her chest and her expanded pupils before he felt her fingers at the back of his head, forcing him to really look at her as she said, “Then let’s work on those new memories.”

Their lips clashed again, and every doubt that he ever felt vanished for a moment. That night their bodies moved together like old acquaintances, skin sliding against skin, hands gripping at each other, lips kissing every patch of skin while chanting a sinful choir of moans and curses alongside their names.

When Tommy woke up the next day, (Y/N/N) in his arms, he realized that he was finally home.

Taglist: @captivatedbycillianmurphy, @internalmess3

[inkstaineddove]

Man as Mirror

Ships: PruAus if you wish; background PruHun and FraAus

Characters: Roderich, Gilbert; mentioned Erzsi + Francis

Summary: Arriving home early from Paris, Roderich encounters a shirtless Gilbert in his kitchen, leading them to have a conversation Roderich could've gone without.

Vienna, 1774.

Once his carriage safely rolled to a stop, Austria stepped out of it and stretched. While even he could not deny the beauty of Paris, nothing pleased the heart quite like home. Servants rushed about him, ushering in his extensive luggage. Sidestepping away from them, he gazed up at the early-morning sky and allowed himself the luxury of taking it all in. The fading purple of night, the sun shyly poking its face out through his hedges, and the birds singing their daily hymns. Truly, there was nowhere quite like home.

Feeling sufficiently uplifted, he entered the home and mindlessly made his way up the stairs. He froze once his hand hovered above the doorknob to his bedroom. He had been burned once before doing this and while, thankfully, all other parties had been asleep, the event had caused him enough mental anguish to power him through another three decades. Still, the desire to change out of his travel clothes was nigh impossible to dismiss. Leaning an ear against the door, his decision was made for him when he heard something like a moan come from Erzsébet. Changing could wait.

All remnants of his good mood dissipated as he silently grumbled to himself about their guest. While it certainly came as no surprise – Erzsébet did this every time he was out of town and, honestly, Roderich had grown to expect it – but hearing them was different. Sure, he was no fool and they made no effort to pretend but having indisputable proof of their trysts was another. Roderich was cursed to have found a spouse and enemy full of cunning. He noted that, if the two of them ever put their powers to good use, he’d have to compliment them for it. For now, while he was their target, any appreciation was out of the question.

He felt his body yearning for caffeine and knew what the next item on his agenda must be. Still lost in his thoughts, he was completely caught off guard at the sight of a bare-chested Gilbert standing over the kitchen counter. It was comical, really, watching such a brutish man delicately pour cream into two dainty mugs, mentally measuring out the right amounts. Roderich stood back and watched the whole performance in domesticity, studying the man before him as he never had before. The way his back and shoulder muscles shifted with each movement; how he never slouched even when it would be far more comfortable to; how the whole time, he never stopped humming marches to himself.

This scene felt too intimate and Roderich understood that he was not its intended audience. What he needed most from his rival now was hostility and not misguided fantasies of marital bliss. He cleared his throat and stepped into Gilbert’s line of sight. “For me? How sweet of you.” He snatched the mug closest to him and added in his usual five spoonsful of sugar. He held up a finger when he felt Gilbert gearing up to protest. “She’s still asleep. Besides, no one likes waking up to cold coffee. It sets such a tone for the day.”

They settled into a tense silence, neither one wanting to acknowledge the other. It was childish, Roderich understood, but failing to will the other out of his existence was better than devolving into petty insults or a physical altercation. And, if he ignored all rational thoughts, he didn’t even care. When around each other, what else were they but ancient children? There was no reason for them to speak, why invent one?

“Paris again? How many times have you been there over the last three months?” There almost appeared to be a hint of affectionate teasing in Gilbert’s words.

Roderich turned to face him and was surprised to find Gilbert already observing him with mild interest. What a strange morning, one he wished he could find some escape in by returning to bed but felt certain would provide him with no real escape. If anything, the pair would wake him up and demand he leave his own damn bed for another room, that’s how selfish they were. Against his will, he felt himself noticing the strength in Gilbert’s body, all broad shoulders and muscle, the physique of the ideal warrior. All suddenly clicked on why Roderich always found himself flat on his ass whenever they’d begin to trade blows. His arrogance had blinded him to the fact that imperial power mattered little when they weren’t trying to kill each other on the battlefield. With biceps like that, his only chance to get the upper hand would be a swift kick to the groin, which even at his worst he was too principled to resort to.

He was brought back to reality when Gilbert began snapping his fingers in his face. “Jesus, has anyone ever told you how creepy that staring thing you do is? Like you were trying to undress me with your eyes.” He straightened up and shivered. “Commission a portrait, it’ll last longer.”

“Please, don’t be so crass. This,” Roderich flippantly pointed to Gilbert’s outfit, “is already enough. If I imagined you in any less, I’d be ill for at least a month.”

Gilbert smirked as he took a sip. “Funny, most people have the opposite reaction.” He leaned his hips back against the counter and crossed his arms over his chest. “Now, how much more stalling can you do? What’s kept you in Paris so much? I don’t recall most treaties taking that much time to…hammer out.” He bit his lip, trying to suppress his snickering.

“It’s rude to talk work at breakfast.” Austria couldn’t be bothered to mask his irritation. Things such as ‘politeness’ and ‘civility’ always seemed to go to waste on Prussia. “And, if you’re fishing for what’s in our agreement, you’ll have no such luck from me. You’re wasting your time.”

“You think I give a damn about what’s on a fucking piece of paper? As if I’d be wasting my time on that. I don’t know who blabs more for the right price, your officials or France’s.” Gilbert’s demeanor was too casual. “Most of the time, we don’t have to go to those damn meetings anyways. We’re little more than decorations, the bureaucrats have everything written before they even breathe a word to us. We know that, they know that. There are always ulterior motives for our little business trips. Whenever I come here, I tell my current minder I’ll be off doing a diplomatic something-or-other in Vienna for a week, don’t wait up.  They buy it even though they know the real reason I come to this shrine of gaudy antiques.”

“Your point, Gilbert?”

“My point is that you’re no different. Sure, you tell everyone that you’re renegotiating this or that little detail and maybe your officials believe it. And you tell it to Erzsi, and she believes it since it’s easier than thinking the husband she loathes so much is just as miserable as her. And maybe you believe it too because you have to lie to yourself first to lie to everyone else. But you can’t fool me.”

The whole time he spoke, Roderich was staring down into the contents of his mug. When all was quiet between them was when he finally looked up, laughing. “You must be desperate if you’re begging to get a morsel of gossip on me from me.”

Gilbert scoffed. “I’m not fishing for gossip. If I was, I would’ve gone through your letters while you were gone. And, before you ask, I’ve never done that. Not for lack of trying, I’m just not good at picking locks.”

The vein behind Roderich’s left eye began pulsating. He rubbed his temple gingerly, wincing. “I think I prefer it when you act like you can’t stand to be in the same room with me. Why the annoying younger brother schtick?”

“Maybe I’m making up for lost time.” For added emphasis, Gilbert made sure to loudly schlurp down a sip. Roderich’s wince at such a noise caused him to snort some coffee out his nose. Wiping it away, he grinned. “Or maybe I just want you to stop thinking you’re any better than me. Get you when you’re unguarded.”

“There’s a glaring hole in your plan. You’ve forgotten that I would never allow myself to be so vulnerable around you, no matter what time of day it is.” He mockingly shook his head, tutting. “I understand that, for now, we’re officially getting along just fine, but don’t mistake that for camaraderie. The first chance either of us gets, we’ll be back to stabbing each other in the back for sport. It’s who we are.”

“Well, aren’t you a pessimist.”

“Hardly. I simply know our natures too well,” Roderich sighed, growing weary at this line of conversation. “So, if this is only temporary, why should I feign tolerance towards you? Quite honestly, you’re not important enough to me for that sort of performance. Even if you were, you would see right through it. No, my energy is better spent on nobler pursuits.”

Gilbert had set his mug down, now drumming his fingers on the countertop. “I’m not asking for friendship; I’m asking for honesty.” He rolled his eyes with the temperament of a teenager. “Whatever. You got me sidetracked. It’s pointless anyways; you’re too delusional.”

“Excuse me?” That was quite the accusation from an unusual source. “At this point, you may as well come right out and say it.”

“If you insist,” Gilbert’s tone lilted up, songlike and jeering. “What you won’t admit is what I started this whole conversation with. All these trips to Paris, they’re not about work or diplomacy or any of your other shitty excuses. I know and you know that the only purpose is to blow a load in Francis’ ass and get away from your miserable life.”

Roderich set his mug down gently. There was no need for it to spill, to make a mess all over the clean marble. “For a moment, I’m going to ignore the vulgar insinuation you’ve made about my relationship with Francis.” He looked up, not breaking eye contact with Gilbert. “You know nothing about my life and my contentment with it. I understand that you are a deeply unhappy and wretched creature and why shouldn’t you be? There is nothing for you to go home and boast about, no shining accomplishments of yours not bathed in the blood of an innocent people, but do not project your misery onto me. For all your crowing to the contrary, we have never been, nor will we ever be, the same.”

Gilbert scoffed. “And everything you’ve ever done, there was only glory to be found there? All the princes you absorbed into your own lands, they were willing? The Bohemians, the Hungarians, they love your rulers? Are you pretending that only Russia and I invaded Poland because I remember seeing you at the table, carving out portions for yourself.”

“I’m not so naïve to believe I haven’t picked up the sword before. And, if necessary, I would again. You’d be wise to remember that.” Roderich straightened up, pulling his shoulders back. “But I’ve achieved just as much without force as with. The home we’re currently standing is a monument to such.”

“Please. It’s a monument to other people’s power and what it can get you. We don’t impact change, we just ride the waves of it,” Gilbert sneered. “This house is a prison for all who come in it. A golden cage is still a cage, Roderich, even for the largest bird.”

Roderich sighed with a roll of his eyes. “Mixing your metaphors doesn’t make you sound wiser, I’ve told you this before.” Needing caffeine for his growing headache, he took a sip. “I assume you’re including yourself among the captives.”

“To a degree. I can leave whenever I want – as you love to point out, I do have my own house – but where would one of us be without the other two? We are the protagonists of our own tragedy.”

“I sincerely regret that old king of yours got you into theater. Next you’ll be telling me how all the world’s a stage and we are but merely players.” When Gilbert opened his mouth to comment on that, Roderich held up his hand. “That wasn’t an invitation for your Shakespearean theories!” He rubbed the bridge between his nose, his prior weariness intensifying. “Why does it matter to you so much? Why must I parade my discontent as you and Erzsébet do? If you make your life’s purpose revenge against an unjust world – there you go! I admit it’s unjust! – you are sure to become more miserable than ever before. Perhaps you should learn that before it destroys you like one of your dear tragedies.”

“It matters because you act like you’re superior to us in every way when, really, you’re no different. And I don’t think I’ll ever understand that,” Gilbert’s voice softened with something akin to regret.

Something in his tone of voice, in his posturing, lit a fire within Roderich. His eyes hardened and he pressed his lips into a scowl. “Understanding is what you want? If it’ll get the defiling power of your pity off me, then so be it! I am better than you in every conceivable way. If I am to you but a mirror, peer close and you’ll realize it too. Where you feel trapped by the circumstances life has thrown us in, with a life that can never truly be our own, I’ve taken what you’ve failed to grasp. While you were slaughtering pagan Easterners in your little bog, I was here, accumulating wealth and power you’ve only fantasized about. I am the seat of an empire that you only have access to through Brandenburg.

“But those are meaningless things, aren’t they? Because here’s what really matters to you – the only thing, isn’t it? I’ve seen how you stare; I know that look – I’ve got what a childhood spent pining among the monks prevented you from getting. Did you ever mention it to them? How young love made that vow of celibacy torturous? How close did you come to breaking it? How many Hail Mary’s did they make you perform for every impure thought? Do you wonder what they’d think of you now, going through all this because you’re in love with your brother’s wife? Phrased just so, they would burn you at the stake again. Ah, but the hellfire is familiar, isn’t it?” Roderich glanced at the clock hanging behind Gilbert’s shoulder. “Erzsébet should be waking now. Go play domestic and bring my wife some coffee.”

Roderich forced himself away from Gilbert, who was left crestfallen with his wide eyes and gaping mouth. He had said enough, gloating would be overkill. He entered his study and locked the door. If there would be consequences for his monologue, let them come later.

The day was still new. Roderich stared out the window. Despite checking the clock, his adrenaline had made him forget the time. He approximated it was no more than nine. He began pouring himself a glass of brandy, but stopped, preferring to drink from the bottle. He gazed around the vast emptiness of the room beyond its sole occupant. He raised the bottle for a toast:

“To the prison of my own making. There is no place quite like home.”

[lettrespromises]

la querelle des coeurs. - kuroo, atsumu, daichi.

@luveranime​ sent a letter : ❝ Me again lmao 😂 could you do one where kuroo, atsumu and daichi’s s/o has a ex best friend and they try to take their bf away from their s/o but then their s/o like angrily lashes out? Then like a cute fluffy ending :) ❞

author’s letter : ❝ aaaaa, it’s always pleasure to see you in my inbox!! thank you so much for trusting me with all your prompts, it means the world. ooooh, i love myself some angst to fluff especially with kuroo. i hope you’ll enjoy your promised letter!

sealed with a kiss. sincerely yours, nikki. ❞

genre : kinda fluff, kinda angst. warnings : cursing, toxic friendship.

Now, now, now, Kuroo like the gorgeous scorpio he is has some kind of sixth sense when it comes to lies, basically, you could consider him as a human lie detector. This talent of his extends to being able to discern people’s true nature- given that he is someone who doesn’t trust people easily, he’s even more careful around people he doesn’t deem as trustworthy.

Truth be told, he doesn’t come as a surprise to him when you tell him that you had a succession of arguments with your best friend, to the point where you felt obligated to cut ties with them. 

You can tell from miles away that the sentence “I don’t want to say I told you so, but I told you so, kitten.” is burning the tip of his tongue, begging him to be set free so he could rub his pseudo sixth sense in your face.

From now on, Kuroo morphs into ‘super protective mode’, he just wants to protect you from any emotional harm, he knows how vicious your former best friend is, after all, he always knew.

He will walk with you everywhere, cradle you into his embrace if you feel the need to shed a couple of tears- he picks up the shattered pieces of your broken self and glues them one by one and seals them with a kiss or a heartfelt compliment.

After several days, Kuroo’s efforts and dedication to make you feel better finally sets in. Your introspection sunk in and you feel the aftereffects bloom- you feel fearless, powerful, and you came to agree with yourself on stating that you are indeed better off alone.

The plot twists in the hallways of your school- your arm is wrapped around Kuroo’s, just the way you like it. His orbs never leave you frame and anyone could tell how the gleam in his eyes reflect his love and adoration for you. 

Needless to say, his favorite time of the day was when he could have lunch with you and listen to your ramblings while observing your divine traits. However, being academically smart doesn’t prevent him from being a airhead at times : “Kitten, I totally forgot to grab myself something to drink. Will you wait for me at our spot? I’ll be quick.” “You already know where to find me then, Tetsu.”

And with that, he leaves you in the middle of the hall (but not before planting a peck on your forehead.) On his way to the vending machine, he sees none other than your former best-friend, body leaning onto said vending machine, as if they were waiting for him to come out after witnessing your discussion.

The plain expression plastered upon Kuroo’s facial expression speaks louder than a thousand words revolving around the lexical field of anger. Nonetheless, he tells himself that if he ignores them, then there will be no harm done, unless...

“Hey there, Kuroo. I knew you’d miss me! Don’t worry, baby, I missed you just as much.”

The person you once called your best friend orientates their body in a strategic way so they’re closer to Kuroo, their whole body facing him. Of course, he didn’t miss the poor attempts to get him to pay attention to them. Their whole body language screamed ‘acknowledge me.’

Kuroo remained stoic and pushed the coins inside the vending machine instead. This lack of attention only emphasized their anger and in return, their level of patience diminished gradually. But they had another ace hidden in their sleeve, and this time, attitude matched their actions- your former best friend grabbed the hem of Kuroo’s collar while their other hand was planted at the back of his neck to force him to look on what they deemed as the only important person here.

“Kuroo, baby, I’m so glad you came to see me, because let’s face it : you’re only here because you know you’d see me here. Have you finally realized that Y/N was not good enough for you? You want a real significant other, don’t you?”

If hearing the sound of their voice was disgusting enough, imagine how filthy Kuroo felt when he sensed a foreign body throw themselves on him- his skin was burning under the poisoning touch of your former best friend. 

Now, now. The ‘you’ topic was quite the sensitive one to Kuroo, given that he would and could put anyone in their place if he happened to hear a ill word about you. “I’m going to say this once : don’t play a game you can’t win so don’t say another thing about Y/N.” 

Oh, but would this stop them? Absolutely not. Their hand travelled from the back of their neck to the muscular reliefs on his chest, an area only you had the luxury you to touch and worship. “Don’t be like that, Kuroo. I know I can touch you, love you and at least I won’t fake it like Y/N does.” they concluded their sentence with a wink sent his way and Kuroo could already feel the taste of vomit invading his tastebud. 

In one sharp motion, he grabbed their wrist and yanked himself free of their intoxicating clutch. Just his luck, he thought, while your former best friend cursed silently under their breath as they saw you arrive.

“Tetsu, are you okay? What’s taking you so long?”

Oh and here it was, the pure grin which radiated nothing but pure mischief- your presence signed the end and what a beautiful ending it was for him. “Maybe you should ask them, kitten. They were rambling about how I should date them instead of you. Can you believe that bullshit?”

Your eyes darted onto a familiar frame, but just by glancing at them, you felt all the inner rage overwhelm you, including all the pain you had to go through. It was like facing your own nightmare, but you’ve never been alone to fight your battles- Kuroo has always been there by your side.

“You said what now?”

Your stare emanated nothing but pure and intense rage, your whole body language testified of your inner envy to make them choke on their own words.

“I said-...”

“If you think for a single second I’m going to let you talk, you’re dead wrong. You’ve been feeding me enough lies during all this time we were ‘friends’, and now, you’re throwing yourself on my man? You really have nothing for you, do you now? Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to go grab lunch with my boyfriend. I’m not sure you’ve ever heard of him but his name is Kuroo Testurou, you know, the man you’ll never get?”

Kuroo couldn’t help but to let a snicker break free from his lips, this scene was wonderful to watch. An immense wave of pride washed over him, and it struck him again, he realized for the umpteenth time how lucky he was to share his life with you.

He wrapped his arm around your waist, tugging you close to his side and delivered a peck full of love upon the flesh of your cheek. “I didn’t know you had all of this hidden in you, kitten. Not gonna lie, it’s kinda hot.” 

You playfully rolled your eyes and punched his arm as his words connected with your eardrums, “You’re so lucky I love you.”

“Don’t get it twisted, kitten, I’m lucky one here.”

“Are not.”

“Are too.”

“Are not.”

It’s safe to say that Atsumu does have a reputation that follows him around, he his the local heartthrob of his school and he secretly takes pride in that. But nothing fills his heart with pride more than being able to call you his.

Being Atsumu’s girlfriend, you are indirectly exposed to threats, insults and other acerbic remarks coming from his fangirls. Sometimes these attacks are direct like dirty talks behind your back when you’re holding his hand in the middle of the halls, and other times, it’s more subtle and the perfect example of that is how the person you used to call your best friend took advantage of your relationship status to get closer to Atsumu.

They made it clear and had no shame hiding behind their shameful shenanigans, “Did you really think I was talking to you for your personality? Get real, Y/N, I don’t care about you. I only care about your man.”

These subtle shenanigans hurt the most because they were the most vicious and purposefully hurtful, and the worst part was that they had somehow managed to become friends with Atsumu. Emphasis on the word ‘somehow.’

As per usual after school, both you and Atsumu could be found at the gym, and oh boy, did he love being able to see you everyday- not only at school but also at the gym as you were the manager of the volleyball team.

However, this time, you had quite the surprise when you entered the gym. Kita had asked all the players to gather up as he explained them the new change amongst the team : “Considering that the nationals are around the corner, the coach and I stated that it was necessary for us to hire a new manager in order for Y/N not to feel overwhelmed. Please welcome your new manager and take good care of them.”��

As his words echoed in the gymnasium, you felt your stomach sink to your heels, your mouth was set agape under the overwhelming feeling of pure disgust. Not them, out of all people. Hell, even Atsumu’s worst fangirl sounded like a better idea right now.

Of course you couldn’t blame Kita for choosing your former best friend as the new manager, but the glance Atsumu threw your way testified of how much he knew this situation was going to eat you up alive. 

After the captain dismissed everyone, Atsumu wasted no time and ran up to you, he felt the need to reassure you and make you feel at ease despite the venomous presence of your former best friend.

“Cheer up, baby, ya’ know I’m here, right? This pig isn’t gonna’ get a piece of me. Now, be a doll and gimme’ a kiss.” 

Classic Atsumu right here, but who were you to deny such a sweet request? So you did as told, and planted a kiss on his plump lips. And that’s when you could pinpoint the precise moment when your former best friend had fallen right into Atsumu’s trap.

“As your new manager, I have to say that it’s not very professional to kiss your significant other on the court. But, I mean, what else did I expect coming from Y/N?” 

Your boyfriend’s arm was protectively wrapped around your waist, tugging you closer. The root of each of his action was to protect you from the incoherent and toxic words dropping from their lips. But deep down, he knew better than to mess with you, especially when the whole team was looking at you.

“Oh, I’m sorry! Did you mean do this?”

There you went again, planting yet another kiss upon Atsumu’s lips who couldn’t help but grin at the taunting nature of your actions. Once you broke the kiss, you could feel the hot breaths of your boyfriend crashing upon your skin “That’s my girl.”

Your former best friend looked around in despair, her eyes scanned the room to seek for help, to back up her actions. Osamu let a small laugh fall free from his lips, Suna rolled his eyes so hard you thought they were going to get stuck at the back of his head, and Kita, out of all people, let out a desperate sigh. “As the captain of the team, I must inform you that it is my duty to let you know that you cannot dictate your way here, and you cannot display a clear lack of respect to Y/N.”

This time, it was their time to be dumbfounded and left in the middle of the gymnasium with their mouth set agape in pure surprise. The silence, although it was broken by a few playful laughs, was agonizing to them. 

“C’mon, new manager, tell ‘em why ya’ chose to come here.” Atsumu taunted, the smirk plastered upon his face as wide as ever, but he only found silence as an answer.

“Are you sure you don’t want to tell the rest of the team? Alright then. Maybe you should tell them how you only joined our team to flirt with Atsumu knowing very well that we’re dating, what kind of person that makes you, mh?” Each word pronounced was embedded with venom of your own, and deep down, exposing the true nature of your former best friend brought some sense of satisfaction. And thus you began reading out loud each text they had sent you, justifying their one-sided reason to join the team, only to flirt with Atsumu.

“Yeah, ya’ ain’t slick! Sorry to break it to ya’ but I ain’t into snakes.” Atsumu continued, sticking his tongue out before the still dumbfounded personification of a snake.

Pure embarrassment consumed them, the more they were staying amongst the deafening silence of their sour loss, the more they felt vulnerable and the more they realized they lost their own game. The stares of the whole team became agonizing, so agonizing that they felt obligated to leave the gym, head hung low in defeat.

“Byeee! Ya’ won’t be missed!” Your boyfriend concluded his sentence by imitating the hissing sounds of snakes, and you wondered why you were dating a man-child. Nonetheless, knowing very well he couldn’t get his hands off of you and craved for a physical touch at all times, he pressed his lips against yours once more. “I ain’t into snakes but ya’ could s-s-s-s-slide your way into my heart, baby.” and with that, Osamu hit the back of his twin’s head with a volleyball.

Maybe he deserved that.

Being the unofficial dad of the Karasuno volleyball team came with its perks, one of them was the ability to be able to discern if the people you were hanging with genuinely cared about you or not, you liked to joke around and call this his “secret dad weapon.”

Much like Kuroo, he was not one bit surprised when you told him that you had to put your friendship to an end with your former best friend. Of course, he was not angry, but in typical dad fashion, he adorned the oh so famous disappointed dad expression on his facial structure.

He told you not to overthink it, and to focus on the other friendly presences in your life such as the volleyball team or Kiyoko and Yachi, mainly because he knew he could trust them with his eyes closed, but also because he knew he would be able to make them pay if they were to hurt you.

When you started dating Daichi, you grew the habit to join him outside the gymnasium after his training, a bottle of water in your hand in case he overworked himself, which he always did. 

This time, and much to your surprise, you found a note near the doorframe leading to the gymnasium. And if you were careful enough, the slight details and the precise calligraphy hinted that said note was in fact a love note. 

You found it rather amusing at first, perhaps it was a letter dedicated to Kiyoko because this woman was the living and breathing proof that God was indeed a woman. 

But everyday, you would find yet another letter, still carefully written and decorated leaning against the doorframe. This time, however, a calligraphic ‘D.S’ framed the front of the letter. You couldn’t help but let your stare roam over the fine print of calligraphy over and over again. 

As the saying goes ‘curiosity killed the cat’, and you were no exception to that common phrase. You meticulously took the letter and unfolded it- it was so beautifully written, the details were placed strategically. It was a proof of pure love in the form of a letter. 

Then, you began reading it :  “Dear Daichi,  Words cannot do justice of how much I love you. Everything about you fascinates me- from the way you spike the ball so roughly to the small smile on your face after scoring a point. If only I could tell you how much you mean to me. Don’t worry, Y/N won’t know a thing. Come to the gymnasium tomorrow at 5 if you wish, until then, accept all my love.”

You read the letter once, then twice, then an umpteenth time until the words were embedded in your brain. You thought it was just a prank, after all, Nishinoya and Tanaka were quite the pranksters amongst the team, but the handwriting was so delicate, too delicate to be theirs. 

You could feel salty pearls coming at the brim of your eyes until they fell onto the surface of the paper, resulting in the texture of the letter now being bloated under the wetness of your tears. 

You kept your discovery under silence, you trusted your boyfriend of course, but given the additional stress brought by the nationals, you refused to distract him from his goal.

But here you were, sharply there in front of the gym at five as indicated on the letter. However, Daichi hadn’t shown up like the anonymous lover requested, he was already stretching anyway. 

Knots started to form in your stomach as you wondered who the hell had the idea to write this love letter to him, after all, it’s not as if your relationship with Daichi was kept as a secret. 

And at 5:01 precisely, your orbs felt on the figure of your former best friend who had the most victorious grin plastered upon their face. Not only these letters were meant to be read by Daichi, but by you too, their main goal was to hurt you where it stung the most.

“What the hell are you doing here? Where you the one who wrote these letters?” You spat, waving the letters between your thumb and forefinger. 

“I’m sorry, Y/N, I know you love to make everything about yourself but I was expecting Daichi, not you.” Although they said they were sorry, there was not one ounce of genuine compassion in their voice.

Anger got the best of you resulting in the sudden apparition of veins on your neck as the volume of your voice only increased : “Who the fuck do you think you are? Are you that desperate? If you want a reply to your letter : Daichi doesn’t even know who you are.”

Your emotions controlled each one of your actions, including the severe tone of your voice. The ruckus made its way inside the walls of the gymnasium, until Daichi and Sugawara opened the door in order to find an answer as their interrogation : what was happening outside? 

Daichi’s eyes widened when he saw your frame shaking from anger, it was so unlike you, you matched him in a way because you were always so calm and collected. His mind raced as he wondered what was the cause of this sudden switch of behavior. 

He found the answer to his question pretty rapidly as his eyes darted towards your former best friend who was still wearing that victorious grin on their facial structure. “Y/N, love, what’s going on?” he asked as his hands were draped over your shoulders, forcing you to look at him.

“Oh, hey, Daichi! Have you read the letters I left for you? I bet Y/N never wrote this kind of letters for you.” It took inhuman strength for Daichi to ignore their taunt, instead, Sugawara sent a death glare their way : “Just leave, you have no business being here.”

Sugawara’s attempt at making them leave eventually succeeded after Coach Ukai’s sudden appearance before barking on your former best friend to “get the hell out of here” and “not disturb training anymore.”

Eventually, you were left alone with Daichi, your lungs felt constricted and you struggled to breathe. The aftermath of your outburst of anger made tears run down your cheeks as you sought for comfort inside of Daichi’s loving embrace. 

The pad of his thumb brushed your tears away, planting a series of kisses upon the surface of your forehead as a silent way to tell you that he was here and he was not going to let you go.

“Listen, love, I don’t know what happened and we will talk about it whenever you feel ready. But promise me one thing, never doubt of my love for you. Could you do that for me, Y/N?”

You simply nodded against his chest, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat kept the haunting thoughts in your head at bay. “I love you so much, Y/N, so, so much.” he whispered, concluding his sentence with a kiss left on your lips.

If only he knew how much you loved him.