#potted because it's still neat and tidy

[szasfuckingwife]

“Yuji, get your ass over here!” Sukuna yells. His nephew is spending some of summer break with him and he can’t for the life of him understand why he doesn’t clean up. I mean, it’s his apartment.

The teenager grumbles out of the guest room (practically his room) and rubs his eye, “Uncle, you can’t just yell at me when I’m sleeping…”

Sukuna points to the scattered dishes and opened packs of ramen on the counter, “Felt peckish last night?”

Yuji shrugs, “You said to make myself comfortable.”

His uncle has never been so provoked to hit a teen in his life. Forget the takeaway meals and home-cooked meals Sukuna had fed the boy. Because apparently, instant noodles from the corner shop tasted better, “Yuji, you didn’t even clean up. God, my girlfriend’s coming in like twenty minutes and now the place is a mess…”

“Y/N’s coming?” Yuji suddenly fixed his posture and stood up. “Like now?”

Sukuna’s brow raised at how his nephew immediately went into the bathroom to brush his teeth and shower. And how when he came out, he put on his best casual fit and used some of HIS cologne, that was way too expensive for Yuji to use.

Sukuna couldn’t even get into the shower as quickly as he wanted to because he was trying to scrub the burnt pot that Yuji used.

That boy can’t cook a thing, Sukuna thought.

But just then, three knocks came from the door. Sukuna knew it was you because even after giving you his apartment key, you still choose to knock. Yuji raced to the door and opened it.

“Hi, Y/N!” He grinned.

“Oh, hi! I didn’t know you were staying over. Your uncle didn’t mention anything..” You scowled at Sukuna causing your boyfriend to roll his eyes.

Sukuna gave you a chaste kiss before sitting you up on the countertop, “Please try use your influence to make him be more tidy.”

“You’re such a mom, Sukuna..” You chuckle, “He’s just a teenager. You were probably the same, giving your brother the same flak.”

He rolls his eyes once more, “When we have a kid, they’re not turning out like that. They’ll be neat, respectable people.

Your cheeks grow warm as you note down how he said ‘when’ instead of ‘if’. “He’s not that bad, Kuna…”

Sukuna only dead panned you before asking if you want anything for breakfast. Before you could answer, Yuji loudly yelled, “Choso said he’s coming for breakfast too! Should I call my dad to come?”

“NO!” Sukuna responded.

[orellazalonia]

The Weight of Being Forgettable

Summary: You quietly resign, hoping for peace or maybe to be missed, but no one reaches out in the end. You're forgotten just as silently as you existed. However, both you and them recognize the aftermath of being unremarkable. [Part 2 of Always There, Never Seen]

Disclaimer: ANGST, Kidnapping, More descriptive writing rather than dialogue.

Word Count: 2.1k+

Main Masterlist | The One You Don’t See Masterlist

You didn't expect a moment to come. No dramatic breaking point, no cruel words shouted across a room. Just a Tuesday.

The coffee pot had gone untouched again, something you only noticed because you were the one who always refilled it. You stood in the kitchen with the same bland mug in your hand, watching the last drop of dark, bitter liquid slide into a cup you hadn’t even wanted. You were exhausted, in that way that didn’t show. Not physically. Not even emotionally.

Just… worn.

There had been a moment that morning when you stood outside the meeting room and realized: if you walked away right now, no one would stop you. No one would call. No one would ask where you'd gone. You weren't angry. You were just… done.

So you typed it up.

The resignation was short and neat. No frills. You didn’t name names, didn’t leave jabs or guilt. You wrote, “Thank you for the opportunity. I hope my work has been useful. My last day will be Friday.”

Signed and that was it. You sent it at 2:12 PM. There was no hesitation or fanfare, just a quiet email in a quiet inbox. A ghost slipping out through the back door. You half-wondered if anyone would notice before Friday.

Back at your desk, everything looked the same. A little tin of peppermints. A notebook with neat, blocky handwriting. Sticky notes with reminders no one else had seen fit to write down. You glanced around at all the things you’d done, all the problems you’d solved before anyone else noticed they were problems.

And then, the strange part. You felt… relief. No one begged you to stay. No one came running down the hall. The world didn't collapse without you. But for the first time in a long time, the weight wasn’t yours to carry.

By Wednesday, no one said anything.

There were a few auto-replies to your resignation email. One from HR and one from some higher-up who never remembered your name. You finished your shift quietly, filed things neatly, and closed out your checklists with the same care you’d always used.

By Thursday, someone asked where the coffee filters were. You weren’t there to answer.

By Friday morning, you’d cleared your desk. Left nothing behind except a printed version of your resignation on the chair, just in case anyone missed the email. You’d timed it carefully: left during a team debrief, so you wouldn’t have to walk through goodbyes no one was going to offer anyway. You rode the elevator down alone, the hum of its descent feeling like a slow, gentle goodbye.

Even with your absence now, the Tower didn’t stop moving. Missions went on. Briefings happened. The usual chaos rolled forward.

But small things started to go wrong.

The meeting room wasn’t booked in time. Natasha showed up to a double-booked training session and walked out silently annoyed. Clint missed a follow-up appointment because the reminder never got sent. The printer jammed twice. Steve’s requested dietary order was delivered late, and with the wrong items. Sam realized a report had never been filed, one you always used to clean up after hours without being asked.

Still, no one panicked. These were just little things. Little things that piled up.

By the end of the week, someone said, “Didn’t she used to handle this?” in that vague way people talk about furniture that’s been moved. Like they know something has shifted, but can’t quite name what.

Bucky passed your old desk once and stood there longer than expected. You’d always kept it tidy with that little tin of peppermints that he never took but always glanced at. The chair was pushed in. The drawers were empty, but he didn’t say anything.

She noticed however. The one he liked. She brought it up in the common room, late one evening. “Hey,” She asked, “Did we ever figure out what happened to her?”

Someone blinked. “Who?”

“The one who used to…” She gestured vaguely, “…keep everything running. She was always here.”

A pause.

“Oh,” Someone else said. “Yeah. She left.”

And that was it. No party. No sadness. Not even a group email. Just silence where your presence used to be. But slowly, they began to realize that the silence was louder than expected.

Because there was no one left who knew how to keep the floor lights from buzzing. No one who stocked the exact tea Wanda liked. There was no one who stayed late so others could leave early.

The foundation had stepped away. And only now did they realize what they had leaned.

-

Weeks passed. Not many, just enough. Enough for the new intern to forget to attach the mission brief Bucky needed. Enough for the kitchen to stay out of oat milk for three mornings in a row. Enough for minor cracks to widen.

Still no one said your name out loud.

It wasn’t out of malice. More like discomfort. Like the building didn’t know how to speak of someone it had let disappear so quietly.

She, the woman Bucky still laughed with in the training room, started taking on some of the tasks. Not officially, but out of instinct. She noticed the first cracks. Noticed the second. She filled in what she could. But the foundation you’d built was always more than anyone realized.

Across the Tower, people started asking quiet questions.

“Hey, who used to handle these reports?” “Didn’t someone used to refill the med kits?” “There was someone who… what was their name again?”

But no one had the answer.

Bucky didn’t say much. He noticed the gaps the way you notice bruises forming: slowly, steadily, and without warning. One day he reached for the right packet of tea and found the shelf bare. It hit harder than he expected.

He stared at the empty space for too long. Once, he found himself opening his mouth to ask you something, only to remember mid-sentence, that you weren’t there. You hadn’t been for a while now. And he never really got to know you.

He thought, once, to ask where you'd gone. But didn’t. Not because he didn’t care but because he wasn’t sure he deserved to. The silence you left behind wasn’t loud. It didn’t demand attention. It crept in slowly, like a chill that only settles once the fire’s gone out.

Eventually, someone new was hired. Someone louder. More visible. They joked a lot and got people’s names wrong. They were liked immediately. The cracks you left weren’t filled, just covered.

But the Tower never felt quite the same. And if anyone noticed? They kept it to themselves. Just like you always did.

-

Meanwhile, you thought it would feel lighter now. You told yourself it would.

The resignation was supposed to be your moment of quiet reclamation, stepping away from a place that never made room for you. And in some ways, it was. There were no more emails at 3 a.m. No more long hours watching everyone else get noticed while you stayed invisible in the background.

But the silence didn’t go away. It just changed addresses.

Your apartment felt bigger now. Colder. It echoed in the wrong ways. Mornings dragged on to the point where you didn’t get out of bed until the sun was well into the sky, and even then, it was usually for coffee you didn’t finish.

There were no messages. No calls. No quiet “Hey, are you okay?” from anyone who’d worked beside you for years. You’d told yourself not to expect anything, and you didn’t. But it still stung.

You scrolled through job listings with numb fingers. “Team player.” “Self-starter.” “Thrives in fast-paced environments.” You checked boxes and rewrote cover letters, and every word felt like a lie. You weren’t really a team player because you were the person the team never noticed.

When people asked how you were doing, you smiled. Said, “Good.” And everyone believes it if you say it with enough clarity. The truth stayed quiet like it always had.

Some nights, you wondered if they noticed you were gone. Not just the missing reports or forgotten appointments but you. The person who stayed late, who remembered the small things, who kept the Tower going without ever asking to be seen.

But you already knew the answer.

No one had reached out. No one had asked you where you went. You didn’t even blame them. Not really. You just wished you hadn’t wanted to be seen so badly. You wished your heart didn’t ache for a version of yourself that maybe never existed. Someone important, someone valued, or someone that people remembered.

Instead, you spent your days in cafés where no one knew your name. You read the news in the corner of quiet libraries. You went on walks just to keep yourself moving. Because if you stopped, if you stayed still too long, you might disappear entirely.

And part of you wondered if that would really make a difference to anyone. So you kept moving.

Not healing. Not rebuilding. Just… existing. You’d left quietly and the world had kept on turning. Just like you always knew it would.

However, your normal routine broke on a Wednesday. You hadn’t expected anything from the day, not peace, not purpose. Just a walk through streets you didn’t love but had grown used to accompanied with a pair of headphones, an old playlist, and a jacket too thin for the wind.

You’d built your mornings this way on purpose. You couldn’t be useful anymore, but at least you could be moving.

You were halfway through your loop when the van pulled up.

It didn’t screech to a stop. Didn’t come with a crash or chaos. Just a quiet slide beside the curb. The back door opened, and hands reached out with no hesitation.

You didn’t even scream at first.

Shock held you still. Your mind scrambled for something, logic, maybe a pattern, anything familiar, but it never came. Just the pavement vanishing from under your feet, cold air in your lungs, and cloth pulled over your face. You could hear a voice muttering, “Got her,” like you were an object, not a person.

You tried to fight, of course. But you weren’t trained. No combat skills. No enhanced strength. Just muscle memory from years of carrying coffee trays and filing paperwork.

It wasn’t enough.

When you woke, you came to with the kind of headache that bloomed behind your eyes in a slow, dull, and heavy sort of way. The light overhead wasn’t fluorescent. It was colder than that. Artificial. The kind that hummed in a way that got under your skin.

Your wrists weren’t tied. You weren’t in chains. Just a room. Stark white, sterile edges. A thin cot. A small tray with water and a protein bar sitting untouched beside you. It wasn’t meant to feel like a cell. But it did.

You didn’t scream. You didn’t call out. You just sat there, quietly. Waiting. At first, you thought, someone will come.

Maybe Natasha would notice your name in a briefing file and raise an eyebrow. Maybe Steve would frown and say, “Didn’t she used to work with us?” Maybe Bucky would finally look up and remember that girl in the back room who always had the right intel before he needed it.

You imagined Tony cross-referencing coordinates and catching the glitch in a camera feed. You imagined Sam flying low, scanning streets, muttering, “This doesn’t feel right.”

But the hours passed. Then a day. Then three. And you slowly began to understand: No one was coming.

Not because they couldn’t. Not because they didn’t care. But because they didn’t know. You were no longer on the rosters. No longer in the comms. You weren’t even part of a security clearance group anymore. You had wiped your hands clean and left quietly.

To them, you were gone before you disappeared.

There wouldn’t be a mission presented with your name as the victim to save. You didn’t matter enough to track. You weren’t an Avenger. You weren’t an asset. You were the quiet one in the hallway. The background hum. The afterthought. And now, nobody at all.

The realization wasn’t a crash. It was a slow, silent exhale. It wasn’t grief. It was confirmation and it made something deep inside you shut down.

You moved back on the cot and stared at the ceiling. Letting the hum of the light fill the silence that no one else seemed to want to, you thought to yourself: This is what it’s like to vanish completely.

[barcapix]

✮ Always On My Mind - Pablo Gavi

pablo gavi x ex!fem!reader

sy: after a message back, only three simple words, you have the highest hopes that things will restart. but all it takes is one step into his apartment to have your dreams crushed.

a/n: idk if anyone still remembers this but wooo it’s been months since i’ve updated this. i’ve tagged who wanted to be, hope this makes sense tbh<3

warnings: angst.

PART1 || PART2

remind yourself, why did you agree to this?

agree to another round of absolute torture, horror—a second tragedy waiting to unfold. for the foreseeable future, was this even worth it?

a part of you, your heart, says yeah.

you’ve longed to see him again. to hear that boyish laugh— the one that still echoes in your dreams like a ghost refusing to leave.

better yet, you told yourself it had to mean something: that he reached out because some part of him missed what you had. why else would he say he needed to talk?

wasn’t that code? wasn’t that always the code?

and isn’t love worth fighting for?

the other part, your brain, says no.

he’s caused you so much pain, that it’s not worth it. not worth the hassle, the unforgettable pain that would follow. what if this is just another scandal so he can stamp over your heart again?

even though you dwelled on said thoughts, you fully believed he’d invited you over in a plea to restart—because he wanted you back.

or so you thought.

its only 8am on a saturday morning, the spanish sun creeping its way over past windows of shops, and heading over rooftops. your knuckle hovers over the wood of his new apartment, but before you make contact, it swings open.

“hi—hey. you actually came.”

god, seeing his face again, now two, weeks ago, you’d never imagined he’d be looking at you with those beautiful brown eyes again.

pablo looks different. more.. grown. it’s viable to see he’s let his facial hair grow, his hair is no longer settling on his forehead, and he looks rather like a man now, not like the teenage boy you remember.

not the one who used to fall asleep on facetime or text you song lyrics at 3am.

someone else. someone else’s.

“please, come in,” he steps aside, gesturing into his apartment. you nod, flashing him an easy smile despite the churning acid pitting in your stomach.

the fresh smell of laundry hits you like a gust of wind within the first step. it’s neat, tidy, in here and suspiciously organised.

you scan around the room, its entirely different to how your house used to look. there’s simple, modern artworks on the wall—ones with bland colours and shapes, whereas you had both agreed vibrant and wacky ones looked best.

fresh flowers in every pot—but he’d always opted for fake plants, because they “lasted longer.”

how does he change so much in so little time?

you swallow thickly. “hey, since when did you become such a neat freak?” you take in the folded clothes on his sofa. “i don’t recall you being this tidy.”

you almost awkwardly laugh, until he says. “it’s not me, it’s my girlfriend.”

“she’s very much a neat freak, like you were,” he explains, not really expressing another emotion rather than joy. “although, she doesn’t put up with my used socks lying around.”

his lips curve into a smile as he mentions her. your stomach spins like a washing machine eating its own wires—sick and twisted.

“aren’t you going to sit?” he motions to the sofa behind you, plopping down himself. you blink thrice, eventually lowering down onto the cushions, cautiously, as if they’d bite.

“beer?” he pulls one out of the ice bucket you never even noticed; you refuse.

pablo shrugs, popping the lid off and taking a sip. was this a mind game? a performance? if he invited you, sought you out, why does he seem so.. detached?

he’s here, but he’s also not here.

after drinking and a rather stiff silence, gavi shuffles up a little closer to you, leaning forward, forearms resting on his knees. that posture—it’s too familiar. it used to mean i’m sorry or i fucked up.

his lips part in a breathless whisper, until you take the words from his mouth.

“—ill save you the breath pablo,” repeatedly you tap syllables into your bare knee. “why did you wanna talk to me?”

he opens his mouth, then shuts it again. exhales, slow.

“it clearly seems you’re still in love with her—“

his eyes stop staring ahead of him, now at you as he stops you. “what? i am. why do you think i invited you here for?”

your brows furrow. right.

his face drops in realisation. “oh.. look.” your eyes well up with tears, and he reassuringly grabs your forearm. “i want us to clear the air between us,” gavi says, trying to be as polite as possible.

fuck. what were you thinking?

all you crave to do is knock unconscious, crawl back into the burrow of your bed and rot. building a fairytale over the words, “can we talk?” like a fool; you’d convinced yourself it was a love story waiting for its second chapter.

he didn’t leave you, move onto other woman for funsises. it was clear enough to see, but evidently not enough for you.

you glance down at your hands, how they tremble slightly like all your tendons are trying to hold you together. “i just.. i didn’t want to leave things messy between us,” he continues, running a hand through his hair like that could smooth out the past.

a dry laugh slips past your lips. “they were always messy, pablo.” he winces in response—he knows you’re right.

that gauche silence returns.

outside of the building, a car honks. someone laughs in the apartment next door. the world doesn’t pause for heartbreak.

“she’s good for me,” he says after a moment and you flinch. “i think… i think you were too. but at the wrong time.”

you swallow that like poison. “yeah,” you breathe. there’s a question hovering on your tongue, like if you don’t ask him for the answer your body might implode. “so what was i to you?”

he leans back, eyes closing briefly. opposed to the iron-fisted grip he had on it earlier, the beer sits loosely between his lap.

“everything,” he admits eventually, almost too prolonging. “you were everything to me.”

it felt like he was toying with your feelings. anger rises within you.

first, you think he wants to start over, he denies you. then, you think he doesn’t care—and he says he did. does.

“was i?” you press. “because if i was, you wouldn’t have just.. moved on like it was nothing,” your mouth runs dry and suddenly his face seems distorted. “like i was nothing.”

“it wasn’t like that. it wasn’t nothing.”

“then what the hell was it?”

you’re raising your voice now. you don’t care. your heart is already halfway shattered— what’s a few more cracks going to do?

he opens his eyes, and this time, there’s emotion. guilt. regret. exhaustion. everything he wanted to tell you, but couldn’t.

“it was me panicking. being naive. selfish. i didn’t know how to be what you needed.”

you look away, jaw clenched but still with a pang of softness. “and now you do? for her?”

“maybe,” he says. too honestly. too honestly than you would of liked.

you blink at him, stunned by the ease of it. how casually he admits it. his words say one thing, his actions say another.

“wow. okay.”

“i didn’t bring you here to hurt you..” he jumps in his seat, voice softer now. “i’ve been carrying this. what i did to you. i needed to say it.”

“say what?”

you’re practically shaking to the sheer bone.

“that you loved me and ruined me? that you regret it, but not enough to come back? that you sleep better now because you told me sorry?

his silence is an answer enough.

you nod in recognition, swallowing the lump that’s been growing in your throat since the moment you walked in.

“did you ever love me, pablo?”

he answers too quickly, as if it’s a rehearsed act. “of course i did.”

“but not enough,” you whisper, biting the inside of your cheek to compose any tears. “to stay.”

“not in the way you deserved,” he replies. and that feels worse. you sit in that—in the quiet kind of hurt that hums in your bones.

he sighs, dragging a hand down his face.

you stand. you can’t bear to sit in this mausoleum of what-ifs another second.

he follows your movement with his eyes, but doesn’t stop you. doesn’t beg. doesn’t ask you to stay. and that says everything.

you walk to the door. your hand on the knob, you hesitate—just for a breath, a second, a flicker of time where you pretend he’ll say something. anything.

but he doesn’t.

and when the door shuts behind you, the finality hits like a slap. your first love, your first heartbreak, and the first time you wished you’d never met him.

the tears don’t come right away, they wait until your legs feel like jello, that if you were to take a singular step, they’d give way.

you collapse against the door, letting your head fall back, as the water from your eyes unleashes freely and ruins the makeup you spent two hours, doing.

the tears fall just like the night he left.

🔖🏷️: @n0vazsq @hearzdiarx @paucubarsisimp @diarieeeelils @joaosnovia @httpsdana @universefcb @madamsoulette @mariejuli @bernalswifeyy @pabl0andm3 @htpssgavi @kixxkmzz

[lieslab]

Let the ultraviolet cover me up

꘎♡━━━━━♡꘎ ꘎♡━━━━━♡꘎

Pairing: Jeongin X gn reader

Summary: Your boyfriend appears after the emotional neglect and hurt you experienced as a kid bubbles up at the wrong time.

Genre: Comfort/hurt

Word Count: 2.5K

Depression resources

Trigger warning: Trauma, emotional neglect, implications of depression, and the genuine feeling of being lost as an adult.

_ _ _

You were supposed to be waiting for Jeongin in the apartment. The two of you were going out on a date and he was sure you remembered because he texted you about it this morning. He called your name, stopping inside and standing on the rug. Outside, drops of water were heavily pouring and his shoes were soaked. 

He called your name again, but you still didn’t show up. He frowned, kicked off his shoes, and began through his search in the quiet apartment. The kitchen was bare with every cupboard door shut. There weren’t pots and pans strung out and about. Everything was neat and tidy, just as it had been this morning when he left. 

The living room was left in a similar state. The throw pillows for the couch were placed neatly on each side and a blanket was swung over the back. You usually used that when you were freezing cold, but now it laid neatly folded and untouched. 

There was no familiar thumping of the washing machine or the electronic hum of the dryer. Your voice wasn’t floating from the bathroom and there was no sprinkling of the shower. There wasn’t a roar of water pouring from the spigot for a bubble bath either. 

He called out your name, wondering your whereabouts, but you never responded. Confused and a little concerned, he pulled out his phone and dialed your number. He was expecting a response and an excuse, but when your voicemail picked up instantly, it worried him even more. Did you just hang up on him and purposefully decline his call? 

This morning, you were happy and thrilled about your date. After asking for recommendations for ideas, Hyunjin mentioned a nearby art gallery that hosted pottery classes. You had been wanting a new hobby and he thought it’d be a good place to start. If something bloomed, it’d be wonderful, but if not, it’d be a good memory to look back upon. 

He called your name a final time and searched in the spare room. When he couldn’t find you in another final sweep of the place, his heart sped up. Did something happen to you? Did an intruder break in and kidnap you? Did you take off for some sort of emergency situation?

His mind spun mindlessly and the more he thought, the worse scenarios that he came upon. An evil sasaeng holding you hostage. A random stranger beating you until you were bleeding and screaming. Each thought made him more and more nauseous. 

He finally picked up his phone and called you once more. “Honey, it’s me. I don’t know where you are, but I’m home to take you to our date. You’re really worrying me, so if you could call me back, that’d be appreciated. I love you and I’ll see you soon.” 

He hung up the phone and began to pace. Each back and forth throughout the house weighed his heart down more and more. When you didn’t call back and five minutes had passed, he sent you a text message. He hoped you’d respond, but after another ten minutes, he scrambled to put his shoes on. 

Panic was a ribbon wrapped around his heart and it was tying tighter and tighter. Where did you go? Were you okay? Were you safe? What happened to you? 

He rushed into the car, nearly slipping on the wet concrete in the process, and rushed from the driveway. His fingers were white around the wheel as he drove back through the neighborhood. His eyes darted around, trying to find the one person’s face who matched yours. 

Rain down-poured now. It hit the windshield with heavy taps and he flicked the button to change the speed of the windshield wipers. Over and over and over again, water wiped away, and then it speckled the glass again. 

“Where did you go?” He whispered to himself in a panic. It wasn’t like you to be irrational. You wouldn’t take off into the pouring rain without a good reason. Even then, you’d usually text him if something happened. You rarely changed your plans, so this was out of left field. 

He drove through one side of town. Stop lights changed colors and umbrella-handled pedestrians protected themselves from cold drops. The gray skies made things harder to see and when a rumble shook the car, his stomach dropped. Not just rain anymore, a thunderstorm was brewing. 

Cold drops, gray skies, white bolts of lightning struck the sky, and the thunder roared with the force of a thousand men charging towards their opposing enemies in a war. Screw the date night, he needed to find you before you caught a cold. If he remembered right, the umbrella was still sitting in its place by the front door. If you were without it, you were exposed to the elements without any kind of protection. 

He cursed beneath his breath and pressed the gas pedal harder. Sooner or later, you had to turn up, right? He would drive all night if it brought you any closer to him. He’d never be able to rest until he knew you were safe. 

It was a miracle, a few minutes later, when his phone buzzed. Stuck at a stoplight, he scrambled for it, swiped, and hit the speakerphone button. “Hello?” 

“Jeongin?” Your voice came out wobbly. 

“Hey, there you are. What’s wrong? Are you okay? Where are you?” 

“I’m at the park that we had our last picnic date at.” You sniffled and his heart dropped. “Please don’t worry, I’m not wet, at least, not yet.” 

“Where are you? That park doesn’t have any shelters, so where are you-” 

“I crawled into a slide when the thunder started. Nobody is here, so I’m alone and tucked into a slide.” 

“Why are you there?” 

You stayed silent for a few moments until you finally spoke. “I just needed to get away for a while. Everything was spiraling out of control and I felt like I couldn’t breathe when I was in the apartment.” 

“So you took off in the middle of a thunderstorm?” 

“It wasn’t like that, Jeongin.” 

His eyes slipped shut. You very rarely called him by his first name unless it was a serious conversation. A beep from behind him made him look up. Sure enough, the red light turned green. He pushed the gas and his car inched forward. 

“I’ll be there in a few minutes. I’m on my way right now, okay? Just stay there and try to stay out of the rain.” 

“I’m not going to move, I swear.” 

As he maneuvered through the downtown traffic and the rain, he wasn’t comforted by your soft sniffles on the opposite end of the phone. You were a quivering and sniffling mess. No matter how much you pawed at your tears, they wouldn’t stop. 

The convoluted emotions built up and burst. The wall you had been cementing for so long began to crack. No matter how much you tried to fill them in, it never worked. Hiding in a children’s bright blue tube slide was pathetic, but so were your emotions. 

You tried to control them, but sometimes they choked you. They looped a noose around your neck and then pulled tight. You couldn’t breathe and you couldn’t fight back. You were dragged and most of the time, it led to sobs and shrieks. 

Trauma was never simple and yours crept up on you unsuspectingly. It blinded you as you were getting ready for a date. It throat punched you in the middle of the shower. You could be happy and then you’d see something, be reminded of a faded memory, and everything would fall apart. 

Trauma is labeled trauma for a reason and yours was no different. You didn’t want to get into the nitty-gritty with Jeongin, but you knew you had to. He knew some of it, but he didn’t know just how much the layer of hurt went. It hadn’t just pierced the skin layer, it was cellular level. 

You felt like you didn’t grow up with a heart, at least, not a real one. As people grow up, they’re supposed to be taught how to do things. They’re supposed to learn from their parents and if not their parents, then whatever parental caregiver who’s in charge. Growing and learning during your most formative and developmental years, while childhood stretches into the teenage years, nobody should have to face that alone, but you did. 

Where were the adults in your life when you were having rocky friendships? When you weren’t sure which way to turn, it led you bending backwards and people pleasing the wrong people; where were the adults to lift your rose colored glasses? To talk to you and remind you that not everyone would appreciate your kindness?

And when your age kept climbing and the years grew rockier, who did you have? While parents were making homemade breakfasts for their kids every morning and waking them up at the crack of dawn, you only had yourself. 

There wasn’t a lunch box packed with care. There were no notes that reminded you that you were loved more than you’d ever know. What happened to that? What happened to being a kid and needing to be nagged at by a parent because it was past midnight and you had school so early in the morning? 

Your heart wasn’t the right kind of heart. Instead of growing with each life experience and blooming with life’s greatest knowledge and the best advice from adults, your heart was put together from broken dreams, loneliness, and grief. 

Each piece of raw meat was stitched together by your own hands. There was nobody to mend your scraped knees and remind you to keep going. Not a single adult showed up to remind you how proud of you they were. 

So you grew and grew and grew, but your heart always remained two sizes too small. Envy was a nasty and horrendous thing. You tried to be a good person, but it always bubbled up at the wrong times. It appeared when you saw someone out and about with their parents. 

It was the mother-daughter brunch dates and the father and son visits to the construction store. The way a father put a heavy calloused hand on his son’s shoulder and reminded him that one day, he’d too experience the weight of the world, but for now he was just a boy. 

When mothers held their daughters and wiped away their tears from their first heartbreak, where was your mother? When you chased after the wrong kind of love, why didn’t anyone say stop? Why didn’t anyone care? 

Birthday cards were never signed with love. Despite your average grades, nobody ever bothered to check them. Your parents never went out of their way to ask about your teachers. When you graduated, they didn’t bother celebrating. When you tried to further your education, there were no claps and cheers waiting for you. 

Hurt poured out of you like a dripping faucet and the closer Jeongin drove, the more your eyes watered and your nose dripped. Because after all those years of loneliness and all that depression and misery, how did you manage to find someone so good? 

If your own parents couldn’t see you as valuable, why did he? Why did he choose to stay when your own parents left? Even after you moved out, your phone never rang. There’d never be another call between any of you, unless it was absolutely necessary. 

Old family holidays were spent blankly staring at the TV while the turkey cooled on a paper plate. Christmas movies played, but not a single word was spoken. Gifts were passed out without much thought and it was always the same gift card and they always felt so meaningless. 

By the time Jeongin pulled into the parking lot, there was a break in the rain. He hurried out of his car and rushed towards the end of your slide. He called your name and when he poked his head into the slide you described, there you sat. 

Your eyes were bloodshot and clear snot fell upon your upper lip. Bags were brown beneath your eyes and you wreaked of misery and sadness. His hands reached out for you and you took them with ease. He pulled you from the slide and carried you back to the car bridal style. 

He didn’t waste any time by pulling open the car door and placing you inside. You wiped your eyes and he reached into the glovebox. It was there that he found a clean napkin and gently began to dab away stray tears. 

“Honey, what happened?” 

“It hurts,” you mumbled. 

“What hurts?” He stepped back to scan your body. “Did you get hurt? Did you fall?” 

“The past,” you weakly uttered. “Remembering everything hurts. Everything hurts.” 

“Do you want to talk about it?” A reassuring hand gently laid upon your thigh. He stayed put, even when another clap of thunder rolled on by. The wind pushed back his hair in a strong gust, but he didn’t want to leave your side. 

“Why w-wasn’t anyone there?” Fresh tears built up in your eyes. “Why didn’t anyone care? My p-parents, why didn’t they-” Your words cut off as your eyes squeezed shut. A sob racked your body. 

All he could do was reach over and pull you against his chest. Engulfed in the scent of baby powder and cologne, his hand found your back. You buried your head in his chest and wrapped your arms around his back; desperately clinging for some type of comfort as these feelings tried to destroy you. 

Growing up like that, it always hurts. There will always be a hollowness where love should have been. There will always be a faded ache and sometimes, it will sting. There are horrible and terrible things that have happened to people and no amount of words will take away that lack of love. 

Emotional neglect is a nightmare. To be kept an arm’s length away by the people who are supposed to love you twenty-four-seven, it’s unfathomable. Every kid deserves love and support. They deserve someone to turn to in the darkness. Some savior to steer them along the ship of growth and adolescence, but it’s not always there. 

“I can’t fix the past and I’m sorry, but I’m here now. I can’t heal your wounds, but I can hold you while you mourn. Please don’t run away like that, you made me worried sick.” 

“I’m sorry,” you hoarsely got out. 

“It’s okay, you’re alright.” He leaned forward and gently pressed his forehead against the top of your temple. “Just please let me hold you.” 

The floodgates of heaven could open and pour. They could drench him while he kept you safe in the warmth of his arms. He’d stand here and hold you for as long as you needed. 

Someone needed to hold you and, fortunately, that someone was him. 

| ♡.﹀﹀﹀﹀.♡ | ♡.﹀﹀﹀﹀.♡ | ♡.﹀﹀﹀﹀.♡ |

Taglist: @lina-linny @straykidsstanforeverandever @seungnishi @stellasays45 @emilyywhyy

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[bi-bats]

for the prompt ask game— 41 for JayTim?

Oh gosh. A year and a half later 😂 hi Livvy!! Thank you for the ask 💚

I found a bunch of these drabble prompts when I was organizing my WIP folder and some of them were almost finished - since you write like your hand is on fire, I wanted to come back with your prompt first. You're an incredible writer and the way you just go for it is inspiring, so thank you for sharing your works. And in return, here's an answer to your prompt:

41 - "You did all this for me?"

You can read it here on Ao3 or below the cut here on tumblr. Thanks for waiting so patiently 💚

Tim’s bag drops to the floor with a thunk. If he could be, he would probably be worried about whether or not he just broke the screen of his laptop, but he doesn’t have it in him. He’s had a long fucking day.

His pile of shoes are lined up by the wall, neat and tidy, and it’s not a surprise. It’s a signature move of Jason’s. But the tornado that his living room had been — well, it looks like another tornado spun through in reverse and put everything back where it belongs. It smells incredible, too — sweet and salty and cheesy and oh — grilled cheese and tomato soup.

There are blankets and pillows piled high on the couch and the TV has his favorite episode of the Next Generation pulled up — the one where Q loses his powers and tries to join Starfleet — and the lights are dimmer than he remembers, some of the harsh white bulbs swapped out for warmer yellow ones. He’s surprised how much more comfortable it makes his space. 

All of this is surprising, actually. But the most surprising thing is that in front of a steaming pot on his stove and a plate with two grilled cheeses on it, Jason is standing there, looking like Alfred just caught him sneaking into the manor. 

“Shit,” Jason says, but it doesn’t seem like he quite meant to say it. 

Tim raises an eyebrow and Jason’s cheeks flush. That panicked look doesn’t go away.

“You’re home early,” Jason says, like that clears anything up.

Tim opens his mouth to answer, because his body seems to know he should do that. His brain hasn’t quite caught up, though, so he just sort of stands there with his mouth open while Jason’s blush spreads down his neck.

By the time he manages to get his brain to start working again, Jason has stopped blinking at him and started moving. The only reason he doesn’t make it out the door is because Tim grabs his arm when he tries to walk past him. 

“You… did all this for me?”

Jason’s eyes latch onto the door like maybe if he focuses hard enough, he’ll find himself on the other side of it. 

“It’s not a big deal,” Jason says, and it sounds like he’s been repeating that one to himself for a while.

“You swapped out my lightbulbs.” 

“They were white LED bulbs. It was oppressive.” 

“I know, I complained about it a few weeks ago.” 

A muscle in the side of Jason’s jaw pulses. He still won’t look at Tim. 

Shit. Shit. 

“We need to talk,” Tim declares, because he knows what happens after this if they don’t . 

Jason disappears for a little while, with a hastily written and thinly veiled excuse for pulling away. He answers Tim’s messages, but he can’t take calls, and then eventually Tim stops messaging, because he wants to give him space if he needs it. And then one day, Tim’s swinging over a street or sneaking through a building or catching his breath after a fight, and he spots a glint of red. And even though he knows he should know better, even though it isn’t the first or fifth or fifteenth time this has happened, even though his gut clenches with something angry — his heart beats a little faster in his chest. 

And a few days later, he inevitably flicks on the lights in his apartment and sees that his shoes are lined up by the wall. Or he pulls into one of his garages and finds Jason’s bike parked in his spot. Or he turns a corner and nearly slams into Jason’s chest, has to wrestle his anger with one fist and his excitement with the other, while Jason snickers and he tries to get his heart to stop pounding.

And then Jason makes it up to him. 

Then things are good for a while. Easy. Everything is backup in the field and tech projects — Jason’s always got something that could use a little work, something with low enough stakes that it doesn’t keep him awake but high enough importance that it isn’t a waste of time — and showering the grime off together and wringing an orgasm out of each other, and then eventually it’s waking up next to each other and home cooked meals and waiting to watch the new episode of whatever they’re watching and all the things that would make Jason run if Tim called it what it was: domestic. 

But he doesn’t have to call it that, because inevitably they run into something too domestic for Jason’s comfort anyways, and suddenly Tim’s throwing out spoiled vegetables and piling paperwork all over the counters and chucking his shoes into a pile at the door again.

And that’s what’s about to happen, unless Tim forces some words past the knot in his throat.

“We don’t need to talk,” Jason says.

“Can we?” 

“Why? There’s nothing to talk about. It’s not a big deal.”

“I’m not asking to talk because it’s a big deal, Jason.” 

“Then why do we need to talk?” 

Tim grits his teeth. He knows what Jason’s doing. Trying to wind him up, piss him off. Get him to snap at him so they can have a fight and call it, and then Tim won’t even try to get in touch with him while he fucks off to wherever he really goes when he’s decided he doesn’t want to play house anymore, and then he’ll come back in a few weeks, once there are lines for him to cross again. 

“Because we never talk about it. We never talk about anything!” 

“It’s—” 

Tim interrupts him, squeezing his eyes shut and pinching the bridge of his nose. “If you say it’s not a big deal one more time, I’m going to make it a big deal. So if you don’t want that, bite back your snarky asshole attitude for one goddamn second, please.” 

He hears a little frustrated-resigned huff and opens his eyes, looking around the apartment. This is… it’s a love letter, isn’t it? Jason is all acts of service, Tim knows that, and he doesn’t say anything because if Jason knew he’d noticed, he would have stopped. 

Tim’s eyes lock on the steam floating off the pot on the stove, and he makes himself say something he’s thought about saying a million times, but never really considered admitting. 

God, he hopes he’s right.

“I fucking hate it when you leave,” he mutters.

The muscles of Jason’s bicep tense under his fingers, and he sees Jason freeze from the corner of his eye. His heart starts pounding harder with every word tumbling out of his mouth. 

“I just… I like pissing you off with my inability to cook and I like getting annoyed when you flaunt your height over me and I really like fucking you, and I really, really like spending time with you.”

He spots Jason’s throat working from the corner of his eye, feels his own face heating up.

“It’s just frustrating! Because then you turn back up and we start fucking around again and it takes forever for things to go back to normal, and then they finally do for just long enough that I think maybe I don’t have to worry about you disappearing again, until one day you do something that gives you cold feet, and you run off again. And I just… I really don’t want that day to be today.”

Tim finally forces his eyes off the tomato soup and onto Jason’s, his gut clenching tight with uncertainty.

He was expecting to see panic, considering Jason’s been looking panicked since he walked in, but he wasn’t expecting to see fear, and shit, maybe he did miscalculate somewhere. 

“I’m just tired of you playing with my feelings,” he mumbles, already bracing himself to hear what he didn’t want to hear. His eyes skate back to the pot — at least he’ll have some solid comfort food for the night of wallowing he’s about to have.

“I—” Jason starts, his voice cracking on the word. He has to swallow before trying again. “I’m not playing with your feelings.” 

At the look on Tim’s face, Jason keeps talking. “Nonono, I didn’t mean — fuck. I’m listening. I just didn’t know you had feelings. Not like — not at all ! Just. You know. Like that. For — me?” he says like a question, his eyes seeking confirmation in Tim’s. 

Tim flushes.

“Look, if you want to do the fucking around thing and that’s it, then fine. We can do that. But if you’re going to do stuff like this, I can’t… I really need you to be clear with me about what you want. Please.” 

There are only so many seconds of silence he can bear staring at the pot of soup, so he lets his eyes skip back to Jason’s, finding them wide and scared and so goddamn green. His throat keeps working, like he’s trying to get some words out, and god, Tim was stupid for trying to get Jason to talk to him. If he’s ready to talk about something, he’s fine with communicating, but if you beat him to the punch? 

The pounding of his heart marks the passing time as they stare at each other, as the fear pools in Jason’s eyes, as the vice of his jaw clicks tighter shut, and finally, Tim can’t take it anymore. 

“Look, I’ll make this easy for you. Thank you for doing all this for me, it’s… it’s really kind. I’m going to pour myself some of that soup and turn on that episode of Star Trek, and if you want to join me, I would really like that, but I am going to read into it that this is not just fucking. And if you’re not comfortable with that, if you want to go, you can go ahead, and we can keep fucking around if you want, but stuff like this has to stop. We’re either fucking, or we’re more, and I can’t keep guessing. It’s not fair. So I’m going to let go of your arm, and you… do whatever you want,” Tim sighs, not quite sure that he managed not to sound bitter about the last few words. 

What’s the point of even saying them? Jason always does whatever he wants. 

Tim lets go of his arm, watches Jason’s pupils dilate as he feels the cool air against his fingers. Then he steps around him and pushes up his sleeves as he heads to the stove. 

A cacophony of thoughts whirs in his head too loud for him to pick any one of them out as he ladles his Campbell's into the bowl Jason pulled out. He can barely hear the sound of Jason’s tight, shallow breathing, and even though he hasn’t looked, he knows Jason hasn’t moved. 

Wait , he thinks as he picks up the plate and brings his food to the living room. Wait , he thinks as he kicks up his feet onto the coffee table and tracks down the remote. Wait and see , he thinks as he clicks play and picks up a grilled cheese. 

The sounds of the Enterprise filter in through the speakers, and Tim makes it a little quieter. He picks up his sandwich and is about to dip it into the soup when he hears it — the creak of the linoleum floor of his kitchen. 

His breath catches as he listens, hearing sharpening until as he waits to find out if he’s about to hear the front door or not. 

That’s not what he hears. What he hears is Jason’s footsteps getting closer, and the sound of his breathing, shallow and quick. He comes around the couch and hesitates, his gaze palpable on Tim. 

Tim keeps waiting, refusing to let himself react one way or the other. Jason could still turn around and leave, after all. So Tim holds the sandwich and stares at the screen and waits, and waits, and waits, until the show has made it to the goddamn intro and he can’t take it anymore. 

He drops the sandwich back on the plate and grabs the remote, pauses, and turns to Jason. 

“Look, I’m not asking for—” and then he stops, because the look on Jason’s face isn’t what he was expecting. He doesn’t look panicked anymore. He doesn’t look frightened, or awkward. 

No, the look on his face is a mixture of determination and longing and — there’s something else he can’t place.

“Tim,” Jason says, and his voice is thick and gruff and low, heavy with something that Tim’s never heard in it before.

“Yeah?” His collar is too tight and his feet are hot and he’s gripping the remote too tightly and Jason is staring at him, intensity rippling out of his gaze.

“Do you want me to stay?”

Tim’s gut seizes, all the nerves he’s been trying to ignore suddenly reaching up and grasping tight around his stomach. Of course, he thinks. Of course, of course, of course, you absolute moron. Who wouldn’t?

His mouth opens to say yes, and it snares on something in his throat. It’s funny, how even though he just demanded the same thing of Jason, even though he can see how much Jason cares for him in all the things he does, he can’t get the words out.

The last thing in Jason’s expression falls into place; it’s suspicion. And suddenly it clicks — Jason’s been putting love in everything he does. It’s in the shoes and it’s in the sandwich and it’s in the fucking sheets. 

And Tim doesn’t know how to do that. He doesn’t know how to write his feelings into the moments of a day. He doesn’t know how to scatter the evidence, the proof, for Jason to find. He doesn’t know how to cook it into a sandwich, how to wipe the counters with it, how to make the bed with it. 

He swallows and holds Jason’s gaze. 

“Yes. I want you to stay.”

There’s a brief moment where even though Tim knows he’s right to admit it — he couldn’t give you an exact calculation but he knows he wouldn’t take the risk if it wasn’t well over 90% in his favor — his gut still clenches again, his brain screaming that he fucked up and Jason’s going to leave after all and it’ll be all his fault that he lost the one thing in his life that made things easier — 

And then Jason’s stepping forward. He drops down onto the couch, right next to Tim, gravity displacing the cushion and making him bounce slightly. Jason reaches to pluck the remote from his hands, but he grimaces once he’s holding it. 

“Ugh, you got it all greasy.” He stands again, reaches across the table for a paper towel, and wipes it off. Then he presses play and drops it back on the couch next to him as Picard’s speech floats between them. His arm falls behind Tim’s shoulders and he stares at the screen, watching the intro scene that they’ve seen over a hundred times like it’s brand new. 

“Stop staring at me,” Jason says without looking away from the screen. 

“Sorry,” Tim says, his eyes shifting to the screen. “Are you… staying?” 

“I’m here, aren’t I?” Jason asks, lifting his hand up in a little ‘see?’ gesture, before he drops it back on Tim’s shoulder. 

Relief floods through him, the tension in his muscles relaxing as he melts into the couch, into Jason’s hold.

“It’s not a big deal,” Jason says, and Tim knows that out of the two of them, he isn’t the one that Jason’s trying to convince.

“Okay,” Tim agrees, forcing himself not to grin like an idiot. But he feels pleased, content, relaxed in a way he hasn’t in months, since before the first time Jason left. 

He leans into Jason’s shoulder and tucks himself into the space there, letting Jason wrap around him. 

“Did you buy wonder bread for this?” Tim asks, right before he picks up a sandwich half and swipes it through the soup, takes a bite. It’s crispy and buttery and warm and it tastes like comfort. His eyes water, and he tells himself nostalgia has nothing to do with it. The food’s just hot.

“And Kraft slices.”

A short, sharp laugh squeezes past the lump in Tim’s throat, easing it a little. “Wow, you do like me.” 

“Shut up,” Jason says, blush creeping down his neck, and now Tim can’t help grinning like an idiot. “ You like me .”

“Of course I do. Look at all this,” Tim says, waving around the apartment at all the things Jason did. “You swapped out my lightbulbs. You bought me that cheese you hate because you know I like it. You do that thing with your tongue. You’re boyfriend material.” 

Now Jason’s blushing all the way up to his ears, and Tim grins wide.

“It’s not cheese, it’s cheese product , ” Jason says, and Tim lets it go. They can worry about the labels another night. Jason probably still needs some time to think before he’s ready to talk about it, and that’s fine — Tim will wait.

“You’re not even a little curious about the tongue thing that I’m referring to?” 

“No. Maybe. No, we’re still on the cheese product,” Jason says, but he’s smirking, because he does, in fact, know exactly what thing Tim’s referring to. 

“It’s delicious.”

“It’s nostalgic. There’s a difference,” Jason argues, rekindling their argument from last week. He grins, his gaze going soft when Tim lets out an exasperated sigh and launches into the same speech as he did last time, and yeah, as long as Jason keeps looking at him like that, Tim’s happy to wait.

[sschizoid]

you mentioned you hc that Curly and Jimmy lived together at some point. please tell me more 👁👁 like their habits, dynamic, random shit, anything you think would be fun to touch upon really. blease...

omg of courseeee eheeheh ( ⸝⸝´꒳`⸝⸝)

--

curly

early to bed and early to rise. usually starts winding down around 8pm and is asleep by 9. he'll wake up between the hours of 6 and 7, and is unfortunately that roommate that will start his day loudly— blending smoothies, putting away dishes, singing to himself as he roams the house

appreciates and tries to keep a tidy home, but can easily let his clutter stack. it's a neat and relatively organized type of clutter, mind you, but it piles up— books will gather on tables, mail will be neatly stacked but not gone through. recyclables like empty peanut butter jars and food cans will sit by the sink before they're tossed because he's going to properly rinse them out first, just not right now. tomorrow is better for him

he fronts all of the rent, but will have jimmy at least pitch in for utilities and take care of things like lawn care and snow removal. he really doesn't mind, he was paying the same amount before he moved in anyway, and it's nice having someone else around. makes the place feel a bit less lonely, and he likes being able to keep an eye on jimmy. just in case

jimmy

night owl. usually heads to bed between the hours of 3 and 5am, and will wake up around noon, granted curly doesn't wake him up first. curly will always have a pot of coffee waiting for him when he finally does get out of bed, which he'll finish in the span of 30 minutes and still feel tired. rinses his dishes afterwards but doesn't wash them, figures curly will eventually get around to it

makes himself scarce, often holing up in his bedroom and only really leaving to go to the bathroom. what little belongings he has are in there, so its the only place in the house that really feels like his own. he doesn't own any furniture or decor, that's all curly's, but he does have a PS2 that the other convinced him to keep in the living room, so he'll sometimes hang out in there. he knows it makes curly happy to see him out of his room, at least

admittedly likes the structure living with curly adds to his life. couchsurfed between multiple trap houses throughout the years with no real schedule or routine. knowing he doesn't have to keep his head on a swivel or worry about how he's going to get his next meal takes a load off his shoulders that he didn't realize he was carrying

--

eep i hope this feeds u anon; tysm for the request! if anyone else has any requests; my asks are open !! ⁽⁽ଘ( ˊωˋ )ଓ⁾⁾

[changelingsandothernonsense]

I got some questions for Josh, Erra and Sydari! (also if you wonder why there's a refollow, I misclicked the ask button >.<) 📓, 💙, 🔅

Hii! Lol it's okay, i've done it on accident often enough that I think it's just a rite of passage at this point with trying to navigate this hellsite XD

📓 - Do you associate any quotes or lyrics with this oc?

I associate Erra a lot with the in-game poem "May I Shrink to Dust."

I will not pray for that which I've lost

When my heart springs forth

From your soil, like a seed,

And blossoms anew beneath tomorrow's sun.

For Josh, I'm going with this verse from Across the Night because I'm still on my Silverchair kick.

Never seen the sun shine

From higher points than sunrise

I don't want to be lonely

Never seen the sun shine

From higher points than sunrise

I don't want to be lonely

I just want to be alone

For Sydari it's this verse from Dreams by The Cranberries

And now I tell you openly

You have my heart, so don't hurt me

You're what I couldn't find

Totally amazing mind

So understanding and so kind

You're everything to me

💙 - Describe their bedroom! Is it personalized, unchanged? Messy, neat?

Erra’s room, or his yurt if he's travelling, tends towards practical decoration. For him, that means your usual furniture, though the bed in his bedroom at his home in Maar Gan is bigger and softer than what he's used to. Erra can sleep on anything, so long as his neck is supported. So the softness is for Joshi's comfort, and he couldn’t say no to the canopy. He favours lacquered wood and thick woven silk carpets that you can hang either on the walls or rest on the floor, and he hangs amulets from the bedframe to ward off the Sharmat.

He likes having a lot of pillows if he's staying anywhere for an extended period because he needs different ones depending on the way he's feeling. He generally likes to keep his room ordered, and that means everything has a box to go in... Then Josh moved in, and now his stuff is on the floor all the time.

Josh, as I implied above is fairly messy. Though he calls it "organise chaos". He knows where everything is so don't move that gear to a shelf or he'll never find it again. Josh fills his space with books on Dwemer theory, Dunmeri history, tomes about the natural world, and fiction about pirates and the odd romance that he’d never admit to reading 20 times.

He takes a lot of cues from Erra in terms of pillows and amulets and he prefers a softer bed. It's something he's a stickler for after sleeping on a straw mat for most of his youth. He's usually got some sort of project sitting next to him as he nods off unless he's sharing. Then he's been known to fall asleep at his desk. He likes to hang weapons on his wall. It's a way to admire his collection after all. He insists on mounting his old wakizashi above his bed no matter where he's living. He believes it'll bring him luck and don't ever tell anyone he puts stock in that.

Sydari needs greenery in her room and has a lot of pot plants decorating her space. It stops a place looking dreary in her opinion. She tends to keep her room fairly tidy though not to the extent that Erra does. She's mostly concerned about the three safes in her room and keeping her valuables locked in there. Outside of that so long as no one leaves food in there she's fine with a few things left out. She likes a big bed that she can sprawl out on after a long day and she prefers something softer. She likes to decorate her room with interesting things she's liberated that aren't necessarily valuable monetarily.

🔅 - How does this oc deal with physical pain?

All three deal with pain fairly well and deal with chronic pain. Though Josh really takes the cake with what he can push through.

Erra has a whole routine he goes through to lessen the impact of his migraines and knows he usually will need assistance to stay hydrated. He tends to ask for help quite readily. It's impractical in his eyes to push through an injury. Why make things worse?

Sydari suffers from painful periods, particularly after an abdominal injury. She tends to seclude herself when she's going through it. What else can she do really except wait for it to pass and down pain relief.

Josh starts suffering from chronic joint and muscle pain as well as constant aches and discomfort from his scarring after surviving Corprus. This all gets exacerbated by his badly healed pelvis which freezes if he's overdone it or just gets too cold and a second severe break to his leg. Josh also gets the odd seizure after getting hit by both Corprus and Nerevar's Revenge Tulpa's wild meld ride that can leave him exhausted for days.

After 200 years of it, he tends not to really notice if he's been injured unless it's serious and half the time he can't tell what serious us so he'll wander around with sprains and just think he's having a bad day. He also needs to use crutches or a cane from time to time and creates himself a frame to support his weaker leg so he can keep fighting.

If he sees someone he cares about in pain, he turns into a helicopter. He might be able to walk it off (he can't and will end up having to use his cane) he doesn't expect that from others.

[the-obiwan-for-me]

Hi! I’ve just read the She Said the Word series again, and I was wondering what domestic life would be like between some of the characters. Bo and Tol’ket, Obitine, Korkie and Aled, for example, but I am also aware both Ursa and Bo-Katan and Korkie and Ahsoka lived together for a while. I’d just love to hear about your idea of what sort of shenanigans they got into, and also basic things like who made caf in the mornings.

I understand this is a lot to ask for and you’re probably much too busy, so there’s no pressure to answer from me.

Thank you so much for writing such a beautiful series!!

Hello there! Thank you for being such a fan! I can't believe this summer will be FOUR YEARS since I began writing this series. (To anyone reading this) please never hesitate to ask me questions about this story and these characters. I may have slowed down a lot in churning out content for them, but they are no less dear to me and I LOVE talking about them.

Yes, Ursa and Bo were all but platonic life partners for a long time, even before Pre died, and definitely in the subsequent years between his death and Bo and Tol'ket getting together. Because Ursa had Sabine on Concordia and was away from Alrich, Bo stepped in and helped care for baby Sabine (which we do see in SSTW). Because of how they lived (in barracks on a base) there wasn't a lot of domestic life to be had, but they spent their downtime together when it corresponded.

Korkie and Ahsoka's years together I think were probably a lot like what you would expect between a rich kid and a self sufficient worldly kid living together. Korkie had minimal real life skills and Ahsoka spent the first few months hating living with him because of it. But he eventually begged her to teach him and it got much better from there. His saving grace was being a neat freak and a good student. She taught him the basics of cooking, and then he became an expert home chef, surpassing her very basic skills. Despite preferring tea to caf, like both of his parents, he learned how to make a mean pot of caf so Ahsoka always had a great caf in the mornings. She could never quite master it, to her annoyance (though her caf did get better than the absolute trash she grew up drinking during the war).

I think Obitine's domestic life is probably not one where either one have to perform any real measure of domestic duties. Which is probably for the best. Satine and Bo were raised in a noble family that held a lot of power and both girls were accustom to being cared for. I think they were taught traditional things, which included camp fire cooking and basic Mandalorian cuisine, but they really never had to learn to cook, clean, etc. Obi-Wan, while more sufficient thanks to a young life in the Order, probably still doesn't know a lot more than Satine (just enough to be extremely grating when they were very young, prior to falling in love, and probably for a long time after that, too). But, as adults, as planetary leaders of a thriving society, they don't need to do much other than make some tea and try not to make the lives of the staff that cares for them miserable (with the exception of Obi-Wan leaving clothes everywhere- that's canon- I think they are probably very neat and very easy to work for). Their sweetest, most domestic thing is that they both know how to make each other's tea perfectly, especially Obi-Wan, who can steep it, fix it, and hand it to Satine at exactly the right point.

Bo and Tol'ket live two very different versions of domestic life from the time they marry until we see them again in MTB. Bo is handier than Satine due to her life in Death Watch, but really isn't to be trusted in the kitchen much beyond the basics. But she also is freakishly tidy and a bit of a clean freak. The problem is that Tol'ket lived a very solitary bachelor life and was rarely at home longer than a night's sleep and shower. He is NOT neat and there were some serious growing pains in that respect. It was never enough to cause strife, but he did drive her slightly insane the first couple of years. His apartment they shared was tiny, which only made his bachelor habits more apparent and, at times, obnoxious. After he becomes prime minister and they move into the grander house that comes with that position, it gets easier. There's a very small staff, and some tensions are relieved. Tol'ket does cook (he learned from his grandfather), and enjoys it. Bo makes the caf, especially since she's the early bird in their relationship.

Korkie definitely ends up teaching Aled a lot about domestic life because Aled was a street kid then lived in Protector barracks. He had no clue how to be an adult with his own space nor how to prepare food beyond a sandwich. It was a steep learning curve, but thankfully Korkie is a good teacher.

Thanks again for this fun little thought exercise! Maybe it will jumpstart my brain into writing again!

[pocket-lad]

CH 9- Comfortable

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The girls awoke to banging on Ollie’s door. They both jolted up, then rubbed their eyes sleepily.

“Olivia, come on. We’re heading out,” came Dane’s voice.

“Oh, shoot,” Ollie mumbled. She looked over to Adelaide and, remembering herself, kissed her good morning. Adelaide beamed. “I promised my dad I’d help Oliver with climbing today. Probably has something to do with our little Bean encounter yesterday.”

“No worries,” Adelaide yawned. She stretched her arms into the air, feeling them shake from the tension, then let them flop back onto the bed.

“You can stay here as long as you like,” Ollie said, rushing out of bed to put on some new clothes.

Adelaide watched as the woman stripped, noticing the delicate curves on her body. She felt like she was intruding on something and forced herself to look away, once again blushing. Ollie didn’t seem to notice, since she walked back over to the nest and kissed Adelaide goodbye. “I love you,” she said, then ran out the door.

“Love you too,” Adelaide called after her, and the words made her whole body feel warm, but in a good way. She sat there for a long time, processing the night before and now this morning. Because it was true - she loved Ollie. To think they hated each other not too long ago. Now she couldn’t imagine her life without her.

Deciding that she couldn’t wait around all day, Adelaide got up and also changed her clothes. She tidied up Ollie’s room a little bit, placing the drawings back on the desk in a pile, folding the clean clothes that were scattered around the floor, and stacking the tools in a neat pile. Hopefully Ollie wouldn’t find that too invasive.

At some point, Adelaide found herself headed to the kitchen. The Bean kitchen, that is. Ian would probably want to hear about her night, though for once, she didn’t feel like sharing. So far, her updates were frantic and impersonal, but this felt private. This was her own little thing to keep close to her heart.

A new scent filled the air as she approached the counter. It immediately triggered memories of the motel in her mind, but for the life of her, she couldn’t figure out why. Whatever it was, it was incredibly strong and almost…burnt. Curious, Adelaide cautiously left the walls.

Sarah sat at the kitchen table reading a newspaper and sipping out of a mug, but Ian was nowhere to be seen. Adelaide fully trusted Sarah, but she was still uncomfortable being alone with her, so she turned to leave. Apparently, she caught Sarah’s eye, though.

“Oh, morning Adelaide,” Sarah said.

Adelaide winced and slowly turned around. It would be rude to leave now. “Good morning,” she said awkwardly.

“Ian’s not awake yet. I assume you’re looking for him.” Again, she took a loud sip of her drink.

“Yeah…,” Adelaide trailed off. Unable to stand the silence, she asked what that smell was.

“Oh, it’s coffee,” Sarah explained. “It’s what I’m drinking. You want some?”

Adelaide’s eyes flicked around, searching for an Ian that wasn’t there and unsure if she should accept. “What is it?”

“It’s supposed to wake you up in the morning. Here,” Sarah said as she got up to grab the pot.

Adelaide backed up a couple steps on instinct when Sarah shot to her feet. The sudden, dramatic height increase when a Bean stood up was always jarring regardless of who it was.

When Sarah turned to face Adelaide, she realized she didn’t know what Adelaide was supposed to drink out of. Hell, the small pot was over double the borrower’s size. Luckily, Adelaide pulled a bottle cap out of her bag, used to needing one ever since she started hanging around Beans. Carefully, Sarah poured a drop or two in the cap.

As soon as the dark liquid left its container, Adelaide felt an immediate waft of heat drift her way. She had to step back further, off put by just how warm the liquid was even from a distance. She eyed Sarah nervously. How was she supposed to drink this when she couldn’t even stand near it? Was this normal? Why didn’t Ian ever drink it? She didn’t dare put voice to these questions, but they plagued her mind nonetheless.

“You might want to wait for it to cool down,” Sarah advised as she sat back down. Then, a thought hit her. “Do you know if borrowers have enhanced abilities?”

Adelaide blinked. “Um…”

“Relative to humans, I mean,” Sarah clarified. And before Adelaide could continue, added, “Though I’m not entirely convinced you’re not human, or at least human-adjacent.”

Adelaide didn’t feel very ‘enhanced’. Beans could outrun her. Even sprinting, she couldn’t keep up with a leisurely human pace. Her punches and kicks felt like a tickle and her teeth were just barely able to pierce their skin. But admitting this stuff out loud was at the very bottom of Adelaide’s list of things she wanted to do. “I don’t know,” she shrugged.

Sarah could tell that there was more behind that answer by the way Adelaide closed herself off. She thought elaborating might help. “You constantly climb up cliffs with nothing but thread. You can run for much longer than anyone I know and, scaled up, I think you’d be one of the fastest people alive. From what I can tell, you are proportionally much stronger than Beans.” Sarah couldn’t help but smile when she used the word ‘Beans’. What a funny name. She wondered if that nickname spanned across the species, or if it was a regional thing.

“Oh,” Adelaide frowned. She never thought about it like that. ‘Scaling up’ wasn’t possible, so she didn’t bother with ‘what if’s’. It was simply her vs Beans. And every time, Beans won.

“That’s a good thing!” Sarah laughed when Adelaide didn’t react the way she expected. The borrower was acting more guarded than usual, but she supposed that couldn’t be helped without Ian around. His presence usually loosened her up and boosted her confidence.

“No, right, that’s great. It’s just…what use is it to me against a Bean?” Adelaide asked rhetorically.

Sarah hummed in response. “Let me think on that,” she said. She liked a good challenge.

Adelaide decided it was time to try this coffee stuff. She hesitantly approached the bottle cap, which still had steam rising from it. She wrapped her hands around the edges, and her hands had never felt so warm in her life. Her body was always cold, her hands and feet always colder.

Tentatively, Adelaide took a sip. It was very hot, yes, but moreso, the flavor that filled her mouth was bitter and downright revolting. The horrible taste contrasted heavily with the pleasant warm feeling that traveled down her body as she swallowed it. Curious, and even more tentatively than the first time, she took a couple more big sips, just to be sure.  “This is positively disgusting,” she decided aloud, setting the bottle cap down for now. It felt like a jumpstart for her body. “I love it.”

Sarah laughed as they heard shifting from across the room. It sounded like Ian was awake.

Shortly thereafter, the man himself appeared in the kitchen. His heavy eyes looked between Sarah and Adelaide, then zeroed in on the coffee. “That stuff will kill you, you know,” he lazily drawled as he reached for a cup in the cupboard and filled it with cold water.

Adelaide’s eyes widened. What?! It would kill her? Why didn’t Sarah say that? She backed up, wondering if Sarah had it in for her all along.

Seeing this, Sarah nearly jumped out of her seat. “No!” she corrected harshly. Then, speaking directly to Adelaide, she leaned forward and lowered her voice. “No, it won’t kill you. He’s exaggerating and- look Ian, you scared her!”

Ian raised his arms in exasperation. “I did not! Look at her. She’s fine.”

Sarah ignored him and continued her explanation. “Every other day there’s a new story saying something different. Sometimes it’s the best thing for your health, sometimes it’s the devil in a cup. Don’t worry too much about it.”

Adelaide’s eyes flickered between the cap and Sarah, unsure if she should trust her. But Ian didn’t take the coffee away, so he must have been exaggerating.

Her heart was beating faster than usual, but maybe she just imagined it. Her brain buzzed too, though her thoughts were much clearer, and she felt like her bones were vibrating, like she could clean the whole house in this moment. Was this how coffee was supposed to work? If so, she could get used to it. She gulped down a bit more.

“So, how did it go?” Ian asked from his spot leaning against the counter.

“None of your business, that’s how it went,” Adelaide said

“Ah, it went…very - very well then,” Ian smirked.

Adelaide blushed, but the red on her face quickly turned from embarrassment to anger. “I did not say that!”

“Didn’t need to,” Ian said. “Our little Della’s all grown up.”

“Ew!”

Ian swooped in and snatched the bottle cap out from under Adelaide’s nose. He dumped the remaining coffee in the sink but made sure to rinse out the cap for her before returning it. Before she could chide him, he said, “I can see you shaking from here.” He then moved on to rummaging through the cabinet.

Adelaide and Sarah shared a baffled look.

When the rummaging didn’t stop, Adelaide curiously inched closer until she was right underneath his arms. She looked up, trying to see what he was doing, but she couldn’t get a good angle.

Ian noticed how cluttered the cupboard was and decided a complete overhaul was in order. He began to empty the contents onto the counter, but when he went to set down the first can of soup, he nearly set it on top of Adelaide.

On her part, Adelaide barely had time to register the falling soup, but she leapt out of the way as soon as she became aware of it. The metal bottom of the can clinked against the counter.

“Woah, look out, Della,” Ian said.

Adelaide turned around, trying to calm her breath, and her eyes bulged at the casual air that hung around him. He looked as though he thought it was just a little slip up, that he would have noticed her in time and not set the heavy can directly on top of her. But how was Adelaide to know that? As far as she was concerned, the soup was headed directly for her and had no intent on slowing down.

It was a scary thought. Again, Ian probably saw her, or at least would have seen her in time, but even the mere notion that one second of inattention could have seriously hurt her was bone-chilling. This was why Beans were dangerous. They could love you to the moon and back and still crush you. And Ian was treating it as if it was just a little ‘whoopsie’.

Adelaide dragged her hands down her face, shaking herself off. Her first instinct was to tell him off, but she didn’t want to acknowledge how fragile she was, especially after her recent conversation with Sarah.

“What - what are you doing?” she asked. Her voice cracked.

Ian took note of her weird behavior, but agreed to move past it. “Organizing,” he said. He returned his attention to the cabinet, but as he pulled things out, he paid more attention to where he set them.

Even when he was paying attention, Adelaide still didn’t like that it was raining objects much larger and much heavier than her. She decided to move well out of the way and sit against the wall. “I’m scared to ask why.”

“You said Dane won’t - he won’t accept gifts. Handouts. Whatever. I respect that. So, uh, how can I earn his respect?”

“Do you actually want an answer?”  “Wouldn’t it be great if all the things you needed were at - at the back of the cupboard? If all the accessible food items were even more, uh, accessible by being closer and economically placed? And wouldn’t it be amazing if Sarah just once cleaned her cupboards?”

“That sounds like a trap to me.”

“That sounds like a dig to me,” Sarah echoed.

Ian faltered. “Hm. Well. Everything’s out now.” He smirked at them then regarded the foodstuffs spread across the counter. He threw away expired stuff (to Sarah’s protest), then reloaded the cabinets in a completely different order with reasoning that was opaque to Adelaide. She guessed it would make more sense if she was in the cupboard, but she also knew that he was ordering things based on his idea of usefulness.

Sarah was also going to stop him because they were her own cupboards in her own home, but she had to admit she was interested in the borrowing habits of these borrowers. She wondered if there would be a way to measure what they take. Not that she had any use for this information beyond her own curiosity.

“Della, go check it out,” Ian said finally.

Adelaide didn’t move.

“Please,” he added.

Adelaide rolled her eyes and took her sweet time getting to her feet. Maybe this would be helpful. Or maybe Ollie’s family had a system and he just completely screwed it up. Any sign that they were there would have been erased though, what with the way Ian kicked up so much dust, and that had to count as a good thing.

As soon as Adelaide got to her feet, a giant hand knocked her knees out from under her and closed her into a loose fist. Then she was sitting by the entrance into the wall. She blinked, trying to figure out what happened, then quickly spun around to berate Ian for his impatience. “Well now I’m going to take even longer inside the walls because you just can’t seem to keep your hands to yourself. So…think on that one while you wait.”

Sarah snorted and Ian huffed.

Adelaide begrudgingly made her way to the cabinet from the inside, shaking herself off like she always did when the feeling of massive fingers coiled around her body didn’t go away. Distracted, she didn’t see Ollie and Oliver until she was practically right on top of them.

“Oh, hi!” Adelaide said.

“Hey,” Ollie beamed.

Oliver remained quiet, intently focused on wrapping the string of his hook around his arm in a nice, even way that wouldn’t get tangled.

“I see you were out climbing. How’d it go?”

When Oliver didn’t answer, Ollie answered for him. “Good! He’s really fast and strong. He just has to get over his fear of heights.”

This caught Oliver’s attention. “I’m not scared!”

“Right, no, of course,” Ollie said, trying to keep a serious face. Moving on before he could argue further, she asked Adelaide what she was doing.

“Oh, uh, brace yourself for this one. Ian thought it was a genius idea to rearrange the cupboards. He thinks that will win over your dad,” Adelaide said.

“That sounds like a trap.”

“That’s what I said! But…do you want to check it out with me?”

Ollie seemed hesitant, but disguised her feelings with a shrug. “Sure.”

Ollie course corrected to follow Adelaide, and it seemed Oliver was intent on tagging along with them. Ollie wasn’t super thrilled about that, but whatever kept him out of trouble. If she could keep him in her sight, she didn’t have to worry. And she wouldn’t have to face the wrath of her dad when Oliver inevitably did something stupid.

They slipped into the cabinet, and it was suddenly a whole different world. The expired vegetable cans and half-opened bags of chips no longer flanked the entrance. None of the forgotten kitchen tools even seemed to be in there anymore, and the normal foot tracks in the dust were completely wiped away along with the dust itself.

What did fill the back of the cupboard was bunches of horizontally-oriented dry goods. All the things that were easy to get to in a pinch. Ian seemed to have a pretty good sense of what the borrowers prioritized, and Adelaide wasn’t so sure if that was comforting.

Ollie and Oliver looked amazed, but before they could voice their thoughts, light filtered into the cabinet as the door abruptly swung open. The two dove for cover behind a sleeve of crackers, dragging Adelaide with them.

“Come on! Quit stalling!” Ian’s booming voice echoed around the wooden box.

Adelaide went to stand up, assuming they were all over their initial panic, but Ollie kept her low, clinging onto her arm. Adelaide looked at her, concerned, but she could hardly blame her. Instinct was a hard thing to suppress. Beans weren’t supposed to catch you, and they certainly weren’t supposed to catch you borrowing . And it was so easy to feel cornered in a space like this. It felt like the human had you right where they wanted you, and the limited space made it way too easy for them to grab you.

“You can stay here,” Adelaide whispered. “But somebody needs to tell him that this was a dumb idea.” She placed a quick kiss on Ollie’s lips as Ollie nervously removed her hand from Adelaide’s arm.

Adelaide spun around to face the giant peering into the back of the cupboard, trying to make out if there were any small beings he was missing. She only hesitated briefly before traversing to the front.

“Should I be concerned about how well you know what we borrow?” Adelaide asked, only half-joking.

“Hey, I’m just trying to make things uh…more…comfortable,” he said, and he too was only half-joking. Behind the lighthearted tone, there was a seriousness in his face. Here he was, talking about ‘comfortability’ again, which Adelaide assumed could only mean one thing.

“I don’t want to talk about this,” she said bluntly, cutting off the conversation before it could start.

“Sarah stepped out and I figured - I only figured this conversation should be, um, private.”

If only he knew who was hiding a couple inches away, listening in on their every word. Adelaide agreed that it should be private, but she’d rather it didn’t happen at all.

“Did Sarah tell you to do this?” she asked. She didn’t think so, but she needed to know the answer before they continued.

“No - no. No, it’s not her.”

“Not now, Ian,” Adelaide decided. She wanted time to think before she argued. She was strong-willed and persistent and loud, but Ian had a certain way with words that she just couldn’t compete with, and she wanted all the ammo she could get beforehand.

Ian reached in the cupboard, well past Adelaide, and rested his hand behind her. The way his arm shook the whole structure was hard to miss, but what was even crazier was that it looked like he was blocking her path to the back of the cabinet. Adelaide could hardly believe it. He never did anything like this before. This was a clear exhibition of the power he held over her and how he could, at any point, prevent her from leaving if he so chose. Adelaide glanced between his face and his hands, suddenly feeling very panicky.

If Ian was doing something this drastic, the conversation must be really important to him. But Adelaide simply could not move her feet.

“Move your arm,” she said in what she thought was a commanding voice, but compared to his, it just sounded weak and quiet.

“Della-”

“Move your arm so I can climb down. You want to have this conversation? We’ll have this conversation.”

Ian looked at her with regret in his eyes, but after a brief hesitation, he removed his arm.

Arguing with a Bean down below their eyesight wasn’t anything new, but it wasn’t anything fun either. The cabinet was worse, though. It was too easy to feel cornered and trapped, and having Ollie listen in was not an option.

The trek to the front and the action of pulling her hook out of her bag felt like it took a lifetime. And then it took a whole second lifetime to climb down. Adelaide could always feel giants’ eyes tracking her as she climbed, but this was on a whole new level. She could feel every microsecond, she could feel his eyes staring right through her and also taking in every centimeter of her body. When she reached the bottom, she just stared at him.

Ian had the sense to pull up a chair to put himself on a more even level, but his head still floated well above hers. “I don’t want to make this decision without you.”

“So do you actually care what I think or are you just going to keep talking until you convince me to stay?” Adelaide spat.

Ian clenched his jaw. “What do you think?”

Adelaide faltered. She didn’t think he would relent, but she obviously couldn’t say she didn’t know what she thought. Any sign of weakness was a win for him. “I like it here. I like Ollie. I like Sarah. But to constantly have another Bean around? In such a small space? Texas is our home.”

“Homes change.”

“Not for borrowers.”

“You would hardly see your girlfriend if, um, if we went back.”

Oh, so Ian knew exactly where to hit her. “I know,” was all Adelaide said, refusing to give him more to work with. Little did she know, he got all he needed from that. He saw that she would just close herself off further if he kept arguing, but he also saw the hesitation in her posture. She didn’t know what she wanted. With time, she’d come around. He just had to be gentler about it. Gentle, but not patronizing. A delicate balance to strike.

“You uh, don’t have to make a decision now. But really - really think about it. Change is-”

“Would you stay here?” Adelaide interrupted. “Would you leave Texas if I decided to stay?”

For once, Ian was truly tongue-tied. For once, he truly didn’t know the answer. He wasn’t sure if it was lucky or unlucky that Sarah chose that moment to interrupt.

“Ready to go?” she asked.

“Uh, yeah,” Ian said, pulling himself out of the argument.

“Adelaide, we’re going to grab lunch? Want to come?” Sarah offered.

Adelaide took a solid moment to recalibrate after her vulnerable question was interrupted with such a casual offer of lunch. “Oh…no thanks.” There were a number of reasons to turn the invite down. Going outside was already rough, and going into a Bean establishment that contained dozens of giants was even rougher. She also didn’t want to talk to Ian right now. And Ian and Sarah deserved some alone time where they could be certain that there were no prying eyes or listening ears.

“We’ll talk later, okay?” Ian said.

“Sure,” Adelaide mumbled, refusing to make eye contact and kicking her foot at the ground.

Ian tried to catch her eye for a moment, but gave up. He was serious about continuing the conversation later, but a good couple hours out of the house would do them both some good. He stood up, shrugged on his jacket, and left.

Adelaide was alone. It was a relief to have absolutely no Beans present. These were the only times she felt her shoulders truly relax. But she also didn’t like leaving things on such a sour note. When they came back, she’d apologize and try to hear him out. Yeah, that sounded like a plan, at least in theory. In practice, those things were a lot harder.

What Adelaide really wanted was to bounce ideas off Ollie, but that was out of the question. She wanted to lay down in Ollie’s arms, but that was also out of the question. There was no doubt that Ollie at least heard Ian’s side of the conversation, and she could probably piece together the rest. Adelaide wondered if Ollie was mad at her for not wanting to stay.

Lost in thought, Adelaide didn’t bother to keep track of time, but when the faint sound of a car engine reappeared, she froze. It definitely hadn’t been enough time for them to go get lunch and come back, right?

But sure enough, the sound of the lock made its way to her ears. This apology was going to have to come a lot sooner than she thought, so she scrambled to come up with something. She yanked her hook out from the cabinet and coiled it around her arms, giving her body something to do while her mind raced frantically.

All too soon, the door swung open, and Adelaide had nothing. Maybe she’d fight a little longer, just to keep him on his toes. Or forget it all completely.

Heavy footsteps quickly made their way to the kitchen. “What’d you forget?” Adelaide called in a mock-exasperated voice. That was the only reason she could think of that would make him return so quickly.

What a stupid thing to say, in hindsight. What a stupid thing to do. She should have been so much more careful, so much more cautious, like she usually was. Because the person that rounded the corner was not Ian. And it certainly wasn’t Sarah.

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[tkingfisher]

So I write all sorts of things (fiction, fanfic, screenplays) and my mind is cluttered garden of flowers and weeds and shiny ideas, and I'm wondering how to form a writing practice to clear it into tidy rows? Is it possible to shepherd untamed ideas into order?

How do you manage all your wonderful worlds, characters and inspiration and not feel haunted by the story bits and pieces in your head? Any practical tips beyond dark magic?

Thank you, you are such a constant inspiration for me, both prose and just your presence. <3

*laugh* Oh god, Nonny, if I ever find out, I’ll tell you! When you read books, you’re getting the Instagram-filtered view of a writer’s brain, all the flowers that grew out of the compost heap, carefully composed and shot in optimal lighting. The real inside of my skull is a magpie nest of Neat Shit I Read/Saw/Thought Up While Lying Awake At 2 AM. There are characters and ideas in there that I’ve been trying to get into a manuscript since I was twelve and typing on an Amiga 500.

But, that said…really, I think it’s okay. Creativity is inherently untidy. The compost heap can be corralled into a very pretty box made of sustainably harvested materials, hand-stained by traditional artisans being paid a living wage by an employee-owned company, but as soon as you lift the lid, it’s all worms and coffee grounds and old potting soil and cow shit and the vegetables you swore you were gonna eat this time before they went bad. That’s what compost is.

Nevertheless, having been in the business for…uh…fifteen years now? (@dduane is snickering at me, I can feel it) and having written nearly forty books, I can offer three bits of something less than advice. It’s what I do. It may not work for anyone else, but it’s what I do.

Un-Advice The First: If you get a shiny idea and you are super excited by it? Go ahead and chase it. Pull up a new page in Word or whatever and slap down a couple thousand words while it’s exciting. I know that this absolutely flies in the face of common wisdom, but quite frankly, my enthusiasm is a much rarer commodity than my time, so if I’m excited about something, I write it down until I’ve taken the edge off.

Then I usually save it into a big folder called “Fragments” and go back to work on whatever I’ve got a deadline on. (Usually. Sometimes the edge doesn’t wear off, and I wind up with another book. Which, y’know, darn.)

There are vast numbers of people who will tell you that a shiny idea is a sign that something is wrong with your current project and the solution is to knuckle down and work! through! it! And those people are probably right for them, and I trust they know how their own brains work. Me, though, I got ADHD like a bat has wings. My hard drive is a vast swamp of story beginnings, neat ideas, random scenes. And that’s okay because I still get books finished.

In fact, it’s better than okay. Not that long ago, my agent sent a novella to a publisher and they said “We’ll take that novella and three more novels. What’ve you got?” And I ended up plundering my hard drive and sending the editor a good dozen random beginnings until we found one that we both liked, and then I wrote the rest of that book. And then another one. If I hadn’t had all those fragments lying around, though, it would have been a miserable experience of writing book pitches and trying to think of stuff I could get excited about. (This may not be how some editors work, but it’s how my editor and I work, anyhow.)

Un-Advice The Second: Trust that everything will find a home eventually.

This one is easy to say and hard to do because sometimes you get that overload that if you’re writing the book about, say, werebear nuns, you aren’t writing the one about the alien crustaceans. Or worse, you feel guilty. If you don’t use that one cool thing, was all that time you spent on it wasted?

Breathe. Be easy. Every single cool thing does not need to go into a single book. There is no sell-by date on the neat character. You will probably write many books in your life and all those random characters will find a home. (Seriously, the werebear nuns were lurking for like a decade.)

For me, at least, when I find the spot where something fits, it often snaps into place like a Lego. Easton’s backstory as a soldier from a society where soldiers were a third sex had been kicking around in my head for a few years, derived from about three different sources, and then I wrote the opening to What Moves The Dead and all of a sudden Easton was there and alive and they had strong opinions about everything and I had ten thousand words practically before I turned around.

You can also stave off guilt by writing some of your ideas in as highly personal Easter Eggs. A couple of my books have references to a white deer woman, a heroic deed done by a saint and the ghost of a bird, and a woman with dozens of hummingbirds on tiny jeweled leashes. Those are all characters and stories I’ve had vague notions about, but haven’t managed to work in anywhere or learn much more about. Still, the passing reference is enough to make me feel like I haven’t abandoned them.

(The advantage to this is that once you DO write those in, the readers are all “oh my god, she foreshadowed this a decade ago, she must have planned this all out in advance!” Then you look really clever and well-organized and no one has to know that you have no idea what you’re doing.)

Un-Advice The Third: Write the kitchen sink book.

At one point, I had so many stray ideas that hadn’t gotten into a book yet—the tree of frogs, the dog-soldiers, the stained glass saint, the albatross and the shadow of the sun, and also I wanted to write something with Baba Yaga—that I hauled off and wrote a book where I just put in everything and the kitchen sink. It’s called Summer in Orcus. There are bits in there that I had been cooking in the mental compost heap for decades, but that weren’t enough on their own to sustain a whole book. The phrase “antelope women are not to be trusted” showed up in my head some time in college. It’s a fun little book and I’m proud of it, but it’s very much a patchwork quilt of weirdness. But it’s also written so that if later on, an antelope woman shows up in another book in another context, that just adds to their mythology, it doesn’t break canon or whatever.

(Pretty sure I’m not the only one who has done this, either. China Mieville has said that he wrote Perdido Street Station because what he really enjoyed was writing all the weird monsters.)

So yeah, that’s my advice, for what it’s worth. Some days I just tell all the fragments and ideas that I promise that I’ll get them a home eventually but I need to write this thing here now. Sometimes I throw down enough words to get the story stabilized and then I’m okay to move on. Sometimes I write multiple books simultaneously.

Any method you use to write the book, so long as it doesn’t hurt you or anyone else, is a perfectly valid method. If anyone tells you different, you send them to me.

(…god, I hope that was the question you were actually asking, Nonny, and that I didn’t go off on a completely different tangent when you just wanted to know how I keep track of a plot or something.)

[ritzy-reminiscence]

─♣️─ Lackadaisy : Lacka-Lacy !

⸝⸝ tl;dr : lacy hardt has been on my mind recently, and after trying and failing to draw her properly i decided to make some general headcanons for her instead !

Despite being Wick's coffee fairy, Lacy doesn't like coffee at all. Or, well, she used to, but after drinking too much coffee after running on no sleep for ages and then suffering a day's worth of being locked in the bathroom,, let's just say she doesn't really want to drink coffee on a regular anymore. And if ever she does drink coffee, she prefers it with lots of milk and as sweet as she could take. And she'd want some cookies nearby as well, to munch on between sips.

She likes tea, actually ! Lemon tea, specifically, with honey in it. Or if that's not available, just plain water with lemon slices in it. She's not against sipping on lemonade during her breaks, either.

Speaking of,,, Lacy feel like a citrus girlie to me. I feel like she'd like anything with citrus in it. Especially lemons. Oh yeah, she loves lemons. Lemon cake, lemon cookies, lemon pie, the whole shtick. I daresay she likes to snack on lemons too, without juicing it or anything. She hates grapefruit though. She'd rather be held hostage than eat a single grapefruit. She says it's because of how messy it gets, but really I think she just hates the taste :skull:

And adding on to the point above ! I feel like she likes the color yellow (surprise, surprise). And turquoise. To her it's a really pretty color combination, and it reminds her of summertime,,, with freshly cut oranges in a cold metal bowl,,, and lemonade,,, and lounging on a chair in the backyard with the yard just mown.. (now i want lemon and oranges too)

I think her and Mordecai would get along if they knew each other. Not because of the whole "we both have bosses that drink alcohol and directly support the bootlegging business" thing, but more of the "we both like to keep things tidy and organized" thing. They wouldn't even talk to each other. They'd have eye contact for like, 0.5 seconds and they just understand.

Ironically though, Lacy's workspace always looks like a bomb had been dropped on it. There's books and sheets everywhere, half-sharpened pencils and pens devoid of ink spilling from the upturned plastic cup she uses to hold her writing materials. It's a miracle that Lacy manages to find her way around her desk without losing any important documents.

Oh, Lacy tries, believe me. Every morning and every afternoon before she goes home, she organizes her stuff by color, size, function, the whole nine yards. She's even got labels for everything! But sometime in high noon where everything starts getting so busy she couldn't tell left from right and up from down,,, well, let's just say that her current schedule doesn't really leave any free time for being neat.

She lives in a shared apartment ! As much as she wants to know her roommate, the circumstances of her work and the situations she gets herself into doesn't leave much room for socializing.

No sleep for Lacy. None .

Well, there's a bit of sleep for her, but it usually occurs in the late late late hours of the evening, where she has to open the door to her shared apartment as quietly as she can and then tiptoe across the room so that she wouldn't wake her roommate up. And even then it takes a while for her to sleep -

She keeps small potted plants by her windowsill ! Sure, she doesn't have the time to actually care for them, but she still strives to water them every now and then and give them air and keep them in a place where the sun shines.

Compared to her workspace, Lacy's house is,, actually pretty tidy? Well, her side of the apartment, anyways. When she has free time, Lacy would sweep the floors and reach under the sofa and bed to get rid of any dust bunnies. And although her roommate cleans up after themselves pretty well, Lacy couldn't resist washing their dishes or make their beds. It's gotten to the point that in the rare moments where she and her roommate do talk to one another, they quipped about Lacy being a cleaning fairy.

Lacy left their dishes rotting in the sink for about a week after that little joke, even though it's her turn to wash the dishes. :skull:

(And this isn't even a headcanon but like,, the name 'Lacy' just suits her so well ?? Like I look at her character design and then I look at her name and I'm like "Yup. That looks like a Lacy, alright.")

Oh, and one last thing -- being Wick's babysitter personal secretary had pretty much trained her to clean up after messes and follow up on meals and just,, pretty much be a maid ..

Whether she's conscious about it or not, she'd be cooking healthy meals for her roommate or leaving notes that remind them to take care of themselves. Of course, the roommate would love to tease Lacy for this, but considering what happened the last time they did that ,, keeping quiet seems like the better option -

[soonito]

maybe someday

pairing: junhui x reader

genre: bestfriend!jun, fluff, acts of service, mutual pining

warnings: college student struggles, food, skipping meals (not purposely, it’s hardly mentioned but just in case)

notes: this has been in my drafts for MONTHS is it good is it terrible idk idc i just wanted to let it out

wc: 1245

For the first time in the last four hours, you take a break. Not because you planned to, but because your body is starting to give up. Your eyes are sore, your back aches and your legs burn painfully as you get up to go to the bathroom so you can wash your face.

A long sigh escapes your lips at the reflection of your beaten up state in the mirror. It’s late and you’re really tired, but you have to keep studying. Maybe just five minutes laying in bed, resting your poor eyes and then you’ll go on. No… You can’t afford those five minutes. And you’re the only one to blame. If only you started earlier, if only you worked harder… you wouldn’t have to go through this torture.

A lump grows in your throat, you consider punching the mirror to let off some steam, but the ringing of the doorbell stops you from trying. Okay, it’s not that late, it can’t be a noise complaint from the neighbours or anything like that, right? You haven’t even screamed your lungs out in frustration yet. Trying to avoid making any kind of noise, you walk to the door and take a peek through the spyhole. Once you identify the person standing on the other side, you open it.

“Jun?”

“Hi.” He greets you with a thin smile. “You didn't answer my last text so I thought I should just come by. You didn't have dinner, didn't you?”

“I... Um… ”

“I brought hot pot." He says, lifting a massive bag that’s hanging from his shoulder. "I mean, I have the supplies and everything. I'm making hot pot."

“Oh.” You blank out for a second, then shake your head and gesture at him to come in. “You didn't have to… "

“Would you rather get nagged by your mom tomorrow? First thing in the morning?”

You laugh at his remark. “Bold of you to assume I’ll be alive by tomorrow.”

“Well, that’s why I’m here.” He leaves the bag on the counter, and rolls up his sleeves. “To make sure you will.”

Jun already knew he would find your fridge almost empty, so he came prepared. He pulls out multiple ingredients from his bag, and even his own hot pot equipment. You notice the kitchen is far from being clean, and a wave of embarrassment crashes on you. When you aim to do the dishes, your back betrays you, and the moment Jun hears you hiss in pain, he has to fight the impulse to pick you up and carry you to bed. Instead, he only puts his hand on your shoulder.

“You need to lay down.”

“I don’t want you to clean up my mess so you can cook for me!”

“It’s not a big deal, I wouldn’t be here if it was.” Letting out a big sigh, you glance at the hallway, and Jun seems to read your mind. “You are not going back to your laptop and textbooks. You have to rest.”

“But I still have so much left to do…” You whine.

“Not now!” Jun puts both hands on your shoulders. “We’re having dinner, when we finish we clean up, set a schedule for tomorrow and then you go to sleep.”

“A schedule?”

“Yes. A proper one. Breaks included.” You give him another big sigh in response. He shakes his head and turns you around, giving you a small push towards your living room. “Now, go lie on the couch.”

“But-”

“Just go!”

Between more whines and groans, you give in and do as your friend tells you. You don’t mind being taken care of, but sometimes you don’t even feel like you deserve it. You're actually a pretty neat and tidy person, still, you reached that point where you wouldn’t allow yourself to make time for the most basic chores. That’s what it comes with not being the best kind of student. No matter how many times you cursed yourself and swore it would never happen again, you would always end up procrastinating, having trouble keeping up with the deadlines.

Jun wouldn’t blame you for it, though. He knows there’s not much he can say to make you feel better, so he goes for what he can do. You can see him from the couch. He takes care of the vegetables, washing and cutting them gently. Then he takes the meat, removing it from its packaging and putting it on a plate. He works well in your kitchen, even on his own. It may be the first time he’s doing hot pot, but not the first time he cooks anything there.

You really wanted to get up and assist him, or at least stay by his side, watching up close. It would help you forget about the immense amount of work you had left in your room. Jun makes you feel at ease. Maybe someday you should tell him how grateful you are for everything he does for you, but no better words than a “thank you” ever come out, so you try to think of different ways to return the favor.

While you’re thinking, you eventually fall asleep, a soft touch on your cheek waking you up not much later. You open your eyes to see Jun get up with a sudden move, as he was kneeling on the floor next to you. You blink twice, and he coughs.

“It’s ready.” Jun says, stepping aside so you could see the meal already set on the round table in front of you. You look at his work completely amazed, and thank him with a smile.

“Won't you feel sick eating this much so late?” You ask him while he sits down next to you.

“I’ll be alright, you can eat all you want.” You pick up the chopsticks, but still seem hesitant. “I swear it’s not too spicy.”

You raise an eyebrow at him. “I’m not sure if we share the same definition of "not too spicy''. ”

“I mean it this time!”

You laugh, and finally lean closer to the table. Settling into a comfortable silence, you feel relieved with every bite you take. It’s been a rough day, no, a rough week, and you really needed this. It’s almost making you emotional. But right now it’s not the time to have a meltdown. You look up at Jun, eating peacefully, and somehow that soothes your nerves. Jun always makes you feel at ease. He knows this. That’s why he came all the way from his house to your apartment in the middle of the night, because he knows you’re struggling, and he can’t let that happen. Maybe someday he should tell you that he’s willing to do anything to make you feel better, only to be sure you’re aware of it, but he doesn’t know how to phrase it, so he just.... follows his guts. He usually knows what's best for you.

“Is it good?” Jun asks, pretending he doesn’t notice your watery eyes.

“It’s delicious.” You whisper.

“Great.”

“You’re staying over, right?” You cough, trying to raise your voice.

“If you’ll have me.”

“I’m not letting you go back home at this hour.” You add some noodles into the pot. “And also, tomorrow it’ll be my treat.”

Jun chuckles softly. “Okay.”

And that’s it. You two always end up like this, spending a lot of time together, looking out for each other. Maybe someday you should talk about it.

[dasher85]

. . .

featuring our Elucidation duo 

Alhaitham x reader | y/n | you

short story

[ If love ordeal has spread across his heart, then quicken reaction will also bloom endlessly ]

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

The acting Grand Sage was still working on his daily tasks but as soon as the hour struck five he stopped his work progress and called it a day. There wasn't anything urgent to be addressed and he already planned that everything should be still on time even if he finished the work by tomorrow. He efficiently tidied his table and closed the curtains of his office room before heading out. 

Initially his muscle memory had already taken him to the library but he finally remembers that you're not at Sumeru city only when he was already halfway there. It's the fourth time that he had to make a detour because of this.

He's so accustomed to checking up on you at the library after work that he's not used to it when you're not around.

Alhaitham sighed as he entered his house. It was dark and he felt gloomy all of a sudden. Nonetheless, he started his late afternoon routine that he's used to doing ever since he's been living alone. 

Close the curtains, light up the candles, sweep the floors and rearrange everything that was misplaced during the days. For example, the books on the table or the shoes that weren't placed on the shoe rack. Yes, all of those little things are particularly organized before he starts cooking in the kitchen. 

Usually, you're the one who would do the cooking while he tidies up the house and will join to help you after he's done. But since there wasn't much to clean most of the time, he would already start helping you with kitchen work even before you started the fire.

However for the past few days, he's been doing both routines. Alhaitham could manage it all just fine but he still finds something missing when he's cooking all by himself.

It feels too quiet to the point that it made him frown unhappily. Him being the person who loves silence and solitude suddenly feels that it doesn't apply the same value anymore whenever he's home. It feels the exact opposite.

The chopping of the knives cutting on the board, the sizzling of the oil and the clatter of plates was all that he could hear and yet it still felt so awfully quiet.

He rechecked the recipe book that rests on the kitchen counter to confirm if all ingredients were correctly added. The book was filled with your neat handwriting as it was your collection of dish recipes. 

"We need to-" he quiets down, reminding himself that he's all alone.

He sighed, before quickly taking out the measuring cup to fill it up with an accurate amount of water. 

Usually, while the both of you wait for the dish to cook, you would talk to him about your current research or how you want to cook something different tomorrow. All those trivial things and he would just quietly listen to you, replying with an 'okay', 'sure' or even just a nod if it doesn't really require his opinions.

So now, he can only read a book while he waits for dinner. He used to enjoy the idea of passing time with reading but it doesn't feel the same anymore especially when he knows you're not around.

The lid of the pot starts to clatter indicating that it's either cooked or overheated. Alhaitham quickly walked over to check with a wooden spoon. He stirred the stew a few times before finally putting out the fire.

Alhaitham enjoys eating alone as well, as long as the food is good for its taste and could fill up his stomach but this also only applied a year ago. Now he's inclined to be in this situation. In fact he feels rather empty.  

He served his meal and quietly ate it. He didn't quite understand why you were always complaining about him not being able to come home over dinner whenever he gets busy but ever since the first day you went out for a trip he clearly understands it now.

If dinner doesn't feel right, then sleeping couldn't get any better…

Before going to bed, he would be reading the unfinished research reports you've neatly stacked on your desk. He's been adding handwritten references related to your research on your notebook day by day. He finds it really rewarding that he could at least help you just a little bit although you've strictly informed him not to just because you didn't want the research to finish so fast. 

The day before you left for the trip to accompany two students, you informed him that it should be alright since the research topic wasn't anywhere dangerous. Of course he only nodded with a simple 'Be careful'. Now that he thought about it, he should've said much more words into it.

However, he totally forgot that he actually hugged you for five minutes and you had to rationally reason with him. He was ready to join along but you insisted that you already have company and it wouldn't be convenient for him to reschedule his work for at least two weeks time.

He sighed thinking about not being able to join you until this moment. Alhaitham knows it was irrational but he'd rather act irrational than feeling dreadful for not feeling your weight on his body. 

You often sleep two hours after him almost everyday because of your research but as soon as you're done for the night, you'll sleep right next to him. He would always be sleeping neatly facing the ceiling, while you were on your side facing him as your right hand placed on his right shoulder.

The next day, he woke up just as usual because nobody came to wake him up an hour earlier. You would usually gently call his name to wake him up in the morning and would be pulling him by the wrist all the way to the kitchen table if he still intends to sleep more. There he would be served a warm cup of coffee brewed by you.

"Time for work" he eventually motivates himself before swiftly prepared for the day.

At the office, he noticed the date was the eleventh of the second month in the year. He always regards the date as just another day but somehow it reminds him of you.

A week ago, you informed him that the trip would last two weeks and you wouldn't be able to return home before his birthday. Obviously he replied with a simple 'It's nothing special, don't worry about it' but now that he thinks about it, wouldn't it be better if you can return home sooner? 

He frowned unhappily yet again and furiously declined the remaining research proposals. Despite being emotionally driven, he did diligently read the whole article but upon seeing a slight error, he instantly rejected it. 

During the lunch break, he had already finished his work and refused to accept any other proposal not until the beginning of next week. He left the office and went out to the rainforest, taking his lunch that he bought from Lambad's tavern. 

The Shawarma wrap was still warm when he took a bite from it. Two Dusk birds who were curious about his food were courageously staring back at him but didn't dare to come any closer. Eventually he gestures a hand to shoo them away because of the constant noise the bird makes. He's just typically the same when he's dealing with noises except if it's you who's talking to him. You're the only exception, a voice frequency that he's used to and could bring him peace.

After he was done eating his quick lunch, he started his leisure stroll inside the ruins you've suggested to go years back before graduation. There wasn't anything dangerous in here aside from it's fragile foundation of steps and endless veins of roots, to him it's all but a leisure walk in a park.

This was the third time he had returned here venturing alone. He likes it here, it's just peaceful, moreover it closely reminds him of you. Although it's been many years since you've come here for that research, he still valued the memories formed within this ruin.

The first time he returned here was when he learned that you were having an arranged marriage. The second time was when you informed him that you'll be taking your one month leave. He's been revisiting this ruin whenever his mind is troubled. As of today, it wasn't because his mind was troubled but he's just reminiscing about those days. 

 Alhaitham finally returns home after a few hours venturing into the ruins and not forgetting to buy some cooking ingredients from the nearby stalls before sundown. He's that efficient when it comes to home tasks even if he has just returned from the rainforest.

Similar to yesterday, he already has the late afternoon routine listed on the back of his mind, already planning what to do right away after unlocking the house. However, to his surprise, the candles were already lit up. He briefly paused his steps to observe and further confirm his assumptions based on the evidence nearby. For example, the shoes you always wore have returned to their place in the shoe rack or the coat you own was neatly hung by the coat rack.

His lips raised a little before returning to his usual expressionless expression. Just as calm, he proceeded to remove his boots and walked to where the soft clattering of plates could be heard. Upon reaching the kitchen area, he carefully placed the bag of groceries he had bought earlier on the kitchen counter.

Alhaitham didn't know if you'd noticed him from your peripheral vision because you were so focused on adjusting the fire. He just quietly stood by the kitchen counter, observing your little gestures not wanting to spook you with his sudden interruption. 

You finally stood up after successfully adjusting the fire and went on stirring the dish inside the pan. Upon halfway reaching the salt from the higher shelves, a hand has already reached it for you. In response to the sudden change of situation, you retracted your hand and glanced at the other person in surprise.

"You should've said something…" you sighed in relief that it was just him. 

He casually hands you the bottle of salt, seemingly the least bothered but he was actually feeling guilty for doing that. However it's too late, all he can do is repent.

"What do you need me to do?" To him, helping you was the best way to redeem himself. 

"The other dishes are done, I just need to deep fry the remaining scented meat balls. Just carry the plates and arrange it on the table"

He simply nodded and went on working as instructed. It took him a few times walking back and forth because you prepared three more extra dishes than usual. He actually thought you prepared too many dishes, it's more than enough but he didn't complain either thinking it's only rational that you'd want to eat Sumeru's dishes after returning from the trip. 

"Go ahead and take a shower or do something else? Besides, you're covered in mud."

He frowned, as you quickly rushed him away from the kitchen area right after he helped you place the plates of dishes.

"...but I'm not-" for once he never thought he would ever want to convince you so badly that he wasn't even covered in mud. You can clearly see that he wasn't even sweating but you really need him to be anywhere else but the kitchen. 

"You're dismissed now, I don't need you in the kitchen. Alright? I'll call you when dinner is finally ready." You lightly placed a hand on his right cheeks which instantly stopped him from talking. Such actions had caught him off guard but he instantly recovered by a mere second. Nonetheless, it still works against him whenever you need him to just listen and not think too much into the matter. 

He sighed, feeling a little lost but obediently listened to your instructions. 

While he was upstairs, you quickly fried the last dish and rearranged some of the plates on the kitchen table. You didn't expect him to return an hour earlier than he usually does after work but everything turned out well.

Initially you couldn't actually return today because the research trip ends exactly by next week but unfortunately a student suddenly caught a fever. It is unfortunate indeed but somehow someone's misfortune has given you an advantage and a solid reason to end the trip earlier.

Hence you still managed to quickly prepare and cook some special dishes for today's event. He seems oblivious about all of this but that brings you much hope to give a decent surprise. Even if he's not that interested, you'd still want to properly celebrate it together with him.

"Hai… Oh? You're done?" You're about to call him but he was already halfway down the stairs, as he casually dried his hair with a towel. 

"Mmm" He simply replied and straight away neatly hung the towel by the wooden chair.

"What is it? Why are you smiling like that?" He casually questions you while he dusts away the few strands of thread from his sleeveless shirt. 

"You look absolutely dashing." you replied with a wide smile. 

"Hmph" He seems indifferent about such remarks but you knew he was just well aware about that.

"Fine, I won't talk anymore-"

"No need to stop, I want to listen to your voice"

"But I really don't have anything else to talk about" You actually have a lot to talk about but seeing him getting all frustrated makes things a lot more enjoyable. His already expressionless face slowly twisted in a terrible frown. These days, if you're not talking about serious matters, you'll just endlessly tease him.

"Why are you so upset with me having nothing to talk about?" Eventually you question with a small smile.

"I know you heard me." he muttered. 

"Yes I heard you… since it's your birthday, I shouldn't upset you too much. So, here's my birthday gift for you"

You finally revealed the perfectly wrapped present that you've kept hidden inside a paper bag. 

A genuine soft smile suddenly appeared on his face, as he looked at the present on his hand before glancing back at you. You thought he was simply touched to receive the gift but Alhaitham was just waist deep influenced by your enthusiasm and that beautiful smile. He's smitten all over again.

"Happy birthday, Alhaitham!" You exclaimed happily before giving him a hug. However, the next second you were about to let go, you can already feel the strength in his arms only tighten around you, firmly refusing to release you. 

"The food will get cold…" A minute has passed by but he's still holding you close, his head resting on the crook of your neck. 

"I'm getting hungry" Five minutes later, he still hasn't said a word. 

"Did you miss me?" You raised out a hand to gently pat his head. Once again, you need to rationally reason with him. 

He slowly nods, "I miss you".

"Did you miss eating the food I cooked?" 

He quietly nods.

"I've prepared some delicious food especially for your birthday today. I want you to try each dish and eat dinner together with me" you softly said.

"I couldn't invite any of your friends because I was in a rush but if you'd want we can arrange another day to celebrate with them?"

He shook his head, "No need"

"Alright… the food might be a lot but we can eat it for tomorrow as well. Now, let's enjoy a nice dinner together"

He finally let go of you and you only displayed a smile. His teal eyes stares back at you as if there was something else that he has left unspoken to you.

"Is there something else you want to tell me?" You knowingly question him. Without a word he leaned over and gently pressed his lips on yours.

It left you in a daze for a second but recovered soon after because you'd usually give him the same gestures as well. Afterwards, you only smiled and quickly pulled him over to the kitchen table.

"Y/n thank you for being here" 

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

A/N: HBD 11/2 to our feeble scholar XD 

[efingart]

Just What I Needed - Chapter 22

ao3

One | Two | Three | Four | Five | Six | Seven | Eight | Nine | Ten | Eleven | Twelve | Thirteen | Fourteen | Fifteen | Sixteen | Seventeen | Eighteen | Nineteen | Twenty | Twenty-One

Brows raised, Woods peered up through the grated roof of the old elevator as it ascended in its slow fashion up to his floor. 

He hadn’t been looking forward to returning to that cold, empty apartment. And so what should have been one beer with Mason had easily turned to two and then three. 

Woods had so quickly become used to having someone around during his downtime. 

How nice it had been to come home to find Mason and Bell cooking something in the kitchen. 

Or sitting by the window smoking and having deep conversations. 

To wake up to a hot pot of coffee that someone else made. 

But now he was alone again. 

Spent most of his life alone, hadn’t he? 

How could it feel so foreign to him now?

The elevator halted at his floor, and he pushed the security gate aside to step out. 

Then he pulled it closed again, careful not to catch his fingers in the diamond-shaped webbing.

Woods opened the door to the apartment and kicked his shoes off. Carefully shrugging his jacket over his shoulders, he hung it on the empty rack and finally turned on the lights.

He looked around the apartment. It was already showing the signs of his solitary lifestyle.

Not that it wasn’t clean. 

There were takeout menus and disposable silverware scattered across the counter. 

Beer bottles waiting to be taken to the recycling depot. 

The empty space in the living room where a comfortable chair had once sat. Empty because he had dragged it over by the window.

What was the point in keeping the living room setup intact when he was the only one living there? 

Didn’t matter anyway. He’d be leaving this place soon. 

No need for one person to occupy a space meant for three.

Woods walked across the apartment to his room. The creak of the old wooden floors was magnified in the quiet space. 

When he opened the door, the hinges squeaked in protest, the sharp sound filling his ears. 

Not wanting to make more noise, he gently placed his wallet and keys on the nightstand. Woods unbuttoned his shirt and tossed it on his bed. He then went back into the main room, heading towards the kitchen. 

Mason’s door was open, as it had been since the last time he was here. For the most part, Woods wasn’t concerned with how people kept their personal spaces. And he wouldn’t disturb their things to suit himself. Mason hadn’t closed the door, so Woods hadn’t closed it. And he must have passed it several times without giving it a second thought. But this time, he paused in the doorway and looked around. 

Mason would be clearing it out soon. Right now, it was a mess. Decades of being forced to be tidy had Mason rebel once he finally had a space of his own until, of course, Em came into the picture. 

Woods chuckled to himself, thinking about his friend and the woman he chose to marry. 

How much things had changed, and how much they stayed the same. 

Mason might clean up at home, but deep down, he didn’t mind the mess. 

Hell, maybe he even thrived in it. 

He was about to turn to leave when he noticed a days-old coffee cup sitting on the floor next to the bed. 

Well, food and drinks lying out would be the exception. Can’t have bugs crawling around the apartment. 

He walked in to pick it up. 

It was a good thing Mason only drank black coffee.

Woods stepped back out into the main room.

He passed Bell’s room, as well. Unlike Mason’s, her door was closed. No one had been in there since she was last in the apartment. 

How long had that been?

He placed two fingers on the knob, intending to open it. 

But for what? 

Bell always kept that room neat as a pin. There weren’t errant coffee cups to be collected. And she hadn’t asked for anything. 

Hadn’t needed anything.

He thought about all the things in there he had bought for her. He still felt a bit stupid about it. 

Walking into that department store, he realized he was completely out of his depth. Woods should have just let someone else handle it. But he knew they’d only buy her second-hand crap that didn’t even fit. Like they had before. 

And he couldn’t stand for that. He knew what it was like. When it wasn’t your choice, they always felt like other people’s clothes. 

Things were going to be shit for her. He thought she at least deserved some nice new stuff. 

But he overdid it. 

He knows he did. 

And she didn’t end up wanting any of it.

He dropped his hand away and continued towards the kitchen. 

What the hell would he do with all that stuff?

Let Mason give it to Em, probably. Though if Em found out Woods had been the one to buy it-

He laughed to himself at the thought.

Woods set the mug down in the kitchen. 

Then he looked at Bell’s door again. Drawn to it. He scoffed. 

Getting sentimental, Frank?

At the same time, he found himself striding over to it and once again, placed his hand on the doorknob. But this time he turned it. 

As expected, it was neat. Bed made. Everything in its place. Even though they had left in a hurry, she still managed to keep things tidy. Maybe, like the things in it, she didn’t see the room as her own. Or maybe that’s just how she was. 

He didn’t know which it was, and he felt a sense of loss at not knowing. 

And maybe never knowing. 

Woods sat on the edge of her bed and looked around. He hadn’t been in here in some time.  Neither of them had realized that when they left for Duga, it would be her last time seeing the room. 

Would she have packed more if she knew? 

He thumbed through a dog-eared book from a pile on her nightstand. 

Did she even bring a book? 

As he was flipping through the book he felt something soft hit his hip. He was too late to catch it and it rolled off the bed. Woods rescued it from the floor it was the Bubby doll he had bought her.  He clutched the doll between his hands, looking over its manic little face.

“Weird little man,” He said to it, echoing Bell’s words from what seemed like a lifetime ago. 

So much had happened since then. At that time, he thought she was just new to the team and a little lonely because of it. 

But she said that she felt like she was being held at a distance. 

That hadn’t made sense to him, then. Bell had seemed friendly enough, capable enough. 

Maybe if he had listened to her, he would have noticed that something was wrong earlier.

And then what would he have done?

Couldn’t save her from Adler. 

Couldn’t save her from her own mind. 

And now what? He was just readily abandoning her? 

Because another version of herself had said some things, he didn’t like?  

“You know, one of these days, you’re going to hear something you don’t like, and then you’re going to realize that this is all that I’m good for.”

And she had been right.

He sighed and stood up. Placing the doll back on the bed, he leaned it against the wall so it wouldn’t fall over again. 

Why the hell had he thought something like that might cheer her up? 

A stupid toy. 

After everything, she’d been through. All his gestures seemed so hollow to him now. 

Woods gave her room one last glance before closing the door. 

He walked to the kitchen to make himself a sandwich. Opening the fridge, he discovered they were out of just about everything. 

At least it meant less stuff he’d have to move. 

He grabbed the remains of a brick of cheese, a pack of ham that was surprisingly untouched, and some mustard. Tossing two slices of bread on a plate he assembled his sandwich.

From the fridge, he grabbed another beer and carried that and the plate over to his chair. Slumping into it, he balanced the plate on his knee and ate as he looked out the window. The beer he set on the floor. 

As he sat and ate alone, every sound he made felt amplified in his ears again. 

The silence around him was oppressive. 

And it was as if his presence, his very existence in this place, was disturbing it.

What are you doing here?

He placed the plate on the windowsill and stood up. Then he opened the window to at least allow some of the street noise from below in to fill the apartment. 

West Berlin was never really quiet. 

Someone was always out having a good time. 

Or a bad time. 

Either way, the sound of other people was welcome. He settled back into the chair with his sandwich and his beer. 

After popping the last bit of sandwich in his mouth, he leaned back into the chair and just listened to the sounds of the walled city.

_______________________________________________________________

The plate hit the floor with a clatter. Jerking awake at the sound, Woods looked around, alarmed.

It took a moment for him to realize where he was and that he must have fallen asleep. He debated staying in the chair because it was fairly comfortable except for the ache in his shoulder. Shaking his head, he resigned himself to getting up. Woods braced his hands on the arms of the chair to help himself up. 

“Too young to be dozing off in chairs,” He muttered to himself, “Or too old.” 

One of those. 

Woods rubbed his head and looked at the floor to assess the damage. 

The plate had completely shattered. When he set his feet on the ground to stand, he had just missed landing his foot right on a particularly nasty shard of glass. 

“Lucky.”

It was still a fucking mess, though. 

That he’d have to clean up. 

Woods cursed himself and carefully stepped over the glass.

He grabbed a broom and dustbin from the kitchen and began to sweep it up. 

While he was working, the phone rang. 

Who the hell is calling this late?

He didn’t feel like talking to anyone. If anything, he just wanted to clean this glass up and go to bed.

There was nothing urgent going on. And he wasn’t on call. So this time, maybe he could just let it go to the machine. If it were pressing, he’d pick it up. Though that would mean it would be Hudson on the other line, and he definitely didn’t want to talk to him, right now, urgent or not. 

After a few rings, the answering machine beeped, and the cassette tape whirred to life. 

The default recorded message began to play, a woman speaking German with a robotic voice instructing the caller to leave a message. 

Woods pulled out the trashcan to dump out the contents of the dustbin. 

“Frank?” A soft voice called out to him from the speaker on the machine. 

He nearly dumped the dustbin on the floor. 

“I hope it’s ok to still call you that,” Bell said. 

It sounded to him like she was having trouble talking. Her voice was raw. She spoke slowly like it was difficult for her to get the words out.  Might have just finished a session.

How the hell did she get access to a phone?

Woods set the dustbin and broom aside and leaned against the kitchen counter. He folded his arms across his chest and listened to her message. 

A part of him wanted to pick up. But he didn’t move. He felt frozen in place, stunned by the sound of her voice. The other part of him didn’t want to interrupt her, rush her. Bell was probably exhausted, and he knew she could easily lose her train of thought. Or that maybe even picking up the phone might make her hang up. That talking to someone directly was different than just leaving a message. And he wanted to hear what she had to say, unfiltered. Or as unfiltered as she could get after an hours-long LSD-induced mind trip. 

“I just wanted to-” 

She paused, and the static feedback from the tape blended into the sound of her breathing.

Thinking? 

Catching her breath?

“I know I’m not gonna see you again,” She continued. 

That ache of loss hit him again. He felt the urge to pick up the phone, to argue with her. 

But no, he couldn’t because what she said was the truth. 

They weren’t going to see each other again, were they?

He had said it, thought it, but he hadn’t expected her to say it, too. There was something final about that.

The fact that they both knew.

“But I wanted to say- thanks for trying.”

Deep static-filled sigh.

“Tell Alex too, ok? And Frank, I-”

There was a very long pause. No static sounds. For a moment, he thought the call had disconnected. Then it sounded like something was moving against the receiver, and her voice carried through the speaker again. 

“I don’t know what else to do. I don’t want to- I’m not giving up. This isn’t giving up-” 

Woods nearly dove for the receiver. But he wasn’t fast enough.

He was met with dead air when he finally got it to his ear.

The machine beeped, and he heard the whirring sound of the tape rewinding.  

This isn’t giving up. 

After a moment, an annoying sound blared through in his ear, alerting him that the call had disconnected.

_______________________________________________

“Look, Woods, she’s in trouble.”

Mason had warned him. He had told him that Bell was in trouble, that they were losing her. That in a rare moment of lucidity she had questioned Mason about him. Why was Mason alone trying to help her? Where was Frank? 

And the fact that he wasn’t there, in her mind, meant she was irredeemable. 

He drummed his fingers on the steering wheel, waiting for the light to change.

If he had listened back then-

“Goddamn fucking stubborn-” He cursed himself again. 

And he had lied to Mason, hadn’t he? 

Maybe not lied, but omitted some of the truth.

About the notes, the ones Bell left in the margins of her decryptions. Some of it was just venting.

But- 

This isn’t giving up.

She was such a tough gal, wasn’t she?

It was easy to tell himself that she’d hold out. Something like this wasn’t enough to break her. 

And he hadn’t been on board with this whole thing anyway. She must have known that, too, deep down. Bell wasn’t really waiting on him. No matter what she said, she was tough as hell, had gotten through worse, and would crawl her way out, right?

But why him? Why was he suddenly the moral standard? Why was his judgment so important to her? If Bell had just left it up to Mason, let him give her the forgiveness and acceptance she needed, she would be home already. 

Woods wasn’t this fucking unbiased judge. She was wrong to think he was. 

The very fact that he couldn’t put those deep-seated feelings, the pain of rejection, aside just to help this woman. Just to help his- his friend. That should have been enough to know he shouldn’t be in the business of judging anyone.

Easier to pretend he just didn’t care.

Easier for who?

But you do care, you idiot.

That’s why it bothered you so much.

When he got back, it had been hard to hear shit like that from strangers.

That this whole time everyone thought he had been the bad guy. 

So he did what he did best. Developed a thick skin. Isolated himself from strangers. Easy to do when his appearance intimidated people enough that they avoided him. 

But coming from her, it was different. 

And yes, they had been enemies at the time. Not that they had known each other.

But to think that at some point those words had crossed her lips?

That a person he cared about would have at one point thought he was a monster. Worth killing indiscriminately. Lumping him in with some of those pieces of shit.

And so what did he do? He pushed her away before she could do it to him. Because he didn’t want to see that judgment on her face when he looked at her. And he decided, without talking to her, that was the reason why she didn’t want to see him and Mason. 

Because it was easier. 

“Fucking-” Woods exclaimed, slapping the leather of the steering wheel in irritation. 

The light finally fucking changed. And from there on every light was with him. And soon he found himself turning into the dirt parking lot in front of the Safehouse. 

Park was there. He had called before he left. Half hoping Bell was still by the phone. But Park had picked up.

He never thought he’d like to hear the sound of her voice. But he did because at least she wasn’t Adler. Hudson he could at least get to check on Bell. Adler, stubborn bastard. 

Well, actually, he’d probably check on her, too. All that info in her brain was fueling his obsession, wasn’t it?  Couldn’t lose the last bit of intel he had.

Park had sounded relieved to speak to him.

Glad he was coming for Bell. 

Take her home. 

Is that what he was going to do? Hell, he didn’t even know what Bell wanted.

Would she even come back with him?

Woods stepped out of the van. 

Something about being this close made his stomach twist in knots.

Park was waiting for him inside.

“I told her you were coming. She’s just taking a shower.”

“You think she understood you?” 

Park shook her head, “Hard to say. I find, more and more, that she’s just going through the motions.”

He sighed and took a seat at the workbench. That’s something they’d have to work through. But maybe if she weren’t being drugged and held in a cell, she’d get better. Maybe if she was around people- though was he much company for anyone?

He had to hope that it wasn’t too late.

“You said she called you?” Park asked after a moment of silence.

“Yeah, you give her a phone?”

Park shook her head.

“Huh.”

Hadn’t she escaped from that facility more than once? Enough to piss everyone there off. And take out a few guards? 

And her memories. Hell, she had run from a hospital when she was a kid.

He frowned. Maybe she slipped out of her cell. But to what? Make a phone call?

“What about Adler? Hudson?” He craned his neck to see if either of them were around.

“They’ve gone.”

Woods nodded. He was glad they weren’t here. Park would help him get Bell out. Hudson could chew him out later. Like he cared. 

“How long has she been in there?” 

Furrowing her brow, Park checked her watch. Her expression told him everything. Before she could respond, he was up and striding toward the locker room. 

When he opened the door, he could hear the water running. 

“Hey?” Woods called as he stepped in. 

No response.

Maybe she couldn’t hear him over the water?

He walked over to the entrance to the showers and called again, a little louder this time.

“Hey, you in there?”

Still no response.

“Come on, it’s me,” He said, even louder this time, “Not one of those assholes here to torture you.”

I’m taking you home. 

He had finally decided. Whatever it took to convince her, he’d figure it out. 

A thought crossed his mind, and he looked up to the small frosted ventilation windows lining the room just under the ceiling. 

Could she get up there? 

Fit through one of them?

What if she had run? 

A part of him almost hoped she had. That she got out. She was smart enough to take care of herself. Then she wouldn’t have to deal with all of this bullshit any longer. 

You’d miss her though, wouldn’t you? 

You already do. 

“Come on, answer me, or I’m coming in.” 

He really didn’t want to just walk in on her. Scare the shit out of her. 

Or make her angry. Especially if she really couldn’t hear him.

Woods set his jaw. Of course, she might not be responding because she’s not herself.

“Shit,” He muttered to himself. Then he grabbed a towel, just in case, and stepped into the shower room.

He could just make out a figure slumped against the wall through the steam. Dark wet hair curtained her face. Bell was still dressed, in shorts and a t-shirt, but everything was soaked through. Woods turned off the water and knelt down beside her. The water on the floor seeped into the knees of his jeans. 

“Hey?” He said, hoping she would look up. And when she didn’t a rush of nervous energy coursed through him. Woods shook her shoulders in an attempt to rouse her. But her head just lulled back resting against the tile wall. Her eyes were half open. Lips parted and moving only slightly in the way someone does when they are working something out in their head. 

“Come on, don’t talk to them, talk to me,” He said more urgently. Trying to get her to ignore the voices in her head. Look at him. Acknowledge him. 

Fucking recognize him. 

“We need Adler,” Park said, “The trigger phrase will rouse her.” 

She was standing in the entryway. She must have followed behind him. He wondered if she paused to call Adler. 

“That’s the last fucking thing she needs,” Woods shot back. He wrapped the towel around Bell and pulled her close to him protectively. He was not going to let Adler anywhere near her. 

Ignoring Park, he said, “Come on. You gotta wake up. I can’t lift you with my shoulder like this.”

The sound of wet footsteps echoed in the room. Park walked up behind him.

“She doesn’t need him,” He said, this time speaking to Park. Preemptively countering the argument, he thought she was walking over to make. “Should have never let him come back.”

Gently he moved a few wet strands of hair away from Bell’s face. He combed them back, so they fell neatly into place. 

“Come on then, we need to at least take her out of here. Dry her off.” 

“Can’t.”

“I can.”

She knelt down with her arms outstretched waiting to take Bell from Woods. He reluctantly let her go. It’s not like Park was going to run off with her. 

Park scooped her up easily. Woods walked behind. Feeling useless again.

What could he even do for her?

Keep Adler away. Stop the fucking drugging. 

Park carried her back to the room where they had been holding her. 

It was a disaster. The complete opposite of her room at the apartment. 

The second cot in the room had been turned on its side. A large gash cut through the canvas so no one could use it. Papers scattered everywhere. 

Writing all over the walls. Some encoded. Some resembled the rants he had seen on her notes before. 

There were dark red blood stains on the wall and door.

He helped Park as best he could to dry Bell off and get her changed. 

When they were done, Park left the room. He had gotten her to agree to let him try to get through to Bell without intervention from Adler.

Woods pulled a blanket over Bell and tucked it under her to keep her warm. Then he sat on the ground next to her cot.  

“Park thinks you need Adler. I think you’re tougher than that,” He said as he stroked the hair around her face. It was still a bit damp. 

“Finally got it together and came here. Because I heard you were asking about me. And yeah, I know you said you didn’t want to see me, but I don’t believe that for a second. But now you’re not going to even wake up for me?”

Woods studied her face for any sign that she could hear him, but there was none.

“I know I took a long time. You can give me shit for it when you wake up. Call me an asshole.”

He took her hand, running his thumb over her knuckles. 

“Hell, I’ll let you take a swing at me. A freebie.” 

In the quiet, he could hear the soft sound of her whispered conversation. 

The conversation she was having with the person or people in her head. 

Mason had those sometimes. Talking to a long-dead Reznov.

Who were you talking to?

“Come on. I still owe you. I said I’d take you to the record store. All that sad shit you were listening to? You need to know the classics, too.”

He thought about how he had found her in the living room listening to damn Dust In The Wind. Of all the songs to listen to. Though Woods supposed he could understand why it might resonate with her now. Especially if it was her first time hearing it. But no, she needed to know other songs. Expand her music catalog. Maybe find stuff on her own and develop her own tastes. 

Things that might- what? Make her happy?

He cleared his throat.

“Got all these books, too, from the library. So we can get you a name. Unless you want to be called Victoria,” He chuckled, then added, “But if you don’t wake up soon, I’m gonna start calling you Vicky.”

Woods could just see her making a face at that. Scrunching up her nose. He looked hopefully at her like maybe she was doing that already. That maybe the joke would stir something in her. But nothing. Just the constant whispering.

He sighed. He shouldn’t have gotten his hopes up. Leaning his back against the edge of the cot he looked around the room. 

“Never should have left you here. Should have taken that cot over there if you wouldn’t come with me. I can be just as stubborn as you, too, you know.” 

He kicked the damaged cot. 

The same one he slept on the last time he was in this room. He wondered why she destroyed it.

“I’m sorry.”

The room was quiet then. Quiet because Bell had stopped whispering.

tags: @canam77 @shieldsbucky @stupid-stinky @scumbagg @quizzyisdone

[l-auraaa]

Megumi HC - sfw

My whole house simply cannot get the JJK friendships out of our head so we thought we’d chuck out some HCs. 

There are no warnings for this - all sfw!!

This boy is so messy and grotty like you walk into his room mid-afternoon and the blinds are still drawn, his bed is unmade, and there’s a growing monster consisting of dark shirts glowering at you from the corner. (Megumi often grabs one of them, gives ‘em a sniff and if it isn’t quite ripe but certainly isn’t clean he turns it inside out because “no one will know.” - Nobara knows)

Gojo is actually very neat so Megumi argues that his clutter is a personal rebellion against Gojo; whenever Yuji is in Megumi’s room he’s constantly picking up the shirts and folding them; Megumi’s eye twitches the whole time - “why are you tidying up my room man,” “um - have you seen the state of this place?!”

Sleeps with one of his Shikigami at the end of his bed - he won’t admit it but the pressure of something or someone in his bed or even just in the room helps him sleep; him, Nobara, and Yuji have all defintely fallen asleep in one bed together, cramped and tucked up into unnatural positions but that was the best night of sleep Megumi has ever experienced. 

He drools.

Accidentally got some on Nobara and she cried.

Gojo left him in a supermarket carpark once because he got distracted by a woman and left with her - Megumi could have called Gojo but he decided to walk home by himself - he enjoyed the peace.

He loves karaoke “only when he’s drunk” (pfft, it’s only when he’s drunk that he lets his guard down); his and Yuji’s song is Super Trouper by Abba. 

His cheeks go red when he drinks. 

In fact, he just blushes very easily and it winds him up because it betrays his cold demeanor. 

Nobara and Yuji once pinned him to the floor so that they could put a face mask on him (they have weekly pamper gossip dates; Nobara taught Yuji how to push back his cuticle’s etc.; he loves it) and they had to put a headband on him to push his hair back. 

He hatedloved how much he looked like Gojo. 

Grumbled the whole time but had to admit afterwards that his skin felt so soft.

Wears mismatched socks. 

Despite his messy room he has good personal hygiene; is still traumatised from the time he saw Gojo lick his palms and use his saliva as hair gel to get his hair to stick up like a troll doll. 

he might be a grotty teen but his hair just grows that way. 

No he can’t control the hair. 

Gojo once locked him in a car, left the window cracked open, said he would be gone for “10 minutes kid” and was gone for three hours. 

came back with snacks and covered in blood - he’s doing his best.

Megumi and Yuta have venting sessions about all the shit Gojo has done but get defensive whenever anyone else joins in. 

city boy; type of guy to say “cows!!!!!!!” everytime they pass one; for once Yuji is the one with the deadpan expression.

HATES monopoly; Gojo used to cheat all the time; Megumi once threw the board at him and was annoyed when it bounced off his infinity. 

Gojo used to hold him at an arms left with his palm on his forehead when he was annoyed; he still does. 

Terrible cook has never made anything edible in his life; burnt a boilt egg; Yuji tried to teach him how to cook once but nobody wants to know how he set fire to soup - he is literally banned from the kitchen.

obvious but he hates bullies. 

literally the mastermind behind all of Yuji and Nobara’s stupid plans; hides his crackhead energy under his grumpy demeanor. 

Instigator of fights between Nobara and Yuji - will tap Nobara on the shoulder and walk away before she sees or pull her hair; Yuji is stood there with innocent doe eyes as she violates him in return because she thinks he did it. 

he was raised by Gojo. 

has a POTTY MOUTH its Gojo’s fault.

godforbid you’re ever around him when he stubs his toes.

Once walked in on Gojo entertaining a lady friend; Gojo was wearing a pink robe, a nice sheer womanly one with feathered sleeves and hem; Megumi took photos for potential blackmail.

his plan for said blackmail was left in disarray when Gojo asKED HIM TO SEND HIM THE PICTUES. 

Megumi threw a hissy fit and smashed his phone so Gojo could never see the photos. 

“Hey kid send me those photos.” *smash* think of the so no head vine.

Attentive; remembers everything anyone ever says; will bring Yuji or Nobara their favourite snacks at random times especially if they’re stressed. Hates it when they say thank you. 

Can’t take compliments - Yuji once said he looked good and he turned on his heel and walked in the opposite direction, stone faced, but his ears were bright red. 

Equally can’t give compliments - “you don’t look bad today.” “that was good for you.” “no i like the skirt Nobara you’ve defintely looked worse.”

“What do you like about Yuji?” “Um... he fast?”

awkward thumbs up. 

King of the awkard hand signs - has backed out of a room doing hand guns and awkward moon walk when he’s pissed off Nobara. link

The first time Gojo teleported him, he dry heaved twice, choked “no I’m okay,’ and then threw up on Goju’s shoes. 

Goju threw up on him; he doesn’t do vomit. 

Megumi as a little child once ran into Goju’s room, standing in front of him saying “I think I’m going to be sick,” and Goju just vanished like teleported away. 

Had to get Ijichi to help. 

That being said, Goju is a total hypochondriac father; Megumi once cleared his throat and Goju grabbed by the back of the collar and sprinted (don’t ask why he didn’t teleport, he was panicKING) to the infamary to beg Shoko for help:

“WHAT’S WRONG WITH HIM?! WHAT’S WRONG WITH MY BOY.”

“You’re choking him out put the kid down!” megumi is literally being held up off the floor; gasping for air; feet swinging side to side as Goju frets swinging him back and forth crying.

“SHOKO I JUST GOT HIM HE’S BRAND NEW.”

Megumi now gets scared whenever he’s ill; would rather cry than let out the cough in case Gojo sees him. Will go bright red, sweat, veins threatening to pop.

cannot spell; Wednesday trips him up everytime. 

“WHY IS THERE A D?!”

[brekkie-e]

Kotallo and Alva Brotp Headcanons

◇ Kotallo is already a semi-neat person, but he picks up on the fact that organization and tidiness hold a deeper meaning to his new Quen friend. He can see the way her eye twitches when a little dirt or water runs on the counter after Zo tends the plants. Or how her hands jump to reposition the tankards on the kitchen counter as she makes the walk back to the data center after coming to speak with him. A tension in her shoulders at the end of the day that only eases when she returns her living quarters to the pristine and organized state she prefers.

:readmore:

He finds himself tidying his space a little extra, knowing that it will make her feel more comfortable in her visits. Before he realizes it, this instinct to ensure her comfort follows him to the common room. He subconsciously picks up any fallen leaves as he walks by the plants, tucking them back in to the pot so they aren't lying on the floor. Repositioning things as he walks behind Erend, the man leaving a trail of strike pieces, tools, and tankards in his wake. Neither he or Alva recognize the way he adjusts his behavior to match hers until one day they both instinctively reach to reposition a slingshot Aloy left on the counter in the common room, their hands colliding awkwardly in their haste. They both pause for a moment, eyes wide in surprise, before bursting in to laughter.

◇Kotallo tries to convince her to paint her face with him before heading to the Zenith base. He knows that Aloy believes her a capable warrior, but believes paint would help grant her the strength of the Ten that he fears she might desperately need. Alva is a little surprised and confused by his request to paint her face, but once she understands his reasoning it warms her heart. She still puts her foot down on the matter as a hard no. The idea of that much paint drying and pulling at her face and neck being a sensory nightmare. But she to show she appreciated his idea, she concedes and does a very light and small Quen pattern below her eyes. She makes a joke about him having the "Strength of the Ten" while she has the "Strength of the Quen" and he grins as they set out to save the world.

◇ Kotallo listens with awe to Alva recounting the tale of Faro's Tomb. When he discovers that Aloy and her ran through fire and molten lava as the building "fell from the sky" around them, he is inspired. He forces her to show him clips of the lava from her focus and gets so excited that he insists her and Aloy mark the event on their skin to commemorate the thrilling victory. Aloy isn't sold on the idea, but Alva is interested in the tenakth tattooing process so she agrees. Kotallo beams with pride as she gets the event etched into her wrist, the marshal excitedly telling all the Tenakth at the Grove of her brave adventure while Alva does her best to not cry in front of the intimidating yet hot tattoo artist.

◇This is probably one of their earliest conversations. Kotallo overhearing Alva mention that one of their adversaries is the Quen ancestor responsible for their battle tactics, and deciding to ask her about it. Both in hopes of understanding their enemy better, and to gather information for his personal project. Alva being surprised he approached her at first and then getting absolutely lost in an infodump about her people's history and knowledge of Visser. I don't think she'd share data files, if she even has them, because sharing the "legacy" seems to be a big taboo for Diviners. But I could see her word vomitting as much as she can remember about Visser to him.

Kotallo would at first be a little overwhelmed and surprised by the sheer intensity of it. Especially since not moments ago she appeared timid and unsure of his presence. But the excitement and confidence she exudes while she comprehensively explains the beliefs of her people impress him. She gestures with her hands and cuts her words with the same precision and self-assuredness he does with his blade.

And he sees for the first time, a warrior inside her. She has studied her craft and honed her mind with the same deligence he has, and uses her skills for the betterment of her people, as he does. Kotallo finds himself admiring the odd outlander in a way he had not expected. Though, he has never met another soul capable of speaking for such long periods of time without pausing for breath before. Somehow this also impresses him. He wonders if she swims.

◇He makes it a goal to teach her strike. She takes it kicking in screaming because no matter how many times he explains the rules to her, it seems he's speaking a different language and it goes right over her head. She eventually starts grasping the rules, and at that point she proves a very capable strategist. She is the first person in the base to beat him.

To pay him back, she teaches him a Quen game. Im picturing it being something similar to Go or Backgammon. He is terrible at it and it becomes his mission to unseat her as the reigning champion.