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thelighthousemp3 · 6 years ago

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my blood was once my own (what have you done?)

Summary: In a world where two soulmates feel each other's physical pain, Amy still doesn't really understand the whole soulmates thing, and she's not sure if she really wants to understand it. She knows that she wants to meet her soulmate though, but she just doesn't expect her soulmate to be Jake Peralta (he sure gets hurt a lot, though).

Notes: I’ve been working on this soulmate AU for quite some time and I’m really happy with what I’ve managed to write! The title lyrics are from “Anyone Else” by PVRIS. Also, I wanna thank @exploding-snapple for reading this over and giving me advice and feedback on how to improve it and just being awesome in general, and @outofinspo and @cheddar-the-dog for reading this over for me and being so nice and supportive!!! love my mutuals so much :) <3

read on ao3 or down below

When Amy Santiago is merely three years old, she steps on a lego, even though there isn’t a lego in sight. She dismisses it however, because she owns a ton of legos (mostly stolen from her brothers), and as a result, there are almost always a few littering the floor somewhere. So, she simply scrunches up her face and continues walking towards her father’s study, in search of some paper that she could scribble on.

What she doesn’t expect, however, is the feeling of about a million legos pressing into the bottom of both of her feet. Amy howls loudly and drops to the floor, trying to understand why her feet are hurting so bad even though there isn’t anything there (She doesn’t know it, but a young boy named Jake Peralta has just been dared by his best friend to walk across a floor of legos, and Jake Peralta is no coward to back down from a dare). Amy wails for her mother, but instead, her older brother Tony comes flying into the room. And that’s how she finds out about “soulmates.” The concept is far too complicated for Amy to grasp, but nevertheless she tries, showering her parents and her brothers with questions every opportunity she gets.

Pretty soon, though, the whole incident flies out of her head and she forgets about “soulmates”, because she’s three years old and there are more important things for her to be doing (such as filling up Tony’s math workbook with doodles, learning to read, and building complex buildings out of legos).

When she’s four and well versed in the art of reading, Tony, after much persuasion, finally agrees to let Amy come to the library with him. Amy is thrilled. As soon as they get to the library, she goes straight to the “soulmates” section and pulls out a book that looks to be about twice her weight. What she doesn’t expect, however, is the thin paper slicing into her index finger as she delicately turns the pages. Amy yelps in pain, quickly withdrawing her hand from the book and staring and the long red mark. It’s the first time she feels completely aware of her soulmate, ever since the lego incident.

She tells her brother while they’re riding back home on the bus. “I hurt my soulmate today,” she says innocently, peering up at Tony with large brown eyes. “But not on purpose.” Tony assures her that it's "never on purpose," but Amy suddenly realizes that it could be on purpose. She steers clear from harm though, even if her soulmate is constantly getting scratches and bruises here and there. The more she thinks about it, she realizes that she could do anything— stub her toe, nick her finger on a knife— to bring her soulmate to be aware of her.

Five-year-old Amy reveals this to her mother when caught gingerly holding a kitchen knife in one hand. She had been wondering if she should leave a small scratch on the palm of her hand— it’s been a while since her soulmate has gotten hurt (almost three weeks; a broken record!) and even though Amy has been careful to not get hurt, she can’t help but wonder what would happen if she did. Would her soulmate know that she had gotten hurt?

"Amy, you can't deliberately hurt your soulmate," her mother chides. "You're supposed to love your soulmate and try to keep them out of pain." This starts a chorus of "Amy hates her soulmate!" through some of her more annoying brothers (David being the ringleader, of course), and Amy tries to protest it, but they persist. She doesn't mind, though, because her mother winks at her and slips her an extra cookie, which to Amy, is much better than reprimanding her brothers.

A few months later, one of Amy’s older brothers starts dating a girl from his class. When Amy finds out, she eagerly asks, “is she your soulmate?” And it turns out that no, the girl is not his soulmate, and Amy becomes very confused as to why they’re dating then.

“Well,” her brother says, sitting down next to her on the couch, “not everyone finds their soulmate, you know. And someone doesn’t need to be your soulmate for you to love them, because while the whole concept of “soulmates” is cool and all, it doesn’t always work out. So you can date whoever you want, Ames, and I want you to know that you can love whoever the hell you want.” It’s more difficult for Amy to grasp because a) she wants to end up with her soulmate?? and b) but now she can end up with whoever she wants??? “Basically what I’m saying,” her brother continues, “is that you’re in control of your own life, and fuck the universe.”

“Swear jar!” David shouts as he bursts into the room, pointing at the tall jar set at the edge of the mantle. As Amy’s brother rolls his eyes and gets up, Amy is left on the couch, contemplating what he has just said to her. She’s in control of her own life. That’s fine with Amy; she likes to be in control.

“Don’t overthink it okay?” he turns around and says to Amy, right after slipping a dollar into the jar. And so Amy tries to not give it much thought because after all, she’s only five and she still has years to figure her life out.

When Amy’s six years old, there is only one occurrence of her feeling her soulmate’s pressing pain, and it’s a strange occurrence too. Amy’s sitting at her desk in her bedroom, working on summer math problems, when something hits her lungs and sucks all the oxygen out of her. Well, it feels like the oxygen’s been sucked out of her, because it hasn’t really, of course. She’s just feeling whatever’s happening to her soulmate.

But Amy gasps, drawing in air and spluttering as she drops her pencil onto the floor. She manages to scream, once, twice, before her father comes running in. He holds her, telling her “Amy, mija! Breathe! Breathe!” and so Amy does, and it seems hard at first, but she breathes with all of her might, because everything is okay, right? Her dad still insists on taking her to the ER, where they tell her that no, Amy doesn’t have asthma, and no, there is no sign of any damage in her body. It must have been something that her soulmate was feeling.

The next day, the local newspaper has a heading on page two that says “EIGHT YEAR OLD BOY NEARLY DROWNS AND IS SAVED BY LIFEGUARD”. The newspaper doesn’t reveal the boy’s name, but Amy feels a pang in her chest as she reads it and she just knows that it’s her soulmate. She tries getting Tony to take her down to the news office, but he gently tells her to not “push things,” for after all, she’s only six. And after some time, Amy drops it.

Elementary school is fun for Amy. Easy, but fun. She breezes through worksheets and readings and even offers to help around the classroom with grading and organizing. And thus begins the “Amy is hurt” saga. She pokes herself with a sharp colored pencil on the first day, drawing blood. One day, she accidentally nearly staples her finger, and another day she steps on a thumbtack. The number of paper cuts covering her fingers increases as well, and David starts a jar called the “Amy is hurt” jar. The rules are simple: every time one of the Santiago brothers see a scar or a bruise or mark on Amy’s body, they put a coin into the jar. The jar is supposed to go to Amy when she finds her soulmate, but Amy knows that the jar will fill up far before this happens. But no matter how often Amy gets hurt, her soulmate gets hurt way more often, and this telling comes in the form of the constant stubbed toes and the sharp pokes and skinned knees and the occasional nip on the hand by what feels like teeth? Does her soulmate have a pet?

One morning, she’s in the fifth grade and sitting inside and reading a book in the classroom during recess time. Her teacher sits at the desk at the front of the classroom, grading papers. Amy’s enjoying the third Harry Potter book, when she feels a smidge of pain biting at her knee. She tries to ignore it at first, because who knows what her soulmate is up to? But it grows and Amy bites her lip— she lets out a sharp gasp which has her teacher look up with concern.

“Are you okay, Santiago?” he asks, but Amy’s eyes are welling up with tears that are threatening to spill out. Amy manages to nod, but as soon as she looks down at her knees, the tears spill out and give it all away. “Is it your soulmate?” her teacher asks, giving her a knowing look, and Amy nods.

“I’m okay,” she says, “it’ll go away.” And it does, about half an hour later when Amy’s in the middle of English class. Her teacher goes easy on her that day, which she’s thankful for, because Amy doesn’t think that she would have been able to read out loud properly that day. Her knee still stings for a few days after, but she manages to get through it all while cursing her soulmate (she ends up losing about ten dollars to the swear jar and then about ten more after she curses out David for ratting her out).

“I’m gonna find my soulmate before you find yours,” David tells her one weekend when they’re sitting on the couch at home, bored out of their minds. Amy has a geometry workbook out in front of her, but it isn’t appealing to her at the moment, so she’s just staring out of the window. She tries to ignore David and solve a question about circumference in her head, but he says it again.

“Did you hear me? I’m gonna find my soulmate before you, Amy.” David sits down onto the couch next to her and glances over at the workbook. “The answer is 36 pi,” he says, and Amy promptly slams the book shut.

“I know,” she says, seething. “And you’re never gonna find your soulmate before me. You probably don’t even have a soulmate, because no one will ever love you!”

Her parents, unfortunately, walk in right at that second. Amy’s picture is put on the staircase, as David’s picture gloats at her from up on the mantle. So she storms up to her room in a rage, vowing that she’ll find her soulmate before David.

Middle school hits Amy like a whirlwind. Suddenly, the number one conversation during lunch and break is soulmates. One girl claims that she’s already found her soulmate. The others place lunch money bets on who’s going to end up with who. They play truth or dare; the dares always ending up to be something like “go punch Sammy, and we’ll see if Ally feels it.”

Amy hates all of it. She sits in the corner of the cafeteria with her nose in a book, occasionally peering over it to see who’s just been dared to pinch who.

Near the end of sixth grade, one pair is actually proven to be soulmates, causing an uproar in the school. One girl had been dared to punch another guy in the stomach, and across the cafeteria, a different girl doubled over in pain. The kids lead a few more experiments, and prove the two to be actual, real life soulmates.

Amy doesn’t know what to think of this. The two kids literally didn’t know each other before, and they had just found out that they were supposed to be soulmates. How is that supposed to work?! And with that, Amy realizes that soulmates are actually much more complex and trickier than she had realized.

She soars through middle school fast, graduating the eighth grade as valedictorian (which really, had been a very easy feat, as most of the other kids barely knew pre-algebra while Amy was reading over her older brothers’ trigonometry and calculus homework). High school comes as a storm, and the real soulmates drama starts, because there are at least three pairs who are already matched up as soulmates somehow. And then there’s the whole intricate mess of teenage feelings and playing with love, which Amy really hates.

So she ignores most of everything outside of academics, leading the stenographer’s club (which she is self-elected president of) and the after-school study hall. She is soaring high with her grades, which are the best that the high school has seen in a long time (she manages to get 100-120% on most of her finals), and doing her best to just ignore soulmates.

Graduation comes with Amy giving the valedictorian speech, but yet again, soulmates drama ruins everything again. She’s trying to give her speech when one kid trips in the stands, and from across the hall, another kid yells out in pain. Two soulmates found yet again right at the end of high school, in the middle of Amy’s supposed moment.

She’s a little jealous, though, and deep down she’s scared that she’ll never find her soulmate like all of these people are finding theirs. Then she would have to lose the soulmate bet to David and live in shame for like, ever. But she disguises her jealousy as annoyance, and just continues with life.

She’s studying hard at college when her soulmate makes a comeback. The feeling of bruised knuckles and sore abs makes Amy wonder what her soulmate is getting up to, and she finds herself daydreaming of her soulmate in the middle of an art history lecture. Is he an athlete? Does he live across the world from her, or is he situated in New York? What does he look like? What would his voice sound like—

“Santiago, do you know who first introduced the concept of modernism?” Her professor’s voice cuts right through Amy’s daydreams like a sharp knife.

“Ludwig Mies van der Rohe and Le Corbusier in the mid-twentieth century introduced modernism in architectural structure through their glass buildings,” Amy answers with confidence, and her professor moves on after giving her a short nod.

Her soulmate is working out; that much she knows. His legs and arms ache at night, and Amy’s sure that he’s been building some muscles. Why? She doesn’t know, but she hopes to meet him and find out one day.

One night, Amy’s sitting alone in her crappy Brooklyn apartment that she had just gotten for a pretty good rent price. She’s scrolling through her phone and staring at the pictures that David had just sent in the Santiago family group chat— the ones of him living it up and partying after his police training academy graduation ceremony. Amy had been invited to the party, of course, but she had made something up about finishing up some studying for university. She sits on the couch, almost asleep, when a dozen shards of glass seem to rip into her palms. Amy jolts awake and shakes out her hands with a little bit of fear rising up in her, because her soulmate it a real stupid-head and she sure hopes that he hasn’t done anything really stupid just now. A few seconds later, however, the pain dulls and her fingers turn cold, so she ignores the blood throbbing in her hands and falls back asleep on the couch.

She enrolls in the police training academy a month later, mostly because her papa was a great cop and she looks up to him, but also because David’s already gone through with the police training academy and Amy kinda sorta just really wants to beat David in life. Maybe if she can make detective faster than him, then maybe she’ll find her soulmate faster than him. It’s a weird sense of logic, but Amy just goes through with it and enrolls in the academy.

She’s top in her class there, as usual. At least, with the academic portion of training academy. She has to work a little bit harder with the physical part of it, so she ends up going to the gym nearly every night and giving it her all until she’s visibly improved.

Amy learns how to kick down doors and run miles faster than she ever could before. She memorizes all of the ten-codes and legal procedures for different types of crimes. She learns all of the ropes of the legal world, and suddenly she’s graduating from police training academy at the top of her class. (David isn’t invited to the party. The party consists of some of her fellow graduates and her old friends Kylie, and some other people she doesn’t know.)

Beat cop life starts… rough. Amy’s a Latina woman in a precinct full of white dudes, and she’s almost sure that most of them make fun of her— the way she has to be so precise with her paperwork, so organized with her desk, and perhaps taking notes at the morning briefing wasn’t necessary.

One guy sticks out of the rest, though. He’s nice to Amy, helping her sort through her paperwork and solve cases. He tells the others to stop when they start mocking Amy, and Amy just has to crack a smile because maybe being a beat cop isn’t going to be so bad. His name is Teddy, and it’s the first time Amy’s wished that someone in front of her is her soulmate.

He’s most likely not, though, because Amy gets pretty ragged up on the job; he gets pretty ragged up on the job, and besides, somewhere Amy’s soulmate is getting ragged up every other day too. Amy knows that Teddy isn’t her soulmate, because one day, she cuts herself on a shard of glass while they’re scouring the crime scene (she mentally beats herself up for ruining such a valuable piece of evidence) and Teddy doesn’t even wince. Amy even sees his face fall before offering to go get her a bandage or something to wrap her hand up in. Amy’s not sure whether she’s relieved or disappointed that Teddy isn’t her soulmate, but after she cuts her hand, she feels a thick needle poke into her skin and lets out a yelp. Granted, Amy herself had just gotten hurt, but her soulmate is nevertheless… a moron.

Amy climbs through her beat cop years with high spirits. The job is hard work but engaging and fun, and Amy’s stayed long working hours, worked overtime, and she’s just ready to get a promotion.

The promotion doesn’t come easily. Her captain is, well, gross. Amy works exceptionally hard for her promotion, devoting hours to studying for the detective’s exam, but her captain insists that it’s him, pulling some strings around for her to get her a promotion. It doesn’t make Amy feel good, so she files for a transfer almost immediately after ranking detective.

“The Ninety-Ninth Precinct,” she reads aloud, as soon as she receives her transfer papers. Her captain almost immediately pops up.

“Oh, I know the captain of the Nine-Nine. McGintley. You’ll do great there.” His voice makes her feel well, uncomfortable, and Amy tries sliding away from him. However, he persists, telling Amy about all of the wonderful things that could happen if she stayed in this precinct.

She moves to the Nine-Nine a day later. She’s greeted by a man with wildly curly hair— he’s wearing a sweatshirt with the sleeves rolled up as he shakes her hand and welcomes her to the Nine-Nine. Amy pushes her bangs out of her face as another, shorter, man walks up behind them. “I hear wedding bells!” he chirps, and Amy looks uncomfortably up at Detective Jake Peralta, who looks as uncomfortable as she feels.

“That’s Charles,” he says with embarrassment laced into his voice. “Sorry.”

“Uh, no need to apologize,” she says, “do you know where my desk is?”

He leads her to her desk and Amy starts her first day at the Nine-Nine with a high note. Jake introduces her to everyone. Detective Rosa Diaz greets Amy with a scowl as she polishes a large knife. Civilian Administrator Gina Linetti doesn’t even look up from her phone when Amy says hello. Detective Charles Boyle yelps with excitement, and Sergeant Terry Jeffords shakes her hand a little too firmly.

“But where’s the captain…?” Amy asks, looking around.

“Asleep,” Jake says. “We find it best not to bother him. Wanna play fire-extinguisher race, Rosa?”

“Yup,” Rosa says, tossing a fire extinguisher at him. Amy watches from her desk, mortified. The precinct is a hot mess, and Amy isn’t sure how they manage to even get any work done. She tries focusing on a case file, but finds herself distracted by the other detectives, all up to their shenanigans.

Jake had made a first impression on her, seemingly nice. She soon finds out that he isn’t.

As soon as Jake finds out that Amy is the Type-A, always wants to get her work done right, he starts teasing her, and it’s relentless. She ignores him most of the time, but sometimes bites back at his comments with her own comebacks, which she finds she’s getting way better at.

She adjusts to life at the Nine-Nine, and finds herself looking forward to her three alarms ringing every morning. She looks forward to banter with Jake, working silently on cases with Rosa, and listening to all of Terry’s stories about his kids.

Then comes the bet. Jake loves getting a rise out of Amy, so one day, he proposes a bet on who can make the most arrests. Amy decides to agree, much to his surprise. They come to the terms quickly— Amy gets Jake’s car if she wins, because she knows that he loves his car. He says that he’s going to take her on the worst date in history— she doesn’t believe him, because there’s no way that he’s being serious. Nevertheless, she continues doing her best to make arrests and get her numbers to climb higher than Jake’s.

The Nine-Nine is way better than her old precinct, even though Captain McGintley is pretty much incompetent.

That changes quickly. McGintley transfers out of the Nine-Nine, and in transfers Captain Raymond Holt, who is stoic and serious, and Amy’s sure that he’s going to be a wonderful captain. However, she embarrasses herself within the first minute of Holt’s arrival, which she doesn’t know how to get over.

She wants him to be her mentor; to teach her everything he knows, which Jake quickly finds out and teases her a ton for. She ignores it, as usual.

Life at the Nine-Nine under the eye of Captain Raymond Holt turns productive. They’re solving cases left and right (except for Hitchcock and Scully, obviously), and the bet has motivated the entire precinct even more. Everyone starts taking sides— Rosa’s surprisingly on Amy’s side (“Can’t wait to see you car be lit on fire by Santiago,” she had said to Jake), and Charles, ever the loyal friend, takes Jake’s side. No one’s really sure where Gina lies on the bet. Terry refuses to take sides, being the responsible sergeant that he is.

Amy’s 90% sure that she’s going to win. Jake is… annoying and she really wants to show him that she’s the boss— that she can stand up for herself and evade his teasing. Besides, Amy really doesn’t want to go on a date with him. He’s not her soulmate, after all.

Right as she thinks she’s gonna win, Jake brings in more arrests and the bet is closed.

Amy loses. Jake wins. She has to go on the worst date in the world with her not-soulmate.

Right away, it’s terrible. He has her put on an ugly dress that she hates. It doesn’t get any better, either. Or so she thinks. Right as Jake’s about to further make a fool of her, Captain Holt calls upon them to work a case, much to Amy’s immense relief.

And then it’s not so bad. Amy actually valiantly tries to focus on the case they’re working, but she finds her attention gravitating towards Jake more and more. She’s actually having fun on that rooftop on 397 Barton Street, and she finds herself playing one of Jake’s games (throwing up peanuts and catching them in her mouth) and it’s actually fun.

They end up arresting their perp in well time— going undercover and pretending to be a newly-engaged couple, which sails almost too smoothly. She and Jake work together almost too well. It’s actually rather unnerving.

Soon afterward, the Nine-Nine heads off to Tactical Village, something that Amy and nearly everyone else has looked forward to since like forever. Tactical Village is one of the best parts of being a detective, other than the paperwork and like, bringing justice to the city.

Amy is met with a surprise at Tactical Village— Teddy. She hasn’t seen him in ages, other than keeping up with his Facebook and sending the occasional text message that never really seems to hit it off.

Surprisingly, it isn’t awkward. They quiz each other on police codes, and through that, they hit it off pretty well. He even asks her out on a date, which Amy agrees to.

Amy's in a new relationship, and she's enjoying it. And so it doesn't feel very great when Jake Peralta confesses that he has feelings for her right before he goes undercover with the mafia. It leaves Amy confused as ever and wondering if Jake could potentially be her soulmate.

She's been pondering over why she had accepted Teddy's offer of going on a date… Amy’s romanticized the idea of having a soulmate, and Teddy probably isn’t hers. She knows that, he knows that, so why are they suddenly going out? It’s a well-known fact that not everyone meets their soulmate in life, and sometimes something happens where soulmates don’t work or something.

Amy likes him, even though she ultimately wants to find her soulmate. Teddy’s nice enough, so going on a few dates probably won’t hurt.

And it doesn’t hurt. Teddy’s great. But if Amy's being totally honest with herself, he just isn't what she wants. He's not enough. Amy's not getting any closer to finding her soulmate by playing it safe and dating Teddy.

But she's also very conflicted on whether to break up with him or not. As everyone knows, soulmates can change, and what if Teddy ends up actually being her real soulmate? What if the universe sees them together and decides that they're a better fit?

However, Amy somehow knows that she's done the right thing when she blurts out "I wanna break up" as soon as she sees him carrying a bottled pilsner to their coffee date. It hurts a little bit but ultimately, Amy's made the right decision and she knows it.

By this time, though, Jake dating someone else. Which hurts, especially since Amy's been thinking of Jake's time undercover with the mafia. Sometimes, while Jake had been away, Amy had felt kicks and punches; bruises making her arms and legs sore. A little piece of her mind, deep inside, had wondered if it had been Jake.

She lets it go. Jake's dating Sophia. They might actually be soulmates. Jake hasn't said anything about them not being soulmates.

So Amy concentrates on work, harder than ever before. She pours all of her energy into working and making Captain Holt happy, quitting cigarettes, and finishing crosswords from the 1950s New York Times.

Three weeks later, Jake suddenly finds himself single just when the Nine-Nine is invited to a tactical-terrorist simulation by the Department of Homeland Security. Rosa and Amy have their little bet going on― whoever shoots more terrorists wins. Amy wins, obviously, but shortly after she shoots Rosa, she feels a pang in her own chest.

It feels exactly like a paintball has hit her, even though there's no paint on her torso at all.

Amy stares at Rosa. "I―"

"What?" Rosa glares at her with annoyance. "You just shot me, Santiago."

"Are you my soulmate?"

" What?" Rosa wildly looks around before returning her attention to Amy. "Why would you say that?"

"I― I felt a paintball―" Amy stammers.

Rosa punches her in the shoulder.

"Ow!" Amy jerks away from her. "What was that for?!"

Rosa shrugs. "I didn't feel that. You felt it. I'm not your soulmate, Santiago. But if you felt a paintball…" Rosa raises an eyebrow, "we better find out who else got shot." She stands up, pulling Amy up with her. "I bet it was Jake."

Red rises up into Amy's cheeks. "What? Why would you say that? No, he's not. I bet he wasn't shot. He probably has the whole situation under control. I bet he has Homeland Security trapped right now. Jake wouldn't get shot. Jake's fine," she babbles. Rosa sighs in annoyance and they go out in search for the rest of the Nine-Nine.

Jake had been shot. The paint marks the exact place where Amy had felt it.

Rosa looks at Amy with a questioning stare.

Amy glares at her, warning Rosa to keep her mouth shut. It could've been a coincidence; Jake probably isn't her soulmate. Still suspicion rises up in Amy, no matter how much she tries to keep it to herself.

A week passes by, and Amy knows that she's been acting weird around Jake. He doesn't seem to notice it, and before long, they're going out on a case together.

They're working undercover.

As a couple.

It kinda hurts, every time Amy looks at Jake and grins, pretending that he's Johnny and she's Dora. They're a newly-engaged couple.

The perp's date looks over at them adoringly. "Ohmygosh, are you guys soulmates!?"

"Yup!" Jake says, making eye-contact with Amy.

"Yeah," Amy adds, "I punched him in the shoulder once, and that's how we found out!"

"Oh my god, that's so cute."

"Yup!" Jake and Amy say in unison.

Ten minutes later, they're making out in front of the kitchen to keep their cover from the perp. It's like fireworks light up inside of Amy's head and heart as she pulls Jake deeper into the kiss, and it sort of feels like it's meant to be.

Oh shit, maybe Jake really is meant to be her soulmate.

After the case is over, though, neither of them talk about all of the making-out. Amy does her best to shove the memory to the back of her mind and forget all about it, but no matter how hard she tries, the kiss keeps on popping up in her dreams; haunting her at night.

She's in love with Jake, whether or not he's her soulmate. It fucking hurts.

Two weeks later, Amy gets a text in the Santiago family group chat. Her whole family is meeting up at the Santiago household, for a little family get-together. The invite says "All soulmates welcome!" and it causes a sort-of panic inside of her.

David is gonna be there. Amy's reminded of her bet with him from a while back, when they were kids― that David could probably find his soulmate before Amy could, and Amy has the urge to win against David in everything.

She needs to find her soulmate before the reunion, which is in less than a week.

No matter how much Amy slices her fingers with sharp edges of paper over the next four days, Jake just doesn't look up from his desk. He's not feeling it. He's not her soulmate. Amy is doomed.

But still, Amy needs a date. A fake soulmate. Someone to pretend to be her soulmate and help her win against David, because Amy is not going to let David have this triumph.

And who better to ask to be her fake soulmate than Jake? It would be pretty easy to explain, and Amy's still longing for Jake to be her real soulmate, so one night of pretending couldn't hurt.

So she musters up her courage and finally walks over to Jake when they’re about to leave the bullpen to go home, merely a day before the reunion. She stops him, placing a hand on his arm until he turns around to look at her questioningly.

“Uh, hey,” she fidgets slightly for a moment before confidently looking him in the eye, ”I need a favor.”

Jake looks at her questioningly, arching one eyebrow with interest. “I’m not gonna have sex with you,” he says, grinning from ear to ear as if he’s just won the award for comedian of the year.

Pink spreads across Amy’s cheeks and she looks away for a moment. “No! Gross! I would rather die than—ugh!” She gags in his face before taking a deep breath. “No, I need you to, uh, accompany me somewhere.”

Jake seems to consider it. “You know, that’s gonna come at a price,” he mulls a mischievous smile spreading over his face. Amy sucks in a breath—“Die Hard movie marathon!” Jake announces cheerfully, and Amy releases her breath. A Die Hard movie marathon couldn’t be so bad, could it? And then Jake says, “and you’re bringing the orange soda,” so Amy starts preparing for the longest day of her life.

“Wait, I haven’t even told you where we’re going yet,” Amy grimaces as Jake starts to leave, “I need you to pretend to be my soulmate.”

This stops Jake in his tracks and he turns back around to stare at her indecorously. “Why?”

“It’s really stupid,” Amy starts rambling, “but all of my brothers are going to be in town and I have this one brother—David—who I made a bet with when I was like twelve that I would find my soulmate before he found his. And I’m seeing David tomorrow—I don’t know if he’s found his, but on the offhand chance that he has, well, it’s really important to me to like, beat David.” She looks at Jake hopefully, who stares back at her with doubt.

Amy sighs. “I’ll bring sour candy to the Die Hard marathon,” she says, and Jake immediately brightens.

“I mean, if there’ll be food and the chance to find blackmail material on you, then whatever. I’m in,” Jake says.

Amy grins at him. “Great! Let me just show you the binder—”

“There’s a binder?!” Jake groans.

“I’ll bring three packs of gummy candy,” Amy says hopefully.

“Fine. Deal.”

The rest of the evening goes by with them looking at the binder; coming up with their story and how they were going to prove to David that they were actually soulmates. “We’re keeping it simple. We met on the job, obviously, and figured out that we’re soulmates during a sting operation, when you skinned your knee and I felt it,” Amy says. “No doubt David’s gonna try to prove it for himself, and pinch me or something, so you have to stay close to me and keep an eye out for him so that you can play the part.”

Jake rolls his eyes at all of this. “Boring. Can we get to the fun stuff now? Like, which one of your brothers is the hottest? Also, what if one of your brothers turns out to be my real soulmate? What if David turns out to be my real soulmate? Also, how hot is he?”

“Gross. I mean, you both suck, so you would suit each other.” Amy swats Jake lightly on the shoulder with annoyance. “But no, not happening. I’ll pick you up tomorrow at six. No funny business.”

Funny business happens at six o’clock PM that next day, when Jake emerges from his apartment decked out in an overlarge suit and green-tinted aviator glasses. He balances a top hat in his hand as he bows deeply to Amy. “After you, m’lady,” he says, blowing her a kiss.

Amy closes her eyes for a minute before groaning. “I knew that this was gonna happen,” she mutters, dragging him by the arm and to her car. She opens the trunk and grabs a plastic bag full of clothes, thrusting it in his arms and pointing back towards the apartment building. “Go. Change.”

Jake grins at her sheepishly but leaves, emerging from the building a few minutes later in the fresh clothes that Amy had given him. He looks much nicer, Amy has to admit, and she has to tear her eyes away for a second as he gets into the car.

They get to the Santiago household half an hour later to find cars parked all up the driveway. Amy parks near the side of the road, and the two walk up the steps of the house, arm in arm.

Camila Santiago opens the door. “Oh, Amy!” She pulls her daughter in for a hug before looking up at Jake. “Jake? What are you doing here?”

“Mama, he’s my soulmate.” Amy flashes a grin at her mother, who stands shell-shocked before a smile plasters onto her face.

“Oh my goodness, mija, why didn’t you tell me! How long have you two known?!” She's still staring at Jake with a kind of judgmental look on her face, so Amy sends a glare at her mother.

“It’s very fresh,” Amy says. “We found out a while ago and we’ve been keeping it under the wraps.” Oh, Amy Santiago is an excellent liar.

Jake sheepishly smiles at Camila as she raises an eyebrow at him, and steps aside to let them into the house.

Amy’s immediately shoved into the arms of numerous brothers—Carlos, Michael, Sammy, Tony, David—she can’t keep track of all of them, all who ask her about how she’s doing and how is work and—

“I found my soulmate,” Amy announces, her words directed at David.

David squints at her. “You’re definitely lying,” he decides, and in a panic, Amy pulls Jake forward.

“I am not. This is Jake.” Amy pinches herself in the arm and watches with satisfaction as Jake pretends to yelp. “He feels my pain, and I’ve found my soulmate before you, David. I win.”

“Actually,” David says, “I met someone who I’m pretty sure is my soulmate.”

“Not the same thing as being together with your soulmate,” Amy shoots at him, and he shuts up.

Introducing Jake to her father is a whole different story, because unlike David, Victor Santiago wants to know all of the facts, and he wants to know them now. Amy prays that Jake has the story right in his mind so that he doesn’t mess up and cause suspicion if questioned alone. “He’s a detective, Papa,” Amy says, “You know that. And you’ve met him before.”

Victor Santiago does not approve of Jake Peralta being his daughter’s (fake) soulmate, but it’s soulmates, right? Matters of the universe and the heart, so there’s nothing that Victor can do about it other than to grouse about it to his wife and daughter. “I can’t believe you got someone so dumb as your soulmate, Amy,” he criticizes.

Camila laughs. “I should say the same for myself,” she jokes. “I think that Jake and Amy may actually be a good match.”

“I mean, of course they’re a ‘good’ match if they’re soulmates, ” Victor reasons. “I’m just saying, Camila, not all soulmates end up working out like us.”

“Dad,” Amy cuts in, offended, “I like him. We’re happy.” And she turns around and looks at Jake,--who is immersed in conversation with Carlos Santiago—and a smile spreads over Amy’s face because truly, she is happy to have a partner like Jake who’s always got her back in stakeouts and weird family events. (Maybe, the only reason she’s suppressing her feelings for him is because he’s not actually her soulmate, and it would be unfair to both of their soulmates?)

As soon as Amy walks away from her parents, she’s cornered by David. “Are you and Jake actually even soulmates? You don’t seem to be very much in love,” he accuses, his eyebrows raised at his sister.

“What?” Amy feigns offense. “Like I said, it’s very much fresh—we only just found out—” she fumbles for words, tracking David’s gaze over to Jake, who’s sitting on the couch in between two of her little brothers, animatedly talking about Die Hard.

In a flash, David pinches his nails into Amy’s arm, keeping his eyes on Jake.

“Ouch!” Amy shakes David off in a panic, staring right at Jake.

Jake yelps, and covers the spot on his own arm with the palm of his hand. He looks up and meets Amy’s eyes, flashing her a bright grin. As soon as David looks away in defeat, Jake gives Amy a thumbs up.

The rest of the night seems to go by pretty smoothly, much to Amy’s relief.

Near midnight, Tony comes over, holding something behind his back. He sits down on the couch next to Amy, and it’s just the two of them. Amy relaxes a little bit, tearing her paranoid gaze away from Jake and allowing herself to face her brother with undivided attention.

Out of all of her brothers, Amy’s missed Tony probably the most. Sitting down and talking to him— just the two of them— it knocks a wave of nostalgia over her heart as Tony clears his throat.

“So, Ames,” he says, “you and Jake, huh?”

Amy fidgets a little bit. She doesn’t feel great lying to Tony, but she nods. “Uh, yeah! I know right, it’s crazy.”

“Congrats on finding your soulmate.” He pulls out a large jar from behind his back and presents it to Amy. There’s a little tape label on the jar; written in wobbly black sharpie letters, it says, ‘AMY IS HURT’. Amy recognizes David’s adolescent scrawl and the memory of the jar washes over her until she feels a little bit faint. It’s probably the nicest thing that David’s ever done for her.

“It’s probably not a lot of money, but—”

Amy knocks Tony over into a hug. She can feel her eyes welling up, and the fact that Jake isn’t really her soulmate is making her feel incredibly terrible.

“Are you crying?” Tony looks at Amy indecorously. “Ames, it’s not really that big of a deal, you know,” he says, and Amy just wishes that she could tell him. She wants to tell Tony so bad but she keeps her mouth shut, for the sake of keeping hers and Jake’s covers.

And then a thought suddenly occurs to her— what if she ends up meeting her actual soulmate later on? Soulmates can change— she’s definitely heard of it happening— but it would be a lot to explain to the family.

She really just wants Jake to be her soulmate. It's all Amy wants.

Two nights later, Amy shows up at Jake's doorstep, holding a plastic bag full of packets of gummy candy. He opens it a minute later, wearing a t-shirt and sweatpants. His eyes light up as soon as he sees the candy in Amy's arms, and he grabs the bag from her ecstatically.

"I have the DVDs ready," he grins, ripping open a bag of sour gummy worms.

Amy tries not to stare at his bare arms so much as he leads her into the living area. The couch is covered in soft blankets, and the whole place looks cozy.

Amy might actually be looking forward to this Die Hard movie marathon.

Jake sets a bowl of popcorn on the coffee table in front as he starts the movie and sits down on the couch. Amy stiffly sits down beside him, not wanting to get too close. She's still reeling from all of the leftover feelings from the other night― wishing that Jake could be her real soulmate because she's still kinda in love with him. Like, badly.

"I'm not gonna bite," Jake laughs, settling closer to her on the couch.

Amy nearly flinches. "Title of your sextape."

"Okay, I'll admit, that was a good one," Jake says as the movie begins. The sextape joke kinda seems to relax Amy, and she takes a deep breath as she prepares herself for endless hours of watching Die Hard.

It isn't that bad, mainly because Amy's not really focused on the movie. She's more focused on Jake, who puts an arm around her shoulder about halfway through the movie. It sends a shiver running down Amy's spine, and she looks up at him.

"What?" he asks, "is that okay?"

Amy nods, and returns her attention back to the movie.

She can't believe she's so attracted to the guy who's just eaten four packets of sour candy and is currently shouting at the screen as John McClane does something "cool" and "heroic."

Amy reaches for the bowl of popcorn and pulls it into her lap. She picks out the more buttery ones, and apparently, Jake has the same idea, because their hands meet in the middle of the popcorn bowl. Amy fumbles with the popcorn and ends up dropping the entire bowl on the floor.

"Amy!"

"Sorry!"

And suddenly, both of them are crawling on their hands and knees, picking up stray pieces of popcorn off the floor.

It happens in a blur: Jake bangs his shoulder into the coffee table. Pain ricochets up into Amy's shoulder, and the popcorn spills out of her hands and back onto the floor where she sits in shock.

"Ames. Ames." Jake's voice is faint and far away. She doesn't know what's happening. And then the flashbacks start.

The headline, from when she was six. " EIGHT YEAR OLD BOY NEARLY DROWNS AND IS SAVED BY LIFEGUARD." And Jake, in the break room, years later. "I almost drowned when I was eight." How could Amy not put two and two together?!

That wasn't the only hint that had been dropped right in front of Amy's nose over the years. There was so much more. The bruises and injuries when Jake went undercover with the mafia, the paintball at the tactical-terrorist simulation, and literally everything else.

She's a terrible detective.

"Amy. Amy!" Jake's voice brings her back to reality, and Amy feels a tear dripping down her cheek. "Look, I know that this may not seem good, and I'm so sorry." Jake's voice is controlled and calming. Amy feels her breathing return to normal as she gets over the initial shock.

"I―" Jake continues, "I had my suspicions about this. I did. But I found out found out at the Santiago family reunion. You remember when David pinched you and I was literally across the room?" Amy nods, so Jake continues. "I actually felt that. It was genuine. That's when I figured out that… well, we're soulmates, Amy."

"I'm in love with you," Amy blurt out, and instantly, she wraps her arms around his neck and pulls him closer. He's practically on top of her now, and they're sitting on the floor and kissing against the couch.

It's the best thing that's ever happened to Amy, even better than being named valedictorian for about ten consecutive years. It's better than her mother's home-cooked meals, better than new binder tabs, better than everything and anything. It's so warm and nice and Amy's never been more in love.

Jake's hand is cupping one side of her face when they pull away. He tenderly strokes her cheeks and they make eye contact. Amy takes a deep breath.

"I'm glad you're my soulmate," she finally says after waiting a minute.

"Me too."

And just like that, they're officially together. Jake and Amy.

When they tell the squad, Charles shouts out, "called it!" and immediately faints from overexcitement.

"I told you so," Rosa smirks at Amy before fist-bumping Jake. Despite herself, Amy grins.

Captain Holt walks up to them. "I just wanted to say…" he looks at Amy for a brief moment, "I am very happy for both of you. I am also very proud of you."

Amy's grinning wider than ever. Jake takes the opportunity to speak.

"That you, Captain. But you're gonna wanna be careful with the compliments. Amy here has a praise kink."

Amy punches Jake in the arm. She immediately regrets it, though, because the pain just shoots right back into her own arm.

Four weeks pass and Jake and Amy are doing great. They're happy together, everything is going wonderful, and Amy's new life calendar is going exactly according to plan.

Unfortunately, Jake going into witness protection in Florida is not on Amy's life calendar, but it happens anyway. It sucks because he's so far away, yet so close because Amy can feel it every time he punches a wall out of frustration, every time he kicks furniture around and screams at the top of his lungs.

She's so relieved when the Nine-Nine road trips down to Florida to bail out Jake and Captain Holt because all she wants is to see Jake again.

But when she sees him, they're so out of sync and everything feels so wrong. Amy loves Jake, and she knows he loves her too, but whatever's happening is not working. All of that time apart hadn't been amazing.

Before long, they go out to take Jimmy "The Butcher" Figgis's team at the arcade. Everything ends up going pretty well, up until the part where Jimmy Figgis takes Jake at gunpoint. Amy knows what she has to do; she's just not sure if Jake's okay with it until he gives her the short "go ahead" nod.

And Amy knows that they're both about to be in excruciating pain, but she pulls the trigger and lets a bullet fly into Jake's leg.

Everything is a blur after that. Amy's in crippling pain, but she surges forward towards Jake until the squad is out to help. They get Jake to an ambulance, and Amy crumples onto the floor, holding her leg because it's exactly what's Jake's going through.

Rosa pulls her up and effortlessly carries her to the ambulance, where they're taking care of Jake. She grips his hand tightly as they work through the gunshot pain together, once more back in sync.

Life is nice and breezy, right up until Jake and Rosa are falsely convicted for Melanie Hawkin's bank robberies and sent to prison. The sentence is fifteen years, and Amy knows she's going to wait for Jake― after all, he is her soulmate― but Amy's not sure how she's going to make it through without him being constantly at her side.

She busies herself with working on his and Rosa's case, going through the case files hundreds of times over and over again until she finds herself sleeping at her desk late at night when everyone, even Boyle, has already gone home.

Amy doesn’t want to go home. Home is supposed to be with Jake, but Jake is in a prison facility somewhere far away. Amy knows that if she goes home to their apartment, she’s just going to end up missing him even more.

What's even worse is that Amy can feel it every single time Jake gets into a prison fight, and it sucks. She's not particularly concerned about herself feeling Jake's pain; she's more concerned about the fact that Jake is getting hurt and he's not safe.

The nightmares hurt just as much. She dreams of him being taken away to the prison over and over again, waking each morning with the hope that Jake can't feel her emotional pain, because he's probably already worried as it is.

They make a breakthrough in the case when they finally figure out where Melanie Hawkins had been hiding the diamonds, and it's as if the weight of the whole world has been lifted off of Amy's shoulders because she can finally see Jake again.

Prison has changed Jake. Amy can tell. He flinches when she hugs him for the first time after they reunite. Amy takes a deep breath and buries her face in his shoulder and wishes that she could somehow feel Jake's emotional pain and just take it all away.

Amy wants to make things better for him, but she just doesn't know how. He's trying to act normal around her; she can tell. The way he brushes his teeth at night and hops into his pajamas and then into bed may seem normal, but there's a silence that lies underneath all of it that turns their domestic life mesmerizingly eery. They swing back into their routine until everything just feels like a robotic cycle, and Amy just can't take it anymore.

So when the Halloween Heist comes around, Amy doesn't expect Jake to be up and energetic about it. However, he's bouncing off the walls with energy and fierce competitiveness. It spurs Amy on to see Jake like this, so she immerses herself in the competition as well. It's nice to see Jake actually passionate about something, and it feels like they're clicking back together, so Amy vows to get that cummerbund in any way that she can.

Jake proposing to her is the last thing Amy expects when she thinks that she's sealed the win. It turns her whole heart into a strange whirlwind of love for him because as soon as she says yes and he puts the ring onto her finger, the whole world seems alright again.

They're together. They're okay. They're soulmates, and they're going to get married and everything is going to be okay. It's everything Amy wants― for life to be just the two of them against the world.

She wants to spend the rest of her life with Jake. Amy loves him so much and she knows that she's willing to feel his pain in the hardest of times because whatever happens, they're going to be in it together.

Notes: thank you and i hope you liked it! there IS a partner fic to this, set in the same universe, but it’s just dianetti instead of peraltiago! link: i’ll carry your pain (along with my own)

#lina writes #my fic #b99 fic #b99 #brooklyn nine-nine #brooklyn nine-nine fic #jake peralta #amy santiago #peraltiago #peraltiago fic #soulmate au #peraltiago soulmate au #jake x amy #peraltiago fanfic

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mindswe-had · 4 years ago

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I was pretty stupid at twelve. Might get into the causes for that later, but long story short I got into self harming. Yeah, that wasn’t glorious. I never really planned on actually doing this, but I’ve come to realise a few people I know close to me have been having the same issues lately. And I can’t lie, it’s been pretty triggering for me getting into the details of why, how and when every time someone reaches out to me for help. So I figured why not just write about it. I guess here’s how I got out of it, and what keeps me going. Because I feel like no matter the what caused it to occur, self harming never is the only thing you’ve got left. Welcome to one of many unwritten therapy sessions.

Part one- please listen to me

I think, looking back, that one of the main reasons I got into self harming was I didn’t feel listened to. Or “left out”, as I would call it. I could’ve had dozens of friends around (which I did not anyway lol), I would’ve always felt alone. Well not alone, but lonely. And I remember even back then wishing so hard to have someone close to me, someone so persistent they would’ve gotten through the walls I was (subconsciously) building around myself. Having no one, or at least feeling like you don’t, can quickly become the start of an even deeper downfall. And that’s exactly what happened with me, but once again I am not getting into the details of this now.

So how do you make someone struggling with self harming actually FEEL like you’re there? I’d say first off, be available and let them know you are. But don’t insist on it, else it just feels like you’re trying to get them to tell you something. It starts with nothing, really. Even just sitting with them for a minute and asking about their day helps. Or just sit in silence with them if they let you, feeling someone’s presence can be extra comforting sometimes. Or watch with them that one show they like so much. Show them that you care always. Don’t be too intrusive, leaving the person their own space is key, but let them know you’re free for them whenever they need. No matter how hard you want to help someone that might be struggling, do not ever push them to talk about things they want to keep a secret. As long as you let them know you’re here and not going, you’re becoming sort of a safe space to them. And you do not always want to talk when in a safe space. So don’t ask questions, but listen instead. If they want to talk to you and feel safe enough with you they will. It never really is a one way thing though. Put some trust in them as well. Confide in them, even on the most little stuff. Inevitably that makes them feel somewhat valued, which is crucial when it comes to helping them trust you. Most importantly, it’s so incredibly hard becoming part of someone’s safe space without forcing yourself in. It takes so much time, gentleness and patience. Don’t blame yourself if they don’t talk to you right away. Some people can build the highest walls around themselves without even trying which can even make you feel rejected, but trust me there always is a way in if you’re patient enough. Always. Listen. Even silence can mean a lot if you listen hard enough.

Part two- alternatives?

One of the main things that helped me cope with self harming whenever I felt like doing it was finding alternatives for it. You can probably find a bunch online if you look them up, but for me what worked the most was writing. Well it was journaling really, but I’ve always hated the whole concept of a diary so I refuse to call it that. I used to have this old yellow copybook by my bedside I would grab pretty much every night, whenever I felt the urge to cut. And from there I’d just start writing about my day or whatever it was I had on my mind. Sometimes I’d copy quotes I liked (mainly from Grey’s are we surprised), sometimes I’d even just doodle. Whatever it was that kept my mind off cutting for a while. I think in a way I felt like writing about my own problems made them a little bit less heavy, and more real if that makes sense. On some days that would be enough to make the urge pass.

Music was also a great therapy for me. I’d literally sneak my old mp3 in bed and blast sad songs in my earphones at 2am. Sometimes I’d get so caught up I’d even get up and cry dance out to whatever it was I was playing. I used to do that until passing out of exhaustion most of the time and I actually loved it, it was such a great way to evacuate.

“Replacing the harm” was something I used to do as well to keep me from cutting. That was basically just replacing the harm caused by cutting by something that was technically a bit better. Still harmful but better. And for that most of the time I’d either do sports, eg running really hard until the sole of my feet was aching, or I’d just use the elastic method. That just consisted in keeping an elastic around my wrist at all times, most often a hair tie, and snapping it on my wrist or arm whenever I felt the need to take something out on myself. That worked wonders especially because it was so discreet I could use it whenever I felt the need to at any time of the day, which would always take a considerable amount off the buildup that would make me cut at night.

The butterfly method was also something I used on a few occasions. That just consisted in drawing butterflies on your arms (or wherever else it is you usually harm yourself) so that when you felt like cutting you’d see them and would be kept from doing it, because you’d metaphorically be cutting their wings off and killing them if you were to actually were to cut. I didn’t use that one often but it did help a few times. I found it also worked with writing names of people I loved (real of fictional), and basically any other doodle of an animal.

Once again though, these alternatives are only what worked for me and what I used the most when I was into self harming, most of them I still use even now as they’ve just stuck with me. But they’re far from being the only valid ones existing.

Part three- NEVER say don’t

That one is about to be very short, but do not ever tell a person who self harms not to self harm. It’s plain stupid, won’t make them stop and they probably already know it isn’t good for them. It’s also invalidating as hell and will only make them feel worse if they’re anything like me. Instead you can try and show understanding. I remember once a girl online told me something like “I won’t tell you to stop cutting because I know you won’t, but please make sure you at least clean up your wounds properly and get stitches if necessary”. And that honestly meant so much more than anyone could ever imagine. I didn’t feel blocked of forced to stop but accompanied and understood, which itself helped me a lot and if I’m being honest it was so unexpected her words have stuck to me to this day.

Part four- stop counting clean days

When self harming, I found a lot of people tend to count their clean days (dc’s) as a way to encourage themselves to recover (clean days being days during which you don’t self harm). I did it as well, that for a very long time. It only makes you feel like pure shit when you relapse. Because inevitably there ARE relapse days during recovery, which is something practically no one talks about. You don’t just snap out of it you know? Every time I’d relapse I’d just look at my previous clean days count and think to myself the most horrible stuff. Let’s say I had just broke off a 12dc’s, I wouldn’t sit there and be proud of myself for lasting so long, instead I’d just tell myself “Wow see? You went so far up for nothing. You’ll never recover so why bother trying anyway” and that itself would trigger a urge to go even harder on myself. The moment you stop counting clean days is the moment you allow yourself to heal, slowly but surely, even if you can trip a little down the road there.

Part five- people you relate to

One last thing I can think of that helped me with self harming was finding people I was seeing myself in, somehow. I’m thinking personally of Amelia from Grey’s Anatomy/Private Practice who had a drug problem, and mostly a YouTuber called Johanna Cadence. Ana used to make videos on YouTube mainly talking about her own depression, suicide attempt(s) and self harming issues. Sometimes they were just videos of her rambling, sometimes they were art videos, sometimes poetry readings. Whatever it was she put out, even song covers, would comfort me. We basically grew up together. She was always so different from me yet we were similar in a lot of ways, and I always admired her so much for that. By the time I started watching her her channel was called Howsenselessdeath Howpreciouslife, but she’s renamed it to Universal Hobo since then I believe. Most of her early videos are still up if you scroll far enough.

My point with this is, find yourself people who make you feel like you belong. They don’t have to be Amelia from Grey’s or Ana from YouTube, there are plenty of people out there, but finding yourself someone that represents to you what those people were to me undeniably helps, in a huge way.

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islcreyes · 5 years ago

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[ cindy kimberly . twenty . cis female . she/her ] just saw ISLA REYES dragging their suitcase up the steps to CABIN 2B . good luck living with HER , i hear that that they’re UNORGANIZED , IMPULSIVE , EFFERVESCENT & AMICABLE . Apparently they’re the WINGER LEFT . let’s hope the upcoming season doesn’t affect their JUNIOR year of ART ADMINISTRATION [ marci, twenty-one, she/her, est ]

hi everyone ! i’m marci and i’m super excited to share isla with all of you. i didn’t have enough time to flesh out her character so excuse my limited detail of her. if you like what you see though, like this post or message me so we can plot together !

stats !

FULL NAME ― isla reyes NICKNAMES ― lala, reyes BIRTHDATE ― november 12th, 1999 AGE ― twenty years old ZODIAC ― scorpio GENDER ― cis female PRONOUNS ― she/her ORIENTATION ― closeted bisexual

background !

isla was born to mateo and amaia reyes on november 12th, 1999. her father is a mechanic at a family owned auto body shop, while her mother worked as a secretary in some law firm the last time they saw her. isla was only two years old when amaia reyes abandoned her family, leaving a crumpled note in her absence explaining why she left. isla’s father was absolutely heartbroken, more so for his young daughter than himself, devastated that isla would lack a maternal figure in her life.

because of this, mateo made a great effort to compensate for his wife’s neglect by dedicating as much time as he could towards isla. with the help of his buddies from the auto shop and their families, isla grew up feeling more love and care towards her than most children do. mateo’s tremendous dedication towards his daughter resulted in the pair growing to become the best of friends. to this day, isla loves and appreciates the relationship she shares with her dad knowing it took a great deal of love and sacrifice to raise her alone. she often admits to him being her first love and places him in the highest of pedestals.

it’s actually because of her dad that isla became such a great soccer player. following his buddies’ advice, mateo signed isla up for a local kids soccer league in order to give her a distraction. isla had a great affinity towards the sport and was a natural at it too. her father noticed this and quickly began to pour all of his energy into making sure isla had everything she needed to become the best player possible. their mutual goal was to get her noticed by recruiters so that she could receive a full ride to college, which they accomplished through hollis university.

extras !

-- isla got into drawing and art in general from spending days at her dad’s shop just doodling away. because he couldn’t afford a babysitter for her, isla often just tagged along with him at work and kept herself busy by drawing. she would often draw the cars that were in the shop and “pimp” them out, until she grew out of it and began to draw the people who were in the shop instead. aside from soccer, drawing is one of isla’s favorite hobbies and the reason she’s majoring in art administration. she often dreams about owning her own art gallery someday.

-- growing up isla was a bit of a tomboy due to her dad not really knowing what little girls liked. he would try his best to dress her up and do her hair, but eventually gave up when isla saw his struggle and asked him to stop. it wasn’t until she befriended a few girls in high school that isla learned to be a little more feminine. these girls proudly took her under their wing and taught her the ways of being a “girl”. she soon learned how to apply makeup properly and shop for clothes that accentuated her body instead of hiding it. this transformation garnered attention from boys who use to see her as nothing more than their friend and gave teenage isla a tremendous boost of confidence.

-- since being accepted to hollis, isla can at times forget that her position on the team isn’t permanent. although she isn’t a slacker and takes school seriously, isla is extremely unorganized and often makes impulsive decisions regarding her social life that affect her negatively on the field. all the pressure that’s put on the players to succeed this year frustrates isla and leads to her forgetting why she even participates in the sport. if it weren’t for her natural talent, isla would have been benched already; however, if she doesn’t get her shit together soon she’ll lose her starting position.

connections !

click here to find my wanted connections page. please don’t feel limited to these though, we can come up with anything together !

#hollis.intro #hi hi hi hi hi !!#if u wanna plot hmu ;)

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monchikyun · 5 years ago

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27. boys will be boys

Connor doesn’t want to go home today, not when he’s sporting yet another black eye on his pallid face. His dad is going to play cops with him by interrogating him until he has no choice but to spill the truth and admit that he’s nothing but a weak coward who can’t fight for himself. Perhaps it’s because the old man has a lot of experience in that field, being an actual lieutenant and all that. Connor tries to sometimes use that fact as a trump card when he wants to look cool and feel like he’s accepted among his peers, not that it’s ever worked. You see, being a twelve-year-old boy is not an easy job. It’s quite demanding to make sure he doesn’t get fired. He gave up on wearing all the right clothes or pretending that he likes sports when in reality all he ever wants to do is to draw. He’d like to repaint the world around him to his liking so that he could feel like it’s a place he belongs to. Like it’s been made just for him and the people he likes.

The sad truth is he doesn’t really have any friends, only people who don’t hurt him, who don’t participate in the frequent bullying he’s been enduring ever since starting the sixth grade. The rascals that take it out on him is a twisted bunch, nothing that significant about them, but there’ this one boy who despite being mean to him, despite inflicting as much pain as the others, gives him a look that could maybe convey a hidden understanding or sympathy, if he stretches his wishful thinking. Because it’s nothing else but that, in the end. The need to have someone on his side, a person who would acknowledge that he’s not being treated fairly. Just one friend to confide in, other than his father who is too busy as is to concern himself with Connor’s childish problems.

Today he was surrounded by three kids who really hated the fact that his drawings look way better than any of theirs. So they made their best effort to seize them and torn them apart like they deserved nothing but condemnation. He couldn’t bear to watch the only thing that meant something to him getting destroyed right before his eyes and so he stupidly tried to defend them, scraping at the little courage at the bottom of his gut. In the end, only one drawing was sparred the ruthless treatment, which couldn’t be said about Connor. He tried to be brave for once, which had to be dutifully punished. Maybe trying isn’t enough, for cowards have a way of staying safely within the boundaries of their fears. Maybe he should change who he is if he wants to survive in this world.

He’s about to turn the last corner before reaching the street on which he lives, but someone shouts his name and he doesn’t feel threatened by it. It’s like someone is glad to catch him here, like the caller’s intentions aren’t the ones that will hurt him.

It’s Gavin, the small feral child with stormy eyes that display that kind of pain Connor recognizes. He watches the boy wave him over, and he thinks he imagines it but there is a grin on Gavin’s face, and that’s the main thing that makes him decide not to run home and hide under a blanket.

His steps are slow, careful, because a part of him warns that this is a ruse, that he’s stupid for falling for it so willingly.

But when he’s so close that he can mark the scar on Gavin’s nose, even the most skeptical part of himself is convinced that he’s not being a victim of a vicious prank, not this time.

“Hey. You lost this.” There is a piece of paper in the boy’s extended hand, one that is full of small scribbles of dogs and the characters he’s invented when the people belonging to the real world let him down.

He really wants to thank him for being so considerate, for not treating him like a punching bag for once, but the words get stuck in his throat, the lump that has formed there preventing them to escape the confines of his mind. There are tears in his eyes ready to embarrass him, and so he pushes them down, needing to keep some of his dignity intact. And the picture is still in Gavin’s hand.

“It’s cool… but a bit weird.” The boy brings the doodle filled paper in front of his face, squinting his eyes to study it with a great concentration.

“Why did you draw me like that when I’ve been treating you like shit?”

Before he gets the chance to argue, Gavin points out one figure that he remembers absent-mindedly scribbling during maths when he couldn’t be bothered to pay attention. Looking at it now, the angry boy in the picture really does resembles his favourite bully. It’s a mystery of how he hasn’t noticed that earlier. But then again, he quite enjoys observing Gavin when no one else can note is actions, so it’s not all that shocking that his image would be imprinted onto Connor’s subconsciousness.

He shrugs instead of replying properly, for he’s still a bit afraid to let anyone hear he uncertainty his voice would betray. The slightly crumpled paper is still being observed by Gavin, like he’s trying to find some secret code in the incoherent doodles. It makes him feel a little proud of himself, for the first time in a long while.

“You can keep it if you want.”

It’s said before he can activate his filter, and he finds that he doesn’t regret that sentence. Connor really wants for Gavin to have it, for a reason he can’t nail down.

“Thanks, I guess.”

All at once, he forgets about the scars on his face, about the tension in his stomach. Because Gavin looks like he’s genuinely happy about receiving this not all that outstanding collection of small drawings, despite his efforts to conceal it behind his faked indifference.

“What- what about the others, do they know you’re here?”

Connor doesn’t fear for Gavin’s safety, no, he’s just curious.

“Don’t care. I’m not friends with them anymore.” He watches the paper being tucked in Gavin’s jeans pocket.

“Why?”

“They suck. It was fun hanging out with them, but… they crossed the line. They… they plan on doing some really messed up shit to you, Connor.”

Somehow he isn’t all that disconcerted by that information. It’s just a natural development of events, or that’s what he figures.

“Oh… that’s..”

“We won’t let them, though.”

The fierce green eyes pierce him through, making his heart beat a little faster.

“We?” It’s very strange that Gavin acts like the two of them doing anything together is all but ordinary.

“I have some neat ideas we can use. You afraid of spiders?”

Agreeing to Gavin’s nefarious schemes is one of the easiest decision he’s ever made. Connor never thought he would possess such creativity, but somehow he senses that there is so much more for him to discover about the boy who might just care enough to make a difference in his bleak life.

Maybe it’s just his desperate need for attention or the loneliness that keeps him spacing out during lunch breaks, but he thinks, he wishes that the two of them could become real friends sometimes in the future yet unwritten.

@convinseptember children can be especially mean if you think about it xD but not all of them!

#convinseptember #convin #sixth grade au xD #i like writing about children it's easier somehow #maybe it's because I'm still six inside xD #nothing inappropriate in this story! just the same ol gavin being a redeemable asshole and con a soft misunderstood bean

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doggy-woggy · 6 years ago

Text

Studying Together (Roger Taylor x Reader)

Requested by @spaghetittiesbcimgay: “dude i love ur writing!! could u do one where rogah and reader have been friends since high school and now they’re in college studying for exams?? and basically rogah can’t stop staring @ reader bc he thinks she looks beautiful concentrating like that.. and basically feelings boil over and fluff ensues?? and could u do the same type of thing where reader is doing a self portrait and she hates it bc she’s self conscious but rogah loves it bc it’s her?? thank you so much dude :))|”

A/N: Thanks for the request! I decided to combine your two prompts into one. I’ve never done requests before and I didn’t know how well I can do them so I thought in case this is bad, it’s better to have one disappointment than two :/ It came out very cheesy smh. Also excuse the misleading title since they won’t actually be “studying” in this. Anyway, hope you like it!

Can be read as Ben Hardy!Roger

Words: 1.6k Warning: Fluff, some light cursing Unedited ******************************************

Roger tapped his pencil at the edge of his drawing file as he looked at you. Your head was lying on the armrest of the couch and your feet were stretched into his lap.

“Roger?” you started, not removing your eyes from the paper in front of you. He hummed in response. “Stop that,” you said.

“Stop what?” he asked innocently, with the corners of his mouth turning up.

“The tapping,” you looked up at him seriously.

“Oh.” Roger put down his file and stretched his arms leisurely. He put an arm over the back of the couch and leaned his head on it.

Both of you had to submit a self-portrait for the art class you were taking that semester. You had often studied or worked on projects together since high school. You got work done only half the time because you’d always end up finding ways to distract yourselves in each other’s company.

But this submission was important and you had both promised to do nothing but work, except Roger just couldn’t focus.

He wasn’t fully conscious of it, but his gaze rested on your face. You looked messier than usual, given the stress of finals, but he loved the way your hair unintentionally fell out around your face. He observed the way your tongue poked out slightly in the look of pure concentration on your face and he smiled to himself.

“Y/N, I’m bored,” he whined.

“Come on, Roger the deadline is this week. If we don’t do this right we might just fail,” you looked at him sadly.

“Nah, we won’t fail,” he said lightly tickling your feet. You laughed and instinctively kicked your foot violently into the air. “Geez,” Roger laughed.

“Not unless you don’t start working on your portrait now.” You reminded him.

He didn’t react, but extended his arm to the side of your head and pulled it back to show you the coin he had supposedly pulled from behind your ear, grinning smugly.

You rolled your eyes. “Roger, come on. You’re distracting me. We promised we will try to focus.”

“Ugh, this is so stupid! How can they grade us on art anyway? Isn’t art the reflection of the soul? And if this is a world where one soul gets to assess the worth of another soul, much less assess it by a presentation that the soul may or may not accurately be able to express, then I don’t want to be in this world,” he huffed.

“Well too bad you’re already in this world. And you don’t get to leave it anytime soon, not without me at least. Now your soul might just be expressed as a little dot on this paper but the professor’s soul sure as hell won’t give you a grade for that.” You sighed. “So, we have to adhere to the rules of this world and make a presentable self-portrait that appeals to the majority of art intellectuals and academics, and most importantly, the professor.” You looked back down to your page and murmured, “Come on. We got this.”

With that, you returned to the file resting on your thigh. Roger’s amused eyes lingered on you for a few moments longer, filled with adoration. He reached for his pencil and returned his attention to his file.

After about an hour, you felt frustration take over. You glanced up to find Roger already looking at you, but he quickly looked away when he saw you noticing.

“Roger I can’t do this!” You said, slapping down your file. He looked up and you continued, “This is impossible. I can’t draw myself. I don’t even remember how I look anymore!”

“Like an ogre,” he smirked.

“Not fucking funny,” you gritted your teeth as you threw a cushion at him. “This looks so ugly.”

Roger peered over your file to look at your portrait, and just blinked at it. “Y/N, this is fantastic,” he whispered. He saw your faithless expression. “I’m not kidding, it really is beautiful,“ he tried to convince but you still looked dejected. “Hey, you know, it looks very you. So at least you've got the concept of self-portrait down?” He offered.

You had your eyebrow cocked as you stared at him weirdly. “Whatever. This was a practice sketch anyway,” you said as you began to rip the page out of the notebook.

“Don’t do that!” Roger cried.

“Look I can’t hand this in. I’ve drawn closed eyelids. And it looks bland. You know I can’t draw eyes for shit but I feel like it looks lazy to draw closed lids without a purpose.” You finished tearing the page, and looked up to see Roger’s expression frozen in panic. Just as you were about to crumple up the page, Roger grabbed your knee to stop you.

“At least-“ he sighed, “at least let me have it.” He avoided your gaze as he took the portrait from your hand, hiding his reddening cheeks, and carefully placed it on the coffee table.

You sat in silence for a minute before you said: “Show me yours.”

“No,” he returned.

You looked at him in disbelief. “Show me!” you pressed as you reached over to grab his file.

“No!” he repeated as he backed the file away from your reach.

You put down your drawing file and got up on your knees to get further. You ignored Roger’s protests as he murmured “No, stop it!” while you climbed over him to get to the file.

Roger loved the proximity, and couldn’t help but glance down at the back of your leg, where your pyjama shorts where high up your thigh, given your stretched-out body. He always loved those shorts on you.

In his distraction, you were able to reach the file, and Roger gave in. You blew out air as you sat down with it and looked at two gorgeous eyes drawn on the sheet.

“Wow,” you gasped. You studied the eyes. Although he pretended to have limited interest in it, you always knew he could draw extremely well, since you’d caught plenty of glimpses of his doodles in his school notebooks. This pair of eyes, however, was breath-taking.

“But they don’t look like yours,” you thought aloud. You didn’t notice how Roger’s cheeks seemed to have changed permanently to crimson. He scratched the back of his neck and put his hand inside the top of his shirt.

“That’s because they’re not.”

“Forgot the ‘self’ in ‘self-portrait Rog?” you laughed. “Well, whose are they then?”

Roger looked at you with an expression you couldn’t decipher. After seeming to contemplate it, he briefly stated, “Yours.”

You stared at him, confused and not knowing what to say. He seemed uncomfortable. “They’re your eyes, Y/N. I think they’re beautiful.”

“Oh,” you said. “Well...they’re sure prettier on here than the real thing,” you joked, a little taken aback.

“Well, in any case, I can’t ever seem to look away.” He drew in a breath and took your hands in both of his. “Y/N I can’t do this anymore.”

You sat up straighter as you looked at him with concern. “Do what?”

“I can’t keep looking at you and not be able to do anything else.” His eyes roamed the room. “You probably think of me as some kind of an idiot, but…whenever I’m with you I just want to stay with you, and I can’t focus because you’re all I can think about. I’ve wanted to tell you for so long and now I-”

He stopped abruptly as you reached out to brush your knuckles on the side of his head. He looked at you as you gazed back into his wide eyes that were slowly growing droopy. “Roger,” you breathed as you took in his words. “Can I-do you want me to kiss you?”

Roger closed his eyes for a moment as his silent breath quickened. “More than anything,” he said softly, his breath fanning your face.

You leaned forward to brush your lips with his. You then kissed him properly, and felt his arms wrap around your waist. You laced your fingers in his blonde hair as his hands swiftly roamed your body, seeming unable to settle at just one place.

You pulled away to catch a breath, and he chased your lips with his. You looked up at him to see him part his eyelids slowly, a dopey smile playing across his lips.

“Roger, I really like you. No. More than that. I don’t know what it is but I have felt it for quite a while now,” you said nervously.

“Really?” He smiled. “Y/N, you don’t know how happy that makes me. I really, really like you too.”

Silence fell over as you two simply smiled at each other like idiots. Your gaze then dropped to the two pieces of art lying in front of you. “You’ve drawn the part of me that I couldn’t figure out for myself,” you observed, looking at the pair of eyes he drew.

“I suppose that’s right,” Roger chuckled.

You smiled broadly at him and raised your eyebrows. You put on a high pitched voice and a dramatic accent to say “I guess you complete me.”

Roger rolled his eyes but laughed as he pinned you down on the couch to dive in with his lips. Once again, you two had found a way to distract yourselves from work.

**************************

I apparently have a problem with concision. Feedback is very welcome! @theedwardscollection

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ravens-rambling · 6 years ago

Note

How about kid Virgil taking his small, plushie spider everywhere he goes and whenever someone wants to take it away from him (because it needs to be washed), he clings onto it for dear life and hides in his safe space?

A/N: Two fics in one night???? Miracle I know.

WC: 2,772

ships: Platonic LAMP

warnings: Crying, worry, anxiety

Tag List: @punsterterry @stormcrawler75@frostedlover@mycatshuman @mutechild@panicattheeverywhere15@thewinterbookqueen @analogical-mess @saddestlittlebabe

The sides were still learning how to care for tiny Virgil. This was their first time in doing so but even if it was, they think they’re doing an alright job? Course there are plenty of things that they can do better but again it’s a learning process. They’ll get there eventually.

And they learned the hard way to never take Virgil’s spider plushie away from him unless they want a crying Virgil on their hands. And nobody wants that unless they are evil beings. Not even Dee would do that, they thought.

It all started when Patton gave Virgil some spaghetti and meatballs for lunch. Though he knew it was quite a messy plate Virgil was a surprisingly tidy eater for a child. Even if he did spill he would insist on cleaning it up himself, something that Patton kept telling him he was fine cleaning it up but young Virge was a stubborn child. So he helped him instead. So he wasn’t all too worried about this dish.

His precious kiddo was watching Lion King on the TV, mindlessly doodling on some colouring books while holding his spider plushie and his tongue sticking out, something he does when he's concentrating. And by god’s did the precious sight made Patton's heart clench ever tighter.

“Here you are kiddo!”

Virgil glanced up and beamed at the sight of the food, his missing tooth ever prominent, “Thank you, dad!”

Yep, his heart is melting right now. That sight always did that.

He set the plate on the table and smiled reaching over to ruffle up his hair a bit, “Of course, kiddo!”

With that, he hummed and bounced away back to the kitchen to clean up and maybe make some cookies while he’s at it.

It was a bit after that, him humming away at the kitchen when he heard a loud bang noise and a very tiny whimper. His eyes blown wide as he rushed towards the living room expecting his kiddo to be hurt. Luckily he wasn’t.

The bowl, which was thankfully mostly empty by now, was on the floor. Poor Virge’s shirt was covered in leftover spaghetti and he looked like he was about to cry. But that wasn’t the reason why he had tears in his eyes. No, the reason was that his tiny spider was also covered in it. He had it close to his messy chest and was whimpering at it and trying, by the looks of it, to hold in his tears. Though it wasn’t working too well.

“Hey, Shh. It’s alright, kiddo. It’s just some spaghetti a trip to the washer can make it good as new!!”

The second he said that he knew it was the wrong thing to say. Virgil’s body immediately clenched, now it was shaking softly. More whimpers and silent gasps came from the small child. He began shaking his head now itching away from the dad figure.

“No, no it’s gonna be okay. You’ll have it back before you could even blink! I promise you, buddy!”

“N-No… Don’t…touch… No!”

Before Patton could blink nor say anything back all the lights in the mindscape flickered then turned dark for a few moments. When they came back up the small child was gone.

“Virgil! Virgil, buddy, please come back!”

He checked the living room and the kitchen making sure he checked every nook and cranny a small child could hide. And nothing.

“Oh dear…”

There was something they have come to learn about tiny Virgil, and that was that he didn’t know how to use his powers. He didn’t even know he had any to be honest, they had to tell him about them a few weeks ago when he got spooked when Roman summoned some crayons for him. This isn’t good at all. If he uses too much of his powers too quickly he might burn himself out.

Not to mention the heartbreaking tearful look in his eyes as he held that plushie close to him. Patton gulped thickly as he didn’t want to think that he placed that look on his kiddos face. What great dad he is…

“Patton! Patton are you alright, Padre?”

“Why did all the lights in the mindscape flickered? I was under the assumption that Virgil could only do that?”

It took Roman to cup his cheek and to wipe away a few tears for Patton to realize that he was crying. He hiccuped as he glanced up towards the other two, mirroring faces of concern and worry was met with his eyes.

“I-It was Virge… I… I scared him… I didn’t mean to! He had spilled his lunch and his plushie got ruined so I was gonna wash it and… Oh god Ro… I made Virgil cry!”

He hiccuped and cried more into Roman’s hand, then he felt arms wrap around him not even a moment later. Followed by the comforting warmth of a chest pressed against his face.

“It’ll be alright, Pat. I’m certain our Virge won’t hate you for this. He won’t ever hate you. He properly knows you didn’t mean to spook him.” As Roman talked he shared a look at Logan them both looking concerned and worried. Virgil really must have been really spooked if he used his powers, and yelled at Patton. He hasn’t done that since…them accepting him.

Roman gave Logan a nod as he kept whispering assurances to him. And Logan nodded back slowly peeling himself from the crying side. If anybody is able to calm down Virgil it’s Logan without fail. They just have a certain bond that even transferred to the sides child-like state. Course it took just a bit for tiny Virgil to remember who he is and his name but eventually that bond was placed yet again.

Logan stayed quiet as he made his way up the stairs and upon Virgil’s dark door. Slowly he knocked on the door three times as normal and heard a quiet muffled sniffle. “Virgil, I can hear you in there. None of us is mad at you. We just want to know what happened.”

Several long minutes passed and Logan thought he really wasn’t going to answer until a few more sniffles stopped that thought then a very quiet raspy voice answered. “A-Are you sure?”

“Yes, Virgil I’m sure. Patton's deeply sorry and worried about spooking you. He’s worried that you won’t like him anymore and is currently crying in Roman’s arms as we speak.”

“I… I didn’t mean to…m-make him cry…”

“I’m sure you didn’t. May I come in?”

Once again, several long minutes passed and all Logan could hear was something moving about until finally the knob was being turned. When the door opened and he saw the likes of the side Logan’s heart was torn, metaphorically of course.

Virgil had tears still coming down his chubby cheeks, his eyes puffy and red from all the crying. His shirt was covered in noddles and sauce but the child didn’t pay that any mind. Even his hands were covered in it making Logan winch as the child tried wiping his tears away with his hands resulting in smears of sauce across his face.

And Logan forgot why he doesn’t like to be around the sides when they are children. They are so messy.

But he sucked it up, Virgil was crying and hurting this is not the time to push down his emotions…right? He guessed he was right.

“Virgil. It’s alright. There’s no reason to cry.”

“B-But I made Pat sad! I made him cry! I-I yelled at him! I-I…” He hiccuped crying even more and smearing more sauce on him.

“First off, here you go,” He conjured a towel for him helping him clean himself up. And as he did he spoke again, “Second off, this is Patton we are talking about correct? He will never be upset at you in any way. He’s worried about you. Can you tell me what happened?”

That made Virgil freeze and he quickly shook his head. He ran inside his room drawing one of his fluffy purple blankets around his shoulders. Well, there’s something else he has to clean now.

Logan stepped inside and closed the door then walked towards the bed. Virgil didn’t seem to mind it as he sat down beside him only sniffling and crying some more.

“From what I gathered you spilled your lunch on your stuffed animal and didn’t like that Patton was going to take it away?”

Virgil didn’t look at him but there was a jerky nod from under the blanket. So he was right.

“Which resulted in you panicking and you yelling at him causing you to lash out with your powers?”

Another nod and a whimper.

“I-I didn’t mean to! Please believe me! I’ll be good I promise!”

“No, no, Virge it’s okay. Breathe. In and out there you go…”

Only after making sure he was breathing alright did Logan speak up again.

“Where is your stuffed animal now?”

Virgil's breath sucked in harshly even Logan could hear that, “’m not telling…”

“Why won’t you?”

“You will take it from me…”

“No, we won’t, Virgil. Only to wash it then you’ll get it back.”

Virgil shook his head again drawing the blanket closer around him, “N-No… You’ll take it and I’ll never get it back and I don’t want Spidey to be gone! I love Spidey!”

“Virgil, I promise you we will give it back. If you want you can give it to Roman and he could clean it instantly so you won’t be without it.”

Logan smiled faintly as he saw little eyes poke out of the blankets, “R-Really?”

“Yes, really. I won’t lie to you.”

A few more hiccups than a nod, “You promise? Are you sure Pat won’t hate me?”

“I promise that you’ll get it right back and that Patton doesn’t hate you.”

“O-Okay… Don’t look though…”

Logan tried not to chuckle as he nodded, “Alright.” He moved so his back was facing the child side and closed his eyes. Though he couldn’t see it he could quite hear him moving off the bed then climbing underneath the bed. The blanket around his shoulders moving and hitting against the bed frame. Also, he could hear Virgil’s sniffles still from under the bed. But he’s not going to say anything about that, he doesn’t want to freak him out more.

“‘K… Got it.”

He turned around to see that indeed Virgil has the spider and that it was covered in sauce and noddles. Even worse than his shirt. Yeah, that definitely needs to be washed, hopefully, Roman can indeed clean it by himself.

He stood up to start heading towards the door when he felt a hand tugging gently on his jeans. Looking down he saw Virgils big round purple eyes looking up to him and his hand making grabby hands towards him.

Chuckling he said, “You want to be carried, don’t you?”

A nod and a pleading look. “Please?”

“There’s no need for that, Virgil. Come here.”

With the filthy child in his arms, he walked down the stairs noticing that Patton's loud crying wasn’t as loud currently. All he could hear was sniffles. At least Roman managed to calm him down. But once he took that final step he felt Virgil tense in his arms. He gave a comforting pat on his arms, “He won’t be mad Virgil I promise.”

“Virgil? Virgil!”

Logan only had time to look up before a blue blur was in his face. He blinked as Patton gently talked to Virgil brushing back some of his hair so he could get a better look at him.

“Virgil… I was so worried… I-I thought you hurt yourself… O-Or you hated me… And I didn’t know what to do and-”

“Patton calm down, your overwhelming him.”

Patton blinked at him as tears came down his cheeks once again than to look back down to see Virgil had only dug in his shirt even more. His hands were gripped tighter onto him and his body was even shaking slightly, more than before.

“O-Oh dear… I didn’t mean… I…”

He tried to wipe away his tears the best he could, luckily Roman was right behind him with a tissue ready on hand. Logan and Roman both smiled faintly as he blew into it.

“Virgil was under the impression that you would take away his stuffed animal while you were cleaning it,” Immediately Patton had opened his mouth his eyes full of sorrow but Logan shook his head and he closed his mouth, “I assured him that we would do no such thing. And that Roman would be able to manifest it clean. Is that correct, Roman?”

Roman glanced up at his name then rolled his eyes, “Hello, Logan. This is the great fantastic Roman Prince your speaking to! Of course, I could do something as simple as that!” He placed a hand on his hip as he spoke.

Oh, how he disliked Romans dramaticness with a passion.

“Good. Alright then. See I told you, Virgil. Nobody is going to take it away from you. But Roman does need it for just a second.”

Virgil peeked up to him and whimpered silently he clenched his spider closer to him but still, he didn’t say or move to give it to him.

Logan now didn’t know what to do he was for sure that would work as he did agree earlier to do it.

Though before he could come up with another plan Roman was on the case, “Hey, precious emo Prince?” Virgil’s purple eyes peeled out once again to look at him.

“I promise you’ll get it back. Anndddd if you let me clean it up for you I’ll take you to my kingdom again,” He smiled.

Instantly, the child’s eyes went wide with wonder. If there was one thing they have learned about kid Virgil was the fact that he adored Roman's imagination. Course he didn’t like the spooky stuff but he adored running around Roman’s palace and playing in the garden. It was quite an adorable sight, even Logan has to say.

“I wanna play with Hammy!”

Roman chuckled, “Well Hammy would love to play with you too, but you have to let me take care of your spider there, young prince. And let Patton clean you up alright?”

Virgil’s tiny head went up and down a toothy grin on his face, “Alright!” And with that, he handed over the messy plush to which Roman winkled his face at. He properly didn’t think it was that dirty.

The dramatic side glanced over to the other two as if he didn’t want to do this. But both Patton and Logan raised their eyebrows plus the dad side giving him a stern glare. That caused Roman to cave.

“Alright! Alright! Stop it with the dad glare, Pat.”

Patton gave a huff than a small smile. Well, at least he’s smiling again.

With that Roman pitched two fingers on one of its legs bringing it closer to his body, his entire face wrinkling in disgust. With one flick of his other wrist, it was clean and not even a drop of sauce was on it. It was like it wasn’t even dirty, to begin with.

Virgil’s eyes went wide and he giggled loudly clapping his hands like it was some magic trick Roman just performed. It caused all of their hearts to explode in adorableness.

“Now! Before I give this to you have to let Patton clean you up first, or you’ll get it dirty again but-” He could see the tears in the child’s eyes, “You’ll be able to see it the entire time I promise. And if you behave I’ll take you to go see Hammy tomorrow how does that sound?”

“Okay! Mama! Do you think Hammy would be happy to see me?”

“Hammy's always happy to see you, Virgil.”

Patton clapped his hands giggling and his eyes full of stars, “Alright, kiddo! Bath time!”

Once Virgil was off his arms Logan sighed as he saw how dirty his tie and shirt was. But it was worth it. After Virgil got out of the bath he was informed by Patton that they talked it out and they both felt sorry for what happened. And that they didn’t hate the other.

Though having Virgil as a child can be a handful sometimes Logan supposes it sometimes did have its perks. Like seeing Virgil happy and carefree for once. While they learned some…interesting things about him as well.

Like to never take away Virgil’s spider plushie.

#Virgil #Virgil Sanders #Logan sanders #Logan #Roman sanders #Roman #Patton Sanders #Patton #lamp #platonic lamp #Sanders sides #sanders sides fanfic #Sanders sides fic #my fics #Thomas Sanders #kid! virgil #kid!sides #kid!virgil #kid!fic

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a-dauntless-daffodil · 6 years ago

Text

random Centaur Adora au slice of life ideas where everything’s the same she’s just half horse ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Adora’s usually pretty good at not getting spooked but when she’s relaxed sometimes Catra’s tail twitches and Adora thinks SNAKE!!! and all four hooves leave the floor

This always made Catra freak out too and the result was always mayhem

Centaur Adora is literally as strong as a horse

Her chowing down on everything she can each in ep 2 is now partly bc she needs a heck ton more calories

At first Glimmer assumes Adora is a brand new kind of genetically engineered soldier the Horde is developing and won’t listen to Adora’s claims to be the only centaur she’s ever seen. This is the new main driver for bringing her back to Bright Moon even though this time it’s a lot harder, Glimmer is determined to warn the Rebellion and give them a sample to study/find the weaknesses of before the… cavalry… arrives

The fact that Adora didn’t just break free and run off is even more blatant since she could kill either of them with one kick to the head. Her not tramping them during the fight for the sword is also pretty obviously a deliberate thing and the first clue she’s not actually an evil jerk

Bow and Glimmer totally forget to hobble Adora btw. She wakes up and looks down at her bound hands and back at her four other unbound limbs just like ‘seriously?’

Thanks to her best friend never wearing shoes Adora’s really careful with where she steps, but not wanting to crush/get crushed is still the excuse they both use for Catra to spend a lot of time perched on Adora’s back

Before meeting Glimmer and Bow the only one allowed to get rides on Adora was Catra (and Rogelio that one time because no one else was strong enough to carry him)

Centaur Adora has the ‘nervous sleeping without friends’ thing and never gets used to sleeping alone so Glimmer just starts teleporting over right before bed

Glimmer draping herself dramatically across Adora’s withers

Bow LOVES braiding Adora’s tail and sometimes does that instead of stress cleaning (only with permission of course)

There are no other Centaurs on Etheria which really confuses Adora but the She-Ra mural is a centaur so she figures maybe there used to be more before all the fighting

As She-Ra, Adora’s horse half turns white and grows to the size of huuuuge draft horse

Despite being half horse Adora never knew about horses in general and even after seeing one insists horses and Centaurs are completely different

The main difference is horses are just BETTER

Glimmer: How can you know you’re a Centaur and still NOT know what horses are?????

Centaur Adora: Nobody told me I was half horse! They just pointed at me and said ‘centaur’ and i heard the word and thought ‘oh well guess that’s me’

it turns out not knowing about horses is not actually a Horde thing

Catra, in thaymore: Uh, yeah I know what a horse is. who doesn’t?

Centaur Adora: I DIDN’T!!!!!

Catra: How could you NOT know what a horse is!? You’re entire butt’s a horse!

Centaur Adora: AAAAAAAHHH

aaand this puts a new spin Catra’s favorite catchphrase, much to Glimmer’s fury

Glimmer: She’s pronouncing it with an ‘A’, Bow. I can feel it

Bow: We have literally no way of proving-

Catra, @ centaur adora: Hay Adora~ >:3c

Glimmer, being restrained by Bow: SPELL IT ‘HAY’ AGAIN AND SEE HOW LONG YOU LIVE I DARE YOU!!!

Centaur Adora: what’s ‘hay’??

Adora freaks out a little when meeting Mermista since she considers them in same boat

After that Mermista starts going mermaid whenever there’s enough water around for it to be practical. She says it makes her water combat better but everyone knows she does it mainly just because of how Adora lights up every time she has a ‘hybrid buddy’

Visiting Plumeria awakened some old instincts and Adora almost poisoned herself trying to eat all the yummy flowers until Perfuma specifically made her an edible bouquet

Swift Wind thinks of Adora as his mom. His really really weird mom via like magic or whatever

Wanting the comfort of a herd was part of why Adora snuck out of Glimmer’s room in ep 2 when she saw ‘Horsy’ out the window

Obviously Adora can’t get rides on Swift Wind so instead he flies overhead with Glimmer and Bow and guides her as she runs. cue her complaining why the sword couldn’t have just given HER some wings too

Growing up in the high tech lift-based Fright Zone Adora never encountered staircases until joining the Rebellion. They are the bane of her existence. The only good thing Hordak ever did was build his evil lair without them

Centaur Adora laying down awkwardly to fit at the Rebellion’s council table

Later Glimmer makes sure her chair gets swapped for a pad so this isn’t so uncomfortable

Not only does Castaspella promise to make Adora a sweater she also takes measurements on her horse half to knit a matching blanket so she’ll be properly cozy

Adora pulls Glimmer and Bow onto her back in ep 2 while running from the monster and the rides never stop from there

When getting rides Bow’s very worried about making sure Adora’s not uncomfortable but he’s so nervous about it that he doesn’t hold on good enough and tends to slide off if Adora isn’t super careful

Glimmer on the other hand absolutely zero fear only glee when Adora gallops

She’ll also take any excuse wrap her arms around Adora so that also helps her never fall off <3

The two give Bow and Angella grey hairs by doing jumps and obstacle course races and other stunts whenever they get bored

Adora’s back, both human and equine, is speckled with tiny scars from Catra’s claws accidentally digging into her over the years bc Catra always refused to ‘sit’ on Adora, preferring to be always ready to jump off, paranoid Adora would stumble someday and fall and squash her, which you know, fair enough

Her new bed in Bright Moon is a problem for soooo many more reasons than just being too soft

Also, Glimmer never figures out how over a thousand pounds of Centaur managed to sneak into her hanging bed that first night

When asked Adora just shrugs hand says she’s a good jumper. Also Glimmer sleeps like a log

centaur Adora showing up in places no one who’s half horse should be able to becomes the new biggest meme of the rebellion

Since it’s physically impossible for either Glimmer or Catra to dip Adora while dancing they end up making her dip them instead, much to Adora’s complete confusion

Meeting Entrapta involves a lot of eager questions about Centaur physiology which Adora has no answers to and then a running catalog of all the ways Adora shouldn’t work despite somehow managing to until Adora is on the edge of an existential crisis

Glimmer hauling a hacked centaur Adora through the robot infested castle, drooping under the weight of her human half and praying Adora’s four back legs aren’t about to give out bc if that happens then they are f*cked

Entrapta also really likes lifting up Adora’s hooves/legs without warning to examine them and only Adora’s discipline saves her form getting kicked in the face

By the time of the prom Adora is so used to this she doesn’t even notice when Entrapta does it anymore

Also at the prom Adora sets aside the whole enemies thing long enough to go make a new hybrid buddy with Scorpia, who Adora counts in the club because one set of Scopia’s limbs are completely non-human

Scorpia is delighted to vent about how everything is built for people with fingers and arms that aren’t covered in a spiked carapace and listens sympathetically to Adora’s rant on staircases, even draws her a doodle of stick figure She-Ra crushing some evil steps under hoof

Frosta is a dutiful host and uses her ice powers to make a ramp up to her throne so Adora won’t have to deal with a staircase of ice

She tilts the same ramp to get rid of Adora and Glimmer when they start annoying her later

Scorpia’s first time meeting centaur Adora: “Horsie~!”

Adora, the centaur, looking around hopefully: “WHERE!?”

#spop #she-ra #adora #centaur adora au

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professionally-unprofessional · 6 years ago

Note

Can I have a soulmate AU with a fem reader in 1-b and Jirou? The matching tattoos au would be cool, but I'd be fine with whatever!

Gosh I am on a ROLL with these requests recently xD

Wonder how long it’ll last.

Anyway, I’m sorry if the reader wasn’t what you expected or wanted. I didn’t really have anything to go on for their personality.

Oh, rather than just doing a matching tattoos AU I did a soulmate AU where whatever you draw not only appears on your soulmate but also on you.

Welp, I hope you enjoy. I actually enjoyed writing for Jiro a lot more than I thought I would.

“Whoa! Hey, what’s that on your arm, Jirou?” Mina called, leaning over the lunch table. The aspiring hero blinked in confusion then looked at her arm, wondering what her pink-haired classmate was on about. However, rather than blank skin, her gaze landed on a line that was slowly snaking its way down her arm. It was the beginning of their lunch break and the majority of girls from 1-A were sat down at a table together in the lunch hall.

“Oh, this? Guess my soulmate’s drawing again.” She hummed, wondering what you were going to come up with this time. This was a regular occurrence. Every so often you’d find a pen and just start letting your creativity flow. Much to Jirou’s relief, you didn’t take to drawing rude gestures all over your body but instead focused your creativity into pieces of artwork.

Well, at least she assumed you were the one drawing. In reality, she had no way to check, but the skill behind the pieces was fantastic nonetheless. Given that they never appeared on one arm and only places that would be visible to the artist, she would be willing to guess that it was you.

Either that or you had a super talented friend. Either scenario was fine.

The things that appeared were what really mattered since - should it be by your hand or not - there was no way you’d have just anything inked on you. No, you had specific themes. A lot of the time, instruments appeared and the thought that perhaps you liked music warmed Jiro’s heart. She found herself wondering about you far too often when things like these cropped up.

What genres of music did you like?

What sort of personality were you?

Aside from art, did you have any other big passions?

Were you an aspiring hero or someone going after a different career?

Who were you?

The girls were all leaning over the table now, watching as the line art slowly took form. Somehow, the intimate action of watching her soulmate drawing had become a game of Pictionary from her friends but, for some reason, the hearing hero didn’t mind. They were all being awed by you, her soulmate. The small spark of pride that kindled and warmed her was enough to stop her from finding somewhere private to watch.

When the shapes of a violin and cello took form, she knew you were doing another one of your musically inspired pieces. Normally you started at your hand with smaller doodles which then expanded as you worked further up the arm until they broke out around the top with something different. Whatever you started with was your theme and base and from there you just eased into a creative flow.

Yet this time, you had started from the top of your arm and Jirou knew what that meant. You were properly going for it today, having a full composition which was pre-planned and thought out. She was in for a treat.

She really admired your talent; to be able to do what you did just over their lunch break was borderline insane. Drawing on your own body was hard - let alone time-consuming. Then again, you’d started before they’d even sat down for lunch and you obviously practiced this hobby enough. Jirou allowed herself a moment to wonder where you were. You could be on the other side of the world. Or sitting in this lunch hall. However, given that you always seemed to be doodling when people from her age group were free, she’d hazard a guess that you were a student in Japan.

Somewhere.

From the violin and cello, you’d gone on to draw some lines where sheet music could sit wafting from the bow of the string instruments. The girls cheered as the drawing continued to take form. Once you’d drawn the outline for it, you went back to work on the detail for a few moments then returned to the score music.

They were all expecting you to put some decorative notes down but instead, you did a beautiful shape in calligraphy. ‘Y o u’ appeared on the bars and a hush fell over the girls. They watched as more curves took form along the inside of Jirou’s arm, Hagakure was holding her friend’s new canvas up for the others to see.

“You’re…. What?” Yao-Momo asked aloud from opposite her friend, seeming somewhat perplexed. Even the cool-headed creator was getting interested.

Mina let out a small squeal of excitement. “Do you think they could be trying to write something to you?”

Immediately the girls started chattering and the dark-haired heroine had to stop a blush from rising to her cheeks. You hadn’t tried to do anything like this before.

You were still working on other details, now throwing a flute and harp into the background. Mina let out a frustrated cry and Jirou smiled internally. Were you deliberately not finishing the writing?

What a tease.

Wait, did that mean… Did that mean you were watching from somewhere, knowing what was going on?

Feeling her heart rate pick up slightly at the thought that perhaps her soulmate was here in close proximity, the hearing hero raised her head and tried to see if there was anyone in the lunch hall drawing on themselves or being drawn on. She couldn’t see anything.

No groups of friends looking at them for reactions nor at one of their own with a pen. Damn.

“You’re p… Ahhh, what’re they going to say?” Mina cried, leaning even farther forward over the lunch table to get a better look. Jirou’s gaze immediately shot down to her forming temporary tattoo.

Indeed the beginning of another word had appeared next to the ‘You’re’ on the beautifully curving lines of the blank sheet music. This was too much! Why had she been landed with a soulmate who was such a tease? Deciding that she couldn’t take it anymore, she plugged her earphone jack into the ground.

Immediately conversations sprung into her ears but she focused and filtered past them. If she really concentrated hard enough and you were close by… perhaps she’d be able to find you.

None of the conversations in the hall were linked to art or soulmates. Okay then, time to try going a bit further.

It was faint, but she could hear something from outside. There was a familiar voice. Kendo! She was chuckling and talking to someone, reporting on a situation from… From a little way outside the hall! Focusing as intensely as she could without looking too immersed, she blocked out the noise from the hall and tried to hear. “…figure out… significant other is in UA… Are you… confess now…?”

She couldn’t hear any response, you must’ve given a physical response of some sort.

Looking back down, she took her jack out of the floor and heard all her friends cooing and crying out about how adorable her soulmate was. You’d done it, completing the little two-word sentence on her arm. “You’re perfect.”

She couldn’t help but smile at your little compliment. How sweet of you. Unable to hide her smile, she stood and scooted out of the little booth they’d been eating at.

“Hey wait, where are you going?” Mina cried out after her as she strode away.

“Leave her,” Momo smiled, watching her close friend go and the musician made a mental note to thank her for that later.

Lunch wouldn’t be going on for much longer. She was just glad that you’d done the ‘you’re perfect’ along the inside of her arm. Not that she wasn’t proud of it but she didn’t fancy everyone asking about it, especially not when it was too hot to be wearing the school blazers.

Feeling a tickling sensation on the unmarked inside of her wrist, the teen raised it to see what was forming. “I… would… love… to… meet… you…”

How adorable. She cursed the fact that she didn’t have a pen on hand to communicate back. You’d just have to wait for her to get there. That’s if it was you with Kendo. It had to be!

If she’d been right with her quirk then you were just outside. If memory served too, there was a rather large tree there sheilding the spot from anyone in UA. It was the perfect little secluded spot. Turning the exact corner she’d visualised, she saw you in all your splendour.

You were sat down in the shade of one of the trees with your back leaning against the trunk. A set of washable tattoo pens were in the grass beside you and Kendo was stood, leaning against the tree with her usual easy smile. She’d been saying something encouraging from the sound of her voice and stopped when you appeared.

You looked up in surprise and Jirou finally recognised you! You were a student in 1-B. No wonder Kendo was here with you. You looked up and Jirou’s deep violet eyes met your pretty (colour) hues.

You… had you always been so cute?

She remembered thinking that you were kinda attractive one time when they’d done joint training with your class but she’d been so focused on trying to get through the exercise that she hadn’t really had the time to admire you.

You were so much more gorgeous than she remembered.

A blush had crept up to your cheeks. Perhaps you’d been expecting her to write back and ask more questions or arrange a meeting. If nothing else, you certainly hadn’t expected your little plan to end like this.

Kendo smiled kindly and patted your shoulder. “I’ll leave you two to it.” With that, she raised a hand and walked off. That was the big-sister figure of class 1-B for you.

“Uh, hi.” And the award for the most award greeting goes to… Kyoka Jirou! At least she’d managed a small smile in an attempt to not look so scary. After all, you were looking like a deer in the headlights.

You managed to nod a little. “H-hey.”

It was then that the heroine’s eyes landed on the items scattered around you. She’d noticed the drawing utensils at first because of their colours against the green grass. Now she noticed what they were sat upon. It was a sketchbook and, on the page, she could just about make out various compositions for the piece you’d just executed.

“Did you draw all of those for this?” She breathed.

You nodded. “Sorry if it was a bit much… I didn’t really think my doodles were actually affecting someone else until this lunch. Shiozaki knew I was going to be drawing and when she saw you all getting excited about a soulmate tattoo she phoned Kendo and well…”

Moving forward, Jirou crouched and sat down on the grass in front of you. “No, it’s really cool. I like your drawings. You’ve got a talent.”

A blush crept up your cheeks. “Thank you. That means a lot.”

“Were you planning on writing that message regardless of who was going to see it?”

You shook your head. “Not particularly. I was going to write something different. I was going to write ‘Keep Smiling’ as a sort of positivity boost for my soulmate regardless, but when they said it was you…”

Kyoka found herself grinning slightly as you whined and hid your face in your hands getting too embarrassed to finish your sentence.

“I’ve had a crush on you since we did the training together.” Your muffled voice came out. “I thought it was bad… to crush on someone when it might’ve been my fate to be with someone else.”

She blinked in surprise. Had you liked her even without the soulmate system?

“Would you have said anything even if we weren’t soulmates?” She wasn’t sure why the question came out, it just did.

“If I could gather the nerve to confess, probably…” You grumbled and Jiro felt her cheeks warm from that confession.

A smile broke out on her face again. “You’re so punk-rock.”

You blinked then laughed softly and began to pack up your things. “I wouldn’t say that, but sure.”

“You’re totally badass!” She exclaimed catching your attention again as you paused from putting your sketchbook in your bag. “Do you remember the Chinese dragon you drew that snaked up your arm that time? That was really cool! And the Day of the Dead design you did on November 2nd last year with the cool decorative skulls?”

You nodded, recalling the designs. Had she really paid that much attention to your drawings? Gosh, those would look terrible if you saw them again now. Old artwork was often cringe-worthy albeit occasionally funny. It probably looked better in memory than it would physically. Thank goodness.

“You… really liked them that much?” You asked quietly, watching as she nodded. A smile crept across your face, lighting up your features. “Then I’d be happy to draw on you every so often. It’d be cool if I could draw on someone else. I’m sure it’d look a lot better!”

Jirou grinned back and agreed that she’d love that. How lucky she’d been to meet you today! She’d definitely thank Kendo and Momo when she next saw them. As the two of you sat underneath the tree, beginning to discuss your hobbies and get to know one another, she couldn’t help but let the happiness that was brewing in her fill her being to the core. Her cheeks even began to ache slightly from the fact that she couldn’t stop smiling with you.

She couldn’t help but watch the way your eyes sparkled as you spoke about being a hero and your dreams. Art was a hobby you used for stress relief just as she used music. Both of you passionate creatives in your own areas but able to understand and enjoy the dream of the other.

She’d found her soulmate and she’d been so blessed with someone so talented and kind.

As lunch came to an end and the two of you needed to get back to your respective classrooms, Jirou quietly gave you a small kiss on the crown of your head before waving goodbye; a promise on her lips that she’d see you again soon for that tattoo.

So in the shelter of your tree, away from prying eyes, you touched the spot on your head and smiled to yourself.

What a wonderful thing that had begun to bloom in front of your eyes. And this was only the beginning.

#jirou kyouka #kyoka jiro #kyoka jirou #mha #my hero academia #my hero academa x reader #boku no hero academia #boku no hero academia x reader #oneshot #fluff #bnha #bnha x reader #jiro kyoka

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memoriashell · 6 years ago

Text

etching the pieces into place

Characters: Naminé + Wayfinder Trio

crossposted on ao3

Notes: Posting this since participants have been revealed, this was written as part of an exchange. I highly encourage checking out the rest of the collection and support the other talented creators who participated!

( Also, as the majority of this fic is kh3 / post kh3, this does have spoilers in it )

Summary: In darkness she comes from, to the past, she remains chained to.

( There is another who can sympathize with her plight )

( if a picture’s worth a thousand words, how much is one memory? )

It is never enough.

There is no such thing as ‘enough’ to fix the mistakes she has made.

Forgotten, left behind in the shadows— that is a fitting fate for her, nobody who was never meant to exist to begin with. To become unrecognizable when her own actions caused others to be erased from people’s memories. That is the fate she has succumbed to, and Naminé is, in some sense content with that; she has no right to be selfish enough to ask for more than that.

Content with her fate, but not with what she has left behind. No, even now, she understands there is still something to be done, that there are still things she can do. Connections she still has links to, so many memories have passed through her fingers like sand; even if they have been forgotten, she will trace those memories and let them lead her to those places just out of reach. Lead her to Sora, maybe; if not, then she hopes she can leave something more to help him— heal them— instead.

That is how she finds him, lost to time, lost in memories; Naminé finds him and guides him back towards the light.

And that is how she finds him again, lost in the darkness.

The others, she knows, they are all doing their parts to help Sora; so as she always has done, she will do her part to help them too. Naminé knows who to find, when they are given a second chance, that light in the darkness that has not yet been completely lost— traces a connection that she knows well enough at this point, calls out to that person whose will still lingers. He may be their last hope, she thinks; the key to turning the tides.

“Terra?” She can only hope her voice reaches him— in the darkness, she knows he is still blind to them, but if enough of her still exists to reach him, she is not certain.

His head turns slightly, gaze looks past her, but is reassuring of the fact he can be reached still, if he is reacting to her voice ( perhaps it is because they are both have a bit of darkness, she thinks, perhaps that is why she can reach him so easily, even in this place ). “Aqua?” He calls out, tentatively; she winces a little and thinks it is good he cannot see her right now.

“Sorry, I’m not...her. But she’s okay.” Or will be, if all goes according to plan ( and since they are leaving things up to Sora, all should go relatively well ). “I need to ask you something, Terra.”

“I...remember you. She’s not...the lights have gone dim. Something happened.” It is matter-of-factly, the way he says it, in a way she cannot argue with.

“Yes. Some of them have gone dim, but not all of them. They have not been extinguished yet.” She admits, hopes— she hopes that remains true. “You are not alone. You will find your way back to the light, and so will they. Follow the light to where they are, and fight with them. They are counting on you.”

“Is that what you wanted to ask?” Still, the man seems to speak with a renewed vigor, like the master he is meant to be; and despite that, she feels like their connection weakens momentarily, as if something ( or someone ) is trying to interfere. “I have been fighting for them, though. Have I not been doing enough?”

“No, you have been shielding them as much as you can, haven’t you? Please, keep fighting a little longer. Find the light, and you will find them too.” There’s a hint of urgency to her words, if only because she’s not sure how much time she has.

“Find the light.” He echoes. “Okay. I trust you.”

Naminé feels something bittersweet at hearing his words and briefly wishes that he didn’t trust her ( there is nothing trustworthy about a witch like her ). “Thank you, Terra. I’ll...be rooting for you to find them again.”

Her part done, she feels a little more at ease waiting to be able to go back to Kairi and surrendering to her fate as a nobody once again.

She is not sure what to expect of the Land of Departure. It is a different kind of fresh air than Radiant Garden is— or maybe it is just the feeling of being able to see the place for herself, instead of through another’s memories.

Regardless, it is comforting to be away from the tangles of memories and appreciate her surroundings; sketchbook in hand to doodle on. She makes a place for herself in among cliffside and trees, hands settling for drawing familiar figures time and time again ( Naminé wants to put those times behind her, and yet it is not so easy to do so; she has chained herself to those memories so much that she does not quite know how to release herself from that fate ). She misses out on the pitter patter of tiny footsteps as she focuses on correcting her drawings until it is too late, sketchbook pushed away slightly as the cat-like spirit hops onto her lap with a squeal of her name.

“Naminé!” Chirithy waves their stubby limbs at her gleefully, a gesture she can only return with equal enthusiasm— despite having only encountered them briefly during her time in...that place, she is relieved to see them here, that they could find their way home too. Loneliness, she understood that feeling all too well, could empathize with the little being too well; she had hoped that they were not left alone after everything else had happened. Unfortunately, she is not given the time to do much more than greet the other because, without any sort of warning, she is lifted from the ground— she tightens her hold on the spirit and watches resignedly as her sketchbook falls to the ground.

“Aqua, I found her!” The voice that speaks helps her place who has decided to lift her up as if she weighs nothing ( she probably doesn’t to him, if she is honest ), and hopes that she does not look as tense as she feels as she is spun around.

“No, Chirithy found her, you just followed the noise.” The second person to speak is another that is, in a sense, familiar to her ( even if only in memory, Ventus stands out distinctively enough ). Terra is not given a chance to respond to that, because the last of their trio speaks up next.

“Terra, put her down. She looks like you’ve scared her stiff.” The woman chides, and she silently thanks her for stepping in as he relents and places her back down— she is not as familiar with Aqua as she is the other two, but that isn’t really saying much.

“Ah, I was fine, really.” Naminé assures, placing Chirithy back down on their feet with a murmured apology ( she’d clutched at them a little tightly, she thinks ), and crouches down retrieve her sketchbook. Once she has straightened back out, however, she finds herself being pulled into a side hug.

“You remember Aqua and Ven, right?” Terra does not give her the chance to respond; it is an enthusiasm that reminds her distantly of Sora, something she cannot help but feel melancholic about. “I’ve...talked how much you helped me out back then. I was hoping I would be able to introduce you guys properly.”

“How come?” She speaks without meaning to ( she herself isn’t entirely certain to what part exactly she’s questioning ), a moment where her words are spoken rather haltingly. “I, uhm. I mean. I didn’t mean it badly...?”

If he has taken any offense to it, it doesn’t show; expression a mix of confusion and concern. “Because you’re my friend, and what you did was important?” She blinks at that, more than a little caught off guard by the statement.

Friend?

Even after being around someone like Sora, she can’t help but feel startled at hearing the word friend— she, witch who has caused so many people pain, does she deserve something like that? She’s not the one people have ever missed, never been wanted by anyone for any reason that wasn’t her powers ( that is not entirely true, perhaps, but it all comes back to her connections— even now, she would not have found him back then had it not been for those accursed powers of hers ).

“Hm?” Ventus seems to notice her silence, peering at her; expression morphing into something slightly alarmed. “Terra, you made her cry!”

She doesn’t notice it, but as Naminé raises a hand to her face, she realizes that he is indeed correct, rubbing at her eyes— if only for the sake she is not sure how else to respond. It is rather tragic, in a sense, that she has never really been moved to tears before, despite her losses; though that is perhaps because there has always been hope to permeate through her sadness. No, these are happy tears, and that is something foreign that she cannot completely comprehend.

In the meanwhile, Terra seems to have panicked at the situation on their hands, uncertain as his hands awkwardly hover in front of her. “I’m sorry. Did I...say something wrong? Am I wrong?”

There is a swift shake of her head in response, laughter bubbling from her softly ( something heavy weighs in her chest nonetheless, and she cannot help the fact that her smile is tinged with sadness ). “No— I should be the one apologizing. I was simply just...overwhelmed for a moment, sorry. Please don’t think about it.”

Terra looks ready to argue it, but Aqua cuts in, rescuing her yet again with a gentle grasp on her hand. “Well, we’re happy to have you here. We were going to eat soon, you should join us.” By the way of speaking, she can guess she doesn’t have much choice in it; which is fine, she would have accepted anyways, out of politeness. She giggles when she overhears Chirithy make a comment to Ventus from their spot in his arms about being hungry as they walk back to the main part of their world— that gets the other’s attention, seeming to have remembered something.

“Oh yeah— I was going to ask! How’d you end up here, anyhow? We didn’t hear any Gummi Ship stop by.”

Naminé tilts her head a little, smiling as wordlessly, she produces a Corridors of Darkness and watches the other three jump slightly.

Being at the islands is always a feeling of conflict, like— she shouldn’t be there. That she doesn’t belong there. Perhaps, it stems from fabricated memories and the feeling of knowing she was doing something wrong ( another part reminds her that the islands are not her home, that she is trying to find comfort in a place that does not exist for her ).

She places those thoughts aside while she is there, though, wedges herself between Xion and Roxas and quietly laughs when they start betting on what the other’s are doing. There are times where she does address those feelings in her heart, side to side with another who understands the struggles of misplaced memories ( even if she has no one to blame but herself for these shackles, she has to start somewhere— admittedly, Naminé knows that is harder to do so when the people she needs to reconcile with the most aren’t really around ).

Aqua seeks her out at some point— again, odd, she still has to get used to the fact that there are people that aren’t named Roxas or Riku or Xion that want to find her, that there are people that aren’t chained to her that seek her out. That she is wanted, to some extent. Her feet dangle off the dock and dip in the water, stare at her reflection while the elder fusses over her hair; it is a nice feeling, as foreign as such is to her.

“You know you are wanted, right?” As if she knows what she was thinking of, there is a moment where the hand brushing her hair falters, watching her closely. Aqua continues when she opts to not respond, gaze watching as water ripples and breaks through the reflection of herself in the water. “Terra might be quick to trust, but I know he does mean it sincerely. I admit his judgment hasn’t always been great but...we really didn’t help that. You earned that trust by helping him.”

“I didn’t… I didn’t really do anything.” She murmurs, fingers tracing the hem of her dress. “I was just doing what I could.”

The other seems to consider this for a brief moment before shaking her head. “No, really. Thank you. I...don’t know if he would have found his way back as easily without you. Thank you for helping Terra find his way home.”

Home. That is a word that causes Naminé to ache— what is home? Where is home? Was it really as simple to find as that? She always felt a little melancholic, staring out at the sea. “I just helped him find his way back to the light.” That is all she, in part of the darkness, is really good at doing.

Aqua finishes up the braid she’s been making of her hair, pauses to let a hand linger on her shoulder, a gentle squeeze. “Maybe so. That doesn’t make it any less important, does it?” She can’t really find it in herself to argue with her, giving a half-hearted shrug in response. She gets the feeling her response is not exactly one that she wanted to hear, but she does not push the subject any. “Know that we’re here for you if you need anything, okay?”

Naminé hums her acknowledgment as she shuts her eyes, settles with the feeling of the waves lapping at her ankles.

Perhaps it is not so foolish to hope that things will begin to look up.

Most days, she is content to let her hand drift over paper, busying herself recording memories both old and new; capturing these precious moments in time, even when she is alone. He is the subject of her work more often than not, Naminé is not surprised when this is the way things should be; to see Sora’s features litter her sketchbook is a comfort ( even if she cannot feel his connections anymore, they must still exist ).

She tenses up and feels a little self-conscious of her work when she feels someone plop down beside her, but does not say anything and waits instead, letting her hands continue sketching out an image in silence, until the other is ready to speak.

“I...remember seeing you. Just a little.” Ventus says, like he’s not really sure where to start— which is fair, really, neither is she most of the time.

“While he was asleep?” A pause as she breaks her gaze away from the sketchbook, curiosity lingering in her gaze.

“Yeah. But...that wasn’t the only time, was it?” He holds her gaze until she finally looks away, briefly switching to a yellow crayon before picking up a red one as her hand goes back to sketching out distant memories.

“No, it wasn’t. I had to...I wanted to try and reach you, because you were so connected to...to Sora. I was afraid that when I was fixing Sora’s memories that I...might have interfered with you. I...I wanted to make sure you were okay too.” To make sure that someone else wasn’t being hurt by her powers, again. She speaks soft and tentatively, voice coming and going like the ocean tides.

“I thought so. You helped me too.” There’s a sense of finality to which he says that with, so she doesn’t say much more than a dip of her head when she responds.

“I suppose.” It’s nothing compared to what the other’s did, but she’s learning to accept all...this, as much as she can.

“No, thank you. I’m not the only one who wants to thank you, I know.”

Her gaze returns to the figures etched out on paper, expression wistful. “I know. I don’t...I don’t need to hear it, but I would like to be able to...see him all right, again.”

Ventus hums his agreement as he leans over to peer at the page, and Naminé relents, moving her hand away from where a dark chaos had made its home on the paper. A tense moment passes before he speaks again. “That’s...a memory, right? Are they okay...?”

For once her smile is a little more genuine, lifting her head up slightly to peer up at him.

“If Sora is there, I think that everything will be okay in the end. We’re here all right, aren’t we?”

Her demeanor is some mixture of forlorn and yearning as she stares at her sketchbook, fingers trace a person not here and remembers a promise never made. This, perhaps, is why she has a hard time forgiving herself for her actions, why she remains chained to the past— to the person who has arguably been hurt the most by her powers.

“I’m sorry.” Naminé whispers softly, as if she could be heard by someone. “You should be the one here, friend. Not me.”

There is no response, of course; but for a moment, she allows herself to indulge in reminiscing a place that once existed. That had been home once, she thinks ( for a witch like her, it was everything and nothing like what she deserved ). No good comes from lingering on the past, she knows, and yet— she cannot let herself be released from that chain of memories.

“Is that Riku?” A voice speaks from above her and she jumps as she is pulled from the thoughts she’d been dwelling on; gaze torn between darting between the page and the person beside her. “I don’t think I remember that part.”

“I. Er.” Her grasp tightens on the pages ever so slightly, a shake of her head. “Not...exactly?”

“Not exactly.” Terra repeats, confusion evident in his expression, but nods at her regardless. “Do you want to talk about him?”

And she does, the dam of emotions that weigh down her ‘heart’ wants to burst— if nothing else, Naminé needs him to know why she has so much scorn and contempt for herself, the witch who does not deserve all that she has been given ( a second chance— she had not deserved that any more than he ). But those words are heavy and she fears the consequences of speaking them, so she gives another silent shake of her head.

“May I ask you about something else, then?” She doesn’t entirely feel opposed to it, but gives a small shrug in response and allows him to make the call. It is both good and bad that Terra has more questions to ask, that doesn’t allow her to drop the subject completely ( he means no harm, she knows, as much as it pains her to have to face it ). “I never asked but...you introduced yourself to me as a witch who controls memories. Why...did you introduce yourself like that? Like there is nothing else to you than that?”

Because there isn’t, she wants to shout. So many people have taught her that her only worth to them is her powers— that without her powers that she is nothing, that she has a hard time remembering anything else. “Because that is what I do.” She speaks simply, eyes returning to staring down at a memory of a person who used to be ( a laughable statement, perhaps— who had the right to dictate who was real? Who was meant to exist or not? ) “I...there are people I hurt because of that power. Like a witch.”

His gaze seems to have followed hers, for he is not all that hesitant when he next speaks. “Including him?”

“Including him.” Naminé confirms, biting her lip slightly.

“Tell me about him?” He asks, and this time, she relents. She tells him about the castle, about a boy and a boy— memories of a not boy, and the girl who she could not be. Of papers full of promises and false memories drawn by a lonely witch. He listens in silence, lets her get what she needs to off her chest; though when she is done she cannot bring herself to look up at him.

“You think...that having done that makes you a bad person.” Terra says slowly— conclusively, she can only nod at that, still unable to do anything other than stare down at her hands. “I disagree. I...messed up too, you know? I don’t think that makes us bad people. You...at least you’ve been able to make up for it.”

“I...” She starts and stops, haltingly; the words are hard for her to form. “I’m not so sure. I tried to fix it but...it doesn’t really change what has been done.”

The brunet goes silent with that, the words she has spoken weigh heavy on both of them and she cannot think of anything she can say to fix it. He speaks up, after a few minutes, and tentatively she glances up when his voice almost demands her attention ( despite how softly he speaks ). “Now that I think about it, I never got a chance to thank you. For being there. You might have not been as bright as them, but your light led me too, you know.”

“My...light?” She echoes, hesitantly, glancing away after a moment. “I...see. Thank you.” She might not understand why she would appear as a light to anyone ( Naminé understands the sentiment of what he says, though, that is more than enough ).

“You feeling better now?” He asks, hand ruffling her head gently; genuinely, she can laugh and smile at the gesture.

Better, that is a word— it is not an instant fix to her issues, it does not mean that everything works out perfectly ( better, however, assures progress, and is perhaps all she can ask for these days ).

#naminé #wayfinder trio #terra #aqua #ventus #kh #* mine #* zhi writes #kh3 spoilers

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modmad · 7 years ago

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Uncle Mod I really love your comics and they inspire me to create art. I've taken classes since I was a kid and write often, but somehow it's like I'm never good enough? We aren't allowed to do anything cartoony in class, just realistic stuff. I can't do anatomy and my writing goes to pieces. I know I've been given the opportunities to learn, but I feel like I've wasted them. I'm 15 this year so I know I've got time to learn, but I can't help but feel lost. do you have any advice?

putting this one under a cut ‘cause it got way long!

ah shucks anon gosh I can only tell you that I’ve been there- at that precise age, in fact! I had three lovely art teachers in secondary school and I had a great time but we were never taught how to draw humans, at all, or even animals properly! I had to basically teach myself that stuff until I got to foundation art year and uni, but the best thing is? there are a lot of sources of information out there to help you, I mean heck- you even have a real live human to look at and draw right now! it’s you! find figure drawing classes if you can, and an anatomy art book goes a long way, but honestly just grab a mirror and get to work- it might feel a bit frustrating, but understanding how to draw The Real Thing is how you can learn to draw cartoons- this applies to everything. in fact, I’m having to do that right now with cats! I never grew up with one as a pet, so I haven’t really drawn them a whole lot or ever deeply understood their anatomy- the next doodle comic features one, and while it is a cartoon style I know that the best way I can do that is to learn how a real cat’s anatomy works. That’s fun though! I love biology so looking at skeletons and muscle breakdowns is neat to me (got to love libraries and the internet for finding those kind of resources) and watching real footage of cats is, obviously, hilarious and adorable. Research can be dull, or fun! you have to go in with the right mindset, and have enough patience with yourself to allow the time for it to sink in properly.

You’re right that you have a lot of time to learn, but I also understand that it might not feel like it! In fact, it never does! You want to be able to draw better than you can, and I hate to say but it’s always elusively out of reach- someone once told me that your head is always two years ahead of your hands, meaning that what you can ‘think’ to draw will always be better that what you actually ‘can’ draw. This sounds disappointing, but don’t be fooled! Always wanting to do better than you can means you always try, and when you try you always learn, and so you therefore always do, in fact, get better. People who think they’re the best don’t bother to try to improve, so they don’t!

I’m not some magical guru super artist with all the answers; I’m still learning and trying and failing and trying and screwing up and trying again myself, and I know I always will be! all I can advise you on is to be kind to yourself, never stop trying to learn, don’t be afraid to seek out alternative ways to learn, and trade perfect for done- that’s one of the best things I ever learned to do. Perfect doesn’t exist! You’re always going to post art online and then go ‘augh I missed that bit’ or ‘urghhh it’s not as good as what I had in my head’- but nobody else can see that picture in your head, they can see the thing you made, and odds are they think that’s pretty damned swell! Make a thing. Want to make a better thing. Make a better thing- repeat.

#TL:DR #sorry that got wordy #but I really was in the same boat!#also buddy pal anon you gotta realise I am #uh #old #olderer old #so I have had quite a lot of years of doing #bad drawings #and the more bad drawings you make the easier it gets to make good ones!#one day I'll get there #maybe #Anonymous

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cyrelia-j · 7 years ago

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[Fic] Inside a Dream III (Garak/Bashir)

Took a bit to think more on where I was going with this and it's probably slow burn which I don't normally do because I'm impatient haha. #rd chapter of this bittersweet sad thing. If you need a refresher,

Part 1 and Part 2

Still AU but not really an AU set at the end of everything show/books. Angst, Drama, Romance, falling in love [again maybe] but lots of angst and bittersweetness to be had, This next part is based off My Chemical Romance's “The World Is Ugly”.

Brief note on other pairings: You can read Kelim into this (especially from the first 2 chapters- no decisions made on whether that avenue will be pursued) ALSO, past Julian/Jack Pack (Jack, Lauren, Sarina, Patrick in some form or another but nothing explicit)

The world is ugly

But you’re beautiful to me

Well are you thinking of me now (now)

“Do you ever dream of outer space, Garak?” Julian is seated on a plastic milk crate out back behind the old Goodwill. There was a cigarette in his hand but he put it out when he saw Garak approaching him. He had to apologize, tell him that he didn’t have long to chat. He was surprised that Garak had found him here as well but it was a pleasant surprise. Garak had let him know one of the ladies inside had said he could find his friend here. Julian let him know that he only had fifteen minutes before he had to get back. He was proud to tell him that he was making progress, that he thought he might be able to move himself to an apartment with a proper kitchen, a place where he might be able to have Garak over. Doctor Parmak had praised him for his progress. In the end, Julian wasn’t surprised that Garak had found him. Somehow he knew that the two of them would meet again.

Julian remembered his notebook today so that he could be sure to capture anything that Garak said and not forget. He has it open looking at Garak excited. It doesn’t feel so cold today to him; he’s wearing a blue sweater and pair of faded jeans. He doesn’t like it but he’s also wearing his glasses so that he can read the numbers on the register properly. Garak is wearing the same wool coat and took a seat next to Julian without care for any dirt or possible snags.

“I hope you don’t laugh at me. I feel like someone’s father in these things,” he said pushing them back on his face when Garak had seen them. Garak looked at him long and hard before saying that no, he thought they suited Julian just fine. It wasn’t quite what he was expecting; Julian somehow thought that Garak had spent a lifetime teasing him before now. But there was something nice about this too.

“What did you want to talk about today, Julian?” Garak had asked him. “We used to have a lot of invigorating discussions over lunch.” Julian had instinctively leaned into him and maneuvered his head to Garak’s shoulder.

‘’fraid I just got a fifteen since this is part time but... but I’ll try to be invigorating.” He laughs softly. “Think all the vigor might have gone out of me when my head got cracked open.”

“Never,” Garak declares definitively and Julian smiles at that.

“It’s strange,” he says opening his notebook seeing the letter “DS” and the number “9” written to the most recent page. Julian doesn’t see well enough for long periods to draw but he’d managed to sketch out a small little doodle of a wheel in space with four prongs around it. “You see this here?”

“Sometimes I dream of a space station far away from here. I think it started when I met you, you know.” Garak places his thumb over one of the sketches station prongs and Julian gasps. “Yes, yes that’s it! But how did you-” He turns and looks at Garak confused. “Can you… can you see inside my dreams or… or is this like from a… television program maybe?” Garak moves his thumb from the page and instead takes Julian’s hand.

“It would be to your detriment were I to tell you everything. I’m certain that my perceptions and memories might color your own in remembering. Do you… remember anything else from your… dream, Julian?” Garak asks him and Julian closes his eyes trying to remember. It’s difficult because there are so many images when he lets his mind drift. Sometimes when he shuts his eyes too long he starts to see fire and explosions and hear screams and people dying around him.

But not today. Today with Garak he doesn’t see any of those images that make his head spin and make him nauseous.

“Alright. You’re right I can… um… right, I can picture them now. It’s... it’s strange... because I always see the same people. There’s a woman with these lines on her nose, a woman with spots along her face, a man with curly brown hair, a man with a funny looking head, a man with a mountain range on his forehead, a man with a washed over face like he’s got a stocking over his head or something and then… Then there’s a man there. He’s tall, he’s bald, he wears a red uniform and I... I feel like I want to call him father. Or maybe it’s that... I feel like... like I wonder what my life would have been like if... if a man like him was my father and not... ah well you don’t need to know about my father. I’ve never done anything but disappoint my father.” Julian laughs softly. “Can you believe that… that of everything I’ve forgotten I still remember… being a child… being… being institutionalized because there was something wrong with my head?”

Garak is silent a moment before he squeezes Julian’s hand.

“I know,” he answers softly.

“He hasn’t come to see me either… no one… no one else came once Sarina left but... but I suppose I can’t blame him. I must have been an awful burden when I was younger but I know that I used to be a doctor... Oh well, of course you know that. Stupid, Julian,” he whispers to himself closing his eyes tighter. “Sorry, you know I have good days and bad days and I... do you think that I... that I could ever be what I was?” Julian asks him opening his eyes again, staring hard at the cracks in the blacktop. “I’m afraid.” He’s said it to Doctor Parmak, but there’s finality in making such a confession to Garak. Doctor Parmak didn’t know him before he was... broken. Garak did. “I’m afraid that I’ll never be what I once was... that it will never come back.”

“It will come back, Julian.”

“Right, of course, that’s what they keep telling me but… I keep feeling like I’ve lost something terribly important. Like there’s something not right and I…” Julian turns, looking Garak in the eyes and he remembers again how beautiful and blue they are- like they could drown him, like Garak’s mouth is the most beautiful thing when it’s curled to some lie and… he doesn’t understand these thoughts. “I...” He feels that he’s always loved Garak’s mouth and then he realizes that he’s leaning in with a tilt of his head and… and something so intimate as a kiss should spark some memory... but it doesn’t... but he feels as this is what should be happening and he doesn’t understand why his mouth is so dry and his hands are starting to shake and Garak isn’t moving and Julian feels so confused because he wants this more than anything and-

“I never meant to hurt you,” he says with a stop, minutes to midnight short his mouth in that uncrossable gap to Garak’s. Julian doesn’t understand why he says that. He’s sure there’s a reason but-

But his watch is beeping and he’s sure he’s making an awful break but he has to get back because… because…

—

Garak is breathing hard, the memories swirling in his head as the time is up and the room snaps back to its reality. He thinks how Guls damn lucky that Julian is to be sitting in that odd fantasy world dreaming of that thing called television and worrying of nothing else but his imagined service job. Garak can’t do this anymore. He can’t. He can’t look at Julian and see those hazel eyes flicker with him grasping, searching, like Garak is meant to give him something that he no longer has to give. He can’t go through Julian’s push and pull and beautiful neck, pained expression like everything Garak says wounds him. Those words haunt him, along with Julian’s expression of betrayal when he looked at Garak. “no one else came once Sarina left…”And Julian didn’t even have the spirit left to ask him. Why didn’t I come to see you? Why did I abandon you here? That’s what the real Julian would have said to him. The real Julian would have joked, would have made some smart remark and he wouldn’t have stared at him like a glassy eyed doll and apologize for some imagined transgression.

That man wasn’t his Julian if there ever was a “his Julian”.

Garak stands up straight from where he’s been bent over, breathing hard with a soft curse. He blinks at the knock at the door. Surely Parmak wouldn’t knock? But he sees Parmak’s head duck in as the door opens.

“My apologies, Elim for the ahh breaking of our convention but there was a visitor here who I felt we would benefit from speaking with and I shouldn’t think to push you into something you’re not ready for. That is if you’re not up to it since these visits seem to drain you so…” There’s a bit of a rustle as Parmak’s head turns to the side and Garak rubs at his face.

“It’s fine, Kelas.” Garak removes the coat, the garment stifling in the warm room. He drapes it over the back of the bed from where Julian is laying still dreaming. “Does this have anything to do with the upcoming-” Garak stops when he sees exactly who it is that enters the room after Parmak and he freezes. Garak doesn’t forget faces. He doesn’t forget names. He especially doesn’t forget figures who make his threat senses rise to dangerous levels. That’s the only reason that he really remembers the man beyond Julian’s offhanded mention and stories. He hadn’t chanced upon the man much on the station, only a few times in passing but even that was enough. He was the most dangerous of the lot of the augments that were brought by that doctor. He was the one with the furtive, darting eyes. He was the one with the enhanced strength and speed and eyes that said he might any moment decide in his madness that there was an immediate threat that needed to be taken out. He was clever and bright, and a man that Julian never seemed to have the sense to be afraid of.

The name was simple to remember; it was Jack. Just Jack- like plain simple “Garak”; and like Garak there was nothing plain or simple about him. When Garak watches him step confidently into the room, he reassesses that threat level and determines it’s just as high as before if not higher. He’s thankful for the disruptor pistol by the bed in the top drawer of the dresser. Of course Parmak has said that the device- that the technology allowing them to project the space of Julian’s mind to the room- was from Jack but that doesn’t mean Garak had ever expected to see him in person. He rather thought that the gift was in lieu of his ever coming to Cardassia Prime. Jack has no reason to visit Julian that he knows of. They were never that close that he recalls. Not the way that Julian was with-

“Messy messy, Jubilee,” Jack says, walking right past him to where Julian’s lying on the bed. “Christ, how many times did I tell you, tell you to run for it like the rest of us, turn around, don’t come back hm? RPM could’ve left ‘em all behind but not you, you had to save every dumb fuck in that asylum, didn’t you? And then zap when your brain, McMurphy...” Garak watches him, hearing the words, knowing from what little recollection he has that Jack was one of the “defective” ones. He was one of the augments that didn’t make it. The affection is strange. Julian had written Garak once regarding them, nearly as an afterthought. It had simply said that “the others” had made progress, that they were able to integrate and that was the end of it. Jack is looking at Julian muttering things that sound like nonsense about Jack being the one who should’ve broken his crown not Jill but-

Garak is distracted as he watches Jack occasionally... vibrate, his hand up the side of Julian’s face as he insults him a million times in two different languages. Garak remembers that Jack is the same age as Julian but he looks years younger. His hair is the same messy auburn as before though vanity might play some part there. Garak doesn’t see any gray in his mustache, in that patch below his mouth but again there’s much to be argued for vanity versus genetics. His eyes were a similar hazel to Julian’s but wild, uncertain, and though there’s a black patch over his left eye, his right appears more settled. His mouth is turned down in a frown, he’s still dressed in a long coat and a buttoned up vest as if the temperature doesn’t bother him, smartly dressed, really as he stands there. He doesn’t have any weapons but then again a man engineered to be a weapon wouldn’t need them.

Parmak is still hanging back next to Garak and it seems they both sense some intimacy that they hadn’t realized before. Jack is still looking at Julian shaking his head before it snaps up to Garak without warning. That erratic turn isn’t quite what it once was. It’s tempered and Garak notices black leather gloves on his hands as he stops himself from raising a finger to his mouth.

“He’s still out. He’s still dead and damned to the world, still sleeping like Endymion so why did I bother giving you the device if you weren’t gonna pull him out? You were supposed to pull him out you were supposed to bring him back to me! Do you like keeping him here!? Are you trying to steal him for yourself?! Well too late that ship sailed so why isn’t he-” Jack catches himself, taking a deep breath, head back, voice dropping back from that yell to his normal cadence. “I thought you would have brought him back by now,” he repeats though it’s clear that the steady voice is a strain.

Garak takes a wary step forward careful to maintain the range just out of reach that he gauged. Jack is faster than Julian was, possibly better reflexes, surely faster than Garak at his age but he doesn’t sense a threat just... the agitation that one would have for a-

“Why do you mean you thought I would have brought him back by now? He’s in a coma, as you can quite clearly see and I assure you that reality does not mold itself to whatever human fairytales you’ve woven into this.” Or whatever other illusions he’s clearly dreamed of Julian and the rest of them. That’s what it is, surely it’s an illusion that he’s manifested. He isn’t well, just as mad as ever, Garak decides.

“Ha! Right! Exactly!” Jack exclaims, raising a finger dramatically. He takes a step but there’s another breath and again he holds back, snapping his hands behind his back. “Right, exactly the fairy tale and in this Talia needs the king, no wait, not the king, the king knocked her up and it was the suckling babe that woke her no no, you’ve got it wrong mmhm we need a different-”

“Jack,” Parmak interrupts gently with a stupidly fearless step forward. Parmak is the one who puts a hand to Jack’s shoulder with that look that could calm the fiercest and wild hound. “Take a breath Jack, I fear you’ve confused Elim and myself as well and ah… you know that us basics, you say? We need a few more steps to catch you. Is that alright, Jack? Can you give us a few more steps so that we might catch you?” Jack blinks at him from that eye, carefully unfurling his arms, stretching them in front, nodding definitively drawing a breath. Garak swears that if Parmak had the stomach for it he’d have made a fine interrogator and as if reading that thought, Parmak stares at him with a disapproving frown and a sigh.

“I shall endeavor to be silent and allow the man to say his piece,” Garak says, deciding to leave the pistol. For now.

“Right, of course, you’re limited so, layman’s terms, dial it back mmhm,” Jack says softly, his breaths erratic but slowing. “So, we have a theory- the rest of us do- that the closest one, can bring him back. He’s back there buried, hiding half broken, not his fault though the Lethean attack weakened him. Pity, poor thing he might’ve just been missing an eye here.” Jack laughs awkwardly.

“I’m sorry,” Garak says already breaking that vow to silence, ignoring Parmak’s look to keep it. “It was my understanding that Julian’s mental state is the result of watching that woman taking her own life.” Parmak is glaring at him mouthing that Sarina Douglas wasn’t “that woman” but “Julian’s wife”. Well she’s dead now so it hardly matters what she was in life because in death she’s nothing but a woman who wouldn’t even visit Julian’s head in whatever dreamworld he’s fallen into. And Garak needs information and that is the mission at hand now that he finally has something to work with. He sees Jack twitch again, another of those laughs before he crosses his arms, bouncing on the balls of his feet.

“Heh, au contraire mon frere, as the saying goes. You think, you really think this… that this man, this agent, this extra sensitive bean who seen death, war, torture, friends snuffed out like candles -all that good ultraviolent stuff- couldn’t handle that hm?”

“I wouldn’t think so either from what I’ve seen, but then again I’ve had plenty of opportunity to witness the breaking point of many an “unbreakable” man.”

“Ah, unbreakable, but not Bashir, not Julian, not my Annabel Lee here…”

“I’m sorry, I wasn’t aware that your contingent was less connected by similar genetic enhancements and more by carnal knowledge,” Garak snaps starting to wonder if everyone in the galaxy as had Julian but him. Amazingly Jack doesn’t rise to that antagonism, instead turning back to Julian looking down.

“T’was many and many a year ago, in a kingdom by the sea… Ah right, limited lizards, limited lizards, hm, slow it down Jack. But you know it really was the wind that came out of the cloud by night. When Sarina had taken down the system it activated…” He trails off a moment before whispering almost too soft for Garak to hear but he heard it nonetheless. “…chilling and killing my Annabel Lee.”

“The system running Section 31? I thought that woman, was the only one affected.”

“She was,” Jack agrees with an emphatic nod of his head. “But you don’t… you don’t understand how we’re connected.”

“I’d rather not,” Garak says flatly. Jack ignores him.

“It’s the killswitch, mmhm, that’s what the told us. One of us turns against the mainframe it takes us all out at once.” And then it all makes sense when Jack taps to his eye and Garak looks at Julian. The Lethean attack was a psychic attack that would have damaged Julian’s ability to resist future assaults. Julian had told him then that no one had ever survived an attack and Garak sees now it must have been like a snake bite. Once bitten, forever weakened. Which means that-

“Ah, not so limited after all! I see the dots connecting, Castellan. You got it, there’s hope for you yet, mmhm. Exactly! Ashes ashes... we all fall down.”

(Next chapter, the mystery of what happened to all of them and this dream world is revealed! Chapter 4 now posted HERE)

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