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sixosix · 2 years

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𝐌𝐈𝐃𝐎𝐑𝐈𝐘𝐀 𝐈𝐙𝐔𝐊𝐔: 𝐂𝐔𝐓𝐒 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐒𝐏𝐎𝐎𝐍𝐒 𝐎𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐅𝐋𝐎𝐎𝐑

( ? ) pro hero!izuku x quirkless!reader

( ! ) gn!reader, fluff, descriptions of blood and injuries (izuku will never change when it comes to that), celebrity crushes is truly a wonderful thing (not)

series masterlist | bnha masterlist

pro hero deku has been patrolling in your area quite recently.

you know this because everyone and their mother is talking about it, chattering non-stop about how they saw the recent fight with their own eyes, they swear! babbling on and on about how deku smiled at them—and look, a picture for proof!

you believe them because there’s been an uprising of criminals in your neighborhood recently, and of course, it’s in the number one’s responsibility to be…well, a hero.

not that you care much. you’ve never been a fanatic for heroes and all their shebang—though, it’s true that deku is the only hero everyone can’t help but respect. so despite your indifference, you feel safer knowing that if you get attacked, there will be a 99.9% chance of a pro like him appearing to save the day.

the 1% ended up giving you much more than you bargained for.

the plastic of your takeout container squeaks against the bag, grating your ears quite annoyingly in a way that makes you walk a second faster to get it done and over with. squeak squeak squeak. you decide to lay it in the middle of your palm.

a spill of soft curses from the alleyway to your right is much more concerning than the sound of forks scraping a blackboard. especially when the voice sounds all too familiar.

well, how can you forget about it when he speaks on every television you come across?

number one hero deku leans against the brick wall, one eye barely open as it winces at the sight of his arm bleeding.

his sleeve is ripped open, slashed with a clean cut that could make anyone faint.

if you weren’t too stunned, maybe you would’ve kept your mouth shut and not disturb the clearly distressed hero who definitely knows what he’s doing (probably). perhaps you wouldn’t have gasped so loudly the next second.

deku’s sharp green eyes—it looks like it’s glowing in the darkness—cut to yours, and then widens. “ah!” he squeaks. the number one hero squeaks, not unlike your takeout which is starting to slip off your palm.

“sorry!” you both exclaim at the same time, then send each other confused looks at the outburst.

deku grimaces, launching into a series of nonsensical rambling despite his arm being literally sliced open. “i’m so sorry you have to see this, please close your eyes, i thought there weren’t any civilians—wait, what are you doing here? were you part of the attack? are you okay?” he’s walking closer to inspect you for injuries, eyes glazed over.

“deku-san!” you nearly yell, one hand awkwardly hovering around him, unsure of where to place it, and the other still holding your takeout. “deku-san, we need to get you to a medic—”

“medic?” deku scrunches his nose, and you gesture at his arm that’s starting to flake with dried blood from the crisp air. “oh! no, no, no. this isn’t bad at all. sadista—her quirk makes small cuts more painful than it is.”

when your deadpanned staring shifts to his red arm—red from the blood—he chuckles. “it’s just a cut. i’m still on patrol, so i can’t—”

he continues on telling you about how he genuinely isn’t in mortal danger or anything like that, the quirk just startled him, blah blah blah. you observe the hero in front of you, slightly shocked by how his baby face betrays the build of his body. well, of course, he’s built! he’s the number one hero that has a quirk about strength or something.

he can level an entire city with a flick of his finger, as you’ve heard.

but that’s beside the point.

your gaze wanders to your left, spotting a familiar building that’s only a few steps away. “you heroes have a first-aid kit or something in there?”

“...what?”

you meet deku again when he crashes through from your terrace.

he’s on the ground, looking at you upside down—and damn it he looks cuter like that. despite this bizarre situation, you cannot help but feel in awe of being once again blessed by the number one hero. not that you care much about heroes or anything…

“oh!” deku beams at you, his forehead bleeding but the brightness on his grin never fading, “it’s you!”

you wave awkwardly, work completely forgotten. “hey, deku-san…”

“thank you for helping me with my wound last week, by the way!” deku says, rolling to his side to stand up.

was that last week? that felt like ages ago… and how does he even remember that?

“ah,” your face heats up, “n-no problem, really! it’s what anyone would do.”

deku beams again, and you feel like you’ve said the right thing even when this isn’t a test.

“aren’t you—uh, sorry for assuming—in a fight right now?”

deku giggles. sweet jesus. “no, no. it’s already taken care of—” ah, so basically he already beat the shit out of them, “—i’m just,” he yawns, then blinks in surprise as if he didn’t expect that.

“tired?” you supply for him, smiling fondly. “deku-san, the bags under your eyes look more painful than the bruise on your head.” deku promptly reaches out to feel for said bruise, like he didn’t even notice it. “no offense, of course!”

he laughs, “yeah, i’ve been on this case for, um, a week now…”

“...and you’ve slept, right?”

deku lightly rubs the bruise that he probably can’t even feel now that you realize he’s just running on pure adrenaline by now—one that’s slowly fading away the more he just lies there. why isn’t he moving?

“...deku-san,” you stare at him, wide-eyed.

“don’t worry!” deku smiles—that signature one that he claims he hopes is brighter than all might’s but everyone believes is even better, “i’m… i’m all good.”

“you don’t look too good,” you laugh awkwardly.

his eyes slip close.

“deku-san? deku-san! deku!?”

you stand straight when you hear a soft groan from the living room.

with nimble steps, you peek from around the wall and—yes, deku-san’s awake now. he blinks lazily, like a tired little cat, then immediately—hero senses kicking in—narrows his eyes. the light thrum of his quirk buzzes under his skin, ready to jump at anyone who scares him.

you clear your throat softly, not in the mood for a bruise to match his. “sleep well, deku-san? looks like you needed that.”

deku gapes. “i—i fell asleep! here!” he shouts, red in the face from embarrassment.

you give him a laugh, sliding a plate down to the table in front of him. it’s your takeout from earlier, no longer naturally warm, but it’s better than nothing. and deku definitely has been going on with nothing.

is this the life of a hero?

maybe it’s a good thing that you gave up on that thought…

with a harumph, you gesture at the plate. “eat up.” heroes these days, honestly!

deku pales. “i, um, i couldn’t possibly impose—i’m fine—”

“if you can’t take care of yourself, how will you take care of anyone else, hm?” you narrow your eyes, daring him for an answer.

funnily enough, deku gulps. as if he isn’t the most feared and respected hero in the house of some random citizen. “okay, if it makes you happy.”

“it’s not about what makes me happy, deku-san…” but then you think back on how he treats himself, and then take it back. “but your well-being does make me happy.”

deku blushes.

“you really don’t have to keep doing this every time we meet,” deku murmurs shyly, glancing at you from time to time with pink on his cheeks.

he looks so innocent.

but you know better. you see the curious glint in his eye that follows your every step. maybe he’s thinking you’re suspicious, maybe he’s thinking you want him for something since you let him sleep on your couch, but he doesn’t show it on his smile—all sunny and wide like this is normal.

maybe it’s normal for him.

by now, you know where his minimized first-aid kit is. and he lets you unlatch it from his costume, watching you curiously—not wary, more like… happy? you clean his wound, and he lets you. had you been someone else, more sinister and daring, he would’ve been dead. then again, said villain would be defeated the second after when in the presence of deku, of all people.

you should consider buying a first aid kit if this keeps happening. somehow, the thought makes your heart glow with warmth.

you wipe the blood off his forehead. deku peers up at you, round-eyed and adorable, spoon still in his mouth.

“it feels nice knowing i can do something good for once,” spills from your mouth before you can even think twice about it. “um, i mean—that sounds—”

deku frowns, lips tugging downwards. “i don’t think you’re a bad person.” but with the spoon in, it sounds more like i ron hink you’re a vab hersho.

“i-it’s not that… it’s. i’m quirkless,” you tell him, wincing a little at the confession.

damn. maybe you should’ve finished cleaning him up first before letting him kick your ass to oblivion.

the spoon slips from his mouth and clatters on the floor.

deku’s eyes widen a fraction, but he didn’t try to shuffle away from you or anything; instead, he leans closer, as if studying your expression—maybe it’s only out of the kindness of his heart.

“i see,” deku murmurs, then grins. “you know you’re my hero right now, right? quirk or not, you’d still be a good person to me.”

you pause, looking up at him with visible surprise. “oh.”

he’s not angry?

“maybe it’s fate that led me to you,” deku says to himself, “i get it now!”

but you’re still reeling, flustered beyond belief from the fact that you told him you’re quirkless and still he stays so near in front of you. he looks happy to be around you.

…maybe you’ll start looking into heroes more.

#606:BNHA #bnha x reader #mha x reader #bnha fluff #mha fluff #bnha imagines #mha imagines #bnha drabbles #midoriya izuku x reader #midoriya izuku fluff #deku x reader #deku fluff #midoriya izuku scenarios #izuku midoriya imagine #izuku midoriya fluff #izuku midoria x reader

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woso-fan13 · 1 year

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30. ‘Get Back in Bed!’

“Y/N,” Kristie says, stretching your name out in warning.

Your eyes go wide, looking at her and pressing your lips together to stop yourself from giggling.

Kristie’s exasperated look is redirected from you to the doorway when she hears a commotion. She can only think of one group capable of causing such a commotion: the USWNT.

Sure enough, bodies come piling through the door, filling the room. Your face lights up when you see your teammates, excitedly trying to get up and go see them. When your body makes it to the edge of the bed, an alarm starts going off. A look of shock crosses your face as you try to figure out where the noise is coming from.

By now, familiar with the routine, Kristie stands from the chair she was in. Crossing to the bed, she presses a few buttons on the panel on the side and the noise stops.

“If that alarm goes off again, the police are going to come arrest you,” she warns, “you need to stay in bed.”

You nod your head seriously, firmly believing her. You scoot back to the middle of the bed, making yourself comfortable and quickly becoming absorbed in the ad playing on the television.

“The nurse taught me how to turn the alarm off the fifth time she tried to climb out of bed,” Kristie tells the team, “the police coming is my only little spin on it.”

“Does it work?” Abby questions from the group.

“Oh, it absolutely does not, thank you for asking. But she’s so gullible that it’s a fun game we like to play.”

“She’s not gullible,” Abby says, looking at where you were intensely staring at the tv, “she’s just super drugged.”

“That too,” Kristie agrees, “but drugged is better than her screaming in pain.”

Everyone’s faces go solemn as they think about how much pain you had been in earlier. A trip to the hospital and some pain meds had made a world of difference over the last few hours. The only problem is that now you were an absolute menace from the medication. You refused to stay in bed, determined to get out and go somewhere. You had pulled out two IVs before they wrapped this one so securely that your clumsy hands couldn’t get to it.

For the most part, you have been as good as you can be. Mainly, you were content to ramble nonsensically to yourself, periodically looking to whoever else was in the room. Once they said some form of agreement, you would go right back into your conversation. You were also happy to stare at the tv like it was the most interesting thing that you had ever seen.

Kristie had been lucky enough to be stuck with you. She had rolled her ankle at practice a few days ago, and the trainers wanted to play it safe. She had been passing the time watching old matches and reviewing games, but you needed her attention more. When she tried to pull out a laptop and watch some of the videos while you were sleeping, she was shocked by her headphone being pulled out of her ear. There you were, hospital gown hanging loosely off your body as you stared at her, the bed alarm going off in the background. Both of you stared at each other, completely confused.

The team was pulled out of their conversation as a familiar sound filled the air. Looking over, they could see you attempting to climb over one of the rails that had been pulled up.

“Y/N, get back in bed,” Kristie demands sharply.

“But, I- I- I gotta go. Go help, gonna win. USA. USA”

You’re halfway over the railing, rambling a monologue that nobody can quite follow. The alarm is still going off and Kristie knows she needs to fix the situation soon before the nurse comes into the room. She walks quickly to the bed, turning the alarm off.

Now, she looks at you. You had actually managed to get one of your feet to the ground, the hospital branded non-slip sock supporting you. Your other limbs were indistinguishable as they tried to grip onto the railing of the bed.

“Someone else needs to handle this. I’m supposed to be injured.”

Ash rolls her eyes and walks over to you.

“Hi muffin. Did you get stuck?”

You hum an affirmative response, watching her suspiciously. She chuckles, easily picking you up and plopping you back down on the bed. As soon as you’re seated again, your eyes go back to the tv. The team follows your gaze, quickly figuring out where you might be headed.

“Y/N?” Kristie asks.

You don’t look away from the screen or verbally respond, but you do nod your head slightly.

“Are you trying to go help at the soccer game?”

“I’m a soccer player. I’m a good soccer player and they’re not, they need help. I need to go help them or they’re not going to win.”

The team has to refrain from laughing at the not so subtle jab you had just directed to the USMNT. It was true, the game was not going well. You have always been honest.

Kristie sighs, unsure how to respond.

“Are you a boy or a girl?” she ends up asking.

“I’m a girl, see? I have long hair and my nails are pink so I have to be a girl.”

“Can boys have long hair and pink nails?” Kristie probes.

“Yeah.”

“Okay, whatever, not going to question that. But you’re a girl and this is the boy’s team. They wouldn’t let you play.”

“Oh.”

“I know, it’s very sad that you can’t play.”

“Kristie? I really want to play though.”

“I think we’re too far away, they’re in the Middle East. Maybe we can play with them another day.”

You look at Kristie like she’s an idiot, “they’re right there,” you whisper loudly, “I see them.”

Deciding that she would get nowhere trying to rationalize with you, Kristie grabs the remote. She changes the tv to Animal Planet and you are instantly absorbed in the crocodile the Irwin son is trying to relocate.

Seeing that you’re content, Kristie walks back over to the group. She sits down heavily in a seat, leaning her head back and closing her eyes.

“Don’t judge me, you would lie to her too. She’s exhausting.”

#uswnt imagine #uswnt imagines #woso imagine #woso imagines #reader insert #uswnt x reader #uswnt woso #uswnt players #uswnt reader #woso x reader #woso soccer #woso #womens soccer

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fearfulachilles · 4 months

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6. worth your while.

chapter six to buop (nanami kento x reader jjk medical au.) .

full contents here.

summary: kento is a no nonsense man, you’ve figured out that much. he’s not the type you get involved with at all. until he tells you he can be, if you want him to.

warnings: sexual scenes.

sticky note: i took an edible and wrote this. enjoy!

Kento is at the clinic early the next day. He only works two days out of the week in the clinic, because he has to work at least two days. He remembers the first day Satoru had announced the opening of the new clinic. The new owner of Jujutsu Hospital thought it was important to provide care to all of our current patients and new patients, so the clinic was the gateway to that.

He agreed with that statement, healthcare should be accessible to everyone. He just didn't agree with the fact that he'd have to cut down on surgery hours to work in the clinic until new physicians could be hired and take over.

“Everyone's gotta do it, Kento. Shoko's showing up three days a week. Even Suguru is taking a day off surgery to come in every couple of weeks.” Satoru tried to make it sound better, but it didn't work. “Yu's starting off with two days for our family planning patients.”

“I'm not a family physician, Gojo. I'm a goddamn surgeon. I can't be held up like this.” Kento fought back.

In the end, Satoru had more authority, so even though he bitched and complained, Kento still had to do it. It's not so bad, at least he got to see you again. He wasn't prepared on how often he was going to think about you.

Yesterday made it worse. You were smart along with funny and beautiful. He had gone home thinking about you. He went to bed thinking about you, having to fist his cock before being able to sleep. He know it's inappropriate, not only do you work with him, but you had made it clear you weren't interested in something serious. Kento's not the type to have flings or one-night stands, but he can't stop thinking about you.

He couldn't sleep well last night because of his thoughts. So, he arrives to work a little grumpier than usual. He groans to himself when he hears his close friend yelling his name.

“Kento!” The voice is coming from down the hall. Kento looks over and sees Yu Haibara, his old med school friend and the one who recommended he work for Jujutsu High after leaving his last place of employment at a for-profit hospital. Also, the brother of his ex-fiancée. Yu catches up with the blonde doctor, smiling brightly at his friend. “How are the new scribes working out?”

“They're good, smart.”

“Don't oversell them.” Yu joked. “I've got Itadori with me today. I hope he likes newborns, I've got lots of moms coming in for their three week postpartum follow ups. This new clinic is great, isn't it?”

Yu was Jujutsu Hospital's main OB-GYN. He was a helpful and vocal coach during birth and all his patients loved him because he created a safe space for first time mothers. Some would travel over an hour just to be seen by him and have him deliver their babies. He was always happy and chipper, Yuji was a good choice to work with.

Kento grunts in agreement. It's a great idea, he just doesn't like working in it. He bids goodbye to his happy go-lucky friend. He reaches for his coffee that he brewed at home this morning and hisses at the horrible flavor.

“This tastes like shit.” He comments to himself before putting the cup down. How has he not noticed before? Maybe he'll start buying his old preferred coffee beans again.

Your voice rings in Kento's ears just a few minutes later. You're carrying two cups of coffee from a nearby cafe, and when you get close to him, you hand one of them to him. He stares at it blankly for a moment, it prompts you to clear your throat awkwardly.

“I hope it's not weird, I was grabbing coffee and thought to bring you one. I-I don't know what you like, so I got you one that I like... is this weird?” You babble.

You're always the one sabotaging these moments. Now with your rambling and once before near the vending machines when you told Kento to forget about the car incident. How can he forget when you keep making everything about it?

You're surprised when the blonde doctor smiles and takes the coffee you're offering.

“No, this is very kind. Thank you.” Your name falls from his lips in and it sends shivers down your body.

You settle in, placing your own coffee drink on the nurse station desk and you disappear to grab a hospital laptop. You return and bring up the schedule for today. “I took a peek at the patient load yesterday and it looks busy. Think you'll be okay?” You tease.

Kento drinks the coffee you brought for him. He tastes the richness of the coffee and the sweetness of the syrups used. He usually drinks black coffee, without any sugar or creamers, but he can't deny the bursts of flavors he can taste just now. It was just what he needed.

“I'm up for it, if you are.” He replies.

_________

The day burns you out, not because of the amount of patients you saw today, but because of Kento.

He was in a much better mood today working with you alone. He was chattier with his patients, so naturally charming in his element. He introduced you to each patient, your name being sounded out perfectly, and includes you in the conversations with patients. You felt seen, heard, and appreciated by him.

Maybe it was because of his better mood, or something else you weren't aware of, but his lack of personal space with you was even worse today too. He'd open the exam room door for you to walk out first and he'd follow closely behind with his fingertips brushing along the small of your back to guide you out of the room. He'd call you over to sit beside him at the nurse station and have you lean in close to him as he showed you CT scans and MRIs of hearts that belonged to some of his patients. You wouldn't notice how close you were until he was nearly whispering his quizzing questions in you ear.

Every move, touch, and whisper would have you melting.

You’re not aware of how much you’re effecting Kento today too.

You were shorter than him, so with every whip of your hair, he was able to smell your shampoo. He’d stare at you when you were too focused on your laptop screen, with your plump bottom lip between your teeth, the very same lip time he kissed and bit that night in his car. He remembers how hot your mouth was and he remembers the taste of your saliva when he sneaked his tongue inside.

It’s nearly unbearable for him today. But he’s enjoying himself around you. You make the workday go by easier and faster. The work day is done before he knows it. The coffee you got him was long gone, and the one he brewed himself this morning is forgotten in an old traveling thermos cup he left at the nurse station.

You’re putting away the hospital laptop at its designated area, a small supply closet at the end of the clinic. You have your coat over your scrubs and your bag hangs from your shoulder. You leave the supply closet and walk through the nearly empty clinic that is now closed to the public. It’s not completely empty yet because Kento’s waiting by the front entrance.

When he sees you approaching, he smiles.

“I had a great time working with you today.” He says. He walks out of the clinic with you, his muscular arms brushing against your shoulders.

“I did too.” You say genuinely. “It was fun.”

The rest of the walk is quiet. You had left your apartment earlier this morning to have time for coffee, so you didn’t carpool with any of your roommates. You get to your car and you notice Kento’s car is nowhere near yours, but he still walked with you. The silence is deafening, until Kento finally speaks up.

“I’m not looking for anything serious, either.”

Your eyes widen and you look up at the older man. He’s referencing what you told him on your first day. Had he been thinking about that this whole time? Kento isn’t that type of man, he knows that. But you’ve consumed every waking thought of his, maybe it’s just what he needs.

You don’t know what to reply with. You feel your cheeks heating up. “Um, well, w-we work together.”

Kento is quiet for a second before nodding, like he’s been caught. “I know.”

“I won’t tell anyone, if you don’t.” You say. You’re crazy, right? Crazy to turn him down or crazy to take his offer, you’re not sure which, but you are crazy. But he’s been driving you crazy ever since seeing him in that cafeteria.

“Deal.” Kento replies. His large hand comes up to your face and his thumb caresses your cheek. The rest of his hand cups your jaw. He leans in, his warm lips touching yours slowly, giving you enough time to change your mind.

You don’t. You grab the collar of his jacket and pull him in impatiently. He’s a good kisser, you almost forgot. His lips take over and you follow them. The tip of his nose is nudged against your face as he deepens the kiss.

His tongue makes its way into your mouth, swiping along your own and tasting you again. He’s missed the taste of you. He wants to keep doing it. The hand on your jaw snakes down to the back of your neck, and he cradles the crown of your head. You moan into his mouth at how he’s handling you, feeling small in his grasp.

Kento breaks the kiss first. His breathing is unsteady and he feels his heart thumping against his chest. His fingers had found their way to be buried in your hair from where he held you. You whine at the loss of contact, pouting slightly. It makes him chuckle.

“My place? I’ll make it worth your while.” He says and you nod. He tells you to leave your car here, he’ll drive you back to get it later. You listen to him and he walks you to his car.

_________

You’re on Kento the minute he unlocks his door. He laughs against your lips at how eager you are. You don’t know that he’s just as eager as you too. He kicks his front door closed with his foot.

“C’mere,” he mutters, licking his lips and kissing you fully. He grabs the back of your knees and lifts you up. On instinct, you wrap your legs around his waist and your arms around his neck. His large hands keep you secure, holding onto your ass.

You think he’s going to take you there and now, against his wall, or even on his couch. But he’s carrying you to his room. You don’t have time to take in his interior designing and judge if it’s good.

Once he’s laid you on his bed, his hands don’t stop touching you, it’s like he memorized every inch of you.

You roll up the hem of his scrub shirt and he takes the hint. He discards his shirt within seconds and you swallow thickly once you see his body.

You didn’t get this far last time, both of you were still fully clothed. His body is unbelievably sculpted, and to think it had been hidden under his stupid scrubs this whole time. You run your hands down his abdomen, your fingertips teasingly pulling at the top of his pants next.

He doesn’t budge this time. Instead, he takes off your shirt. You don’t have to do any work, he was capable to stripping you of it without your help. You lay beneath him in your bra and Kento stares for a second, like he’s gotten stage fright.

You smirk and grab his hand, you feel his veins on his hands with your soft, delicate fingers, and guide his hand to cup your breast. His thumb rubs your nipple through the fabric of your bra and it’s enough to make you lightly gasp. He brings his body closer to you and ruts his hips against yours, the hardness of his cock brushing against your heated core.

You breathe out his name, “Kento…”

It drives him mad. He pulls down at your bra, your breasts bouncing out of it. He leans down and takes the nipple he had been teasing into his mouth. You moan at the sudden warmth on your breast, looking down and watching him.

Kento’s filthy with his lips around your nipple. He flicks the nub with his tongue, his mouth completely enclosed around it, then his teeth tug at the tip and it causes sparks throughout your body. You whine, eyes dedicated on watching Kento.

He pulls down his pants as he bullies your nipple with his tongue. Then, he pulls away from your breast with a pop. You’re red, flustered with how Kento’s acting.

“You have no idea how long I’ve been wanting to do this.” He says. His voice is husky, he almost sounds drunk.

He pulls your pants and underwear off in a single swipe, it’s impressive. Your tits bounce with the sudden movement and Kento watches them as they do. He grabs your hips and drags your body close to his, your legs falling open on either side of his torso.

His cock is big and dripping with precum. You remember how his bulge felt in your hand, you knew he’d be big, just not this big. He pumps himself with his hand a few times before he adjusts himself to be between your legs.

You’re breathing heavy, watching him with your full attention. You feel yourself leaking from your make out session and Kento abusing your breast. He uses the tip of his cock to gather up your wetness, and he slides it up to your clit.

You whine, your fluttering close. You wrap your legs around him, nudging him closer to your entrance to finally feel him. Kento laughs softly and his hands go to your thighs and he holds your legs open again. He clicks his tongue and shakes his head. “Not yet.”

He pressed his swollen tip against your clit and grinds against you. You’re moaning with every swipe of his cock.

“Oh-h, fuck,” you whine. You buck your hips and rub yourself against his cock even more. He holds you by your hips, the pads of his thumb pressing against your hip bones.

The lips of your pussy spread and take him in, he keeps rubbing his cock between your lips, pressing it against your sensitive clit repeatedly. His dick glistens with your slickness on him. You grab on to his shoulder, fingertips digging into his flesh.

“Shit—“ Kento curses, and his cum squirts out of his cock, painting your stomach all over in it. His movements are slow, but they don’t stop. He hisses at the sensitivity of his cock.

You look down at your body. Your stomach has a small pool of his cum, some of it splattered along the underside of your tits. With two fingers, you scoop some his cum and bring it to your mouth. You moan at the taste of him, rubbing your fingers in your tongue.

Kento groans as he watches you. He presses his body against yours, not caring of his sticky mess on your stomach. He grabs a hand full of your hair and it makes you cry out in a moan. He kisses you hungrily, his tongue tasting his own cum on yours.

“You’re so fucking sexy,” Kento whispers in your ear. You smile hazily. You’re not upset you didn’t get to feel Kento’s cock in you, it still felt amazing to have him fuck your clit.

Kento’s peppering your face with kisses, and despite you not normally being one for affection, you bask it all in your pleasured haze.

The tip of his aching cock still feels hard against your folds, and you feel him guide it down to your pussy. The swollen tip teases your entrances as he whispers again. “Been thinking about this nonstop…”

He rests the weight of his body on his forearm above your head, boxing you beneath and trapping you with the heat of his body. He lifts his head high enough to catch your eyes. He rolls his hips slowly, pushing his girth inside of you.

You’re wet, your hole grasping for something to wrap around, but even then, you whine as he stretches you out. Kento tries to swallow down a moan. You claw at his back until he’s fully inside of you, filling you to the brim.

He mumbles small praises as he stays deep inside you. You feel so full of him that you let out a choked moan. His thrusts start off small and slow, he barely pulls out of you and stays rubbing against your cervix, the tip of his cock nudging it again and again.

His thrust only deepen, causing his skin to dampen and his throat rumble with grunts.

He's touching your sweet spot again and again and again, you feel his balls slap against your ass with very thurst. You swallow back your pitiful whines long enough to pull Kento into a kiss to keep hiding them. And Kento kisses back ravishingly, clumsily, like he needs to be inside you even more.

“You’re intoxicating.” Kento growls near your swollen lips. His hand traces the sides of your waist, finding his way to your lower back. He lifts you with his hand, bending you.

He's rough and fast and deep, nothing like you’ve experienced before. The happy trail in his pelvis rubs against your clit with every slap of his hips and his dick presses harder inside of you. It’s too much for you. You whimper, and you whimper again and again. The pressure in your body feels like too much. It’s burning in the best way.

Kento kisses your cheek, “‘s okay, baby.”

His other hand brushes your hair away from your sweaty face. It’s a comfort touch, contrasting against how mean and quick his thrusts are. He knows you’re about to cum. He wants you to cum and make a mess on his sheets.

“Feels good, right?” He asks you, his deep tone cracking and sending shivers all over your body. Your eyes close tighter and you whine with your jaw dropping slowly. You nod because it’s all you know how to do.

“So good, so good.” You don’t feel your mouth moving, you only hear your voice agreeing. You focus on the knot growing inside you, your noises turn high and you curse below your breath. You want to warn Kento that you’re cumming and you can’t stop it, but all you can string along are words like cumming, i’m c-oh, god…

Your orgasm over takes you, you cum fluttering around him, forming rings and smearing them all along his cock. Your wetness and cum now mixed, it drips down from your stuffed hole and stains his sheets. He swears he’ll never wash them. He wants to keep you there, your essence and your pleasure, all for him.

Kento encourages your pretty moans, nuzzling his nose against your damp temple and his hips never faulting throughout your orgasm. He comes too, his thrusts stutter as he stuffs his cock completely in, burying his cum inside of you.

While still in you, Kento cups the side of your face and brings you in for a kiss. You don't pull away and kiss him back.

He lays beside you afterwards, catching his breath. You catch yours too, the high of your orgasm fading quietly. No one has made you come that intensely before. You look over at him, your eyes half lidded and dazed.

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postofficeofficial · 1 year

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Can you talk about the original three talkers? Trevino and Kennedy and TyVi?

oh, you know i can.

kennedy and trevino have this really connected lore for me. they went to the same school all throughout life and trevino was the one friend that kennedy ever picked that their parents didnt despise, so kennedy sort of clung to him really tightly for a very long time. so those two have this huge thing where theyre really good at reading eachother, to the point where they had a crush of some sort on eachother and never did anything about it.

Kennedy & Trev met Tyvi first when at least Kennedy was 16 and had just gotten their first car, they drove to this random backwater town a province over and met tyvi and ziwa, your 'i hate my parents and i hate this town!' type of teenagers, and ended up hanging out with them for the day.

they all sort of forget about that until later, in most cases they remember meeting properly at some random blaseball game years later when kennedy was sort of scouting for potential talent. most of the talkers s1 roster feels like people who just stumbled across recruitment for the team and joined except for tyvi and maybe bates to me, maybe also ogjenkins. i wouldnt put it past kennedy to try to make things as official looking as possible.

trevino is an architect. ive mentioned it a few times but i think its a real fun concept. he specializes in underwater structures and is really good stabilizing and developing buildings meant to be partially underwater. I think trevino would have been good friends with the Leviathan and a big fan of the Underarena if he had been on the team for longer. Even though he's a timid guy i think he would have loved the structural nonsense in the Underarena. Kennedy and Tyvi dont know jack about architecture but they absolutely love to hear trevino talk about it because he gets very passionate and opinionated and rarely does he get like that.

Tyvi ive always thought of not being able to touch people who didnt have poison, so they became friends with ziwa because they were literally the only friend option in their little town or whatever but theyre the kind of people who should have been friends anyway so its all good. tyvi is prickly physically and it sort of made them prickly with other people, in a sense, because theyre really affectionate without realizing sometimes and they didnt want to hurt someone again so they figured it was easier to keep a distance from most people who would get hurt. They have some form of medication that deactivates their poison that they take in tense scenarios when they might need to lend physical aid like when trevino was incinerated oops

Kennedy is probably immune to Tyvi's poison, but they never risked it. Kennedy is super fun for me to think about because they have so much potential nonsense going on. flootball star that retired to play blaseball at the height of their career. has a child. started a whole blaseball team. is a shapeshifter that doesnt ever shapeshift. married a prehistory player and due to Book Schenanigans forgot all about them. in love with their best friend. hotheaded goofball but tries to convince everyone theyre professional about everything. theyre so augh. love em

tyvi being captain is fun dynamic wise because theyre probably the middle point between trevino and kennedy. kennedy can be super forceful and trevino can be a pushover. Tyvi is a good captain because they manage to balance in the middle of both of those things. the more i think about tyvi the more and more they are a middle point between kennedy and trevino and stuff like that is fun. i like thinking about them in the hall because its Free Real EstateTM for bonding time. what else are you gonna do? might as well hsve bonding time. also youre dead so why would tyvi's poison work??? tyvi hugging trevino addiction real. trevino is a good soft boy he deserves to be hugged.

thats my basics i think? maybe? in no particular order? idk i just sort of rambled thats what this is all about right /j

#kennedy alstott #tyler violet #trevino merritt #s1 talkers actually have my soul #theyre abstract to me in a really funky way because i wasnt around for s1 #mailor #blaseball

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darklingichor · 3 years

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Project Hail Mary by Andy Weir **MAJOR SPOILERS**

So, this is a first, I've never written a revisit this fast.

I do often read or listen to an especially good book, again, right after I finish it. Usually because I can't get into another book until I do.

I did it with Lamb, and I did it with the Martian.

This one is going to be chock full of spoilers, I really want to analyze the main characters in this book, and I can't do that without going into details. This is why I marked the hell out of this.

Project Hail Mary is even better the second time around. This is often the case. Books are like soup. The leftovers from the fridge are often even better than when you had it the first time.

*SPOILERS* *SERIOUSLY SPOILERS TURN BACK NOW IF YOU HAVEN’T READ THIS BOOK* *SPOILERS* *THE REST OF THIS RAMBLE WILL RUIN THE BOOK* *SPOILERS*

Okay, so run down.

The book opens with our main character waking up to an annoying computer asking him basic math questions. This is detecting cognitive function, that's my guess anyway.

Our character quickly discovers a few things. First, he's in a room with robot arms tending to him, including unhooking him from various life support systems as it figures out that he is awake and functioning. He's not alone in the room, there are two others, but they are long dead. And he has no idea, who he is, where he is, or why he's there.

What follows for a little while is what I would call a psychological screwball comedy. It takes him several days to work out that his name is Ryland Grace and he is a microbiologist PhD who had a falling out with the academic community and found his calling as a Jr. High science teacher. Though exploration, experiments, and memory flashes, he works out that he is on a spaceship, the corpses were his crewmates, and he is on a mission to Tau Ceti to save earth from an alien algae like creature, called Astropgage, that is dimming the sun and setting earth on the course to an ice age that will begin to wipe out humanity in 30 years. Tau Ceti, which is 12 light years away from earth, is resistant to this energy sucking algae.

We get all the backstory of how he became a crew member aboard the ship Hail Mary, in flashbacks as his memories return. A big memory that returns? Project Hail Mary is a suicide mission, he will not be going home.

In the meantime, he is slowly trying to figure out how to save earth, while he does this, he sees a very weird spaceship and meets an intelligent alien being. This being (Grace calls him Rocky) comes from a world (Earid) that is in the same situation as Earth. Together, Grace and Rocky have to work out how to save both of their home worlds.

Ryland Grace is a complex character, he’s very very different from Mark Watney (I haven't read Artimis so I can't make comparisons to those characters).

The Martian points out that Astronauts are inherently noble, willing to risk their lives for science and a good cause.

Grace is not an astronaut. That's not to say that he isn't a good person, just that he is an average person. He can be all at once self-sacrificing and selfish.

Early on he is drafted into the research team on what would be called Astropgage as a science expert by Eva Strat, a woman in charge of figuring out what is going on and how to stop it.

Once he was released from his part in this research, he goes back to teaching, only to be struck by the fact that his students would be in their early forties when all hell breaks loose, and that they might die. He then goes back to Strat and demands to be part of the research again.

This back and forth happens a few times in the story. In fact, it becomes a big part of it. See, the crew of the Hail Mary were put into comas to ensure that they would not go nuts and kill each other on the 12 light-year (four years from their perspective) journey, a medical company discovered that 1 in 7000 people have the genes to survive long comas and still function when they wake up. Grace is one of those people, but he is not volunteering for this mission. It's not that he doesn't care, or even that he doesn't want to help, it's that he's scared. And who wouldn't be? But honestly? I think Grace has imposture syndrome and is generally very sensitive. He realized that his kids would suffer, after starting to teach a class, that speed him to become a part of Strat's team again. Events happen that lead him to being the only logical candidate for the science expert aboard the Hail Mary. He refused, Strat basically kidnaps him, sets the computer induce amnesia in only Grace and plunks him on board.

Before she does this, she harshly calls Grace out.

“Do you think I don’t know you, Dr. Grace?!” she yelled. “You’re a coward and you always have been. You abandoned a promising scientific career because people didn’t like a paper you wrote. You retreated to the safety of children who worship you for being the cool teacher. You don’t have a romantic partner in your life because that would mean you might suffer heartbreak. You avoid risk like the plague.” (pg. 392 Kindle Edition)

This all seems to be true, but we don't know Grace's full story. Other than a mention of one girlfriend in college, and brief mentions of friends, There is nothing in the book about his life before he started teaching. This could be because the amnesia has left those things fuzzy, but in my head, it's because he doesn't want to think about it. Maybe he had a bad family life, maybe he had *no* family life, maybe he had an early tragedy. Maybe he realized his short comings and that, no matter his talent, he just didn't have the temperament for acidemia.

He does like being the cool teacher, he does say he likes being looked up to, but this isn't necessarily a bad thing. He's a *good* teacher.

I had cool teachers before I switched to home school. They weren't all good. I had one that would literally just let us mess around during class because they didn't want to actually grade papers. Cool to a kid? Absolutely! Good for education? Not on your life.

Grace isn't like that, he loves science, he loves teaching, and the kids are learning.

He doesn't like animal testing, he's emotional at the fragility of humanity. In short, in his quiet way he loves life.

He leaves his comfort zone to be a part of Strat's team because he knows he's good at what he does and he couldn't look at his students and knowing they could die when he could help prevent it. That doesn't mean he thinks he will be Earth's savior, just that he can help.

He's unwilling to die.

Usually in books and movies, this translates to coward, but really? It's not. Most people wouldn't volunteer for a suicide mission, especially one this pressure filled. "So, we need you to go into a coma, go to a different solar system, save your whole species, and then kill yourselves so you won't starve to death. We good? Cool."

You can't fault a living being for wanting to live. Plus, the other crew members had time to think it through, really decide, make peace with the decision and *then* carry through with the training. Grace? He was given the training, but Strat always said it was for the science of the mission. She was a little like Dumbledore, in that she was training him in case he had to go, but never told him it was a possibility. When it became clear that he was the choice for the vacant spot, he was given less than five hours to decide, and then was told he had no choice.

He makes noble choices throughout the book, but that one choice was not his own, because Strat was given absolute power and used it absolutely.

I can't say that Strat is a villain, either. She was elected to save earth and given the power to cut through any red tape. Handed all this authority, she doesn't become corrupt, she uses this power ruthlessly, but always with the only goal being Save Earth, full stop, that's it. And even as Grace, understandably terrified, yells at her she tells him that she likes him, that she knows that he is a good man, that he will give this his all. She doesn't *want* to send this unwilling and scared man on a suicide mission. She *has* to. Strat is also complex, she is not nonsense and is committed to her role in saving humanity. I like the reason she gives as to why, toward the end of the book. She got her undergrad degree in history. She takes to heart the old saying that those who do not learn from history are doomed to repeat it.

The climate scientists and their models assumed survival based on the idea that all countries will work together for the common goal. However, Strat points out that history shows that that ideal scenario, is not likely to work. She says that most wars, up until very recently, were fought over food, and resulting in famine. As the sun loses energy and crops fail, there will be wars, and they will be over food. And that is what she is desperately trying to avoid – the horror of history brought to the modern day.

I started as a history major, and history is interwoven into anthropology – I understand this perspective.

I am not going to get into politics, but I’ve experienced the agonizing frustration of watching history repeat itself, more than once in the last couple of years. Guessing at how something will probably go due to how something lines up with a similar event in the past and knowing that if someone in power would just listen it might turn out different, or that the eventual problems could at least be prepared for, and watch it happen anyway and everyone act surprised. It’s enough to make you pull your hair out.

Strat has the knowledge and the authority to act on it, I can’t say, that in her position I wouldn’t act the same way.

That is the major difference between Grace and Strat: viewpoint. By necessity of her position and by virtue of her education, she sees the big picture clearly, Grace, however, doesn’t. He’s a microbiologist, his entire career and education is looking closely at the small things and how they would translate to big things. He studies the universe by studying the smallest things in it. It is no surprise that he would need the smaller things to make the bigger things to snap into focus. When he was forced to start research on astrophage, it wasn’t until he was faced with the small scale (his kids could suffer) to make him see his part in the grand scheme of things. Strat is right, he does avoid risk, because he’s avoiding pain, he doesn’t let things in because he feels too much. Yes, the realization about the kids, puts steel in his spine, but not before he narrowly avoids a break down. For Grace, seeing Strat’s point of view, without being able to work it though to his scale, is like yelling at someone standing too close to a mountain for not being able to see the peak. It just can’t be done from where they are.

It makes me wonder, had Strat been up front with Grace, would he have willingly gone? It takes him a while to come around to the idea of helping the project in the first place. If he were told sooner, given some time, had been able to go home, and think, I feel like he would have gone. Something would have set him on the course. Maybe it would have been one of his former students, telling him about their plans for trying out for high school track, or going to college, maybe he would have gone to his usual cafe for breakfast and found out that one of the waitresses had just gotten engaged, maybe he would be told these things and see the fear and desperate need to keep life as normal as possible in the person's eyes, and then he would decide, if, on the off chance no one else could go, he would. Until he remembers his refusal, nearly at the end of the book, he accepts quickly that he volunteered for the mission. Of course, that could have been simply because he couldn't imagine someone forcing someone into something like that, but even as his memories and sense of self come back to him, he doesn't have a sense of terror or blind panic at the fact that he's not going home. I would think that if his unwillingness were something hard wired into his personality, he would know soon after remembering who he is, that he would have never considered being a part of the voyage.

So, I think, had Strat told Grace early on that he had the coma resistant genes and that there was a small possibility that he may have to be the backup for the backup, and then allowed him to come to terms with it, he would have gone without the drama. Don’t get me wrong, there is the possibility that he would have run off and had to have been hunted down, but I think, just like when he went to his class and saw his students, something would have made his conscious kick in, and he would have come back.

That might have been interesting, him running scared for a little while and then coming back? Might have given a little more background into why he is the way he is. But that’s not really what this book is about, I think it’s a forgone about conclusion that Grace would have helped, but what’s really interesting is how Grace and Rocky work together.

Rocky is cool! I love that Weir didn’t go the easy route with the creation of an alien character. Rocky is no Roswell gray with a humanoid form. No no, for our sympathetic alien, we have a spider like creature with liquid mercury for blood who “sees” with echolocation and speaks in musical notes. And it works!!

Rocky is expressive and funny and is great with Grace. It’s hilarious, other than the Russian scientist on Project Hail Mary, he doesn’t get along with anyone as well as he does with Rocky, out of everyone in the book, Grace connects most with a spider shaped rock being, he has to make a computer program to speak with.

Rocky is a tad steadier than Grace, but that makes sense simply because of the two, Rocky knew what he was getting into, and Eridens not only have more time before their star dims to the point of causing a problem, but also, they live a long long time, so, Rocky knows he is going home. But the steadiness is also built into his personality. He and Grace are both analytical problem solvers, but seeing that Rocky is an engineer, his focus is to fix things. A problem arises, and his first reaction is “I will fix that.” He won’t be dissuaded until he has all avenues exhausted.

Grace has a habit, early on, of moping for a little while before rallying and getting to work. His interaction with Rocky brings that pouting time down a bit, and he even pulls Rocky out of a slump a time or two.

The relationship between these two is interesting because Grace says flat out that he is not a social person, he feels awkward in groups with people. But he easily communicates with his students, and he easily communicates with Rocky. Rocky is not childlike, but he does have something in common with the students, Grace, like any teacher, teaches his students, and learns from them. Grace teaches Rocky and learns from him. Grace is comfortable with this sort of interaction; with his students this is where the relationship stops. With Rocky, it doesn’t have that boundary. By virtue of the fact that both are alone in space and crave interaction, they talk a lot. Also, activities that Grace is use to doing alone, Rocky’s culture requires to be done in pairs. The biggest: Sleeping.

Eridens do not sleep without another person watching them. So, he insists that he watch Grace sleep and that Grace watches him. It is not expressly said what other things Eridens don’t do alone, but it is implied (at least to me) that they work better in pairs or in groups. This is true of humans as well, but Grace in particular is a loner, even as he complains that science doesn’t happen with one scientist doing the work (and he’s right) but he does work alone even when the astrophage project opened up to more people, the feeling I get is that he still does most of his work alone unless asked to teach others, or forced to come along by Strat.

Grace quickly becomes acclimated to Rocky’s way of doing things, in an odd way, Grace is more comfortable being Eriden, than he is being human. And I really think that this is the crux of their relationship.

I read somewhere recently that family isn’t necessarily blood, but who you would bleed for.

I feel that Rocky and Grace would sacrifice themselves for their respective home worlds, but they will bleed for each other. Grace must go to a different star system to find family, which is actually really cool to me, because the story manages to have Grace have a story of growth and even a quiet redemption arc all with the background noise of a potential double Armageddon, and we manage not to lose sight of any of these elements. Add to this that the book will make you laugh, cry and think all at once. I love the Martian, but I honestly think this one is better!

#project hail mary #andy weir #book #books #revisit 21 #spoilers #major spoilers #book blogging 2021

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gallickingun · 3 years

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ding, dong, the witch is dead!

honestly, who didn’t see this coming? lol. but, anyway. i guess this is goodbye! i’ll ramble more below the cut, but just know that over the next couple of days, i’ll be exporting my blog so i can keep what i want, and then this will be the only post left here.

thank you to everyone who i’ve had the privilege of meeting, and those of you who have been so kind as to leave lovely notes on my works, and interact with me over our silly anime crushes. i really appreciate all the kindness i’ve been shown in the anime fandom. some of my best friends i’ve met through this stupid app, but overall, it’s just not a healthy space for me. i’m not blaming anyone else for what this has become, at the end of the day, i created a hell for myself. i’m just tired of trying to rebuild, rebrand, whatever. i’m just tired.

that being said, obviously not everything can always be so lovely. i don’t care about the discourse or the drama or the whatever, but i’m just hoping this post will bring me some closure, and maybe some for those i’ve hurt, whether accidentally or intentionally. if you click read more and you’re upset with what you see, well, idk what to tell you, friend.

i hate that tumblr can be so insignificant, and yet so all encompassing all at once. yes, it’s “just tumblr” and “it’s not that deep” because at the end of the day, it’s just an app. but, unfortunately, behind this app and these blogs are human beings. which means you create real bonds and real friendships, and real feelings get hurt.

i came back to tumblr during a really sad, dark time in my life. and that was honestly my first mistake. i latched on to whoever would pay attention to me, craving some sort of friendship that i never needed before because i always had someone in real life. but i had just moved away from my family, and was starting the process of what would end up being a notsogreat divorce. i felt alone, and was struggling a lot with my self worth, so instead of choosing to be kind, i chose to lash out. regardless of whether or not that was in private dm’s of those whom, at the time, i’d considered friends, it was still inconsiderate and childish of me. i thought i had to be some hateful version of myself in order to prove to other people that i wasn’t as sad about myself as i truly was. the words i said in private were rude, nasty, and just... not who i want to be? and, without going into immense detail, some of those things i wanted to move on from and no longer felt, were then used as weapons and spread around to others who i never intended to see what i’d said.

please, please, PLEASE — be careful what you say. you really never know who is watching, who is going to manipulate you, etc. what you say holds weight, and even if you don’t intend for it to hurt anyone, even if it’s just venting.. i dunno. just, be careful, okay? check yourself from time to time, friend. make sure that you’re not allowing the overall negativity of the world, of your own mind, of others, to affect you to the point that you don’t recognize yourself.

if you don’t know about my lovely little exposed blog, well, you’d probably be the last to know. at least, it feels that way. although in the beginning maybe it was justified? in some right? i’m not sure anymore, really, but regardless—it turned into some sort of stalking experience. at one point in time, i received 35+ messages telling me how horrible i was, telling me to off myself, telling me that my ex did the right thing by leaving me “on the curb”, etc. my full legal name was being released, with the intent to doxx me i’m assuming? i was being told i was “being watched”, which i fully believe was happening, with the consistency of the updates. people who claim to hate me, still followed me with the intent of watching my every move to “see if i’d changed”. i only have received updates through friends, because to be perfectly honest with you, seeing your worst mistakes splayed on the internet and turning you into some shounen villain is NOT the best thing for your mental health. that, and some of the “truths” were half-honesties twisted because i’d be a hypocrite to post private dm’s debunking these things when i was upset with the very same people for posting such things. i’ve addressed some things, such as the racism, so i won’t go into that again, but some of these other instances are stretches, to say the least.

the irony of the whole thing is not lost on me. the very same people who say i only do things for notes/recognition, are doing those very things. those who say i only care about tumblr, are proving that by running a blog dedicated to exposing some twenty three year old idiot on the internet. those who say i use my friends are the same ones who literally lied to my face so they could collect receipts behind my back and then leave me when it got convenient. those who say i talk to “insignificant” blogs to appear invested are the ones calling those blogs insignificant, i never once believed anyone i’ve interacted with was insignificant, contrary to popular belief. everything they focus on ends up being nothing but hypocrisy in the end.

that being said, obviously i truly hurt whoever all is behind this blog. intentionally, or otherwise. and i know that sometimes what you do/say isn’t meant to hurt anyone, however, you don’t get to control how what you’ve done effects others. all you can do is apologize. but, i know a few of them, because based on the “receipts” they’ve pulled together, the stories are too specific to be anything but those people i’m thinking of. i don’t enjoy blanket apologies, but i’m leaving this hellsite, so it’s all i’ve got left.

i’m sorry for giving you the fuel to your fire for this petty agenda, i’m sorry for creating the monster of myself that allowed you to string along this storyline for what seems to be the better part of a year. i’m sorry that i gave you material to fixate upon, rather than providing you with friendship and something better to focus on. i truly hope you can move on now that i’m gone from tumblr, and honestly i don’t plan on coming back, lol. i genuinely, truly, deeply feel sorry for you, and pray that you can turn this obsessive focus from me to something more productive, something healthier.

the angry part of me wants everyone to realize that the start of this, the matchups/refunds situation, was born from this stalkerish behavior. it has taken me months to put the pieces together, because i truly didn’t think someone who i’d called my friend once would ever string together such a lie, or rather an exaggerated, adulterated truth, but i guess it’s what happened, in the end.

there are a lot of, uh, conveniently timed “releases” of receipts even though they were months after the initial occurrence of the offense. i can’t go into each one, because, frankly, there are too many. i just hope that in the wake of all of these horrible exposes of things i’ve done, others are able to reflect on their actions. telling me one thing while currently speaking to another individual and telling them another, blatantly LYING, etc. are all things that i’ve been accused of, and yet they’ve also been done to me. doesn’t justify what i’ve done, nor am i seeking some sort of absolution, however i just hope that these individuals can see their hypocrisy and move forward.

which leads me to my final point — regardless of how shitty someone is, disallowing them the room to grow, stunting their moral/mental growth, is truly the issue. i am not going to sit here and play holier than thou. i know i fucked up. i was a nasty bitch because i was angry at the world, and then that anger was fueled further by consistent situations where i made the wrong friends at the wrong times in my life. but the fact that this exposed nonsense has been dragging on since... july? august? i’m not really sure, but whatever. since it’s been going on, i have been battling with myself and my ability to do the things i love, talk to those i care about, etc. all because i’m afraid of saying the wrong thing, hurting the wrong person, etc. and in trying to avoid it, i’ve been doing the very same thing i hoped to keep from doing.

i never felt like i could apologize to those i wanted to apologize to because it might be received as disingenuous due to the nature of the exposed blog’s very existence “forcing” me to apologize. don’t get me wrong, some of those who the blog tried to coerce me into apologizing to can suck a dick, because there are people that i truly do not feel deserve my apologies, and therefore, will never get them. but, i do feel bad for those i didn’t get the chance to apologize to that i really wanted to. the last thing i’d want is for my apology to be turned into something it’s not, but hopefully everyone who has been affected by my actions can move on with my absence.

and to those of you who feel the need to make public denounces of my name, i hope it provides you the closure you’ve been seeking. truly, i do. but know that i never did anything i’ve ever done with the intent to get ahead or buy someone’s friendship or take advantage of anyone else. if i truly only cared about the things people say i cared about, i would have never made this blog in the first place. i would have leeched off the popularity of my main blog if popularity was all i cared about. i was searching for a home, which, in the end, i burned down myself. me, joking around about follower count and notes, was literally nothing but sarcastic banter that’s been taken out of context. but, i digress.

i am very thankful for those who i can still call my friends, who are willing and ready to have honest discussions with me about the things i’ve said/done and analyze them and help me move forward. therapy, medication, life choices, etc. all have been rolled into me deciding that i’m done letting a silly little app stunt my growth. if the internet was unplugged tomorrow, i know who i’d have and what would matter. i have REAL LIFE to focus on. i am in love and i have beautiful friendships that i want to foster with honesty and kindness. i can only hope that you all have the opportunity to have those very same things.

will i stop writing? nah, dude. no way. i’m just getting started. in my absence, in choosing to stay away from a place that makes me sick to my stomach with anxiety, i’ve delved into my original characters and i’ve written thousands of words that i haven’t felt the pressure to post about. i’ve learned that just because i’m doing something i love, i don’t have to do it for anyone else.

the internet is a funky place, folks. just be careful who your friends are, okay?

anyway. peace out, girl scouts. i wish you all the best 💖

#morgan.txt #tw mental health #tw suicide mention #tw discourse #tw drama #THAT’S ALL FOLKS! signing off xx

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prime-pulse · 3 years

Note

how about 2, 14, 15, 32, 34, and 45?

WAAA thank you for the ask !!!! Let me answer all of these :]

2. How did they decorate and structure Skyhold?

Edric personally saw more value in building a mage tower and new medical center when upgrading Skyhold; everyone fought well and they had way more mage recruits than they did anyone else, so it only made sense, especially with the “medical center” at the time being just a few tents laid on dirt.

When it came to DECORATING Skyhold, though, he mainly let Josephine, Dorian, and Vivienne guide him (except when it came to choosing the throne), because he trusts them to make better choices when it comes to design WAY more than himself. His happy little contribution was choosing the most plain and simple throne he could— which is a bit of a sore thumb compared to the Free March styled windows, Orlaisean decor, and Inquisition banners.

14. Who is their favourite and most trusted advisor?

Josephine, 100%. He would not hesitate in telling you this. Though after realizing how quickly he answered, he would beg you not to tell Cullen or Leliana. Though he values all of his advisors an incredible amount, he couldn’t have accomplished all the Inquisition has without them, Josephine is the only one he can really sit back with and just /talk/ to— whether it be gossip, engaging stories from their pasts, or just discussing future banquet plans.

He personally feels like he almost has to parent Cullen and Leliana when it comes to their sometimes brash methodology— which, of course, he doesn’t mind doing, but he enjoys how Josephine almost always tries to find the peaceful solution to a problem and how she always humors his ideas, even if they aren’t necessarily… Good ideas.

15. Out of the followers/companions, who are they most comfortable around?

Edric is comfortable around almost all of his companions (save for Vivienne, who he is still relatively comfortable around, she just intimidates him more than anything), but for who he’s /most/ comfortable around I think would be a three-way tie between Dorian, The Iron Bull, and Solas— which is a REALLY weird tie now that I think about it?? Apologies if these next few parts don’t make sense I’m going to just pour out my feelings

With Dorian, Edric doesn’t feel pressured to hide really anything about himself. He feels confident around him, he doesn’t feel like he doesn’t know what to do with himself and he doesn’t feel compelled to hide his nervous ticks around him. He loves to joke with him, he loves to gossip, he loves the way they can just talk and none of it feels weird. He feels comfortable talking about things he’s never spoken about before with Dorian, he feels safe to share his (sometimes nonsensical) worries and doubts with him, and he also feels safe enough to express annoyances and grievances with other people to Dorian because he knows Dorian feels safe and comfortable enough to do the same with him!! Edric has never really felt that comfortable around someone before, comfortable enough to have his back turned to them and not expect anything to happen, and he loves being able to feel that comfortable around him. Dorian keeps him grounded when he needs it, and Edric keeps Dorian grounded when he needs it.

With Bull, Edric feels relatively the same way but in a more platonic sense. Bull is very jokey and lighthearted, but he can be blunt and serious when he has to be. Edric likes to bounce battle plans off of Bull, or just plans in general, because Bull has a very calculated mind. Edric likes to come to the tavern and share drinks with Bull on occasion because Bull is not only fun to be around, but because he trusts Bull enough to let his guard down and have fun with him. He loves listening to Bull ramble on and on about the Chargers; missions they’ve had, embarrassing stories, etc. and telling Bull his own stories from when he was still in the Carta. He feels like Bull and him have lead similar enough lives for them both to be able to just sort of understand one another. Also, Bull is a good person to go to when you need to see if a pun you want to start using makes sense.

And lastly, with Solas, Edric finds himself comfortable with him because they both have a similar nature— at least, he did find himself comfortable with him before he ran off. (I haven’t done Trespasser yet, so he doesn’t know about the whole… Dread Wolf thing yet.) They used to sit together for hours in Solas’ study, working through ancient scripts and piecing together puzzles and contraptions Edric found during his adventures. They enjoyed bouncing theories off of one another when it came to magic and the fade, despite Edric not being very experienced in either. Edric felt comfortable enough around him to, like Bull & Dorian, voice his nonsensical concerns and worries to Solas; who would almost always give a solution in a very blunt but kind way. He always appreciated Solas listening to him, and he always loved listening to Solas’ stories. But, now, in recent times, Edric’s starting to see a lot of those stories… Don’t all make sense. It makes him worry.

32. Who did they leave in the Fade, and why?

Edric left Stroud in the Fade. He didn’t have much time to think; he was angry, he was tired, he was afraid and everything around him felt like it was spinning the entire time. He could barely think clearly, but he tried his best to put himself in both Stroud and Kariyan (my Hawke)’s shoes. Both wanted to be left behind, to fix some mistake they both felt responsible for, but Edric decided to let Stroud stay behind. Though it sounds harsh, he figured Hawke had more stories to tell— He was needed in places already; Varric needed him, that Anders fellow he’d briefly heard of needed him, he had a brother in the Wardens who needed him, and Mages who still needed his support. He himself may have been ready to give his life to help, but the world wasn’t ready. Stroud couldn’t do what Hawke would be needed to do.

Edric isn’t happy about the outcome at all, but he can’t rationalize an outcome that would make him happy given the situation. He holds out hope Stroud is somehow still alive and surviving in the Fade, and maybe they’ll be able to save him one day.

34. How do they cope with the stress of being Inquisitor?

Edric doesn’t cope with it very well at all. He tends to overwork himself constantly, with him almost never able to say no to a person in need and being the head of the Inquisition he always has a lot to do. He used to, every other week or so, either lock himself up in his room for a straight two days or would suddenly disappear from Skyhold for a few hours just to be by himself and try to clear his head (doing the latter more often). This of course would cause more chaos and panic for him to return to, the inquisitor being gone without so much as a trace for hours on end, then he’d have to deal with being scolded by pretty much every one of his advisors and a few of his companions.

After those methods didn’t work, he’d try to stay up for as long as he could to complete as much work as possible so he could maybe have a few reasonable days off without feeling too bad about it. Usually, that'd end up with him falling asleep at his desk multiple times and being too tired to actually carry out his work, so he stopped doing that as well.

Recently, however, he’s taken to knitting, reading, or beating the absolute shit out of training dummies depending on how stressed he’s feeling. They’re all definitely way better than what he’d been doing, so it works out for everyone.

45. What is their most and least favourite place to explore? Why?

Edric hates the deep roads. Hates them. Absolutely despises them. Every time he has to go and explore them, he’s stressed and a bit peeved almost the entire time. He’s cranky, the whole place smells like death and mold, there’s darkspawn everywhere, and the fumes from the occasional lava pool make his head hurt. If he had the ability to, he would personally seal up every entrance to the Deep Roads himself. But he can’t, so he just tried to avoid them as much as possible.

His favorite place, though, definitely has to be either The Emerald Graves. He loves the plant life and the general atmosphere. Sometimes he likes to go there himself or with a few of his companions, not to do anything necessarily important, but just sit and maybe have a picnic. He would especially love to go there while it’s raining, just to hear the sound of the rain hitting all the leaves and the sound of the rivers overflowing. He finds the place peaceful (when there’s not a giant chasing him, anyway).

#Dai #Da:i #dragon age inquisition #OC: Edric Bonehunter #(Mentioned:)#Dorian Pavus #The Iron Bull #Solas #josephine montilyet #dragon age leliana #cullen rutherford #asks

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janekfan · 4 years

Text

Acceptance

https://archiveofourown.org/works/26163367

“Jon’s hiding something.”

“Tim.” Martin was tired. And sad. And worried. Because he had the very same thought every time he caught a glimpse of the Archivist slipping between shadows in the stacks; furtive, haunted, hunted.

“You know I’m right.” He didn’t look up from the worn surface of his desk, tracing a stray mark with the pad of his finger, not even expending energy enough to pretend he had any interest in working. “He’s. He’s a monster, Martin.”

“Tim!”

“You know it, well as I do. This is all his fault.” His voice was made of raw edges, filled with grief and pain and sorrow. “Stay. Martin, promise me.” Eyes hollow in his scarred, handsome face, he looked up at Martin through dark lashes. “Promise me you’ll stay away from him.”

“You know I can’t do that.” Martin had to look away, the weight of Tim’s gaze smothering and awful and full of hurt and anger and barely simmering rage. “He’s our friend. Even if he’s. Forgotten it a little.” Tim went back to his aimless pattern making.

“You’re making a mistake.”

Martin made sure to knock and knock gently. The few times he’d gotten even a partially clear look at his face it had been lined in pain, lips pressed into a thin, controlled line. It was clear he was purposely avoiding his eyes.

“Tea, Jon?” He heard him shift, a weary scraping of his soles sliding on the dusty floor, the light from the tiny desk lamp barely illuminating the space around it, let alone the rest of the office.

“Ah, y’yes. Pl’please.” Shaking hands materialized out of the dim, gripping the mug and holding it like a lifeline, flinching when the hot liquid sloshed over his fingers. “Thank you, Martin.” Thin and thready, Jon sounded exhausted and knowing he slept poorly at even the best of times, must have been getting even less sleep since the Prentiss incident.

“Jon?” Martin smiled a bit when he heard the sounds of him sipping the tea, a sigh of some unidentifiable emotion but he wanted to believe there was warmth in it. “When’s the last time you went home?”

Jon had taken his mandatory time off.

He had.

Thirty days of leave.

But it did not stop him from exploring the tunnels beneath the archives, even though exploring was a generous term for it. Wandering was more apt a description, and he’d paid something of a price, as fate would have it, because his hip ached badly where the worms had burrowed so deep and no amount of stretching or physical therapy or pain medication seemed able to touch it. He winced inwardly at Martin’s open worry and trepidation. He’s not been kind to any of his assistants, certainly didn’t deserve this attention or care when he was barely able to look after himself. At the Institute he’s kept how much the pain is affecting him as hidden as possible, mostly by avoiding everyone which he knew made him look more suspicious. Tim already made it clear that he wanted nothing to do with him or his histrionics and no good would come from trying to gain sympathy for something that was his fault to begin with. He was already a nuisance forced upon them, been so from day one. But if he could pretend to be normal, just. Go back to that normal because right now the tightening in his chest, the embarrassment, the urge to hide away, was only making things worse.

He was making things worse.

He didn’t mention the aching loneliness or the fear. How he jumped at every shadow and woke from the screams of his coworkers he failed over and over again to protect in his nightmares. Or how he kept a CO2 canister by the bed just in case. Even if they were gone. Just in case. Jon didn’t talk about his nightly excursions in that twisting, winding, changing place because he would have to admit that despite how it hurt, he had to push himself to the point of breaking to get his overactive mind to quiet even the smallest amount. Grant him even the smallest respite.

So, no. He didn’t want Martin’s concern except that he very much did, felt like he was starving for someone to notice him, how much he hurt, how much he was struggling to keep his unraveling threads together.

“Jon?” Worry. And the sense of shame he felt at hiding how much he’s healed wrong or scarred too deep or how the phantom sensation of the worms kept him awake. And how could he tell him that he feared to sleep alone? That his flat was both too familiar and horribly alien all at once, full of shadows coiling, branching, twining, crawling, spiraling.

The safest thing to do for all of them was to push him away.

“I was home for nearly a month, Martin.” Dry. Sardonic. It was easy to act irritated and tired and bothered even when his heart was pounding a too-fast tattoo against his breastbone, surely leaving bruises behind. If Martin came any closer he would hear it.

Martin saw straight through his poor attempt at deflection, saw the same pain echoed just behind his eyes that he saw in Tim. This would either go well or he would never be able to show his face again but he needed to try, Jon deserved that much.

“How can I help?” As soft as he could make it, sitting down on a box crammed full of statements so Jon didn’t have to crane his neck, so he didn’t seem so intimidating. “I want to help.” He smiled, hands relaxed on his knees and watched as Jon turned his face up to meet him like a withered plant kept too long in the dark when it reencountered the sun, hungry and reaching. Undone by a few kind words, before his expression closed off. As if he remembered this was something he wasn’t supposed to have.

Point of no return.

“Would you. Would you consider coming home with me?” Jon inhaled a sharp, short breath. Held it. “Just for a night! Just so. I’d like to help if I can, somehow.” He chuckled, trying to ease the tension practically thrumming through the man’s bones like an audible hum of electricity. “I’m a decent cook?” Jon exhaled slowly. Want, exhausting and desperate, in the way his eyes glistened with unshed tears.

“Yes.” Bare more than a ragged fragment of a whisper and before he could rescind that delicate consent, Martin was rambling about how lovely it would be to have company. Just nonsense, in the hope that Jon wouldn’t realize what he’d done and change his mind. It was already far beyond quitting time and Martin said he’d return to collect him once he’d gotten his coat, allowing him a little space to gather his thoughts, securing a nod of assent before heading quickly off.

Jon was standing when he returned, thin jacket hardly enough to protect him from the damp chill outside, and Martin wrapped his own scarf around his neck, heart melting when his lashes fluttered in contentment as he buried his nose into the well worn yarn. Swaying and unsteady on his feet, his stiff posture would be night imperceptible if you weren’t watching for it. But Martin was always watching. Knew his injuries were bothering him and that, at this point, whatever pain he had was most likely permanent.

He wondered if he had a cane. It would certainly help.

Jon stopped short before he left his office and Martin worried he was changing his mind, watching him tilt his head like a bird, listening, breath even and slow and quiet.

“Has.” He wet his lips as the word caught in his throat. “Tim?” Ah, that was the hangup, then.

“Gone home long before us.” He felt for him, for that fear and worry of facing down his past mistakes. He’d made himself a convenient target with his suspicions of them and the anxiety blooming in him cut deep.

He stood as close to Martin without touching him as he could, blaming the number of other patrons riding the train at this hour though truthfully they were nowhere near them. He had no choice, that’s all. He could stand even if he wanted desperately to sit down and rest his aching leg, refusing to even glance at the empty priority seating so close to him and instead burying his face in Martin’s scarf, closing his eyes and breathing through the hot flash that often accompanied these spells, the almost feverish chills. When the train lurched to a stop he stumbled into Martin, who caught him with an inquiring look.

“Just tired.” He offered up what he hoped was a reassuring smile before leading the way through the doors, holding himself stiff in an attempt to keep the pain at bay.

Martin was a good cook.

“Since I was mainly existing on take away and cup noodles, it’s been nice to make my own meals again.” He said by way of explanation, dishing up a healthy portion for Jon who tried not to worry about finishing it, not having had much of an appetite lately. But it’s good, and warm, and Martin doesn’t say anything about what he had to leave behind, passing him a cup of tea prepared just the way he liked it.

It warmed him up from the inside out.

It made him want to cook for Martin sometime.

“Is there anything else I can get you?” Jon was on the couch with numerous blankets and pillows, dressed in Martin’s spare sleepwear, an oversized and soft tee that hung off his shoulder and drawstring pajama pants.

“This is perfect, Martin. Thank you.” He wished he could convey the true depth of it with just that, and as always, found himself sorely lacking but Martin just smiled bright, instructing him to wake him if he needed anything before bidding him good night. Surprisingly, Jon was already having trouble staying awake once he was settled into the cushions despite the overall ache. If he breathed slow and focused on the breath cycling through his body, into his blood, traveling along roadways mapped with veins and arteries and--

Agony.

Oh god, where was he? And why did it hurt?

All up his back and down his leg, his leg. Burning, blazing, blistering. Incandescent and stealing. Stealing.

Stealing.

Dark. Pitch black. Like the tunnels.

Be quiet, be quiet, be quiet or they'll hear you, see you, get you, take you and make you Not.

Winding, weaving, wandering. Lost, lost, lost.

The worms. Thoughts clicking into place when he managed to claw his way back to the surface of this roiling ocean of misery. Arm flailing to the side where he kept the canister but it wasn’t there. It wasn’t there and somebody must have taken it.

And his hip. Pulsing, throbbing, pounding through the whole of him and he had to be dying. Trapped in the tunnels and being eaten by worms.

He very nearly screams when something touches his arm, eyes flying open to realize that he can see. See. Shapes. Colors. Coalescing into Martin’s familiar face, worry splashed over it like his perfect freckles.

“Jon?” His voice is trembling, hand on his shoulder, gentle, a touchstone. “Jon, what’s wrong?” And stupid, stupid, stupid him clenches his teeth and grinds out a denial.

“N’nothing.” The fingers against his skin, his skin, Martin is touching his skin and he can’t focus. They tremble. Because he’s lying. Because Jon has always been and always will be a liar and all he wants to be is normal.

“Jon, is it.” His wide eyed stare flicks down and back to his. “Is it your leg?” How does he know. Of course he knows. Sometimes he thinks Martin knows him better than he’s ever known himself. That he might be the only person who ever has and he realizes he has a white knuckle grip on his thigh, trying to claw his way inside and rip out the hurting, as if it could ever be that simple. It’s spasming, twisted, he can’t stretch out the muscle and it’s so very painful and instinctively he knows it’s from the train and the walk, all longer than he was used to. And why does he keep doing this to himself?

He can’t slow his breathing, almost hyperventilating, chest heaving, eyes limned in tears and he thought he could pretend it didn’t hurt as much as it really did. That he was being dramatic and he didn’t want Martin to see how much of a wreck he is and regret inviting him into his home, sharing it with a nuisance, a burden, a bother.

“Jon.” There’s sorrow there. Pity. He’s pitying him and that’s the final straw that makes the tears fall hard and fast and Martin offers his hand and he grabs it like it’s his last connection to this physical realm because it hurts so badly he can’t barely breathe. “Can I help?” But there is no help. He’s beyond all and any and to let someone help him is to be vulnerable and Jon doesn’t like to be vulnerable, he can’t be.

But he hurts so badly and he wants to trust Martin, believe that he can make this awful reality even the tiniest bit better. And he wants him to know it.

So he nods. Almost hysterically because it feels like losing his mind and Martin’s hand in his is the only thing keeping him here.

“P’please.” A gasping whisper, begging. And Martin, beautiful, kind, patient Martin, cups his face and thumbs away his tears, palm so cool against his feverish skin.

“Okay, you are okay. I’m going to help.” Jon closes his eyes against a promise too good to be true. And when Martin removes his hands, his connection, he sobs and Martin soothes, digging his strong fingers into the rigid block of agony. “Hush, shh, I’ve got you, this will help, I promise.” Jon latches onto his words, tries to lose himself in them, clasping his own hands over his mouth to stifle his whining. When Martin straightens his leg it’s like a hot poker is jammed into his hip socket and he can’t help the low groan at the back of his throat. He’s never hurt like this, he’s sure. He’d have remembered. “Good, good. You’re doing so well, Jon. Breathe, shh, just like that.” Jon soaks up the praise like parched earth, and winds his fingers into the blankets at his side, as everything begins to relax, as Martin smooths warmth along the worst of the ache. Just an ache. Bearable now. Bearable. Just an ache and he sobs in relief. Martin disappears and reappears in the same moment, a bottle of paracetamol in his hand and a half glass of water. To appease, Jon takes a double dose even though they pale in comparison to the complete prescription of muscle relaxers minus one he had in his medicine cabinet at home and watched Martin keep his worry to himself.

“M’sorry. Martin.” He’s out of breath. Panting like he’d run a marathon and every part of him resonating with the aftermath of pushing himself too far. He studied Martin’s face. Waiting for derision or contempt or more pity to show itself. For him to say he needs to quit the job even though he’s quite sure he actually can’t.

“Nothing to be sorry for, Jon.” Calm and quiet and he passes him a cool flannel so he can wash his face and it is blissful. “I promise, nothing at all.” That can’t possibly be true. “I’m sorry I didn’t think about the walk.”

“It wasn’t that far.” Martin didn’t argue and Jon was grateful, refolding the cloth so he could press it against his eyes and let it absorb his tears of frustration and shame.

“I’ve got some dry clothes you can change into.” He heard Martin get up, calling from the other room. “The bed is big enough for two, if you don’t mind, I don’t.” Jon sat up, shaky, lightheaded, keeping his bad leg purposefully straight because he was afraid of what would happen if he bent it again. And Martin handed him another set of soft things, gathering up the spare bedclothes and spiriting them away while he changed. God he was dizzy. “Bed?” He blinked slowly, tired, certain he couldn’t stand on his own, and swallowed around the clot of emotion in his throat.

“Would y’you.” He looked down at his trembling hands, clasped them together in an attempt to stop them. “I don’t. C’can’t. Stand.” He could barely hear himself. Humiliation, hot and coursing through his blood. This was foolish. Couldn’t even--

“Of course.” Easy as that. As though it was that simple. And he supposed it was. When he let himself think about it. Martin took most of his weight, could’ve probably carried him outright, but as it was, just supported him as he hobbled forward, going so far as to lift his leg into the bed before flopping onto his side of the mattress and turning over to face him.

“I had. A. It was a nightmare.”

“The worms?”

“How did you know?” Martin shrugged.

“I have them too.” Jon chuffed a laugh in commiseration and saw Martin return it in a grin before letting himself fall back into the dark.

Martin watched as Jon slept deeply, breath even and slow and so peaceful in the early morning sunlight streaming in through the window. Lips slightly parted and fingers curled loosely against his throat, the lines of pain usually carving their jagged way down his face had smoothed out and his cheek was so humanly smushed into Martin’s extra pillow.

“Mmmorning.” The way he rubbed the sleep out of his eyes with the heel of an uncoordinated hand made his heart beat faster. And when his tired brown eyes rolled back beneath those dark fluttering lashes, black as ink, Martin remembered just how smitten he truly was. Deciding to let Jon get a few more moments of hardwon rest, he eased out of bed to go start breakfast, tucking the quilt over narrow shoulders.

Just when Martin was wondering if Jon might need some help maneuvering out of bed, quiet, uneven steps and the squeak of a chair moving across the floor drew his attention. A low, drawn out groan drifted from where his head was pillowed on folded arms and it seemed that one Jonathan Sims, was not a morning person. Still dressed in Martin’s oversized clothes, he could see the smooth skin of a shoulder blade when he placed his tea next to him, interpreting the grumbling as a garbled thank you. Two slices of toast with marmalade later and halfway through a second cup of strong tea, Jon seemed at least aware, sitting up and sipping on his mug.

“How’re you feeling?”

“Good. Pretty good.” He glanced shyly over the rim and back down again. “Thank you, Martin.” So soft, and Martin felt himself blush.

“You’re welcome, Jon.” Anytime. Always.

Jon was adjusting his collar and examining the purple bruises under his eyes in the hall mirror when Marin cleared his throat behind him.

“It was. Uh, my mum’s.” He held it out, worried he was overstepping in offering up a cane, not to mention one decorated in muted autumnal flowers. They were nearly the same height, in that Jon was a head shorter than Martin. For a full count he was stunned and Martin feared he’d made a grave miscalculation, pushed too hard, too soon. But Jon reached back, curling his fingers around the handle and taking a deep breath.

“Lovely pattern.” Martin grinned and Jon took an experimental step forward, steadier than he’d been since before Prentiss. “Shall we?”

#TMAHCWeek #TMAHC #Jonmartin #pining #ableism #internalized ableism #self worth issues #Hurt/comfort #exhaustion #chronic pain #cane user jon sims #the magnus archives #tma #jon sims #martin blackwood

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freddiesaysalright · 4 years

Text

Part of Your World - Chapter 5

Ben!Prince Eric x Mermaid!Reader

Summary: Prince Ben is trying to escape an arranged marriage. A young mermaid wants to escape the sea. Their paths cross and they may just be what the other is looking for.

Word Count: 5.5k

Tag List: @psychosupernatural, @someone-get-a-medic, @bensrhapsody, @deakyclicks, @crazylittlethingcalledobsession, @minigranger, @crazyweirdocalledfriday, @the-moving-finger-writes, @assembledherethevolunteers, @rose-writes-prose, @queenlover05, @26-7-49, @drowsebaby, @im-an-adult-ish, @queen-paladin, @rogerina-owns-me, @mirkwoodshewolf, @seven-seas-of-ham-on-rhye, @radiob-l-a-hblah, @xviiarez, @butlegendsneverdie, @sunflower-ben, @godblessthisgardenpigeon, @okilover02, @xhaliemax if you’d like to be added, let me know!

A/N: Y’all ready to see a classic fanfic trope? I know we love it ;) Also, I’m sorry this update took for fucking ever I’m just horrible at time management

Warning(s): None :)

Moodboard

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4

Chapter 5 here we go!!!

The next morning, you woke to find Ben missing from his hammock. You rolled out of yours, careful to land on your feet, and then headed upstairs to the deck. The morning was misty and chilly. You shivered and hunched your shoulders as you pressed on. You found him at the bow, looking out over water, clouded by fog. His expression was hard. Distressed. You placed a hand on his shoulder to alert him to your presence. You felt his muscles relax beneath your touch as he turned to face you.

“Good morning,” he said shortly.

Is it? You questioned.

He shook his head. “No...no, I suppose it isn’t.”

Talk to me, you insisted. Why are you so upset by this?

“Because,” he said. “A king is supposed to protect his people. To run his kingdom with knowledge and care. Until I joined Behati, I didn’t know anything that was going on. I feel...stupid. And completely unprepared for the next step in my life.”

Well, you know now, you said, trying to be encouraging. Maybe now when you do get home, you can explain what you’ve seen to your father and work together to fix it.

“That’s another thing that’s bothering me,” he said. “I don’t like to think my father knows about this and is ignoring it, but what if that is the case? What if he isn’t ignorant and he just doesn’t care? What do I do then?”

I can’t say for sure, since I don’t know him, you signed. But if he's anything like you, then there is no way this information wouldn’t affect him. Look at how your heart is hurting for your people. If your father has half your heart, it will shock him, and he will do everything he can to correct it.

A hint of a smile passed over his lips.

“I hope so,” he said. “But who knows when I’ll be able to get back to him?”

You aren’t Behati’s prisoner, you reminded him. I’m sure she’d take you back home if that’s what you wanted.

He shook his head again. “No, not really. She’s so close now to finding Sycoria. And I’m not ready for this adventure to end yet. Crazy as it’s been, and as much danger as I’ve encountered, I’ve never had so much fun.”

You raised a questioning eyebrow at him.

“It seems completely mental, I know,” he chuckled. “But...before, I was looking at the life that was being handed to me. It was soft and comfortable in the palace. With a pretty wife who would take my word second only to God’s, and give me heirs. I’d do the same things every day, with the same people, without any idea of what goes on beyond the palace walls. It was frightening. Running away from that - especially the marriage - was the best decision I’ve ever made.”

You don’t want to get married? You wondered, a little dejected.

“I do someday,” he said. “But right now it just felt like a way to trap me and keep me right where I was. I barely even had a taste of freedom.”

Believe me, that I understand, you signed.

“Controlling parents?” he asked.

You nodded. A controlling father, mostly. My mother died when I was little.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “What happened to her?”

Pirates, you told him, because you couldn’t say “humans.”

Ben heaved a sigh. The wind blew and you shuddered.

“Cold?” he asked.

You nodded, hugging yourself. He offered a gentle smile as he shrugged off his coat and draped it over your shoulders. You smiled gratefully at him. Then, he did something you did not expect. He pulled you into his arms and held you there. Your soft gasp was lost in his shirt as you rested your forehead against his chest. His embrace was warm and comfortable. You could hear his heart beating.

“The world is cruel,” he said heavily. “I’ve seen a great deal of wickedness and devastation since I left home, but I must say that you, Y/N, have been a bright light.”

Your heart skipped a beat at his words and you felt heat rise to your face.

“Despite all you’ve been through, you’ve remained kind and gentle,” he went on. “You’re genuinely the sweetest person I’ve ever met. I know it’s only been a couple days, but you’re a very precious friend to me.”

You looked up and beamed at him. He held your gaze and seemed to inch closer. Your stomach turned at the thought. Was he going to kiss you? Already? You were definitely fond of each other, but was it love? It certainly felt like the beginnings of it.

He pressed his lips to your forehead. You released a breath of relief. As badly as you wanted to kiss him - and you knew what was at risk if it didn’t happen - now was not the time. He was vulnerable, and he needed support. It would have felt like taking advantage of a weak moment.

“You’re freezing, you should get out of the wind,” he remarked as he pulled away.

I’m warmer with you, you returned. Besides, I miss the sea.

His brow furrowed. You had not meant to make that thought apparent, so your mind raced to come up with how to back track.

I just mean that I miss my old life, you signed, going vaguer.

“Tell me about it,” he said. “Goodness, you’ve listened to me ramble on about my nonsense long enough.”

You smiled. What do you want to know?

“Let’s start with where you’re from,” he said.

It’s a whole other world, you signed. Beautiful in some ways and completely frustrating in others. I had interests my father didn’t approve of, and eventually I was punished for doing something I considered to be the right thing. I knew I had to get away.

“That’s the worst, isn’t it?” he said. “Feeling like your parents are just trying to control you.”

Especially when they say it’s just because they know what’s best, you replied. How can they know what’s best if they don’t listen?

“Honestly!” he agreed. “All we want is the choice to make our life for ourselves.”

Absolutely, you signed. It’s about freedom.

“Thanks for this, Y/N,” he said. “For listening and sharing. It’s been a real treat.”

You smiled again. Whenever you were around Ben, no matter how serious the discussion got, you always ended up smiling. You hoped that was how it would always be.

The sun began to rise over the water and the air warmed up. You returned Ben’s coat to him just as Behati was emerging from her quarters to address the crew.

“Ladies and Benjamin!” she began excitedly. “We now have the way to find Sycoria!”

Everyone cheered, including Ben. You clapped enthusiastically. Maybe if Behati was successful, you’d be free too.

“I’ve waited years for this moment,” she continued. “I’ve been a prisoner on my own ship all these years, but no more. But I wouldn’t be the captain I am without each of you. I collected my crew carefully, choosing those who I knew could work with me, and bring a fresh perspective. You have all proven more than worthy. Before we take on this final stretch of our journey, I’m letting you all celebrate. Our next stop is Dram, so you can all enjoy the Mermaid Festival, and then, we go after Sycoria with everything we’ve got!”

The crew cheered again. You shot Ben a questioning look. You had never been to a human festival before, and to hear they had one dedicated to mermaids was both scary and intriguing.

“The mermaid festival celebrates Saint Asenora,” Ben explained. When your face lit up with recognition, he laughed. “My mother is named for the saint, but is not the saint herself. They both come from Dram, and my mother got her name because she was the first girl born to the Duke’s family there since the time of the saint.”

That’s incredible!

“We’ll dock in Dram tonight,” Behati said. “So you’ll have the whole day to celebrate tomorrow.”

You counted it up in your head. That would mean after the festival, you would only have another day with Ben.

Why is the saint celebrated at the Mermaid Festival? You asked.

“Because the legend goes that Asenora was a mermaid, and she fell in love with a human man,” he said. “She went to a witch to make her human, and the witch did it, but at great cost to Asenora. Her new legs were painful, and if the man did not love her in return, she would become sea foam.”

You swallowed. That hit a little too close to home.

What happened with the man? You asked.

“She found him, but he was already married,” Ben went on. “His wife was not as beautiful as Asenora, but she saw the smile on his face, and knew he was happy. Unwilling to disrupt his peaceful life, she sacrificed herself to the witch’s fate.”

That’s a horrible story, you signed with a pout.

“It doesn’t end there,” he said. “God had seen what Asenora did, and that her love was pure. He saved her spirit, and named her saint of the sea. Sailors across the kingdom pray to her for safe passage. Every year, they celebrate her at the Mermaid Festival.”

Well, that’s not so bad, you signed. But it’s still sad she never found love.

“Perhaps,” he said. “But lots of good came of it.”

You shrugged. Makes sense.

You and Ben spent the day together, working, talking, and laughing. Ben found himself impossibly more attracted to you as time went on. All he wanted was to be by your side. As he watched you help Ari with a rope, the way your face scrunched up in your way which was so cute. Your bright smile and sparkling eyes. The goodness and openness of your heart.

He felt a hand on his shoulder which drew him out of his stupor.

“Y/N,” Behati said. “How do you feel about her?”

“She’s great,” he answered bashfully. “Really helpful and sweet and patient and -”

“Pretty?” she finished.

His cheeks got pinker.

“She’s beautiful,” he said.

“There seems to be a real connection there,” she observed. “She likes you too.”

“Captain, what are you getting at?” he asked pointedly.

“I’m saying that what I see is the beginning of what we call love,” she said. “And I think you should pay attention to that.”

He blinked, astounded. He had never thought about it like that. But his attraction and appreciation of you definitely stood out to him. He had never felt that way about a woman before. But love?

“I dunno if we’re there yet,” he said with a shrug. “But I...I really like her.”

“I’m glad to hear it,” she replied. “Show her a good time tomorrow.”

“I will,” he said. “I’m actually excited for it.”

Behati smiled, nodded, and then left him to his work again. She walked over to you.

You beamed at the captain as she approached, but it faltered at the look on her face. She looked serious.

“Y/N, come with me to my quarters, we need to talk,” she said.

What’s this about? You wondered.

“Just come with me,” she insisted.

You put down your things and followed her. You shot Ben a questioning look as you passed him, but he only shrugged. He watched you disappear into Behati’s room.

“Hey, Ben,” Ari said. “Don’t you think that a sweet, charming girl that’s right in front of you might be better than some mystery woman you aren’t even sure exists?”

He sighed. “I suppose…”

Inside, Behati sat on her desk, facing you. You stood before her, a questioning expression on your features.

“We’ve never addressed this, but I did see you that day you rescued Ben,” she began. “And you didn’t have legs. You were a mermaid.”

You looked at the floor and nodded.

“And I know Sycoria gave you your legs,” she said.

You nodded again.

“What was the price?” she asked. “And what are the conditions of your agreement?”

You took a deep breath. Then, you explained everything. How you’d always been fascinated by humans, that night you listened on the side of the ship and that was how you were there to rescue Ben. You told her your father punished you for it, and then you went to Sycoria to become human. You even told her the limits of your spell. That after the festival you would only have another twenty-four hours to get Ben to kiss you.

“Well, you’re in luck, he likes you,” she said. “How do you feel about him?”

I’m starting to fall in love with him, you signed. He’s so brave and kind and caring. And we both value freedom and love. It feels like we’re meant to be.

“You very well may be,” she agreed. “The only thing is Ben is still caught up on the woman he thinks saved him. I think you should tell him the truth. During the festival.”

You nodded. I agree. I want to be totally honest with him so that he doesn’t feel tricked.

“I like that,” she said. “To get this going, I’ve got something for you.”

A present?

She smiled and then crossed the room to her wardrobe. You watched eagerly as she opened the door, reached in, and pulled out a gorgeous gown that was on a hanger. Your mouth dropped as you looked at it. It was stunning - gold thread with soft pink lace and delicate frills along the sleeves and neckline. You had never seen such a garment.

“Wear this,” she said with a smirk. “That should put some serious hearts in his eyes.”

But if it’s yours, how will it fit me?! You wondered.

“It was actually part of a plunder I took a few years back,” she said. “I think it looks about your size. Dresses never suited me anyway. But they do suit a princess.”

You grinned. Thank you so much.

“You’re welcome,” she said. “Shall we try it on?”

You nodded enthusiastically.

Behati had everything that went with the dress - the undergarments, corset, and even gold slippers to match it. As she finished lacing you up, you finished letting your hair out of the braids. Then she walked you over to the mirror that was on the wall. You gasped.

“My, my, you’re stunning!” she cried. “Look at you, gorgeous!”

You blushed, flattered by her praise, especially since you found her so beautiful.

Thank you, you signed. I really feel like a princess now.

“You look like one,” she said. “You are one. Ben is a lucky, lucky prince.”

You blushed deeper.

“We’ll be docking soon,” she said. “Stay in here as long as you like. I’ll have Ari and Kay get you dressed tomorrow.”

You giggled together, and then she departed. You looked at yourself again, twirling gently back and forth. You pictured yourself on Ben’s arm, looking like you actually belonged there. The way this dress would shift and move, the way it would swirl as you danced. The festival became a whole lot more exciting.

When you docked at Dram, You had changed back into your crew clothes, but the dress was carefully packed and with Ari. Behati also handed Ari a pouch of gold to pay for rooms at the inn. She whispered some instructions into Ari’s ear that you guessed were about the dress. The captain shot you a knowing smile, and then you were all off into town.

Dram was much more peaceful than Henrietta. There was a heavier military presence and the people were clearly wealthier. Most of the women had jewels around their necks and fingers. Their dresses were made of luxury fabrics, and most of them were escorted by a man.

Not that there wasn’t poverty. There certainly was. The shopkeepers and merchants were dressed similarly to yourself and Behati’s crew. Although, the dress you knew was waiting for you would make you fit in right along with those fine ladies.

The inn was not too far from the dock, and Ari went to check you all in. The innkeeper gave Ari the keys, and she began assigning rooms. Your stomach turned when she said that you and Ben would be sharing.

“Strictly for space,” Ari said. “You see, everyone else is rooming with their partners.”

You nodded slowly. I suppose that’s alright. Ben?

“If you’re comfortable, Y/N, then so am I,” he said.

There was a reassurance in his voice that eased you.

“Y/N, come to my room tomorrow morning,” Ari said. “For your gift from Behati.”

She handed you the room key and winked. Ben looked between the two of you, confused.

“What?” he questioned. “Behati’s given you something?”

You nodded. It’s not important right now. Let’s just get to our room.

He agreed, and you walked upstairs together. You went to the room indicated on your key, and you turned the lock. You opened the door and walked in. The room was nice and cozy but to your horror, there was only one bed.

There must be a mistake, you signed. Ari would get us separate beds.

“Relax,” Ben replied, though he was also nervous. “I’ll go downstairs and see if there’s another. Wait right here.”

He left, and you stood in the doorway, anxiety coming off of you in waves. Being so close to Ben - sharing a bed - that would create a whole other level of intimacy between you. You didn’t have much time to fret before he returned.

“Sorry, no luck,” he said. “Between the Mermaid Festival guests and now us, all the other rooms are booked.”

You nodded and swallowed.

“If it makes you uncomfortable, I can sleep on the floor,” he offered, scratching his neck.

No, you signed. We can share. That is, as long as you’re okay with it.

“Of course!” he said, and at the look of surprise at his enthusiasm, he collected himself. “Sorry. I just, uh...I dunno, I like being close to you, Y/N.”

You smiled. I like being close to you too.

It was getting late, so you both got ready for bed. Ben watched as you slowly shed a few layers of clothing. He found himself blushing at the sight of your bare shoulder, and the soft skin there. He resisted a brutal urge to walk up behind you and press his lips to it.

He shook his head and began to take off his own clothes. You peeked over your shoulder and tried to not drool as his shirt came off and you saw his body. He had tan lines from his work and time with Behati, but it did not take away the appeal of his strong build. You happily would have thrown yourself into those arms.

“Are you ready?” he asked, bringing you back out of your thoughts.

You nodded stiffly. He allowed you to get in the bed first, and you hesitantly pulled back the blankets and slid into the spot. As he followed suit, you became acutely aware of his body heat beside you. You looked resolutely away from him, so you wouldn’t make him uncomfortable, but you felt his eyes on you as he settled in.

He chuckled. “You can look at me, you know.”

You turned your head in his direction, but your eyes remained fixed on the sheets. His forefinger and thumb came to your chin, and he gently lifted your face to his.

“Look, I understand that this is a bit uncomfortable,” he said kindly. “But I think we should focus on the positives. At least now, we have time to talk without any interruptions or worrying about anyone overhearing us.”

Should we have worried about that before? You asked.

He shrugged. “I dunno. But I like that it’s just you and me now. So tell me something new about you.”

You smiled. You considered confessing to him now where you really came from and the deal with Sycoria, but it still felt too crazy. And you wanted to know how he felt about you before taking the risk. So you talked about other things to pass the time. You talked with him until your eyelids grew heavy. You settled yourself against him and rested your head on his shoulder. Sleep took you. Ben watched you ease into slumber and admired your peaceful expression for a while before it came for him as well. He slipped out of consciousness with his arms around you.

You woke the next morning warm and cozy in Ben’s embrace. It was so comfortable you almost didn’t want to get up and go anywhere. But you were excited about the festival. And you thought it might be the perfect place for you and Ben to have your first kiss. And you could finally tell him everything.

Ben’s eyes fluttered open and met yours gazing at him. He smiled lazily.

“Morning,” he said, his voice gravelly from sleep.

Good morning, you signed back. I’ve got to get to Ari’s room, but I didn’t want to disturb you.

“I wish you could stay,” he said through a yawn. “You’re so cozy.”

You grinned. I’d be content to stay here with you for days, but we do have a festival to see.

“That’s true,” he conceded. “I’ll come get you in an hour, yeah?”

You nodded.

To your own dismay, you got out of bed, dressed quickly, and went down the hall to Ari’s room. Ben drifted back off for a bit, but found himself missing the feeling of you next to him.

When you got to Ari’s room, she, Kay, Sharna, and several other girls were in there waiting for you. Ari flashed you a knowing smile.

“How was your night?” she asked.

It was….nice, you signed with a sheepish grin. He just held me all night.

“Awww,” Sharna cooed. “What a sweetheart he is.”

“Well, let’s get you dolled up for your sweet man,” Ari said.

They all jumped in. While Ari was getting you dressed, the others were helping you with your hair. You really felt like a princess, but not the kind you were in the sea. The kind from storybooks. Only, you didn’t have servants. You had friends.

Before you knew it, there was a knock at the door. Ben had arrived. Ari went to answer it, and she allowed him in. When he saw you standing there, in that elegant dress, with your hair curled and styled, and just a hint of rouge on your cheeks and lips, his jaw dropped. The breath was stolen out of his body, and his face grew warm.

“Y/N, you - I - wow - you look….you look…” he sputtered.

“Beautiful?” Ari finished.

“Yeah,” he said, eyes still locked onto yours. “Stunning, actually.”

You flushed under his gaze and tried to relax. Somehow, you were more nervous around him now. It felt like he was properly courting you or something. The feeling only grew when he bent at the waist and bowed to you, extending his hand.

“Y/N, I would be honored if you would allow me to escort you to the festival today,” he said.

You took his hand, and he looked up. You beamed at him and nodded. He grinned back, losing the dignified air he’d created, and you were back to normal. Only, there was a real feeling of couplehood blossoming.

He began to lead you out the door. Ari wished you good luck and said they’d be around if you and Ben needed anything. You both waved to her quickly, and then you were off.

Ben took the lead, since he had been to the festival before. It was mostly local vendors selling products relating to the legend. People were everywhere, shopping and talking. Children darted back and forth, collecting candy and toys. Laughter and music floated through the air. Ben took you first to get a seashell crown to wear.

“That really suits you, Y/N,” he said, placing it carefully atop your head.

Thank you, you replied.

You continued walking. It shocked you to witness how fascinated humans were by mermaids. There was mermaid art, mermaid jewelry, mermaid themed food. None of it was accurate, but it was certainly amusing to you.

You stopped at another booth, where you purchased a pendant for Ben. It was silver, hung down to his chest, and had a perfectly round pearl at the end. It was delicate, but still looked handsome on him.

“Y/N, you don’t have to do all this,” he said, admiring it. “This is much too kind a gift.”

You have been most kind to me, you replied. I want to show you I’m grateful to know you.

He pulled you close and kissed your forehead.

“Thank you so much,” he said.

You beamed at each other.

Exploring the Mermaid Festival took most of the day, but it was a whole day you got to spend with Ben. You talked, laughed, shopped, and got to know each other. In the afternoon, you went to the town square to see the dancing.

A group of string players were creating a jaunty and upbeat tune. The dance was known to the citizens, as they were all in step with each other. You even saw Ari and Kay out there together. Ben looked over and saw your eager expression.

“Would you like to dance?” he asked.

You nodded so hard, he laughed.

Taking you hand, he led you out. You got a bit nervous since you had never danced before and you didn’t know the steps.

“Don’t worry,” Ben said, as if reading your mind. “Follow my lead, and keep the beat in your head.”

His reassuring smile made you forget all apprehension. You leapt into the crowd, one hand in Ben’s, the other on his shoulder, while his free hand took your waist. Nothing else mattered. You danced and danced, and whether or not the steps were right was of little consequence. You were in Ben’s arms, moving together, with laughter in your eyes and on your lips.

The song came to an abrupt, but jubilant halt, and you stopped, breathless and smiling. Ben was similarly delighted. Then you both burst into laughter.

“That was great, Y/N!” he praised. “For someone who once struggled to walk, you’re a helluva dancer!”

You smirked. Well, I think with dancing, it’s about having the right partner.

He blushed and smiled in that way that absolutely melted you. Then, the music began again, this time much slower. You watched all the other couples return to the floor.

“Do you know how to waltz?” Ben asked.

You shook your head. He quickly showed you a box step, and you told him you trusted him. So, he took you out again.

The waltz was smooth, with a romantic sway that was exactly what you had envisioned for the dress. You were much closer to Ben now - chest to chest. Both of you were rosy cheeked from the previous dance, but your breath was evening out. Your heart rate on the other hand was picking up rapidly.

“Y/N, I…” Ben began, but trailed off.

You poked him insistently in the shoulder. He met your eyes and you questioned him with a slight downturn at the corners of your mouth.

The truth was, as he looked at you now, the only thing on his mind was kissing you.

“I can’t begin to tell you how much I like you,” he said. “I think...it’s becoming more than just a liking, if you know what I mean.”

You did, but you wanted to hear him say it. You furrowed your brow and looked confused.

“Y/N,” he said again, and as the music slowed to a stop, so did your feet. “I think I’m starting to…”

He was leaning in again, and this time there was no confusion about where he was headed. He was going to kiss you. Properly. And you were more than ready to accept him. To break this curse and regain your voice so that he could know truly everything about you. And you weren’t scared to tell him anymore. Because you knew that he loved you.

Your eyes began to close as you got closer to each other. You felt his breath hot on your face. His lips just barely began to touch yours. Just a little closer. A little closer and then…

“Time for the mermaid tears!” cried a young boy who came bounding between you, forcing you back a few feet.

You tried not to look annoyed because it wasn’t intentional, but the moment was gone. Ben cleared his throat and looked at you.

“Well, I suppose we can’t miss the mermaid tears,” he said.

What’s that about? You wondered.

“It’s when we all go to the beach and make a wish,” he explained. “Everyone takes a bit of sea glass, makes a wish, and throws it into the sea. The sea glass is meant to be Asenora’s tears she shed for her lost love. But we give them back to her - and you let go of whatever is weighing on you - then she’ll grant your wish. According to the legend.”

Does it have to be right now? You asked.

He chuckled. “Yeah, it’s always right at sundown.”

How quickly the day had flown! You weren’t ready for it to be over, but maybe, once you got back to the room, there would be another opportunity for him to kiss you.

With a sigh, you took his arm and headed for the shore.

All the jewelers were handing out the pieces of sea glass as each person approached. Yours was a deep blue, which reminded you of home. Ben’s was a soft green, and matched his eyes. You walked out to the sand, kicking off your shoes about halfway to the water. You let the ocean come and swallow your feet.

You decided you were letting go of your old life in the sea. Where you felt trapped by your father and had no control. Your wish was for Ben to try and kiss you again. You hurled the sea glass as far as you could. It disappeared inside a wave. Then you looked at Ben.

“Go ahead back to the inn,” he said, still holding his sea glass. “I need a moment.”

You placed a comforting hand on his arm, nodded, and began walking back. He watched you go, making sure you met up with Ari and Kay, before you were out of sight among the crowd. Then he looked back over the water.

His heart was torn. He was certain that he loved you, but he could not forget about the woman who saved his life. It clawed at him, made him feel guilty for falling so hard for you. But how could he help loving you? Even if there was someone out there he owed a debt to.

That was what he was letting go of. He was releasing himself from the burden of having to love someone for that reason. If he ever found that woman, he would see his debt repaid. But he was committing himself to you. His wish was only that you loved him in return. And that you would have a long and happy life together.

He realized that he was now alone on the beach. He reared back to throw the stone into the water, when a voice caught his attention. He turned around and saw a woman walking toward him. At first, he hoped it was you, but he knew it was not your silhouette.

“Benjamin,” the woman said.

Her voice was intoxicating. He noticed an odd, purple and gold glow coming from a shell around her neck. It hypnotized him so that he dropped his sea glass without even hearing it hit the sand.

Behati was whistling to herself as she walked near the stern of the ship. She had a great view of the beach from her spot in the harbor, and she had seen you and Ben making your wishes together. Now, as she was making a second round, a foggy glow caught her eye. She stopped and watched.

A woman she had never seen was talking to Ben. The woman was certainly beautiful from what Behati could tell. But when the glowing fog went straight into Ben’s eyes and his body went rigid, the captain knew something was horribly wrong. The woman began to lead Ben into the sea, walking right into the waves.

“BEN!” Behati screamed, but he paid her no mind. “BEN, WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING?!”

He continued to ignore her. Then Behati watched with dread as the prince’s head vanished beneath the inky black surface of the water. A wicked cackle echoed through the air. A laugh Behati could never forget as long as she lived.

“Sycoria!”

#ben hardy #ben hardy imagine #ben hardy x reader #ben hardy x you #roger taylor #roger taylor imagine #roger taylor x reader #roger taylor x you #BoRhap #borhap boys #borhap boys x reader #borhap boys imagine #borhap boys x you #BoRhap cast #borhap cast x reader #borhap cast imagine #borhap cast x you #part of your world series

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jaskiers-sweetkiss · 4 years

Text

Not Possible [Soulmate AU]

Pairing: Daisy Johnson x Daniel Sousa

Based on the prompt: “Can someone make a soulmark story with Daisysous where Daisy's soulmark is "Who the hell are you?" and Daisy, being someone that would always get herself into tight situations, was something that she heard a lot and has gotten kind of desensitized to it and while Daniel's soulmark is "Who I am is on a need to know basis", he had gotten into the habit of asking people who they are to get that kind of response. However, both of them are very focused on their respective missions (Daisy to fight the Chronicoms and Daniel to figure out who is trying to infiltrate his SHIELD base), they didn't realize they were each other's soulmates until he noticed his writing on her body while rescuing her from the barn and then they fall in love yay” from @magickgirl786 (lmk if you want me to untag you)

Warnings: light swearing, mentions of torture, THERE WILL BE AGENTS OF SHIELD SPOILERS

a/n: I was so inspired by the prompt that I literally pounded this out in like an hour last night. This is my first Daisel/Dousy/Sousy/DaisySous fic so lmk what you think!!

___

Daisy Johnson hadn’t exactly had a normal life and being born with the words “Who the hell are you?” tattooed on her wrist didn’t make it any better. It was a question she had asked and been asked many times throughout her life. She asked herself that very question constantly growing up as she fashioned a name and identity for herself since she had no family to do it for her. She created Skye, the hacker but then “Skye” was thrown out the window when she met her parents and learned her real name was Daisy Johnson and she started the entire process of creating an identity over again. At some point, Agent Johnson became Quake and Quake became Destroyer of Worlds, she’d had enough names and identities to make a person’s head spin.

Working as a field agent with SHIELD didn’t help much either. Her job ensured that she was asked: “Who the hell are you?” on nearly every assignment. She barely even registered the shock of hearing the words anymore. She certainly wasn’t listening for them in 1953, decades away from anyone who could possibly be a candidate for her soulmate.

Daniel Sousa wasn’t sure what kind of soulmate he’d be getting with a soulmark like “Who I am is on a need to know basis,” but boy did he try to find out. He had tried to elicit the response from every new person he met but it never hit. The words started to make more sense when he joined the SSR and later SHIELD. Surely his soulmate must be an agent, he thought, but soon enough that idea fell through too. The identity of his soulmate was far from his mind as he went about his job, especially when dealing with the added stress of a Peggy Carter imposter. That must’ve been why the words went right over his head.

“Who the hell are you?” His words were harsh as he stepped into his office only to find it occupied by some dame he’d never seen before.

“Who I am is on a need to know basis.” Her words were curt but she radiated power and authority. On a normal day Daniel might’ve shown a little more respect for the woman but today he was out of patience.

“I need to know.” He demanded and she smirked.

“Ah, no, you don’t.” She smiled coyly, “Because I don’t exist, and we’ve never met. Now, can you shut the door please?”

“Not to be rude, but it’s been one of those days,” he began, eying the woman with his signature no-nonsense look, “So produce some credentials or I’m gonna put you in handcuffs.”

She complied immediately and he nearly let out a sigh of relief. Today may have been stressful but at least everyone was being compliant, even the two imposters he caught had gone quietly and without a fuss.

“I should inform you, that’s not my real name,” she spoke evenly as she handed over her ID, “My initials are C-I-A, catch my drift?”

“Subtle.” He deadpanned but he was grateful. It seemed someone was finally taking his fears of Hydra sleeper cells in SHIELD seriously, maybe someone was finally here to make his day easier.

The next thing he knew he was locked up in the very cell he had been keeping the imposters in. So much for making his day easier.

Daisy was surprised by the flare of guilt that came from locking Sousa up in his own holding cell. She normally wouldn’t have thought twice, it was part of the job and she was saving her people and the world, but there was something about Daniel Sousa that gave her pause. Maybe it was because he was a nice guy, or because he was already catching onto Hydra’s presence more than fifty years before it would actually come to light. Either way, she had to shake off the feeling as she continued on her day.

An opportunity to redeem herself not long after. Daniel Sousa was going to die, killed by the Hydra sleeper cells he was trying to expose, but they didn’t have to let that happen. They wouldn’t let that happen if she had any say in it. She still couldn’t figure out why she felt so strongly about a man she had only interfaced with once but something was telling her she couldn’t just let this man die. So she didn’t.

___

Daniel Sousa was not having a good week. First Hydra, then his base is infiltrated, and now he’s been kidnapped. Except, it’s worse than a kidnapping really, because not only is he no longer in Los Angeles, he was no longer in 1953, and he was, apparently, no longer alive. Somehow Daniel Sousa, Agent of SHIELD and World War II veteran, had found himself in the 1970s without having aged a day. At least this new Future SHIELD still did fieldwork, he really needed the consistency.

He found himself paired up with the agent from his office who’s real identity he learned was Daisy Johnson. He wasn’t sure what it was about her, maybe the power she emanated or her bold attitude, but something drew him to her. Somehow, even with the looming threat of Hydra, he felt less worried with her by his side. Though, maybe it had something to do with her earthquake powers.

It wasn’t until the barn that he realized the true reasoning behind their inexplicable connection.

God, that barn. Daniel wasn’t sure if they’d ever make it out of that god-forsaken building alive. Sitting there listening to Agent Johnson be sliced apart was a torture in itself for him, though he knew his pain was nothing compared to the agony she was surely feeling if her screams were any indicator. She looked like she was on the verge of death when they deposited her back at his side.

“Stay with me,” he remembered begging. He remembered telling her about what happened to his leg. He remembered feeling like there wasn’t anything he wouldn’t do to make sure she made it out of there alive.

Then she lifted up her hand to show the piece of glass stuck under her skin and he realized why he felt so strongly about the woman lying in his lap. His own words, “Who the hell are you?” were tattooed along her wrist. There was no mistaking his handwriting and while all he wanted to do was replay their meeting back in his mind to find out if she had said his words, he knew he needed to keep his mind on task if he ever wanted a shot at this soulmates thing. So that’s what he did, he threw all of his strength, mind, and ability into getting them out of that terrible barn. It wasn’t until he was seated on the Zephyr with Daisy safe, sound, and healing in front of him that he let his mind wander to the possibilities.

___

Daisy wasn’t surprised that she wasn’t alone when she woke up, but she was surprised by her company. She had expected Jemma when she woke up in the med bay’s hospital bed with an IV in her arm, but instead she got Daniel Sousa, not that she was complaining. He looked equal parts relieved and nervous when she awoke though she couldn’t figure out why. He didn’t tell her either, though the nervousness remained throughout her recovery. Jemma informed him that he hadn’t left her side the entire time she was unconscious and her heart warmed at the fact. The sentimentality surprised her, she wasn’t one to grow attached so quickly but there was just something about Daniel Sousa. She didn’t find out what until she had been released from medical.

“Agent Johnson, I think we should talk,” he said in that calm but commanding way of his, though Daisy didn’t miss the nervousness in his voice and face.

She merely nodded, following him into the Zephyr’s kitchen. They sat across from each other at the table, Daisy starting up the coffee machine before sitting down.

“What is it, Agent Sousa?” She asked, a teasing smile on her face, “You look like you might vomit.”

“We’re soulmates,” he blurted before immediately cursing himself and Daisy froze in shock.

“Excuse me?” She finally spit out, subconsciously sliding her fingers over the words on her wrist.

She’d heard the words hundreds of times, surely it couldn’t be him.

“I didn’t realize until I saw my writing on your wrist in the barn, I-” he stopped suddenly, unsure of what to say next. He had dreamed about meeting his soulmate, but never had he thought it would go like this. In lieu of knowing what to say, he rolled up his sleeve instead, placing his wrist on the table with his soulmark on full display.

Daisy’s mind was screaming at her as she stared at the man’s wrist. The man was born decades before her, he was supposed to die before she was even born, and yet those were her words, in her handwriting, clearly displayed on his wrist.

“What the hell?” She heard herself mutter, though she didn’t feel like she was in control of her own body in that moment.

“I’m sorry,” Daniel panicked, interpreting her confusion for upset. “I shouldn’t have sprung this on you, especially so soon after recovery-” he rambled before Daisy cut him off by placing a gentle hand on his own that was still resting on the table.

“I’m not upset,” she reassured him, “I just- how is this possible?” She laughed slightly at her own question, soulmarks were an extremely unpredictable thing and even modern science didn’t have a good understanding of them, obviously the chain of events that brought them together were meant to happen.

“I don’t know,” Daniel smiled sadly, “But, as crazy as all this is, I’d like to give it a shot.”

Daisy smiled. She couldn’t help it even if she tried, the man sitting before her was so genuine and even if he wasn’t her soulmate she was sure she’d be feeling the same butterflies in her stomach.

“Me too,” she said softly and the butterflies only flapped harder at the smile that broke across his face.

“I’d like to take you on a date if any of this,” he gestured to the Zephyr and the commotion that came with it, “ever dies down.”

“I’d love that.”

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dialovers-translations · 4 years

Text

Diabolik Lovers GRAND EDITION for Switch ;; More, Blood ー Reiji Heaven [02]

ー The scene starts in the school library

Yui: ( Reiji-san’s silently reading up on medical books... )

( I’d love to help out as well, but I don’t know anything about medicine and such. )

Reiji: ...Why have you been aimlessly walking around this whole time? It is highly distracting.

Yui: Ah...I’m sorry!

Reiji: If you have nothing to do, then silently stay on your seat.

Yui: Uhm...Is there anything I can help with?

I want to be able to do something for you... (1)

Reiji: Let’s see...A task even someone as retarted as yourself should be capable of doing...

In that case, please go fetch me the next volume of this.

Yui: Yes! Got it.

ー Yui runs up to the bookshelves

Yui: ( Uhm, the next part of the book Reiji-san’s reading is... )

Ah, there it is!

( But what should I do? It’s all the way up there, I can’t reach that high... )

Reiji: ...How much longer?

Yui: S-Sorry...I can’t reach...

Uhm...I believe I’ll have to ask you to grab it after all...

Reiji: Haah, you really are useless. Not only do you fail to heed my order, but you ask me to do it instead.

ー He walks over

Yui: ( ...? Reiji-san’s standing right behind me...What is he...? )

*Rustle*

ー Reiji lifts her into the air

Yui: Kyah!

( He’s lifted me up from behind...! )

Reiji: Come on. Now it’s within your reach, right?

Yui: Y-Yes!

( I think it would have been easier to just grab it himself though... )

ー He puts her down again

Yui: Reiji-san. I got the...book.

Reiji: Good job. Please give it to me.

ー Reiji grabs the book and returns to his seat

Yui: ( He continued reading as if nothing happened at all. )

...Why do you make medicine, Reiji-san?

Reiji: ...You sure are noisy. I cannot concentrate like this.

Yui: S-Sorry! I just got curious...

Reiji: In that case, I shall tell you.

I am making these drugs...In order to revive my Mother.

Yui: Eh...?

Reiji: Ever since I was just a young lad, I grew up always being compared to Shuu.

My Mother would always remind me of the same thing. That one day, I would become Shuu’s right-handed manーー

However, I could not possibly accept that...

And can you blame me? Even though I was superior to that man in absolutely every aspect!

Simply because he was born first, he received the blessings from everyone around him, having said position already set in stone for him!

In that case, I have no need for that wretched family...Ruin should simply fall upon them!

As a first step...I decided I would steal everything away from that guy.

Yui: ( Reiji-san’s eyes look...cold... )

( But am I just imagining this or...does he also look somewhat...sad? )

Reiji: I called upon a Vampire hunter, and assassinated my Mother.

Her face twisted in pain and suffering as she felt regret for always looking down on me...That is exactly what I wanted to see...

Yet, she smiled at me, passing with a peaceful expression on her face.

I could not let that slide.

Giving my Mother a soothing death is simply unthinkable...

Which is exactly why I decided to bring her back to life!

Then next time for sure, I shall kill her in the most cruel, painful wayーー

Yui: Reiji-san...

Reiji: Hmph...Look at me. I ended up rambling about my past even though that is nothing like me.

Well then, you got your answer now, right? I shall get back to reading now.

Yui: Yes...

Reiji: You...

...Why are you crying?

Yui: I don’t know...

( Because Reiji-san just seems...in a lot of pain... )

ー She embraces him

Reiji: What are you playing at, embracing me from behind? I cannot read my book like this, can I?

Yui: ...S-Sorry...

( I just couldn’t help but want to give him a hug... )

( I wonder if he’d get upset if I said that... )

Reiji: Good grief.

If you are trying to seduce me, I wish you would go about it in a little more attractive manner...

Yui: ...I’m not...!

Reiji: Come on, look my way.

Yui: ( Ah...He grasped my chin... )

Reiji: All you have done is get in the way of my reading...You truly are a troublesome prey.

Let me seal those lips of yours, so you can no longer spout unnecessary nonsense.

*Smooch*

Yui: ...!

R-Reiji-san...Wait, uhm...

Reiji: Fufu, why are you getting so flustered? You are the one who embraced me, are you not?

Yui: But, if someone were to come...

Reiji: Simply do not let it bother you. You should just keep your eyes on meーー

*Smooch*

Yui: Nn...

( Ah...The lonliness from earlier...has disappeared from his eyes...? )

( I wonder if I was able to...support him even just a little... )

( I’ll be by your side forever, Reiji-san... )

ーー TO BE CONTINUED ーー

Translation notes

(1) The expression 力になる or ‘chikara ni naru’ which literally means ‘to become (someone’s) strength’ is often used in Japanese when expression your desire to help out.

<- [ Heaven 01 ] [ Heaven 02 ] ->

#diabolik lovers #dialovers #reiji sakamaki #more blood #diabolik lovers translation #mbreijiheaven2

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cblgblog · 4 years

Note

hi i just wanted to say that your posts on t0ny are very well-written and nuanced. also wanted to ask - a lot of stans (tonk stans, st0ny shippers, etc) tend to praise steve for "taking" tony's rant in endgame bc tony "needed" to say it. i know this is old discourse, but it struck me today that those stans essentially want steve to be belitted, and patiently take being gaslighted, which strikes me as abusive rhetoric. have i gone too far in my analysis?

Hi, thanks for saying that, I appreciate it.

And nope, no, you have not, in my opinion. A lot of those people you mentioned—not all but a lot—just want Steve (and any other character in the MCU) to be Tony’s punching bag. Everyone owes Tony an apology, everyone who’s ever blinked at Tony wrong must drop to their knees and beg forgiveness, because if Tony thinks you’re wrong, well obviously you’re wrong, scum of the Earth.

Can you imagine the rage if Steve had actually been allowed to respond, or, God forbid, yelled at Tony first? If Steve had been allowed to say hey, why the hell didn’t you call me? I gave you a way to contact me literally for these kinds of situations. You had a wizard with you. At any point after he was rescued, you could have used that man to get home, our teams could’ve met up, we could’ve come up with a strategy. I wasn’t there with you because you chose for it to be that way. You chose to go to an unknown planet alone, without contacting anyone. And the rest of us weren’t just sitting on our hands like you seem to think, we were fighting for our lives/fighting to protect the stone. You weren’t the only one fighting, Tony, and you weren’t the only one who lost today.

But no, no, Steve’s a much better friend/boyfriend if he just “takes” Tony’s rant, because poor Tony is hurting (unlike, I don’t know, everyone else who’s still occupying the universe). If Steve had done that, if Steve had, for once, been allowed to lose control and unleash his grief and anger and frustration—on Tony, God forbid—the stans would go from having one of their most favorite scenes ever to starting a petition that the scene be cut out of the film. Because Tony is allowed to take out his feelings on others, because he’s human and he has PTSD, and it happens, it makes him more relatable. That logic, of course, only applies to Tony.

Again, I’m not saying all Stony shippers, but a good portion of them don’t seem to care at all about Steve on his own. They care about him only in relation to what he can do for Tony. They love him if he takes care of Tony, or if he apologizes for Howard’s obsession with him and how it affected Tony’s childhood. Even though Steve was effectively dead, and has no control over how Howard or anyone else reacts to that. They want Steve “taking care of” Tony, even if that means getting yelled at nonsensically and being blamed for the death of trillions. Because somehow that’s romantic.

It’s not, kids. If this is the kind of relationship dynamic you enjoy reading/writing about in your fiction? Fine, nothing wrong with that, fiction is where we explore things we wouldn’t in real life. But do not go looking for this in your real relationships, romantic or otherwise. Don’t. It’s not healthy for anyone involved, don’t do it.

As for Steve “taking” the rant? The common interpretation amongst certain stans is that he did this because oh my God, Tony’s right, Steve screwed up so badly and he knows it and he’s rightfully disgusted with himself. Or that, as you said, Tony “needed” to say it, so Steve let him. The first reading is garbage. Its people projecting their own Steve hatred or Tony worship onto Steve. Second reading, I give that a little more cred, I can see that being part of it, but it’s also not my reading.

Steve may have stood silent in part because Tony’s still his friend (supposedly) and Tony needed to say the thing so Steve let him. Might be part of it. Just as much of it though, if not more, is this: you don’t argue with someone in that state of mind. You can’t. You can’t reason with them, as evidenced by Rhodey getting brushed off by Tony when he tried. Tony’s not well, on any level, there’s nothing to be gained from responding to him. There’s not going to be a rational conversation. You can’t make sense out of nonsense, and you can’t talk sense to someone in that state.

It’s the equivalent of when my uncle gets drunk and starts crying and screaming about a bad day in preschool he had in 1974, and how that somehow led to his divorce. When my uncle says that stuff, I don’t engage, for obvious reasons. So as much sense as it would’ve made, on a human level, as someone who is also suffering, for Steve to clap back at Tony? As much as I would’ve liked to see that? He and everyone else in that room did the right thing. Not necessarily because oh poor Tony, we must let him vent, and certainly not because he was right about anything he was saying, but because he was ill and having a breakdown, and the best thing anyone could’ve done for him is what they did. Let him ramble, then pick him up, get him medicated and somewhere safe after he collapsed, and go on about the business of trying to fix things rather than engaging in a pointless argument with someone who, at that moment, was totally losing it.

#anti tony stark #anti tony stans #pro steve rogers #pro everyone but tony #Anonymous #anti stony

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carolmaximoffs · 4 years

Text

THE GOOD DOCTOR

CHAPTER SEVEN

Ch. Summary: The past haunts Thea in sleep and in reality as the team comes to a decision about Herstellerin, and Thea comes to a private decision of her own.

Warnings: swearing, dead bodies, flashbacks, brief mention of stillbirth

Pairings: Sam Wilson x OFC

Taglist: @marvelousmrstark

A/N: as usual, flashbacks are in italics.

SHE WAKES TO THE SAME grey ceiling she’s been staring at for a handful of years now. As always, she tries to picture her parents faces, but can’t.She’d been taken young and they’d too easily been pushed from her mind. She quells the anger at the thought as she listens to the grating stone on stone of her door opening, lies still as they enter.

“Get up,” commands an empty voice. Thea keeps her face carefully void as she rises to her feet. Habitually, she holds her arms out, wrists touching, for the cuffs. Trying to run had proved futile, and she wonders dimly if she’d ever feel that fire again. The one that burned for freedom. To her shock, the cuffs don’t come. Instead, a calloused hand wraps around each bicep, and the pair of Hydra cronies march her down a dark corridor. It has been years since she was truly worried, for even young she could tell they would not kill her, not on purpose. They needed her, even if she didn’t know what for.

The fear does not truly register until she is shoved into a small room containing only a table, two chairs, and a lone woman. Thea is guided to sit on one side, the metal so cold it bites through her thin linen jumpsuit. The guards release her but do not step away, hovering at her shoulders. One clears their throat.

“Herstellerin,” it grunts, evidently addressing the woman, and Thea feels her stomach lurch. She flinches, an aborted attempt to run, but her body knows better. Whispered stories rattle through her head from before she’d been moved, kept away from everyone. Herstellerin. Creator. Producer. To them, somebody says in Thea’s brain, to them we are just projects.

The woman turns slowly, a serene smile on her face. Her face, too, is blank, but it might not be intentional, with her skin stretched over angular cheeks and pale eyes. Her hair is pulled back into a tight, no-nonsense sort of bun. When the chair scrapes against the floor, Thea winces again, and the woman’s smile seems almost empathetic.

“Good morning.” Herstellerin folds her hands together on the table in front of her. This is where Thea focuses her gaze. “Did you sleep well?”

Thea thinks this is a joke - she has not fallen asleep naturally since the nights she used to scream. Now, no matter where she is kept, it is needles that make her sleep, but she nods regardless. Herstellerin nods as well.

“I am glad to hear it, because I do not know how well you will be sleeping for awhile.” With this, Herstellerin gets to her feet. A small flick of her hand, and the guards are once more gripping Thea’s biceps. Thea feels like she’s floating, watching Herstellerin’s white coat flutter behind her. The older woman knocks thrice on a solid metal door, much like Thea’s own. Thea recognizes this for sure though, with it’s small window, and the gloved lab assistant that peers through. She begins to thrash as the guards lead her over the threshold.

“Child,” Herstellerin croons, and Thea bites at the fingers that reach to touch her face. Herstellerin’s smile grows amused as Thea is strapped into a chair. She knows it’s useless, knows she can go nowhere, but it does not stop her straining. “Still so strong-willed...we are going to make you stronger.”

She honestly doesn’t mean to hit Wanda.

Thea wakes to hands on her, shaking her, and her instinct is escape, run, get away. The dream clings to her even after she follows Wanda, launching herself from bed to help the young witch to her feet.

“Wanda, I’m so, so sorry. Did I...did I wake you?” Thea asks, guilt twisting in her gut. She hadn’t had night terrors in a very long time - hadn’t woken anyone else in even longer. She pushes that thought away for later as Wanda blushes.

“I was...up,” Wanda blushes, and the implication doesn’t make Thea feel any better. Only the hallway provides any light, the clock on her bedside table flashing an accusatory 2:00 AM. She sits on the edge of her bed, head in her hands.

“I’m so, so sorry. You can go I...I’ll be fine.” The bed dips, and Wanda’s familiar shampoo floods Thea’s nose as she hugs her.

“Don’t worry about it,” Wanda urges. “Vis doesn’t mind, and I certainly don’t. I would take them away if I could.”

The last sentence is murmured, almost embarrassed, and Thea lifts her head. Wanda has pulled back enough that Thea can more or less make out her face, eyes downcast. Thea reaches up to hold the hand resting on her shoulder.

“Thank you, Wanda,” Thea whispers, pressing every ounce of sincerity into the words. “It’s nothing I haven’t been through before. It’s just dreams, right?”

Wanda makes a noise in her throat like she doesn’t quite agree, but she rises to her feet anyways. Thea’s a little relieved as she watches her friend stretch with a yawn, but also a little nervous. Wanda reaches to squeeze her hand one more time.

“Even dreams are not easy,” She replies. As soon as Wanda’s door closes, the hall light clicks off. Despite her excuses, Thea doesn’t return to sleep.

Originally, Thea wasn’t supposed to be part of the mission briefing. Had it been more routine, she’d be in the med-bay this morning, and the Avengers would be filling out paperwork. Instead, she’s nursing her second cup off coffee as Tony lays into Nat.

“I don’t care if it can’t be connected to us, Natasha! You blew up a third of fucking Berlin!” He gestures wildly at the screen behind him. On mute, news feeds show a sunken city, smoke and dust billowing. Natasha has the good grace to look a little ashamed, but sends Thea a wink when Tony rounds on the others.

“And you-” He starts, but he seems to have lost his fire. It’s the first Thea’s seen of any such thing, but he melts into the chair at the head of the table so abruptly she thinks he’s passed out. “I don’t have anything to say to you. Romanoff should’ve left you at the motel. You are so...so stupid lucky that psychotic bitch didn’t do anything to you. It’s taken a whole new round of tech just to keep her from escaping.”

Thea shares a guilty look with Bucky at the implication, though his guilt does not come from the same place hers does. She regrets bringing Herstellerin back to the Compound, being to weak to deal with her there and then. Bucky regrets that his first instinct was to kill; he and Thea had already discussed this on the way home. She made sure he knew she would not have thought less of him if he had done it, but they both knew in their guts that Thea was not quite ready to be rid of the monster.

“Tony,” she says, keeping her voice even, “I’ll take care of it. I don’t think she has any Hydra intel, Fury told me she’d been working solo for years. Just...just let me talk to her, and then you guys can hand her over to the Raft.”

Tony sighs, still slumped against the tabletop. His reply is muffled. “Do whatever you want, kid. Just fill out the papers and get back to work.”

She nods, and the group of them take it as a dismissal. Tony stays where he is, Thea ruffling his hair affectionately as she passes him. On her way to the door, her knees give. Thea reaches blindly for leverage, muffled exclamations of her name meeting her ears. She gasps, feeling suddenly like she can’t get enough air into her lungs.

“I am glad to see it worked,” drawls a voice that’s haunted Thea for a week now. “I almost was not sure it would take...but I worked so hard on this version, I am glad it did not go to waste.”

Thea stands on shaking legs. She doesn’t remember getting off the table. She doesn’t know when she fell. She watches the body closest to her thrum with gold light for another half second before it fades; she sees the same light fading from her fingers. She whirls, and Herstellerin is there, as she is always there now.

“What did you do?” She cries, and Herstellerin, as always, seems genuinely amused by her cluelessness. Her crooked smile never falters as she raises her eyebrows, a silent challenge.

“You did this, dear.”

Another shuddering gasp, hands pulling her to stand. Her own hand, shaking, clawing at her throat before settling on the locket. She still hasn’t taken it off. It grounds her as her head whips about. The pseudo-operating room has disappeared as quickly as it came. The nausea of seeing so much death remains, however, even as she allows herself to lean heavily into Bucky. Tony has risen to his feet, Rhodey and Steve reappeared by the conference room door. Natasha has Thea’s face encased in her hands, forcing her to make eye contact. Her full lips make out Thea’s name a few times before Thea actually hears it.

“What the hell is happening to me?” She whimpers. Not for the first time since coming to the compound, Thea feels weak, but never before has it been so overwhelming. Memories she’d long pushed back resurface faster than she can brace herself for them, and not just in dreams, evidently. Tony curses, making his way over to shoo the others away away. He grips Thea’s forearms to steady her.

“I told you you shouldn’t have gone,” He sasses, but there’s no true bite behind the words. “Listen, kid, I’ll have Fury send out a medic for Wanda and Sam’s recon later, just in case. Take the day off. Hell, take the week off. And I’m gonna send you the number of my therapist.”

He’s rambling, something Thea had only been privy to a couple of times. It usually occurred when he was close to a eureka! moment in the lab, or when he was truly nervous. She feels a warmth in her chest at the idea that Tony might care about her enough to worry over her, but it doesn’t make her guilt subside. “Tony, I don’t need-”

“Ah b-b-b-bup, bup, no. People who don’t need therapists don’t collapse in their meetings talking about how sorry they are,” Tony states bluntly. Thea‘s face burns, but she nods in resignation. The rest of the team had taken their leave, all except Nat, who walks with Thea to the kitchen.

“I can take you to see Herstellerin, if you’re gonna avoid that therapist,” the redhead offers after a few beats of comfortable silence. Thea tightens her grip on the knife she’s just pulled out, practically mutilating the poor kiwi before her on the counter.

“You heard what Tony said. He didn’t even want me going on the mission, no way in hell is he still gonna let me talk to her.” Thea tosses the knife in the sink and turns to face Natasha just as she shrugs.

“I’m just saying I know the entrance code. If you still needed closure.” She reaches over to steal a chunk of green from Thea’s bowl before stalking out of the kitchen. Thea knows she’s still in earshot, so she groans in frustration before calling out. Nat reappears, smiling knowingly. The only response she gets is a light punch to the arm before she leads Thea to the elevator.

Herstellerin is currently located in a completely separate building. Thea remarks on the stupidity of the access code into the level where Herstellerin is kept (“His birthday? I thought Stark said this was high tech.”) but all jokes die in her throat quickly after. Natasha hangs back as Thea enters, offering only the knowledge that Herstellerin was sedated.

The woman in question is strapped to a chair eerily similar to the one that had given Thea her abilities many moons ago. True to Nat’s word, in one arm an IV administers unknown fluid, and Herstellerin’s watery eyes are half-lidded. She’s lucid enough to smile, however, when she recognizes Thea.

“My little manipulator,” She coos in German, blinking lazily. “Come to kill me at last.”

Thea shakes her head, swallowing the bitter taste in her mouth. “You would only be so lucky. But I’ve broken my oath enough for you.”

Herstellerin cackles, but it turns into a choked cough. Thea stops at the foot of the chair, feeling almost detached from the moment as she reaches for the locket around her neck. Something sparks in the pale eyes across from her.

“First do no harm,” Herstellerin mocks, in English this time. “Shame. Shame, shame...”

She trails off, but her eyes never leave Thea’s hands as the latter opens the locket. Between them, the heart within pitter-patters like anyone else’s. In the three years since her son’s subsequent birth and death, it had never felt unnatural to Thea. Now, she thought it an oddity, knows that this heart was never intended to beat. And she had decided with Antoine she would not play God beyond an operating room.

“You said I couldn’t stop this heart if my life depended on it,” Thea remarks, focusing her dark eyes on the object in question. “You said it stayed alive because I truly cared for my son, and I believed in what I was doing when I did it. I don’t know that there’s science to support that, but we won’t ever be able to find out, so I’ll go with it because it’s so damn sweet.”

Thea feels her eyes sting, but she doesn’t stop. “You destroyed my life. You took me from my family. You gave me powers I never asked for. You tried to turn me into a killer, and I was a child. This...this was mine. S.H.I.E.L.D. gave me a new family. Antoine gave me hope. Being a doctor gave me purpose. But this...I made this. This was mine, and mine alone. My life does not depend on it...it depends on me. I love my son, I always will. But it’s time.”

Herstellerin lurches forward as much as her restraints allow, mouth open in a silent protest. Thea wraps her fingers tighter around the locket, so her fingers brush over the smooth muscle within. She steps back as Herstellerin kicks out, focusing all her energy onto the heart. She scarcely notices the tears as she whispers a prayer, more for herself than anything, and watches the heart still. Thea turns to leave as Herstellerin splutters.

“You foolish child. You...what a waste-”

Natasha shuts the door on the old woman’s complaints. She rests a hand on Thea’s back; Thea is standing with her eyes screwed shut.

“Hey,” Nat mutters, the second time in 2 days now that Thea has heard this uncharacteristically gentle tone. She opens her eyes but stares straight ahead. “You’re alright. She can’t do anything to you.”

Thea realizes that Natasha must not have heard the conversation. She did not realize the true gravity of what had taken place. Thea had let go of an enormous chunk of her past, all at once, and she felt...empty. Doing her best to give Natasha a grateful smile, she began hurrying out of the building. The redhead is hot on her heels as Thea urgently presses elevator buttons with one hand, other hand clenched in a fist around the re-sealed locket.

“I have somewhere I’ve got to go!” Thea offers as explanation. Natasha is left gaping as Thea waves down Happy, on his way to the garage, and all but throws herself into the passenger seat.

The cemetery is quiet, almost empty save for a handful of people further downhill. Happy politely nodded and agreed to wait for her by the entrance, so it’s alone that Thea makes her way through the headstones. Her heart still aches like the very first time she visited as she sits cross legged beside one stone in particular.

“Hey, Ant.” She whispers to the Earth. The only reply is the wind, like always, so she continues. As much as she is able, she tells her brother everything since the last time she’d seen him. It was routine, when he was alive. He’d get back from a mission, they’d fill each other in. It made up for the time not together. Or it used to.

Thea still feels a little incomplete even when she’s done talking, still feels like there’s a piece of her that she must’ve dropped somewhere, but she suspects it’ll be like that for a while. The first signs of spring make themselves known in little wood violets that sprout at the base of Antoine’s stone. Thea traces her fingers over them absently.

“I brought it with me, Philip’s heart.” She says, pulling the locket in question from her pocket. It too seems hollow, now, no longer humming with her energy or pumping invisible blood. “You were right. It wasn’t...it wasn’t fair. To me or him, to keep him like that. It was selfish.”

As she talks, she begins digging a little with her fingers, nails run ragged by the action. She’s far enough into the cemetery that nobody notices, or maybe nobody cares.

“After Grant...I needed something to hold on to. Proof that it wasn’t worthless. And then when you...when you died, Ant, for a long time Philip was all I had.”

She’s created a shallow hole now, barely as big as her palm. She presses the locket into the ground and makes herself busy covering it. “I’ve got a new life now. New friends. New family. New...boyfriend, I guess. Something like that.”

Thea smiles shyly at the thought of Sam, thinks a little bitterly of how he and Antoine might get along. She knows her brother would be hard on him, especially after Grant, but (and a little surprisingly) knows that she trusts Sam enough to not be swayed by it. She voices this to the empty air as she gets to her feet.

“I trust them. Tony, Wanda, Sam, Bucky...Nat and Steve...even Rhodey and Vision. It’s not...it’s not where I thought I would be, Ant. Not by a long shot. But I...I’m happy.”

Thea repeats the words to herself as her eyes well up once more. She presses a kiss to her fingertips before touching them to the words ‘Antoine ‘Trip’ Triplett’, and does it again to the small mound of dirt just below. Happy doesn’t mention her tears or the dirt under her fingernails on the drive back to the compound, and she’s grateful.

#wanda maximoff being a cute bestie #wanda maximoff #natasha romanoff #bucky barnes #tony stark #mcu #marvel #marvel fic #mine #marvelfic #avengers #antoine triplett #happy hogan #tgd/carolmaximoffs

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hearse-song · 3 years

Note

FUCK I love all those titles spill the tea

aaaa okay, this is going to probably going to be Vague and Rambly and Incredibly Long but hell yeah let’s go! (possible spoilers for things that I don’t know if/when they’ll actually be written)

The Daydream That Started It All

Probably the most developed out of all these the OCs have names and everything, but still mostly an unplanned mess bridging more clear scenes. This one started out as a vague daydream that I eventually decided that I wanted to try (keyword being “try”) to actually write. Basically, the soon-to-be-whumpee, Holly, has the bad luck to be in the wrong place at the wrong time during a road trip, and they end up a captive of a whumper who turns out to be an anthropomorphic personification of violence currently going by the name Kate (”currently” because she doesn’t actually think of herself as having a name, and because she’s collected a lot of temporary names during her very, very long time of being around solely to cause problems on purpose). Holly’s able to bargain their way out of being tortured to death, but the captivity part’s still a thing (Kate says they’re friends, Holly Very Much does not agree). They’re later joined by a second whumpee, James, who fun(?) fact was originally intended to be there just to be killed, but I decided it would be more fun to write if Holly had someone else to talk to, and also I ended up liking him too much. I’ve actually started writing this one, and I’ve got some outlines of Shenanigans that will Ensue.

A Family Can Be Three Unrelated Serial Killers And An Anthropomorphic Personification Of Violence

This one’s actually related to the one above. What’s the fun of having an immortal villain if you can’t play around with them having a historical rap sheet of some sort that lets me fit in more references to my horrifying historical special interests/obsessions? I decided pretty early on when developing her that Kate would have been her universe’s equivalent of at least a couple historical serial killers, including as part of her universe’s equivalent of the Bender family, who I’ve tentatively called the Gebhardts in my story’s universe (big general warning for that link). Because sometimes, Kate comes across humans who know how to party are also super into murder and she decides they’d be fun to hang out with for a while.

I’ve got some ideas for like, how they meet and some Murder Shenanigans, but also, as much as this idea absolutely fascinates me, and as much as I really want to write it, this series is also kind of intimidating? Because a) now there’s four of these assholes to keep track of, and b) I know for certain my perfectionist ass will overthink the historical accuracy of the thing despite this deliberately being an alternate universe/alternate history deal. But, I guess we’ll see. This one, though, is one of the ones that has an actual title. If I ever write it, the series if going to be officially called “Likely Companions”.

All Roads Lead To Cannibalism

This one is still just a vague idea of “I should really write a survival cannibalism piece one of these days, that’d be fun.” I’m not really sure yet the events that would lead up to said survival cannibalism, or what time period I want to set it in, just that sometimes when a group of people get lost in the mountains, sometimes things happen. But! This is the only other story that I might have a real title for. I’m thinking if I ever actually finish it it’s going to be called “’Tis A Curious Place” as a reference to my favorite lines from the song “Words From The Executioner To Alexander Pearce”:

And tell me how do we taste It's a curious place, a mountain To resort to customs of the sea

because listen, this piece is already going to be incredibly self-indulgent, I may as well get a reference to a special interest in there too

Local Immortal Straight Up Not Having A Good Time Right Now

Oooh, now this one’s the most recent, and is a bit of a half-formed thing. I actually got the idea as part of a dream, and it was fun enough that I wanted to try making it into it’s own thing. It’s more captivity whump, and the bare-bones basic idea from the dream was of a whumpee as the shared captive of two serial killer whumpers. I actually decided on the whumpee later on, but I figured that both me and the whumpers could have way more fun with a whumpee with regenerative healing powers. I’ve got some incredibly vague ideas for this (there will absolutely be cannibalism at some point, I’m certain of that) but I’m still at the stage of figuring out who the fuck everyone even is.

That said, some things I do know about this nonsense. Whumpee has been on the receiving end of being whumped at least once before in their past (though nothing quite like this situation) and Cannot Believe they’re having to go through this bullshit again. And, the whumpers were already friends but neither of them knew that the other was also a serial killer until they both went to dump a body at the same place at the same time because I thought it would be funny and then team-up happened.

Victorian-Era Surgery Is A Hell Of A Thing

This one is actually probably the most vague, another “I should try writing this, it sounds fun” thing. Basically like, I’d never been all that interested in medical or lab whump until I saw this post (that I can’t find again for the life of me) on ideas for steampunk whump, and one of the ideas was essentially lab whump but with Victorian era surgical and medical capabilities, pre-anesthesia and all, and I was pretty much just *slams a copy of Lindsey Fitzharris’ “The Butchering Art” down onto the table* count me the fuck in (my story probably won’t end up being steampunk, I really like that genre but I’m feeling writing a more historical piece, if I ever get an actual idea for the thing)

#brutal-nemesis #thanks for the ask!#thanks for allowing me the chance to ramble #the mortifying ordeal of being known #I want to talk about stories and things but then when I get to talk about things #it is with a Nervousness #but yes! thank you again for the opportunity to ramble about all this!#it was fun #long post #murder mention #cannibalism mention #probably some other things I'm missing

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not-close-to-straight · 4 years

Text

Free As I’ll Ever Be (Three)

This chapter is a little more intense than the first two, Ian finally opens up about what he’s going through and feeling, Lip talks some sense into his brother and Mickey draws slightly pornographic things to make his boyfriend ex pen pal smile.

TW for show typical discussions and depictions of depression/bipolar disorder/ alcoholism

MASTERLIST HERE

Enjoy!

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

-- What the hell makes people good pen pals? Just super long letters? Well here, here’s a super long letter for you. Give me a goddamn pen pal badge or something.

Mickey couldn’t believe Ian hadn’t bitched about being called Firecrotch, and wondered idly if the lack of comment meant Ian had gone back to shaving or--or man-scaping or whatever the fuck the dancers at the Fairy Tale called it. He didn’t like that shit, didn’t like to pull Ian’s pants down and just see skin, what the hell was wrong with some pubes? Who willingly laid down and got their balls waxed?

-- Debbie and Fiona only ever scream at each other now. Debbie is pregnant and Fiona was pregnant and got an abortion and both of them hate each other. We almost lost our house, did I tell you that? Carl bought it back with very sketchy money and now Debbie is trying to live somewhere else and sleep with some cancer lady I think.

--Frank is all over the place. He was in Puerto Rico or something and fell in love and she died now he can’t handle losing her? He’s really into Debbie and the baby, I think it’s some weird ‘the world needs more Gallaghers’ crusade which is fucked up, since he doesn’t give two shits about the kids he already has.

-- Lip’s been fucking one of his professors and an ex girlfriend found out and turned them in and now--

“Fuckin--” Mickey tossed the letter aside and scrubbed at his eyes. “I don’t care about this shit. Jesus.”

Yeah, he’d told Ian to be a better fucking pen pal, and yeah Mickey would kill someone before admitting he’d been excited to get another letter that was more than one sheet but fuck he didn’t give a damn about run of the mill Gallagher bullshit, nobody cared about that mess so why the hell was Ian writing a whole bunch’a nothing and wasting his time?

And it didn’t even sound like Ian, it didn’t sound like Ian, not how he usually talked all expressive and noisy and wide eyes and earnest expressions. It felt like Ian after the break, after the medications when his eyes were flat and his voice was empty and every word felt like he was reading from the worlds most boring script.

The letter didn’t sound like Ian, it was just an info dump, random facts and little effort and line after line of absolutely nothing.

...but it was better than staring at four walls, and it was physical proof that Ian had thought about him for at least long enough to write the letter and address it, and Mickey felt real fuckin’ pathetic for thinking those were valid reasons to turn the page and read on.

But he turned the page anyway, and read right the fuck on.

Three pages front and back of nonsensical Gallagher shenanigans and Mickey read it all, even jotted down notes on his own sheet of paper like a goddamn nerd so he’d be able to write a good reply back. And he tried, he did. He tried extra hard to engage with the information and ask the sort of questions that would make Ian react cos after the psych ward Ian had whispered-- ‘You gotta help me remember how to feel human, keep me looped in to conversations. Otherwise I don’t even feel real ’ and damn it Mickey was gonna try.

He was gonna try.

But halfway through the line-- ‘the worst fuckin’ people can be real weird about grandkids, you saw how Terry was with Yev’-- Mickey gave up trying and crossed it all out.

-- Fuck me, I don’t care all about all that shit. I don’t care about those people. Debbie’s just another South Side teenage mom and you know damn well Frank is running a long con. Fiona thinks she’s better than everyone else in that fuckin’ neighborhood but she’s the exact same. Lip actin’ like the world is ending cos a married woman wasn’t gonna give up her life for him is bullshit and whatever the hell Carl is doin’ will blow over. Things never stay changed at your house for long, it always settles into the same shit over and over.

He tapped the pen at his thigh a couple times, then blew out a deep breath and wrote a few more lines.

--I don’t care about them. Tell me about you.

-- Tell me why you didn’t look at me.

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

--Mickey,

--Sorry that was boring, I don’t know what to say to you anymore. Don’t know if I ever knew what to say to you. What do you want to know about me? That I’m taking my meds? That I’m not psycho anymore? That I’m never gonna take your kid from you and your wife and run away again?

Ian blinked when he saw he’d tore through the paper on the word wife. He was angrier than he realized about Svetlana, angrier than he realized at Mickey. That didn’t make any sense of course, the medication might make shit fuzzy but they gave him enough clarity to know Mickey had only been trying to help him when he was manic, so why-- why was he so angry?

--I don’t know what to say to you, Mick. Talking was never our strong point. All we ever did was fight and fuck, when did that stop working?

-- Why didn’t I look at you?

Ian thought back to that first day at the prison, how Mickey had stared right at him and smiled, shown off that god awful tattoo and said he’d been thinking about Ian, how Mickey had sorta laughed like it wasn’t a big deal, like it wasn’t the end of their story, like life wasn’t fully and royally fucked from here on out.

Mickey had stared right at him and smiled and it had burned through to Ian’s soul. He’d spent half his life waiting for Mickey Milkovich to look at him like that, and then it had happened through a glass wall in the prison and--

--Damn it. Ian was writing before his mind even caught up, the words landing on the paper angry and hurried and raw.

-- Couldn’t handle seeing you through the glass. Fuck this is so much worse than when you were in juvie. Fifteen years you’re supposed to have, not just a few months. You won’t be out in a few months and tracking me down to fuck beneath the bleachers, you won’t be getting out for over crowding, this is real fuckin’ serious and you kept smiling like everything was fine and every thing is not fine because this is my fault this is my fault this is my fault.

The letter derailed from there, jumbled and rambling and disjointed and Ian wrote for pages, pouring out all the things he’d kept bottled up forever, everything he couldn’t tell his family because they’d worry, everything he wouldn’t even admit to himself cos maybe it all meant that he wasn’t anything near okay.

He wrote about the way he only remembered half of what happened in his manic state, how sometimes he’d been so sure everything was fine and then he’d wake up in a panic because for about three seconds of sanity he knew something was wrong. He barely remembered taking Yev, didn’t really remember being found, he didn’t remember how or why he decided to surrender himself to the psych ward but oh he remembered Mickey holding him and how good it had felt, how grounding it had been to be held so tight for just a minute.

--Can’t trust my own memories. Was it real? Was it just what I thought was happening? Am I hallucinating still? Sure seems like it must be because who the fuck would think Mickey Milkovich would want to be goddamn pen pals? What the fuck is happening? No way this is real. Keep reaching for my pills and counting them out to make sure I took them cos this is goddamn surreal.

-- So tired of being numb, Mick, sometimes it seemed the only thing I could feel was you but these days I’m tempted to burn my hand again just to make sure I’m still alive, I’m so damn tired of being tired and so damn tired of being empty and I can’t even trust my emotions, my feelings, can’t talk about them cos what if they aren’t actually true? What if my pills aren’t actually working and I’m batshit crazy and everybody knows it but me?

-- Some days I have to convince myself I even left for the army, some mornings I wake up in my bed and think none of it happened and that it's the day of your wedding and I’m only hours away from asking you to leave with you and you telling me no.

--What does real even mean, for love or romance or boyfriends or whatever? Can’t be love if it was pity, can’t be love if I was crazy, can’t be love if we were only fighting and fucking that’s not love and if it was how’m I supposed to know when I don’t know myself one day from the next--

The pen snapped in Ian’s hand and spilled ink over the bottom half of the fifth or maybe it was the sixth page and Ian stared down at the liquid in surprise, yanked from spiraling thoughts and run away emotions by the noise and the mess and the jerk back to reality.

And then slowly slowly, carefully carefully Ian reached for his medicine box and counted out the pills to be sure again he’d taken them today. Slowly slowly, carefully carefully, Ian picked up another pen and forced his hand to steady so he could write just one more thing.

-- I couldn’t look at you that day, Mick. Couldn’t look at you and couldn’t look away from you and you kept wanting something I couldn’t give. I couldn't promise to wait for you cos I couldn’t even promise I’d be alive that night.

-- I don’t know who I am anymore. You don’t know who I am anymore. And I don’t know where to go from here.

***********

It took Mickey a full week to get through Ian’s letter

He kept trying to read it and then putting it away, kept picking it up and getting scared overwhelmed by the pain and panic so obvious in the words, kept trying to get through another page and giving up because it hurt to know Ian was so lost.

It took a full week but he finally made it through and when he got to the very last line, Mickey laughed a little, laughed and sniffed and briefly thought about breaking someone’s nose because none of this was fucking fair.

Ian didn’t know who he was, but it wasn’t like Mickey had any idea who he was anymore either. Writing letter to his boyfriend? Saying ‘I love you’ all the time and looking forward to mail call like a little bitch? He had actually stayed out of a fight yesterday cos he kept thinking about time off for good behavior and how Ian would only wait eight years, even though he knew good and well Ian wasn’t going to wait at all.

Who was Mickey Milkovich to be grasping at literal crumbs of attention from someone who clearly didn’t want much of anything to do with him?

Mickey didn’t feel like he knew himself at all these days, but he sure as hell knew Ian. He knew even when those gorgeous eyes were blank, even when Ian’s voice was flat and shoulders hunched and skin too pale-- Mickey knew his Ian was still there somewhere.

So instead of trying to write back anything sensible, instead of trying-- and most likely failing-- to put everything into words like Ian had done, Mickey jotted down a couple sentences and spent the next fifteen minutes working on a picture for Ian. It was just a sketch and it wasn’t gonna win any art contests but he knew it would make the redhead smile and for a whole bunch of reasons, Ian smiling was all that mattered.

And just before putting the letter in the ‘outgoing’ box, Mickey tore the envelope open and added one more line so Ian would know he was goddamn serious about this whole thing.

The block went into lockdown over another bullshit fight and Mickey went to his cell without argument, without even looking twice at the guards he passed.

Eight years so long as he behaved himself, and damn it, he was gonna behave himself.

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

-- The fuck you mean you don’t know who you are anymore, THIS is who you are, I know exactly who you are. Sometimes you get lost beneath the shit, but you’re still you alright? Cut it out with that dramatic girly bullshit.

The picture was hilarious and crude-- the Gallagher house, run down and crappy looking with a dozen stick figures in the background. At what was supposed to be a mailbox was Ian, drawn over tall and with a ridiculous amount of red hair sticking up from his head. Stick figure Ian had a big smile and was holding a letter, and down between his legs was a fairly detailed, hilariously pornographic dick hanging halfway to his knees, complete with bright red pubes.

There was a big arrow pointing to stick figure Ian with a note, “This is your dumb ass excited over a letter” and for the first time in a long time-- maybe the first time since that last night with Mickey at the dug outs-- Ian laughed until his sides hurt, laughed and laughed as he taped the picture up above his bed.

-- Sometimes I dunno how to talk to you either, but that doesn’t mean I want to stop trying.

-- And if you burn your hand again, I’m gonna break outta here just to beat your ass for being fuckin’ stupid, see if you feel THAT motherfucker.

-- I’m not gonna let you be hurt again

-- Stay alive, bitch.

Ian hung the letter up next to the picture, grabbed a permanent marker and circled the last line with thick black ink.

--Stay alive bitch.

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

“You’re writing Mickey again?” Carl was counting out money on the kitchen table, and Ian pushed a pile aside with his pen so it didn’t fall over onto his note. “So what, you guys love each other again?”

“Um.” Ian’s eyebrows rose when the kid wrapped a rubber band around a thousand dollars and tucked it away in his shoe. “No? I mean yeah I’m writing him again but um-- I dunno if we love each other again. Dunno if we ever really did. Why?”

Whatever Carl said in response was lost behind a clatter of pans, and Ian closed his eyes in brief annoyance when Lip gave one of those too loud sighs that usually meant he was squaring up for another argument.

All they seemed to do lately was fucking fight and Ian didn’t have the energy for it this morning.

“Something on your mind, Lip?” he asked tersely. “Aren’t you supposed to be at college wiping floors for sorority girls or something?”

“Fuck you.” Lip winged a dish towel at him and Ian slapped it away with a scowl. “And you’re wrong about Mickey, alright? Don’t say that shit about him.”

“You don’t know fuck all about what me and Mickey are doing.” Ian retorted as Carl wisely cleared his money from the table and made himself scarce. “Don't you have better things to do than stick your nose in my business?”

“Okay look.” For once, Lip didn’t look like he was spoiling for a fight. Instead he looked tired and maybe even a little sad and that was so unexpected Ian didn’t really know how to take it. “You gonna listen?”

“...I’m listening.” Ian sat back in his chair and made an effort not to look so pissed off. “What’s up?”

“I’m the last person in the world who wants to say anything nice about a fucking Milkovich.” Lip muttered. “But I’m telling you, you’re wrong about Mickey, about him not loving you. That guy is nuts about you, why else would he be writing you letters?”

“We got some shit to figure out.” Ian waved a dismissive hand towards the letter. “It’s-- you know, guilt maybe? Doesn’t mean anything real.”

“Anything real.” Lip pursed his lips and nodded a few times. “Yeah alright. So when you left for the army, it didn’t mean anything real when Mickey spent weeks tryna drink himself to death? When you came back and started slipping, it didn’t mean anything real when he screamed at us that he’d take care of you, that he’d hide the knives so you wouldn’t get hurt and that you were family, that he was gonna look out for you?”

“That’s--” Ian frowned. “Well we were sorta dating so--”

“This is a kid who once tried to kill Frank when he caught you guys together, right?” Lip pressed. “Well when we went to the police station to get you and Yev, he told the cop that he was your partner, your lover, your family. Mickey said all that shit out loud in front of a whole bunch of people, and you think he doesn’t love you? You think that’s not real?”

“But it--”

“For fucks sake.” Lip laughed but it wasn’t a good sound. “He was willing to kill fucking Sammi for calling the MP’s on you. He’s in jail for what, fifteen years?”

“...eight with good behavior.”

“So fifteen years. And you can’t sack up enough to go see him?”

Anger, flaring hot and familiar because it was the only thing Ian could always feel these days. “I went and saw him when he went in, and then went and saw him just a few weeks ago. He didn’t want to see me.”

“Yeah well, go again.” Lip said flatly. “Go again. Try again.”

“I’m not--” damn it he hated admitting anything to his family. “I think my meds need adjusted again, I’m not doin’ real well right now, Lip.”

“And you think Mickey is?” he challenged and Ian grimaced away from it. “He loves you in some hard core south side Milkovich way and if you can’t see that? If having Mickey fucking Milkovich announce to the entire world that he is your partner and your family and then go to prison for you, write letters to you and draw whatever the fuck that picture is in your room? If you can’t see that all of this is him saying he loves you?”

Lip shook his head. “You don’t deserve him. Thought hell would freeze over before I sided with that family, but I’m telling you, you’re doing him wrong.”

Ian stared down at the letter he’d started, at the random information he’d put into it, all the bullshit he knew Mickey wouldn’t care about and all the lines he’d crossed out because he was still exhausted from writing the last letter and didn’t want to turn this one into another admission of everything awful he felt every single day.

You’re doing him wrong.

“That lady professor really fucked you up, huh?” Ian said instead of everything else he wanted to say. “She broke your heart and now you think you’re a love doctor? Going to give everyone advice on how to fix their happily ever after?”

“No.” Lip denied, and then, “Well yeah. Yeah, she fucked me up. But no, fuck you with that love doctor shit. Mickey came out in front of his dad after all that shit about the Russian and how Terry made you watch while they-- ” he cleared his throat. “--when all that happened. You know he loves you. You owe it to him to at least acknowledge it. I mean, did you ever even apologize to him for leaving with Monica? You think that didn’t fuck him up?”

“If we’re talking about who owes how many apologies, pretty sure there’s more tally marks in Mickey’s column.” Ian said bitterly. “He put me through hell for a real long time before he decided to be a half decent boyfriend. He got married and had a kid instead of just admitting he was gay, I had to leave for the army then come back and threaten to leave all over again just for him to come out. That doesn’t seem like love.”

“So what, that means you get to fuck with him now?” Lip grabbed a beer from the fridge, then grabbed one of those stupid fake beers for Ian and tore the cap off, slid it across the counter to him. “You guys were basically kids back then. You came out to us and what, I asked a couple obnoxious questions and then let it go? Fiona didn’t even blink when you told her. It was literally life or death for Mickey to come out, and you kept pushing him anyway. He could’a died, Ian. If not Terry it could’ve been one of Terry’s friends that beat him to death for being gay. Life or death and you told him to choose so the minute he could, he chose you.”

Ian was quiet, and Lip pressed, “He chose you, Ian. Over and over and over even after you were dancing at that club and cheating on him, even after you took his kid. He chose you and you won’t see it. That doesn’t look like love?”

Ian was quiet, and Lip shrugged, “Then fuck you, man. If I was Mickey I wouldn’t write your ass at all. Leave him alone to rot in there, don’t string him along and sit here telling people he never loved you. That’s bullshit.”

Anger again, but Ian didn’t know if he was mad at Lip for the lecture or mad at Mickey for-- for something or mad at himself, so he gripped at the table until his knuckles turned white and asked through clenched teeth, “Why the hell do you care?”

“Cos I’ve been drinking a lot and saying whatever I want lately and it feels really really good.” Lip drained the rest of his beer pointedly. “And since every time we talk lately we end up throwing punches, I figure I might as well say it all now when I’m drunk enough not to hurt when you try to break my nose.”

“You’re wrong about me and Mickey.”

“Maybe.” Entirely unperturbed. “But since you look like you’re ready to kill me, maybe I’m right after all. Think you’d be half as pissed off if I was wrong?”

“... you act an awful lot like Frank lately.” Ian muttered. “Get drunk and start talking shit and think you sound good and wise when really you’re just talking out of your ass.”

“Doesn’t mean I’m not right.” Ian wasn’t looking so he didn’t see the hurt in Lip’s eyes, the resignation in the slump of his shoulders as he opened another beer. “Even fucking Frank makes a good point every once in a while.”

“Sure.” Ian gathered up all his papers and shoved them into his back pocket, grabbed his jacket off the hangar and hurried into it. “I’ll see you later.”

“Where the hell are you going?”

“To see Mickey.” Ian paused halfway out the door and asked, “Really? He called me his partner?”

“Partner, lover, family.” Lip repeated. “In front of all those people right before he sat in the backseat with you and pretended none of us knew he was crying.”

“Shit.” Ian swallowed hard. “I’ll be back later. Put the fuckin’ beer down, Lip.”

Lip only lifted the bottle in salute, and kept right on drinking.

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

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

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#ncts fics #gallavich #ian gallagher #mickey milkovich #ian x mickey #lip gallagher #shameless us

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