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liquid-luck-00 · 3 years

Text

When Two Coffee Addicts Unite

Part 1

@maribatmarch-2k21 Day 8: Texting

Ao3 *** Part 2

Okay so this can either be a continuation of Internet Friends or the beginning of something new. But if you want to read this as a continuation of Internet friends then you should know:

The police department is almost as bad as Damocles when dealing with powerful figures. They take the video and audio footage and simply put it in the file. Because at the time Lila still had most or in fact all of the class under her thumb, they all supported Lila’s claim that it was an accident. Lila claims that a sudden dizzy spell struck her, and she fell forwards towards Marinette. And as Mari was already on the edge of the balcony it was an accident. The fact that the file sat in the police department until well after any claim could be valid it wasn’t looked into more. Mari, her friends, and Tim did have backups of the footage, complete records for every interaction with the police, and recorded calls and interactions when dealing with the police. But as they didn’t want to involve the embassy as this would become an international affair they didn’t bother with the case.

That said the police don’t bother with the Miracle Court to avoid work. However, with the Mayor, Medical responders, and the Fire Department all aid the heroes, the police only do the bare minimum.

Marinette’s class has begun to watch Lila, but they didn’t look into her lies because except for this incident it’s just she said she said with occasional ‘injuries’ on Lila. Most of them are wary of Lila but they aren’t converted to Marinette’s side, but there is an increased tolerance between them.

~~~~~~~~~~

Marinette had just sat back at her seat after eating lunch, while the classroom was still empty. There was still half an hour left. Alix, Kim, Nino, Sabrina, and Max walked in as she sat down.

"Marinette you got the time?" Alix called out. They were on somewhat okay terms since Lila’s claims were a total 180 from the Marinette that they have known for forever.

"30 minutes left." she announced looking of her phone and in turn her missed messages.

Tim:

Mari

Nettie

Marin

Bean

Bug

Marinette

Marinette:

What's wrong.

Tim:

I have back to back meetings starting in 3 hrs. until 5.

and

Marinette:

Let me guess haven't slept.

Tim:

Exactly

Help me please

Marinette:

How many reports can you send me?

Tim:

Quite a few

Marinette:

Send me what you can.

Review the rest.

Take a nap!

And I'll be a little voice during your meeting.

Tim:

Thanks, I owe you Bean.

Marinette:

I'II hold you to that.

Tim:

Sent

Marinette:

Just make sure you wake up.

Tim:

I make no promises.

On second thought I don't want to find out how you are mad

She made it through the 15 minutes of class because Lila was akumatized. Lila had burst into the class followed by Alya, Nino, and Adrien. She claimed Mari cornered her in the bathroom and beat her a few minutes ago, showing everyone the 'bruises' on her arms. Chloe handed something to Sabrina who walked up to Lila.

"Oh, you poor thing," Sabrina consoled, Lila only whimpered. "Here this has a salve that helps bruises." She gently took Lila's wrist and wiped a 'bruise' which disappeared instantly.

"That's amazing what is it called?" Alya commented. "I should get some for Nora."

"Make-up remover." Sabrina and Chloe spoke together.

"Besides." Alix butt in. "Marinette's been here the past half hour and hasn't left."

"What?! How do you know?" Lila cried.

"Cause we've been here the whole time with her." Sabrina commented.

Marinette for her part didn't know or hear the conversation around her.

"Marinette. Marinette. Earth to Marinette," Kim shouted.

"Present!" She jolted practically standing. "Wait," she looked around, "class hasn't started."

"What are you hyper fixated on?" Adrien asked innocently.

"Just some reports, don't think you'd like them too much Kit-Kat."

"Fair," he shrugged sitting next to her. "So how were you in two places at once?"

"I can't," her head tilted to the side confusion clear on her face.

"So, if Mari hasn't left, can't be in two places at once, and your 'bruises' came off with make-up remover. How do you explain that Lila?" Adrien around, the class slowly draining their conclusions. However, Marinette spoke up. "She lied, obviously..." she stated having gone back to the reports.

"Um you said that out loud, Cake Pop, and loud at that."

"Huh?" sure enough when she looked around some were shock still, others typed furiously into their phones.

That was when Mrs. Bustier walked in, fifteen minutes late to the class. Which was also when the bandy contained restraint ended. Lila was akumatized, school let out, and the rest of her night went smoothly.

Tim woke up, and with her help survived his meetings. Some while on patrol she would constantly mute and unmute herself. Luckily, it wasn't more than twice, and they didn't run into anyone. Chat didn’t ask questions, figured it out since she was pouring over Wayne documents earlier. Tim would call her back after the private meetings and ended around 10.

At around 11 Tim text her back.

Tim:

Thanks Bug you saved me today.

Marinette:

No problem Draco

You owe me though.

Tim:

I remember.

Go to bed it's like midnight over there!

Marinette:

Yeah Yeah

Tim:

Ooh

Congratulations 2x!

Marinette:

What???

Please explain.

Tim

Timothy

Timothy Drake-Wayne answer me.

Dragon please

Ugh fine I'll sleep.

Which is what she did when he wouldn’t answer her.

She woke up the next morning to two emails from W. E.. The first was for a collaboration between W.E. and MDC for a show featuring Wayne Tech accessories and their new climate fabrics. She immediately responded and accepted. The second was that her class was one of two to be accepted as transfer students to Gotham Academy and intern slots at WE, she forwarded that to her teacher and the school.

Marinette:

You Gremlin

Tim:

Like I said congrats

Oh, I need you to give me three names.

Marinette:

What for?

Her mind was racing at the possibilities.

Tim:

You'll find out.

Marinette:

What’s the other school?

Tim:

Some Prep school in the UK.

Marinette:

Give me a Sec.

She opened another contact and typed.

Marinette:

Hey, did you get a spot in the Wayne/GA internship?

Mystery:

Yes.

Why?

Marinette:

Tell the others we are hitting Gotham with style.

Mystery:

Very well.

Mari then sent three names to him and smiled. This was going to be fun.

~~~~~~~~~~

Permanent Taglist: @itsmeevie01 @adrestar @miraculouspenta @vixen-uchiha

#maribat #dc x mlb #mlb x dc #dc x miraculous #miraculous x dc #ml marinette #tim drake #platonic timari #timari #adrien agreste #lila salt #maribatmarch2021

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iliveiloveiwrite · 3 years

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Snow Days // G.W.

Summary: Snow falls in the night. Hogwarts is a boarding school that has never had a snow day... until now.

A/N: More Professor!George Weasley... because I have taken this headcanon for myself and will run with it until I find something else to hyper fixate on...

Warnings: snow, fluff, cute, established relationship.

Word count: 2.3k

Sometime in the night, the rain that had been forecast changed. Sometime in the night, it froze, becoming snow. It started slow, a few flakes here and there.

The flakes then turned larger, growing heavier as they blanketed the floor. The flurries becoming too much for any creature to stay outside for too long; seeking out warmth and comfort as the snow continues to fall.

Instantly the castle that had always a charm about it was transformed to an ethereal state. The grounds accepted the snow, taking it in, accepting it as if it had always been there. Watching the snow fall from your window, you take in the rapid transformation of the grounds you call home, knowing that in a few hours, the fresh snow would be trampled upon by masses of students rushing through the cold.

Hogwarts was a boarding school. The students lived on site meaning that there was no commute to be disrupted and no excuse for not attending classes. Throughout its long and colourful history, Hogwarts had never known a snow day.

Stepping away from the window, you shake your head, already knowing that your lessons that evening would have to be cancelled. Snow was lovely, and snow days were non-existent at the school, but the sky would not be visible enough tonight to seek out the stories amongst the stars.

Turning to the bed, you spy George’s form amongst the pillows and blankets. You smile softly to yourself, his snores punctuating the air. You don’t rush through your routine, savouring every step as the weariness settles over your body, calling for your bed and the warm embrace of George’s arms. Tonight’s lesson was one you would remember; students too excited about the change in the weather instead of the stars, but their distraction provided ample entertainment.

Settling in next to the love of your life, George’s arms automatically find you. As your eyes slip shut, you’re already thinking of your plans for the snow.

----------

George Weasley woke that morning, ambled over to the window and promptly groaned. For some, snow was a blessing. To George, it meant grumbling students and complaints about the coldness of his classroom. It didn’t matter what spells he used; the Dungeon classroom was doomed to remain cold no matter how long he remained teaching at the school.

It’s going to be a long day; he thinks to himself as he doesn’t rush his morning routine. He sets the kettle on the stove to boil before returning to the bedroom where he finds you sleeping soundly, curled up on your right side with your left arm outstretched to his side of the bed as if seeking his warmth.

He perches on the bed, reaching out to run a gentle hand through your hair. Your nose wrinkles as George’s touch brings you back from your dreams, bringing you to consciousness.

“Have you seen the snow?” You ask, voice harsh with sleep.

George hums in answer, leaning down to kiss your head. “I have,” He whispers, “I’m already dreading class.”

You laugh, stretching into a comfier position, pulling the blankets closer to your body. “Is it bad to say I’m glad it’s you and not me?”

George chuckles, “Not bad at all. Go back to sleep, love. I’ll find you later.”

His words are answered with a mumbled ‘love you’. Years, he realises as he shakes his head, returning to the kitchen. It’s been years now, and still those words leaving your lips continues to make his heart race and leave his mind in a whirl.

George dresses quickly after downing the remains of his tea. He needs to be in his classroom early to heat it as best he can for the students that will have no doubt been out in the snow before beginning their classes for the day.

Students arrive in dribs and drabs from the sounding of the first bell, but they all have one thing in common. They’re all covered in melting snow and would have preferred to remain outside than come to class.

“Why can’t we be out in the snow?” A student demands, throwing his hand dramatically towards the window where flurries of snowflakes are just visible.

George tries his best not to throw a withering look in the direction of the teenager. He understands; whenever he was in their shoes, he spent more time skipping lessons and running around in the snow with Fred causing all sorts of mayhem. He’s a teacher now, however, and there are rules to be followed.

Though… those rules can always be bent.

George searches the classroom; eyes landing on the student who voice their protest. Matthew Taylor, a Seventh Year, predicted to do very well in his final examinations. The teenager’s hair is still dripping slightly from the snow melting there, and his eyes are bright from the snowball fight he had been involved in before rushing late to class.

Closing the textbook on his desk, George sighs, eyeing the clock. It wouldn’t do them any harm to end their lesson early. George claps his hands together, bringing the attention of the class back to him. “Alright,” He begins, “Have we at least managed to answer questions one to five?”

When most of the class nods, George continues, “Then get out of here. Dress warmly if you’re going out in the snow. Stay away from the lake and don’t get caught.”

His class cheer as they pack away their things, rushing out of the door, wanting to get changed as quickly as possible so they can get outside.

George shakes his head fondly as he watches them leave, thinking back to the days when he and Fred would organise snowball fights between the houses, knowing that Gryffindor would come out on top. They won every time; at one point they had not only himself and Fred, but Oliver Wood and Angelina Johnson using their deadly aim to weaken whichever house had been chosen to go up against the house of Godric.

Thinking of you and your place in bed, George sends a quick note to all students, cancelling the rest of his lessons for the rest of the day. He reminds students to be safe if they choose to go outside, to think carefully and to prepare snowballs well in advance of any fight to go down.

With that sorted, George leaves his classroom, closing the door happily.

McGonagall stops George in the corridor with a stern call of his name. “Professor Weasley, would you care to tell me why you’ve cancelled the rest of your classes for today?”

George gestures to the continued snow fall. “They weren’t going to pay any attention; not when they want to be outside having fun.”

McGonagall purses her lips, intent on arguing her point when George interrupts her once more. “Headmistress, think of it this way: Hogwarts has never had a snow day and it still doesn’t have to have one. We could just give the students a break from all the work they’ve been doing. I think it’ll help in the long run.”

A smile crosses George’s face at the exact moment he knows he has won McGonagall over. She uncrosses her arms and briefly smiles at the redhead, “Tell me Professor, what are your plans for your suddenly free day?”

“I have two answers for you, Minnie. Which would you like to hear?”

McGonagall laughs, shaking her head at the Weasley. There were very few people these days who could make her laugh and get away with calling her ‘Minnie’. She stands aside, “On with you. Go have some fun.”

“I plan to,” George answers as he turns away from the Headmistress, listening to her laughter follow him down the corridor where he rushes up the stairs to the rooms he shares with you.

You haven’t moved in the few hours that George has been teaching; you remain fast asleep, curled on your side, cuddling George’s pillow. If possible, George falls more in love with you then and there. He didn’t know you reached for his pillow in his absence; he makes a mental note to sneak some of his clothes into your pyjama draw for you to wear on a night.

Shrugging off his blazer, George situates himself on the side of the bed, reaching out to shake your shoulder gently. “Love,” He calls out quietly, “Love, wake up.”

Your eyes screw up tightly as your brought back to consciousness. You run a hand over your face, ridding it of the sleep that had gathered there. “George?” You question, confused, “What’re you doing here? Shouldn’t you be teaching Seventh Years?”

His hand rubs up and down your side. “I should,” He pauses, “But I thought the snow looked more fun.”

“You cancelled your classes?”

“I did. McGonagall wasn’t too happy, but I persuaded her otherwise.”

“Of course you did,” You laugh, “You’re her favourite.”

“I’m not going to argue with that,” George laughs, smiling widely. He shifts on the bed, lying down to next you, running a finger down your cheek.

“What do you plan to do now that you’re free?”

George’s finger leaves your cheek; his hand now gripping your waist, pulling you closer to him as he answers. “I plan on going out in the snow, want to join?”

His eyes are bright with mischief and joy as he waits for you to reply. It’s a sight that you saw often, but it still managed to take your breath away. “I’ll join you. Let me get ready and I’ll join you.”

-----------

You inhale sharply as you take the first step outside; the cold quickly seeping through the layers of clothing worn. George’s hand remains warm in yours as he leads you through the courtyard, dodging the snowballs thrown by Slytherins aimed for the Gryffindors. George cannot contain the laugh that leaves him as he hears the angry cries from his house; he knew from experience it would not be long before the lions would unleash hell on the snakes.

It isn’t as busy the further you walk into the grounds of the school; students preferring to stay where there is natural protection that can be made into bases. The grounds of the school are magical when there is no snow, but there’s something about the weather that adds to the appeal of the school. It stands out proudly amongst the bleak colour of the snowfall; its history emanating from its walls. It has seen a thousand snowfalls and would stand to see a thousand more.

George drops your hand as he bends down to gather some of the snow. You watch him curiously, catching sight of the teenager he had once been.

“Don’t you dare,” You warn, laughter already in your voice as you take a long step back from the redhead. George smiles at you angelically, his eyebrows raised in question before he shows his hand without saying a word.

The snowball flies through the air, hitting you squarely in the chest, knocking the air out of you.

“You’re in for it now, Weasley!” You cry, launching yours over to where George is bent in half with laughter. The snowball lands in his hair and his laughter promptly stops. He falls silent as he shakes the snow from his hair

“George!” You laugh as his arms wrap around you. His body knocks you both to the ground; the snow softening your impact.

“How did you know I wanted to make a snow angel?” You joke, stretching your arms out wide and beginning the process of creating the snow figure.

George laughs, rolling off you but not before dropping a sweet kiss to your lips. “I just know you that well,” He states simply, waving his arms and legs in the snow to form the angel shape.

His words warm you so much that you absently worry that the snow underneath you will begin to melt. “George?” You question innocently, sneakily gathering snow in both hands.

“Love?” He answers from beside you, wondering what could be on your mind as he watches more snow start to fall from the sky.

Refusing to answer, you flip onto your side, throwing snow onto him. You begin to splutter with laughter as you catch sight of the shocked expression on his face. Eyes wide and mouth open as his hair drips with the snow thrown on him.

“That does it,” George announces, brushing the snow off his body.

Your laughter dies at his words; falling silent you wonder what he has in store for you now. George doesn’t give you much chance to ponder that idea, however. He straddles you, no snow in his hands, but a lot of love in his eyes as he presses you further into the ground.

“What do I do with you now?” George questions, leaning down to brush his nose against yours. His hands begin to roam your body, igniting your veins despite the layers and layers of clothing separating you.

“I don’t know…” You trail off with a shiver, refusing to break eye contact. “What do you have in mind?”

“Let’s get you inside and warm… then you can find out.”

-----------

The fire in your shared rooms throws out masses of heat, warming the both of you up quickly. George places two mugs of tea on the table, settling himself next to you on the battered old couch.

“I think today has been my favourite day of teaching so far,” He murmurs, fingers drawing distracting patterns on your thigh.

“Hmm? Why’s that?” You answer, eyes focused on the way his fingers are circling the skin on your thigh, remembering his promise from earlier.

“A snow day,” He laughs, fingers now absent from your thigh as he fingers grip your chin, turning your face to his.

You hum happily as you respond to his kiss, “Who doesn’t love a snow day?”

******

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#george weasley x reader #george weasley #george x reader #george weasley imagines

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buryyourfavouritestrope · 3 years

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May I walk you home? - Arima Kishou

A gentle hum settled within the corridors of the CCG Main Office; all the hype that had been built throughout the day had fizzled out hours ago. Almost every employee had returned to their homes, leaving only the skeleton crews occupying the building.

He hadn’t meant to stay this late; Yoshitoki had pleaded with him earlier in the afternoon, when he’d visited Arima’s office spontaneously and found the man half asleep behind his desk, to go home and sleep in an actual bed. With a sigh he tore himself free of his chair, the material whined as it sprung back to its original form. In his mind he reminded himself that he’d go home to shower and change before returning. There would be no point in resting; by the time he planted his head on his pillow he’d be beckoned back.

Kishou almost missed the sound of pen scratching at paper. If he hadn’t become so fine tuned to every creak and hushed whisper this level of the building emitted, he probably would’ve overlooked the simple noise. Yet, the soft sigh caressing his ears enticed him into finding the source.

Peering through an empty doorway he spotted her, a small frame hunched over a desk, with a pen cocked to her temple as she focused on the file before her. By the way her eyes would occasionally slid shut and stay there for a second before opening wide she was struggling to stay awake. Arima chose this moment to check the time once again.

“Normally people finish a write up of the day on the opposite side of midnight.” Arima theorized, to say the way she bounced in her seat and dropped all items in her hands didn’t amuse him would’ve been an understatement. He was attempting, rather poorly might he add, to contain a smirk.

“Special Class Investigator Kishou,” She yelped. “I just wanted to finish one file…three or six files ago. What time is it? Oh god, I had to visit-“Her eyes glanced towards her phone, the screen illuminating as the numbers burned into her retinas. She hadn’t meant to stay this late. She hadn’t meant to still be in the office after a thirty-six-hour shift.

“It’s ok, I’ve had my fair share of late nights. But you really should go home now, I hear your last investigation was difficult. It’s not uncommon for a ghoul’s threat level to rise in the field but to go from a lower-class ghoul to an SS rating.” He surmised. Her frame jumped from her seat as she began to wave her bandaged arms at him. As if to stop him from speaking any further.

“It was all the other members of the team, in fact I came away with only light injuries, I can’t say the same for the others.” She blurted. Arima let himself smile gently; he hadn’t met an Associate Special Class Investigator who was as humble as she was. Nor had he seen one with as much untainted innocence at their rank. “I offered to finish their case notes, as a way to help them.”

The room fell into the same gentle hum, Arima had found himself used to, once more. Her weight shifted on her feet as she chewed at her bottom lip. He could see her contemplating something and if he had to guess it would be whether to abandon the paperwork and leave or remain dedicated.

“May I walk you home?” Kishou questioned; it was an attempt to settle her mental debate. “if not now, I can wait for when you’re ready to leave” He added. Arima was curious. He’d always heard everyone’s praise for the Investigator but up until now he’d never conversed properly with her.

“We live in opposite directions” She spluttered, her hand lifting to her lips. “Not that I know where you live, I just meant that I would’ve guessed you lived in the nicer part of the city. I mean the guys in my team tend to call where I live a Ghoul hotspot, I mean I’ve only witnessed one incident outside of work” Her babble made him laugh. A rare noise indeed and it took her a second to notice as she continued talking.

“Even more reason to, plus a perk of being called the White Reaper means ghouls tend to steer clear of me” He jested. Another rare occurrence. The second in the space of five minutes, maybe he was exhausted. Still, he stood firm in the doorway. His eyes watching as she gathered her belongings without hesitation. Clearly, she’d given up protesting.

Before they knew it, they’d wandered further from the ominous Main office. Arima had listened as she stammered her way through the previously mentioned Ghoul case. Occasionally she would brush her fingers over one of her bandaged arms, he assumed she was doing it to remind herself that she wasn’t dreaming.

“What made you want to be an Investigator?” Arima inquired; her movements paused and for a second Arima doubted whether he’d asked the right question. He was curious, everything about her screamed that she was in the wrong profession. From the way she smiled to the way her eyes sparkled when she was nervous. Out loud he wouldn’t admit to it, but he found himself wanting to protect her from the harsh reality of the CCG. From the horrors of the world. Even in this short amount of time she had wiggled beneath the surface of his soul and infected him. He understood why everyone liked her so much.

“My brother,” The syllables held a weight he knew all to well. The numbness that consumed him hung from every letter as he turned his gaze to her. The shadows perfectly masked the emotions scattering across her features. Normally he would pry, a desperate attempt to study the joy people usually held when talking about their motivation. He wanted to be able to imitate it, perhaps to fool himself into believing he could be the same.

“I’m sorry” He found himself apologising, his eyes shifting to watch the surroundings. He’d taken note of almost everyone who had crossed their path. It was a precaution, should he need to fight.

“No, don’t be. If he were here, he’d be fanboying over you, I mean the sort of jaw to the floor type of excitement kids get with tv. He was insanely obsessed with Investigators, he got it from watching our mother. They both had a bizarre joy for dangerous situations. Finny was always an adrenaline junkie, he used to use balcony railings as tightropes, or play chicken in the roads near our home. My mother was always out, so it was my job to watch him. As a teenager he became hyper fixated on Ghouls and Investigators and for a while it was an innocent intrigue into how they fought. As a teenager he wanted to watch our mother in action. He wanted to watch Investigator’s fight in all their glory. So, at night he’d go paroling the back alleys for any Ghouls in our Ward. I used to follow after him just to ensure he didn’t get into any trouble or injured. Most of the time he’d only stumble on human crimes, a few times he’d stumble across a long-abandoned Ghoul attack. Our mother died on a mission years before I thought about joining. In fact, I only really wanted to be a bookstore clerk. Her death though sparked something in Finny, it drove him. He would go out longer, he’d go to the rougher areas. Every time I’d follow after him” She faltered briefly.

“Did he ever get into trouble? I can’t imagine all the time he only saw the back end of a ghoul hunt” Arima asked. It was stupid. He knew that the second he spoke, but his mouth moved quicker than his thoughts. She gave him a false smile. The type he’d used a few times.

“Oh boy, there were a couple close shaves. I used to throw him into a dumpster and cover his mouth to stop us from getting caught by a Ghoul. When we got home, he’d be angry but apologise and promise me he wouldn’t do anything reckless. He died shortly after our mother. For the longest time I blamed myself, he went to parole at the height of Ghoul activity back then, if I remember correctly you were just starting out at the CCG, and he used to rave about a certain blue haired investigator that he occasionally caught site of. I refused to go the night he was injured. I was exhausted from school and a part time job, so I begged him not to go. Selfish am I right?” She croaked. By now Arima should’ve stopped her. He should’ve placed a hand on her shoulder and hushed her as tears slowly fell down her face. Instead, he followed her steps as they turned the corner. The older Investigator wanted to disagree with her. It wasn’t selfish to value her own rest.

Kishou’s mind threw itself back to his beginnings with the CCG, he vaguely remembered hearing about an ordinary human turning up at fights. No-one quite understood how they kept finding them, but they had. The muffled whispers in his memory, caused him to step closer to the younger Investigator. It hadn’t been as though the pavement had narrowed beneath their feet. Arima had done it out of instinct as he listened to his own teenage voice in his memories. He remembered calling the unknown witness a fool, who would find himself dead.

“A bookstore clerk” Arima mused, he had meant to say it in his mind. Once again, his mouth betrayed him. He listened to her soft laugh. “I could see you doing that, just from everything that happened I would’ve thought you’d stay as far from the CCG as you could get.”

“Believe me I wanted nothing more than to move to a new country at that point, start a fresh somewhere less influenced by Ghoul’s but I kept hearing Finny, I kept visualising how happy he would get whenever he saw Investigators out and about. I’d never seen him happier, so I guess I joined to keep his memory alive. Especially after he died, even dying he was smiling as he clung to a piece of what I think was a Quinque” She recalled. “I found him the next morning, I almost fell over his half dead body as I left my room. He was gripping this Quinque shard as I tried to stop the bleeding. I think he accepted it, he just kept saying that the Investigators were beautiful. Apparently, he’d watched two Investigators take down a lower ranked Ghoul and they’d seen him. As they went to yell at him for putting himself in danger, some SS rated Ghoul turned up. Before they’d reached him, one of them had been killed. So the second one did his best to protect Finny. I don’t know how he got out. But he did. I was the only one he knew at his funeral. Just me and the Investigator who told me about the events”

“I’m sorry,” Arima apologised once more. This time he placed his hand on her shoulder.

“It’s ok, it’s how life is sometime, I haven’t really told anyone that story, you’re the first.” She smiled at him. Her hands pointed to the home beside them and Arima found himself questioning when they had arrived. Or when his thumb had begun to rub circles into her shoulder. “This is me”

“Yes, then this is where we part ways. Thank you for answering my question. Good Night Asso-“ She cut him off.

“It’s really late, and I’d feel really bad if you had to walk all the way home. I mean the sun would be up before you arrived. So can I offer you the guest room. It’s not much but the bed’s better than the sofa. I have some of my dad’s old shirts in a box that I can fish out for you tomorrow morning.” Her words caught him by surprise. His eyes widening at the offer, he should’ve refused. He really should’ve refused but he found himself nodding.

He was staying because he was tired, because she had spoken to him as though he were her friend or family and because he could’ve sworn, bathed in the moonlight, he could see the vulnerability that encircled her eyes. She needed the company, he convinced himself, and though he knew he wasn’t much in the form of comfort he followed her inside.

#arima kishou #arima kishou/reader #arima kishou x reader #kishou arima #tokyo ghoul imagines #Tokyo ghoul:re imagines #enter the I just think he's neat meme #I'm a sucker for stoic characters #also yes i chose Finny as the brothers name because of Black Butler don't @ me

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heavenunderthemoon · 3 years

Text

Growing Pains- Spencer Reid x Reader {Chapter Two}

Prologue, Chapter one

The newly acquired I.D. badge battered her hip as y/n entered the bullpen, the heavy glass door shutting with a 'click' behind her.

It was as hectic as it normally was on a Wednesday on the Behavioral Analysis Unit's floor. Clerical agents walked to and fro amongst the sea of desks and strangely enough, rather than being overwhelmed by the vast amount of bustle before her, the newly entered female's lips quirked a bit at the corners at the constant foot traffic.

She hadn't heard him, Spencer thought with reassurance. Of course she hadn't heard him. A whisper, your name dancing across his tongue in a moment of surprise as you had entered, lost into the wind, floating into the abyss that was the sixth floor of the federal building, only heard to the small group surrounding him.

But not to you. Not to the woman whose eyes had sharp swept the room, passing over him with ease. A small part of him was struck with a small horrific thought: Was he forgettable? Forgettable enough that you had forgotten him entirely, all those years of whispered secrets, tree climbing, and treasure burying? All the years that you had knocked on his front door, bidding his mother a hello regardless of the mood she was in, strutting into his room until you flopped onto his floor (even if he was okay with pinky promises, slow dances, and arms thrown over his shoulder he never could allow you to sit on his bed and you were okay with that). Had you erased him from your memory?

And then another terrible, stomach-twisting, nausea-inducing thought struck next: Did you recognize him and simply steel yourself to appear ad if you hadn't? Did you not want to recognize him? The fizzling of your friendship had been neutral, he could remember that clearly. His mind wouldn't allow anything different. His mind had been haunting him all morning and it taunted him once more, sucking him into the last conversation he could recall the two of you sharing.

"Hold on, Spencer," Your father's gruff voice asked the boy, and the Reid boy nodded despite the man not being able to see him. Your father always had that affect on him. The hard stares, narrowed eyes, stiff posture; It all told the Reid boy that the man lived in a cloud of suspicion around his relationship with you. Friendship, Spencer corrected himself mentally, cheeks heating up at the mere thought of anything more.

There was shuffling on the other end of the phone, your father yelling for you to hurry up and the sound of your loud footsteps. He could close his eyes, imagining precisely what your movements would be. He could see you clamoring down the stairs, jumping halfway down the staircase because you were a bit too impatient to actually walk down them all the way. He could see you rounding the corner, the way your hand would use the bannister as a device to twist yourself around the corner, coming into the eye line of your father. He could see all the forgotten work boots and soccer cleats that lay discarded near your kitchen door (your brothers were awful at putting them away and your father hardly cared enough to tell them not to. Even you had a pair of sneakers propped against the baseboards.).

"It's Spencer." Your father said in that tone he used with the boy, saying his name similar to how Spencer might have said he had found a bug on his shoe- petulant and irritated- and suddenly he was opening his eyes back up, grateful to be in that stuffy phonebooth, the hot sun beating through the tempered glass window panes.

"Sherlock?" Your voice sounded different, he decided immediately. Deeper, but not by too much. He wondered if you had grown in the time between your last sighting of eachother (a full year, at this point). He wondered if your hair was longer- before he left, you had convinced yourself that cutting your own hair was a good idea. You had been obsessed with the Bangles and Susanna's bangs were the peak of your hyper-fixation. He had tried to talk you out of it, but, you were, well, you. You were a 'do first, think second 'person. You always had been. You had been when you broke your arm in the fifth grade deciding to make the leap from your roof to your father's truck bed (It was much farther than you had estimated). You had been when you kept the fish you had won from a carnival (Pickles the Fish had not lasted very long in the Y/L/N household, his bowl a bit too close to the cat's resting place). And you were when you had stood in your bathroom, Spencer sitting on the bathtub's ledge as he covered his eyes, his green orbs peaking out from open fingers, watching as you chopped your hair with kitchen scissors.

"Watson." The nickname, one he hadn't spoken in what seemed like ages flowed freely from his lips. He remembered when he had first introduced you to Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. how you had leant against him underneath the shade of that old Willow tree at the end of the block. Your head on his leg, his own propped up on the trunk of that tree. Your initials were carved onto it- Spencer's idea, surprisingly, and it showed by the sloppiness of that carving because his mother hardly ever let him near knives. And under the shade of that tree, the wind whistling through the barren branches he had read, hardly stumbling over the large words before him and even if you didn't quite understand everything he was saying you listened because this was one of the few times he didn't stutter- not once.

"You were supposed to call last night." You said sullenly. It was true. You had scheduled your call times for at least once a month on the third Wednesday of each month. It was the only days you got out of school early, early enough to catch him when he wasn't in lecture or seminars or library study sessions.

The boy's eyes flickered down to his shoes. Sneakers- you would be proud. He had never worn Converse before. He was lucky if his mother remembered to buy groceries, let alone new shoes and the boy found himself grabbing the cheapest pair at Salvation army's and Thrift Stores. He had seen the chucks on you often enough, how free you looked when you ran across the desert roads, shoes against pavement. And now, away from home he had splurged and gotten a pair, a small piece of you, a small piece of home.

"I know, I'm sorry. I got caught up in my book-"

You sighed and Spencer could tell you were wishing he had a better excuse. A better excuse than getting lost in the pages of something he could've read later. Something he could have set aside for time spent talking to you. But, because it was you, he knew you wouldn't say that. You wouldn't express your feelings because you had never really been good at that unless it was also followed with a swift punch to the gut.

"I'm sorry." He settled, and just like that you were telling him about the current events in his hometown, how his mother was, how the boys that had once chased him through the halls were finding themselves after graduating, but he could tell a shift in your tone, a loss of trust, and a pang of hurt.

"Spencer. Spencer." JJ's voice made the Reid man glance up from where he had been staring at you- or where you had been? A quick glance around the room had him planting his eyes on your moving figure. Your boots made swift, definite steps across the bullpen, eyes focused solely on Hotch's door until you reached it.

"You know her?" JJ asked and, apparently, it was just a repeated question because Spencer could tell that the agents surrounding him were staring at him intently, analyzing the way his cheeks had flushed, skin paling, eyes widening at just the mere appearance of the woman that was now entering the Unit Chief's office.

Spencer tried to think of what to say. 'You know her?'

Did he?

Did he know you? Or had he known you? The two were very different. He had known you before. before those promises set in stone by pinkies were broken and before he had outgrown that necklace you had given him all those years ago. He had known you when you had told him your 'happy place' was the beach and when Spencer had very expertly questioned how that could possibly be as you had never even been to a beach before, you had glared at him until he took it back.

And you had known him. You had known him when he was forced to ride on your bike's handlebars whenever he wanted to go the library (Your bike had a basket that he could fit all of his books on and his did not). You knew him when he broke that snow globe in the cornerstone that one holiday season, how his face had morphed into one of horror at the idea of getting into trouble. You knew how you had taken the fault for that incident, hating how the boy's hands had started shaking when the storeowner had asked who had done it.

You had known each other, sure. but did he know you?

His eyes watched your hand go out to shake Hotch's, the smile on your lips enough to make him want to faint, the mere weight of his memories pulling at his brain.

"Kid? Kid, you really don't look good." Morgan was expressing his concerns and Spencer had half a mind to tell him that the reason he might not look so good was because he was, in fact, not good. He was not good because this was one of the few times in his life that his past caught up to the present. When he was forced to relive those memories from so long ago, from a time that he tried to keep very, very separate from the now. A time that he had all but run from, packing his belongings in that teeny-tiny duffel bag (you had helped him pick it out, he realized with a frown) and boarded that bus to Cal-Tech.

"I'm-" Fine? Spencer didn't have a clue what he would say, which, he would suppose would be a first, but the embarrassment that would have caused was halted because the Unit Chief's door was opening and Aaron Hotchner was extending a hand to you, as if showing you off and the team was standing, like a crowd waiting to see the newest performer.

And there you were, your front finally facing him. Your eyes were that same, chocolate-y brown color that he could feel himself getting lost in. They held that same sharpness, that fierceness in your eyes that Spencer had seen directed always at those who tried to mess him and never at he, himself. A fierceness that had hardly needed the support of your quick tongue and curled fists but received it anyways. A watch on your wrist glinted, the leather worn and sun-soaked. Even from where he sat, his vision minority blocked from Derek's muscular body standing in the way, Spencer could see the familiar material, the government-issued time-piece recognized by the team of agents immediately.

Had you served time in the military? Spencer would've guessed so, if not for the go-bag in your hand displaying the military insignia, but the way your shoulders were poised back, pin straight and at attention. Or the way your eyes swept the floor, checking doors, windows, standard procedure. Where had you been? Spencer asked himself. What had you seen? What had you done? Without him, he tacked on as an afterthought, because maybe if he had kept on top of the friendship, stoked those withering flames of your relationship, things might've turned out differently. He wouldn't be sinking into his chair as Hotch pointed out to the floor, introducing each member.

"...And you can meet everybody. Everybody, this is Y/N L/N. Y/n, this is Jennifer Jareau, Derek Morgan, Emily Prentiss, David Rossi, Penelope Garcia, and Spencer Reid."

And just like that, the fierceness was gone. The rigidity, the stoic-like confidence, the intimidating stance, and Spencer could just about see the girl who had cut her hair with those kitchen scissors, the shock on your face and locks on the floor. It was all gone and your eyes were searching the crowd of agents just introduced to you and when they landed on the one you had been searching for, that lanky figure that looked so much like the one you had thought you would never see again, your lips parted in shock.

"Spencer?"

#spencer reid x reader #Spencer Reid fic #spencer reid #criminal minds x reader #Criminal Minds #jennifer jareau x reader #emily prentiss x reader

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bqstqnbruin · 4 years

Text

Three times he said it as a friend and once as something more

Hello, hello. I’m still working on the Nick Robertson request but wow I don’t want you to hate me for it because it is actual trash right now and I’m sorry. But I’m also working on B&W part 3, so there’s that!

This was requested from that fluffs prompt list, which I think I’m done with now because honestly, it’s so far deep at this point, and I’m so lazy.

I hope you like it!

46. Why should we date?

47. Because we’re attracted to each other

48. I’m attracted to pie, but I do not feel the need to date pie.

__________________________

one

“Next time I see you, I really do expect you to be a professional athlete,” you tell Charlie, the two of you laying on a blanket in his backyard, enjoying the last few hours of sunlight on his last night in town. The next morning, he would be leaving to go to BU to play hockey. It wasn’t even that far, but him not living at home, and you going to school in Vermont meant him no longer driving you to school each morning, you no longer going over with dinner your mom made when she knew he and his parents were running around because of his games, no more walking next door whenever you needed to talk to instead of calling him. The memories would last forever, but those moments were now just part of the past.

“Are you not gonna come see me play at BU at all? What about when we play UVM?” he says, turning his head to look you.

Turning to him, you roll your eyes, “Ok, fine. Then I expect you to be a professional athlete in the next three years.”

“Whatever,” he says, laughing.

You sit there in silence, taking in what is probably one of the last moments for a while that you two will be able to spend a lot of time together.

“Remember how we became friends?” he asks, sitting up.

You follow suit, laughing at the memory that he just triggered. You were neighbors since your family moved to Weymouth, but you weren’t automatically friends because of it. “Well, duh. We sat across from each other in Family Consumer Science. We, of course, always finished the work early because we’re great, and we played pencil hockey for like thirty minutes before Mrs. Grace yelled at us for distracting the other two at our table.”

“The fact that you ever finished your work fast in that class is still amazing. You get distracted by everything and can’t focus on anything.”

“Yeah, well,” you shrug it off. You sit there thinking of all the other good memories you had with him; sitting across from each other in US history and joking about all the mistakes you made while texting, the nights when you would walk around Boston Common once your parents trusted you out on your own, the last minute Bruins tickets he would get and force you to go along with him to the games.

“Did you ever think about what our lives would have been like if we dated?”

“What?” you ask, shocked. There was no way the two of you would ever date. He was destined to be a professional hockey player, traveling the US and Canada with whatever NHL team wanted him. You could never date someone that wasn’t going to be there when you needed them. And you couldn’t ask him to give up your dream for you. Yes, you were overthinking this, but best case scenario is that you had dated throughout high school and ended things tonight.

“Most people thought we were dating, anyway. What if we actually had?”

“Then we probably would have broken up tonight because long distance relationships from high school never work. Look at Andrea and Eric from last year, she went to Holy Cross and he only went to UConn and they could never make it work so they broke up. Or Josh and Maggie two years ago; he went to Ohio and ended up transferring to UMass so he could be with her and he loved Ohio State.”

“Too bad we never even gave it a chance.”

You look at him, shocked. “Did you want to?”

His only response was shrugging, a smile on his face as he lays back down on the blanket. You stay sitting up, thinking about what he just said. Did he want to date you all this time and never said anything until now? And why the hell would he do something like that anyway? You weren’t going to see him until at least Thanksgiving, which means that now you have to hyper fixate on this one memory until you see him again.

“Hey,” he says, snapping you out of it.

“Yeah?”

“I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

two

Your phone lights up, causing you to tear your eyes away from the essay you had been writing that’s due in a few hours. Due to your great talent for procrastinating, you were, of course, finishing the paper at the last minute. The picture of you two in the Coyle’s front yard on your first day of school in six grade shows up on your screen, meaning Charlie was calling you. It had been forever since the two of you last talked; with you being in school and him trying to make it as a hockey player in Minnesota, your schedules never gave you a free moment to talk for more than a passing moment.

“Hey, stranger,” you say, not hiding the smile on your face even though you were out in public. You hated showing any sort of emotion that would provoke someone to come up to you and start talking to you, but seeing Charlie’s name come up on your phone with something other than a text automatically made you smile.

“Stranger? You know who I am.” You could tell by his voice that he was jokingly acting offended.

“Yeah, you’re Zach Parise, right?” you tease.

You hear the laugh you miss so much on the other end, “How have you been?”

“Uh, stressed, lately, so nothing new.”

“Why?”

“Homework, papers, and exams.”

“Oh, my.” You both start laughing at the accidental joke he made, “Why so much stuff?”

“It’s midterms, babe.”

“So I assume that you’re working right now?”

“Yep, it’s eight pm, the paper is due at midnight and I still have four more pages to write.”

` “I’m so glad that your work ethic hasn’t changed since high school.”

“Ok, rude! I have good work ethic, I just also have strong procrastination skills.”

“You probably have ADHD,” he says.

“Well, yes, but that’s a different story.”

“What’s your weekend look like? I want to catch up when you don’t have a lot of work to do.”

“Uh, I should be good.”

“Alright, get back to the paper.”

“I will. Love ya.”

“Love you, too.”

three

“Oh, come on! We practically live together. You can’t deny that something is going on between us!” Charlie argues, pacing around the kitchen as you make dinner. This conversation between the two of you was becoming a weekly one, slowly getting on your nerves to the point where you would consider moving just to get away from it.

“Because what happens if we break up? We’ve been friends since we were in middle school. Do you really want to throw all that away?” you say, turning to him, putting your hand on your hip.

“I just think we should go out as more than friends just once.”

“And how would that be different than all the other times that we go out together?”

“Because then I could do things like hold your hand and flirt with you?”

“I’m like ninety percent sure you already flirt with me.”

“Y/N.”

“Why should we date, Charlie?”

“Because we’re attracted to each other?”

“And I’m attracted to pie, but I do not feel the need to date pie,” you roll your eyes, turning your attention back to the stove.

“You’re seriously equating me to pie right now? I have never seen you eat pie, therefore, that argument is invalid.”

“Since when do you say things like therefore, and invalid?”

“Seriously, Y/N. You know I have wanted to date you since we were in middle school, but something always came up. You know I love you. You know I always have.”

You turn back to him, trying to make eye contact, but something in you just can’t. Your timing was never right. Once you were old enough to date, the two of you were never single at the same time. Actually, that isn’t true. You were both single for a brief period of time while he was playing with the Sea Dogs and you were still at UVM. This was the first time that both of you were single and in the same town.

“Charlie, you know that I love you, too. But this can not happen. We can’t risk breaking up and ruining what we have.”

He exhales, obviously disappointed. You were, too, but you couldn’t let that show. You wanted nothing more than to be with him, but you couldn’t let all those years of friendship go away if things didn’t work out between the two of you. “Fine.”

once

“Remember when you wouldn’t date me?” he asks over the sound of everyone around you.

“Remember when you were less annoying?” you roll your eyes. You look around to see so many other couples and families filling in the tables around you. Everyone looked so happy, just like you were.

You and Charlie had been together now for a year, him finally wearing you down and convincing you to let him take you on a date. He promised you that even if you stopped dating, your friendship would never end because, at this point, you were in too deep anyway. He told you he had this whole evening planned for your anniversary, complete with a walk around the Boston Common like you used to do when you were kids, dinner at Terramia, your favorite restaurant, and for dessert, he was taking you to Mike’s Pastries for the cannoli you loved so much.

“No, never,” he smirks, reaching out across the table to take your hand.

You had to admit, all the things he had said trying to convince you to date him were right; nothing was really that different between the two of you besides the intimacy that wasn’t there before. “You’re never letting me live that down, are you?”

“No.”

You roll your eyes at him. You didn’t want to inflate the ego of the man who didn’t even know how to use the oven by telling him he was right that you two dating was fine.

“Hey,” he says, like that last night before he went off to college.

“Yeah?”

“I love you.”

You smile, thinking back to all those times you told each other those three words, them meaning something completely platonic. “I love you, too.”

#charlie coyle #charlie coyle imagines #boston bruins #boston bruins imagines #bruins #bruins imagines #hockey #hockey imagines #nhl #nhl imagines #i think it might be cheating since i used them all in a row i'm sorry oops

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bonsaisheep · 3 years

Text

My experience starting ADHD meds (for the first time) as an adult:

So I started ADHD meds recently. I contacted my doctor in early December, and spent the next month or so trying to figure out the right medication and dosage via basically weekly doctor’s appointments (online). Since there was a lot I found out after starting the meds that are apparently common experiences, I figure it might help to talk about my experience with all of this.

So I am medicated for my ADHD for the first time in my life at 27. There were two attempts when I was a kid, but neither of them worked out. The first when I was in fourth grade (I was diagnosed somewhere between first and third grade, I can’t quite remember), it was decided the side effects were not worth it, and a second attempt in middle school, but I refused to take it since I bought into a lot of the BS around brain meds. Its only in the last few years as I have learned more about ADHD have I learned exactly how it is effecting me. I managed to do well enough in high school to get into a good college (after doing really poorly in jr high). Managed to get an engineering degree (in 4 years with research, I was hella burnt out by the end of that) and managed to get (and hold) a job as an engineer shortly after college. Basically, since I could at lest fake functional and manage well enough (mostly because I was taught a ton of coping mechanisms by my parents as a kid), I just, never realized how much it effects me. I have been living an interesting and fulfilling life (as long as you ignore my mail bathtub).

After learning more and realizing that it was my ADHD was the source of a lot of the frustrations and struggles (I am basically a human checklist of the symptoms), I started to consider medication. The biggest reason for me is that I wanted to be able to focus on my own hobbies. I am incapable of hyper-fixating on anything that involves sitting down (or like, in general I am really bad at sitting down). I put off doing anything about if for years because well... executive dysfunction is a thing. It is really because of my roomate I finally went through with getting on mediation. This summer I moved in with a couple of close friends, one of which is also a cis women with ADHD who was diagnosed in elementary school. After not being interested in medication herself for most of her life, she recently decided to pursue it after some long conversations with another of our roomate’s girlfriend (I am one of 7 people in my friend group with diagnosed ADHD). Basically it was an accountability thing. We both held each other accountable for contacting our doctors.

Ok so after that very long introduction, what exactly are my experiences then? One of the things that surprised me was that I didn’t really run into too many barriers regarding getting on meds. In my case, I just talked to my general practitioner and she was like cool, lets start with XYZ. She actually didn’t want my original diagnosis since it was so old that she felt like any proposed plan would be out of date. (This is compared to my roommate who had to get a copy of her original diagnosis and even then her doctor was mostly comfortable prescribing meds because she is in talk therapy). (Though she has also pointed out I have been seeing my doctor for a bit now and therefor have a repor with her compared to her own doctor who was basically randomly assigned to her by her insurance and she met for the first time (online) when she contacted him to discuss meds)

I was originally prescribed Wellbutrin, a common off lable option for ADHD (it is a non stimulant, and by extension less bad side effects). My doctor wanted to go with it due to my really bad anxiety since it could potentially help with both. Unfortunately it made my anxiety way worse and I had a panic attack for the first time in years so we quickly stopped it and switched to other options. The next thing we tried (which is what I am now on) was extended release adderall. This is the most common stimulant prescribed to adults with ADHD. From what my doctor was saying, it is preferred for adults since it lasts all day (and with pretty even effects), it helps cover both work and the evening since most adults have additional responsibilities in the evening. In my case, due to how I responded to the Wellbutrin she also wanted to make sure I was on something that would not spike my dopamine. When messing with the dosage, I found that the amount that seems to help is also the amount that make my insomnia worse, so I am take a slightly lower dosage of the extended release, and make up the small difference using the short release.

Regarding side effects, the two noticeable ones that did not go away after a week (I initially had problems with a high heart rate, but that went away after a few days) are thirst and hunger suppressant. There is not much I can do about constantly being thirsty other then drink a ton of water. I was able to talk to a friend about the hunger thing, so I was able to implement quite a few tips and tricks that help me eat something during the day.

The two odd side effects I was not expecting is that caffeine actually effects me now and I also have way less of a sweet tooth. My doctor warned me about the caffeine thing, and my coffee drinking has really gone down. I went from at least two cups a day to a mug of half caff in the morning (I can’t cut it out entirely due to withdraw symptoms (so you know addition)). Regarding the sweets, I don’t know if I crave sugur less, or if it is improved impulse control. A good portion of my impulse control issue revolve around food so I am unsure.

Also I am running into a thing a friend was telling me about. The meds help you focus end of statement. This means you can end up focusing on things you don’t want to be focusing on.

As for the positives, well, I guess I was expecting more. I knew that meds weren’t some magic bullet and I was still going to need to use all of my coping mechanisms, but I guess I thought that the focus issues, would, just go away. But this is not how meds work. The way my roommate’s girlfriend describes it is that it gives you 15% more spoons, and that makes a ton of difference (for some people, this can be the difference between stuff like being able to hold a job). It is also really hard to tell if your meds are working. I texted a friend asking about how to tell, and he basically told me that it was the million dollar question (meaning there is no clean answer). Honestly, I still don’t know for sure if they are working or if I am just saying that. Part of it is that i literally can’t remember what I act like or feel when I am not on meds (and if I take a break for a day, vice versa). I am currently going with the assumption they are though.

For me, what I have been finding is that while I still get distracted from tasks I don’t like, I return to them faster. So rather then getting bored, getting on my phone and like, fucking around for a long time. I might just briefly check social media and then return to my task (meaning I get more done faster). I have also found it is making the executive dysfunction way easier for me. It is still difficult to start tasks, but, it takes distinctly less energy to do so meaning I generally start tasks sooner, or in some cases, do them at all to begin with. It helps curb some of my impulse control issues, mostly around stuff like food and impulse purchases of going out for lunch or coffee. It might be helping with the emotional dysregulation, but I have a hard time gauging that one. It’s just making things a bit easier, and well, that goes a long way.

More importantly, I am achieving my original goal. I am more able to focus on my hobbies and interest. I am starting to return to robotics, and it is already going better then when I tried it out as a teenager. I don’t know how well this will work out in the long run, but I am cautiously optimistic.

TLDR: I am not quite sure how to summarize, but if you know people on ADHD meds and are considering them (or are otherwise not on them and want to know more), it is probably worthwhile to have a conversation about them.

#ADHD #ADHD meds #I don't quite know when I was diagnosed because my parents figured out something was up fairly on #and there was a lot of testing #for stuff like dyslexia and motor control problems #I know that everything else was ruled out except for ADHD #which I was diagnosed with #(Also apparently I am hella smart via the official testing)

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thenonatapes · 4 years

Text

Thanks for the tag @jar-of-illusions <3

1. What are you wearing? Very destroyed jeans with a Nirvana t shirt and a flannel

2. Even been in love? No

3. Ever had a terrible breakup? No

4. How tall are you? 5’4

5. How much you weigh? Like 120 lbs, not that it’s anybody’s business. (Why is this a question, feel free to skip)

6. Any tattoos do you want? Literally so many

7. Any piercings that you want? Nostril, septum, lip

8. OTP? None

9. Favorite show? That 70s Show, The Umbrella Academy or Stranger Things

10. Favorite band? Soundgarden, Dinosaur Jr, Alice In Chains, MCR, The Smashing Pumpkins, Foo Fighters, Sonic Youth, L7, Nirvana, Toadies and literally a billion more

11. Something you miss? Nothing at the moment

12. Favorite song? It changes hourly but as of now Rhinoceros by the smashing pumpkins or Dive by Nirvana

13. How old are you? I’ve never answered this before, so big reveal, but I’m 15

14. Zodiac sign? Taurus

15. Hair color? It’s always changing but dark brown

16. Favorite quote? I despise most quotes

18. Favorite color? Dark green but not like emerald green lol

19. Loud music or soft? Depends on the day however, typically loud

20. Where do you go when you’re sad? My room

21. How long does it take you to shower? 15-25 minutes

22. How long does it take you to get ready in the morning? 15-30 minutes

23. Ever been in a physical fight? Yea but it was just typical sibling stuff

24. Turn on? I don’t have a set list really, it’s just a matter of I like it or I don’t

25. Turn off? Narrow mind, impatience, lack of respect or knowledge

26. The reason I joined Tumblr? To fulfill my hyper fixations

27. Fears? I’m very claustrophobic but other than that nothing too crazy, maybe like spiders

28. Last thing that made you cry? I don’t know, not a lot can

29. Last time you cried? Idk

30. Meaning behind your url? It’s in reference to the Alice In Chains video the Nona tapes

31. Last book you read? 1922 by Stephen king

32. Last song you listened to? Mary Christ by Sonic Youth

33. Last show you watched? Idk I haven’t watched anything in a while

34. Last person you talked to? My mom

35. The relationship between you and the person you last texted? My sister

36. Favorite food? Ice cream

37. Place you want to visit? Seattle and Greece

38. Last place you were? Living room

39. Do you have a crush? No

40. Last time you kissed someone? Never lol

41. Last time you were insulted and what was it? Either something my mom or sister said today, idk I just tune it out

42. What color underwear are you wear? Red

43. What color shirt are you wearing? Black

44. What color bottoms are you wearing? Light denim? Is that a color

45. Wearing any bracelets? No

46. Last sport you played? Softball like three years ago

47. Last song you sang? Idk

48. Last prank call you remember doing? I don’t remember, probably in middle school

49. Last time you hung out with anyone? Few weeks ago

50. Favorite movie? Don’t have one

I tag the following to do this if you want to @mother-love-stone @mydinnerwithsoundgarden @fruscianted @i-am-superunknown @spreadthecurse @whateveryousay-dude @laynefuckingstaleylegend

#dont reblog please #challenge

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sadboyayeron · 4 years

Text

THE ONLY VALID MORIYAMA Nikoshi Doe

I came up with this Idea of Kevin having to raise Rikos son who’s name I decide would be Nikoshi Doe aka Niko

Enjoy

So If you Read “Tapping on my Chamber door”

You know Nikoshi’s mother, Naima Dixon was born in Jamaica but came to the states at a young age after her mom past away. She lived in the Bronx with her Aunt. She had tight curls aften in box breads or corn cornrows and dark skin with light brown eyes. She was 5’8. Had a muscular build from all the years of track and had a scholarship to run at Eager Allen University. She was soon to have a spot on the olympic team for long jump, 100, 200 and 400 meters. She was then pregnant with Nikoshi after her and Riko started there little hook up. The knew of each other but they first met in class. She noticed Riko looking at her.

“Like what you see.” I was trying to catch him off guard but he didn’t even look surprise. But then he smiled. Something sharp that left me feeling tingly, similar to how I feel before racing.

“Not to bad, no.” He chuckled, looked me up and down before he landed back on my eyes, “Want to sit.”

He left me in a trance and I took a seat next to him and sat my books in front of me. I tucked some braids behind my ear and looked at him again, he was looking back with a smug smile on his face.

At first I was thinking Nikoshi was Rikos frozen sperm and his mother was forced by Rikos uncle to have him BUT I decide that Riko died before he knew about Naima being pregnant She found out she was pregnant and went to Riko’s uncle for help and he said to give him the kid and she could get her scholarship Back. So she agreed naming him “Nico” but sadly she died while giving birth from bleeding out. Tesuji doesn’t use that name and changes it to ‘Nikoshi’ stripping him of any last name (Doe) putting the kid into the system in the same place she grow up in Bronx. Ichirou is informed of Nikoshi ten years later after having his Uncle killed. Who then informs kevin.

Nikoshi is from the Bronx has a accent when he speaks. He knows Spanish because of the amount of Dominican and Puerto Rican foster parents he’s had. Kinda understands broken english two because one of his foster brothers was from Jamaica which is cool because he knows he’s half Jamaican and some type of asian. He wears beat up high top jordan 1s baggy ripped jeans and long sleeves with a baggy jacket. He plays soccer because the system put him on a team and he’s very fast. He didn’t have much clothes but his best ones are the uniforms and he’s fine with that. He also plays street basketball and baseball with some kids in the area.

Kevin has to take Nikoshi in, according to Ichirou. Bringing Neil and Andrew with him. Ichirou just sent him a picture a kid and he was confused until he got that call that explained everything. He doesn’t need to explain who the kid is because you can clearly tell from the picture. Though the kid has milk cholclate skin, and curly hair that falls around his head in a fro.

When he frist sees Nico he has a scrape scab on his cheek, bruises on his wrist and purple knuckles. His ears a surprisingly pierced.

They find out Nikoshi Doe goes by Niko, he likes chocolate and cafe con leche (coffee), he likes shoes, he likes the color green, he uses a lot of slang and sometimes uses broken english and spanglish words, he’s quite but hyper and doesn’t know how to say still, asks why a lot, he hates math and likes to read, he loves listening to music it’s his safe place, he was diagnosed with ADHD/ADD and takes a pill in the morning and after noon on school days, he doesn’t like the way the pills make him feel, he likes Bee, Bee suspects Niko my be Borderline but it’s hard to tell, Kevin explains Riko was too. When they go to pick up Nikoshi they are informed of his diagnoses.

“So Kevin Day, It is very nice to meet you my husband loves watching you guys play Exy,” She smiled at them and then opened a drawer in her desk pulling out two folders.“ Now these paper were just printed out today. One from Nikoshi’s Doctor and another from his psychologist.” Kevin straightened his back more at that.

“Psychologist?” She looked up at Kevin.

“Yes, a lot of children in foster care go to see a therapist. It helps cope with abandonment and makes sure the kids are transitioning well in their new homes.” She opened one of the folders. “Nikoshi saw a therapist who recommended him to a psychologist. He was diagnosed with ADHD/ADD and given medication. He went through three different medications before he was put on Focalin XR. His biggest issues are impulsivity, managing feelings, and energy. There is more information in the folder with getting the prescription at a pharmacy and things to know about his behavior. He takes Focalin every morning before school, its not needed on the weekends but to long off it isn’t the best idea. Though if you want him off the medication, if you ever come to adopting him you can do that.” She looked towards the other two. “Will you two be helping take care of Nikoshi.”

“Yeah we are, is there anything else we need to know. If he needs a therapist we already got that covered. We can send her the information.” Neil replied with a bored tone but

“Thats good to know, he just saw the doctor last week. He gained some weight and is now at a more healthier weight then he was before.” She sighed. “You have to reminded him to eat, he forgets to and he doesn't ask for food. The foster home he was just at was good with keeping a schedule, he ate, took his meds, ate at school, had a snack at home, soccer practice and then dinner. He gets distracted and has little habits that cause him focus to much on random things. The meds take away his hunger also, so it important that he finishes.” She then closed both folders and stacked them together before sliding them to Kevin.

Kevin didn’t know how to process that. This information sounded to familiar. He always had to remind Riko to eat something. Riko would go days without eating, or sleeping, or even both. It got so bad the master had to tube feed him because he past out and didn’t get back up. Niko always got back up. He was taken out of his thoughts when the lady, Jennifer stood. He picked up the folders and got up following Andrew and Neil out the door. Nikoshi was still sitting in his chair, he was singing his legs slowly and seemed fixated on his hands.

“Nikoshi, these gentlemen here are going to be your new guardians,” Niko looked up at them. He got a better look at there faces, now that the glasses were off he could easily recognize who the taller man was with the chess piece on his cheek bone. He was confused o say the least. This had to be some sick joke, or a stupid stuPID dream. He looked at the other too, the screw that littered the red heads tan face and the man with blond hair and black studs.

“Deadass?” He blurted out suddenly. Fuck. He did not mean to blurt that out. Kevin day looked taken back by his statement and the other too snickered from slightly behind him. The lady looked horrified.

Riko used to self harm, stop eating for days, wouldn’t sleep for days either. His uncle had to force him into a tube feeder once because of this. Kevin and Riko had to see a therapist and she diagnosed Riko. His uncle disregarded it and gave him sum type of pills that made Riko’s anger at himself turn down a bit but he was more depressed. He tried to commit 3 times after. Kevin made him promise not to. He flushed the pills and started to abuse others.

Kevin explains this to Neil and Andrew. They then try to learn more about BPD. They watch youtube videos, read articles and books on it till they had a better understanding of the disorder. They learn about the self-destructive tendencies and suicidal gestures that are quite common with the disorder. They all try there best to build a good support system.

Niko has a hard time with his identity and ‘who he is’, he tries to remember that Kevin wants him and isn't going to abandon him, he tries to keep his shifts in moods to himself but in only makes things worse. He tends to shut down in his room more often then not. He finds himself getting angry at little things knowing he shouldn’t but he still does. Anger attacks aren't as bad as the empty feeling he gets sometimes.

When Niko meets all the foxes he drifts more towards Nicky for whatever reason. He finds that he like Nickys happy vibes and feels it radiate from him. He likes to soak in it.

Niko likes talking to Neil, he gets candy from Andrew, and he likes playing Exy with Kevin. He didn’t like school and says it’s hard for him but he still makes honor roll no problem.

During the second month of school when he first started living with Kevin he expriences racism for maybe the first time. He didn’t have any friends, nor knew anybody. He could tell he was different from the other kids. They were mostly white with a splash of color here and there. The way they talked and walked was different then how he did. He didn’t grew up with white picket fences like they seemed to. They dressed different too. He didn’t like the stares he was getting from the kids in his class.

“Nice hair are you a girl?” One of the boys said, with his little click at his back. It was recess and Niko stuck to staying to himself drawling in his note book that Andrew gave him.

“No.” The boys continued to laugh. He hated when people talked about his hair. He didn't like his hair. Especially when his foster mothers always tugged and pulled on it. That wasn't just it though. It reminded him of his foster father Mr. James.

“Such pretty hair.”

The boys crept closers and Niko started to feel closed in. One of them pulled out scissors and two grabbed him by the shoulders. One talked about how there dad said them Black boys need to cut there hair. Another used a slur Niko heard a lot back in the Bronx, used it himself when with the kids in the neighborhood but he never heard it used like this. He started to struggle but another one grabbed his face and held him down so his face fell between his knees. He felt chuncks of hair being cut of from his head as they fell down his back and some at his feet.

He felt his eyes water and struggled harder. He kicked the one to his right in the shin, knowing how much it hurt from when he played soccer with out shin guards. The kids let go of that shoulder and he swung his arm hitting another kid. They all let go once they heard a teacher yell at them. Niko reached for the scissors and threw them in the grass. The boys ran away and Niko was left to look at the small and large chunks of his hair on the concrete. He didn’t mean to bother anybody. He didn't ask to have this type of hair. He didn’t ask to be different. Sometimes he missed the Bronx but then remembered his foster sister getting shot, and his doped up foster parents he used to end up with. He didn't want to go back, but he found himself missing it sometimes.

Nobody asked abut his hair during the rest of the school day. Not even his teacher. Its fine he didn't want to bother anybody. When Andrew came to pick him up he was wearing his hoodie. Today Neil and Andrew were coming over, so was Aaron. Aaron practically lived with him and Kevin now though. He said nothing on the way home. He didn't want to bother them. He was trying his hardest not to.

But then he got home he went straight to the bathroom and locked the door. He didn’t hear Kevin nor Aaron calling him. He stared in to the mirror and glared at himself. Disgusting. You look like a girl. He ripped off his hood and he felt something in himself crack. His hair was clearly uneven. Some areas you couldn’t tell but he could see how his curls on his forehead were shortened compared to the pieces on the sides. He could tell where every spot was that had been cut, like there were circles showing him where to look. A broken sob cut through his throat. The tears rolled down his cheeks. He always thought he was an ugly crier. He grabbed his hair and pulled. He kept pulling till he felt arms wrap around his torso. He wanted to fight who ever they were off but he couldn't. They grabbed his hands but they couldn't pry them from his hair. He heard someone calling his name and found a face to that voice. He noticed another person accompanied him in the mirror. Holding on to him. It wasn’t his voice he heard though. He saw the other three at the bathroom entrance but it was Aaron standing closest to him.

“Niko its okay, let go buddy.” He didn’t know if he meant his hands or his feelings but he let them go. He saw more pieces of hair fall through his hands but ignored it and them screamed. Kevin turned him around and held him again. Kevin lowered himself to his knees to let Niko cry and scream into his neck. He rubbed his back till he calmed down. Neil and Andrew left to prepare some ice cream and play music. Kevin noticed the hair that fell to the floor and so did Aaron. It didn’t match the amount that should still be connected to his head.

Niko told them what happened at school with less emotion then he displayed before. They were all furious but chose to keep it inside to comfort Niko. They called the school and told them what happened. The school apologized but Kevin still wasn't letting Niko go back to that school. He transferred Niko to another and reassured him it was okay and it was the same distance anyways. They took Niko to the babor shop and they evened out his hair. He got it cut some on the sides as well, allowing the back and top to be longer. His hair showed more off his forehead and ear piercings now. He felt more exposed, but was happy with the hair cut.

When he meets Dan she gives him oils and creams to put in his hair. Even showed him how to wash it too, Matt helps. He got to meet there kids.

Allison braided his hair down for when he graduated Elementary School. She teaches how how to do other things like twist, braids, and box braids.

When he goes to college Renee helps him bleach the ends of his hair blond.

He has nightmares often. And likes to have hot chocolate to calm his nerves. He gets irritated easily, they learn. When he gets irritated he stops talking and fidgets, tapping his foot and cracking his knuckles.

Kevin’s night terrors slowly fade as Riko’s dark shadow fades into Nikos warm glow.

Niko definitely learns how to skateboards when Aaron gives him his old one. Kevin likes to watch them practice it together. Just like Aaron likes to watch Kevin teach Niko Exy. He joins a team in Middle School. He's definitely going to be something.

Hope you guys like this. Leave ask and suggestions about Nikoshi Doe. I would love to hear about it and write the prompts.

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charlotine · 4 years

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Have You Ever Heard of ADHD?

The first time I heard the word ADHD, I was in secondary school. I had to see the teachers, my classmate would tell me. I just got diagnosed ADHD. She’d never focus in lesson, always scraped average grades and everyone would gossip about her. What’s ADHD? I’d ask my friends. It’s what all the delinquents and stupid people have, they’d joke with a giggle.

As a child, I was always described as smart. I asked questions about how the world worked and persisted until I’d reached a full understanding of the topic. On top of that, I was the firstborn, a girl in an Asian household, so I grew up very traditionally. My parents worked a lot to provide for me in this foreign country we’d moved to, so I was often left alone. My parents would know to leave the PC or TV on because otherwise, I had a bad habit of wandering. Sometimes it’d just be to the landlord’s apartment, sometimes it’d be to other people’s houses (obviously quite bad seeing as I was 4-8).

In primary school, I was the weird Asian kid. In fact, the only Asian kid. Per year group there was at least one or two Asians and one black person in my school. But I was weird, I struggled to fit in with my peers because nothing they did made sense to me.

My behaviour and how different I was proved to be enough ammunition to bully me. I’d watch TV sometimes, to try and figure out how to interact with people my age. Adults always seemed easier, because I was cute and smart. I remembered watching how a boy had pulled down his friend’s trousers on TV and they’d laughed, so I did the same to a girl in my class with the blue dress, and she screamed. I didn’t know, I’d wail to the teacher, I didn’t know it was wrong, please don’t tell my parents.

Eventually, I reminded myself I was different from other kids. How? I didn’t know, but I just did. So I taught self to be quiet and recluse, no matter how bad my mind would shout, because I wanted to be liked. Needed. I was so quiet some people would forget that we’d been to school together all our lives. I learnt to be quiet, because the few instances where I did have friends, I didn’t know how to control my exuberance. It was either hot or cold for me, and I was already worried enough about being ostracised, so I taught myself to be quiet.

I began to hyper-fixate on books and reading from age 8-11, because I had no friends. Or because I hyper-fixated, I had no friends, but growing up, I bitterly assumed the former. I’d read during break and lunch hours, and during lessons if I could; I could roughly get through two 500 paged books a day. I finished the Harry Potter series in 4 days. Every time I would stop, I would feel like my chest was crashing in, and I’d feel that all-consuming isolation and darkness in my heart again. My reading age was on par to a high schoolers by the time I was 9, partly because my dad began handing me adult crime novels.

The teachers would all describe me as smart, but lacking in effort. I’d astound them during class hours, but they’d have to put me in a lower set because once I’d leave the classroom, I wouldn’t exert energy into the subject. I rarely handed in homework, and I’d attend my detentions and read a book because I didn’t know how to explain that I’d forgotten. Everyone would lie and say the same, and I knew they wouldn’t believe me anyway.

By the time I started secondary school at 11, my issues all but seemingly disappeared. I always held the best grades in English, Science, German, amongst others. I’ve never given this high a grade to a 12 year old, my English teacher would say with teary eyes. I called all my friends to read your work to them, and I wanted to ask permission to photocopy your work because I want to keep this with me. It’s a truly beautiful piece.

It’s because she’s Asian, my classmates would say dismissively. They couldn’t compete against an Asian, being smart was expected of me. Things like schoolwork were easier for me, somehow.

I’d always turn up to class with innovative and original projects, shocking all the teachers pleasantly because no one had ever in their entire time of being a teacher. When everyone would turn up with paper drawings of a hastily drawn house labelling the French verbs, I’d turn up with a large painted box with 3D figurines. Miss, she’s Asian, my classmates would say. We can’t compete with her when it’s in her blood.

After a teacher would issue a project, my mind would be hyper-fixated. Make a project, she’d say. I don’t care what medium you use, but it has to relate to the verbs we learnt in lesson today. I’ll see you after half term break. As soon as I’d get home, I’d need to start the project otherwise my heart might just give up. I‘d neglect tidying my room, my social life, my personal hygiene, my sleep, my other projects and eating because I need to do this project mum, you don’t understand. My mind was in hyperdrive, I couldn’t rest because this project was my world, my reason for air. 4 days later, and I’d have a few days left of half term and I’d only eaten maybe 2 small meals the past few days.

(Why can’t you be normal? My mum would plead.

Eyes downcast, I’d whisper, but mum. This is my normal.)

We’re concerned about her, my mum would say to Jenny the therapist. She can be the loveliest person one minute, and the next she can be a whole different person. And she’s not eating again, I think she thinks she’s fat.

She isn’t eating? Jenny would frown. The rest is just hormones, but I think I need to explain to your daughter the negative side effects of anorexia again.

I did think I was fat. I’d look in the mirror and wish to be somebody else, just not me, but I didn’t starve myself. Not intentionally, anyway. But, I’d frown, how do I explain to everyone that sometimes I just forget how to take care of myself? How, sometimes, some things were more important than taking care of myself?

Your daughter is very, very smart, my teacher would say with a smile. She reminds me just exactly why I’d decided to be a teacher — she excels in French, German, Psychology, all my subjects! You should be very proud.

Ah, my mum would look at me with watery eyes, thank you, thank you.

The lesser pieces of homework, I’d forget about until last minute, but no one would ever believe me. How did you explain that if it didn’t send your mind into hyperdrive, that it’d disappear? I’d go through the week care free, and then my friend would message me at 9PM at night and then I’d remember. During those times, I’d skive off school the next day to get out of it because I didn’t know how to explain that I’d simply forgotten to a teacher when everyone would lie and say the same.

Your daughter hasn’t turned up to lesson this week, my teacher would say with a frown. We’re very worried about her, she said she’s going through a hard time, and even in lesson she never seems to focus.

Really? My mum would look at me with watery eyes, I didn’t know. She, ah, told us she went to the school this week.

First Jenny said anxiety, then depression. Anak, my mum would say. Tell us what’s wrong so we can help you. You’re so smart, but you’re wasting it away. You know me and dad want you to make something of yourself, so you’re not suffering like us. But I’d taught myself how to be quiet, and I didn’t know how to explain. What was I meant to say?

(Mum, I can’t focus on things and it goes right out of my ears and I don’t know why, no matter how hard I try to listen. Mum, I couldn’t sleep last night, because I really needed to finish researching the Cold War and Buffy the Vampire Slayer and I couldn’t stop, and that’s why I didn’t get up for school in the morning. Mum, I can’t go to school today because even though I’ve known about our speaking test for 2 weeks and it’s all I can think about, I couldn’t revise. Mum, I can’t focus on this thing right now, because all my mind can focus on is Henry VIII even though we haven’t done him in history for 6 years. Mum, I know you gave me all of this month to clean my room, but then I’d have to pick everything up, put it into order, change my bedsheets, hoover the floor, and the thought of all that was too overwhelming for me that I just couldn’t start, but I’m not lazy, I swear.)

Instead I’d say, mum, I think I’m just sad. I fell out with my friends last week, I’d say hollowly, and I just feel sad.

With hardened eyes, she’d tell me to prioritise yourself, anak, friends come and go, and the only person you can depend on is yourself.

My mum never remembered my friends names. I loved all my friends and every single person meant the world to me, but I’d cycle through them in the span of 6 months. I’d go through friends and friendship groups, and my mum would smile at all of them and say, what happened to Natalie? What happened to Lily? in our native tongue.

I hate them, mum, I’d say bitterly. They were using me, too.

With disbelieving eyes, she’d laugh. Everyone is always using you. Why can’t you just be happy? Why can’t you just read a book and be happy?

(Mum, I can’t stop counting the lines, I have to make sure that they follow the pretty pattern in my head that make it look inexplicably real to me, otherwise I can’t, and then I realise I haven’t been paying attention to the words at all.)

Instead, I’d shrug. Books are boring now, mum.

My relationships were intense with everyone. No matter the longevity, I’d feel heartbroken for every single person. I’d be inconsolable for days. If you want to die so bad, my sobbing mum would say with my lined wrist in her grasp, just tell me and I’ll do it for you.

Have you heard of hyper-mania? Sarah, the first, would inquire with a tilt of her head.

No, I’d shake my head.

Rivotril, aripiprazole, lithium, and alprazolam for anxiety attacks, Sarah would write. We think it’s bipolar disorder and anxiety disorder. They often have comorbidity.

I feel sorry for you, my aunt would say. You’re only 15 and you have to take so much.

Setraline, alprazolam and lithium, David would write. Due to the last two suicide attempts, we think it’s borderline personality disorder and anxiety disorder. Her mood swings are too frequent.

She’s only 16, my dad would say gruffly. Why does she hate being alive so much? It’s the meds, they’re ruining her.

I made friends with a girl with ADD in college. She was a daydreamer and had to sit extra classes. Oh, I’d laugh. It makes sense, you’re always losing track of conversation. Then I dated a boy with ADHD; that’s why I struggle so badly in school, he’d explain to me. Oh, I’d reply. School has always been easy for me. I can help you go through your notes.

In college, they’d tell me I shouldn’t have been a year behind. Not to show any blatant favouritism, my teacher would say with a conspiratorial smile. But unlike some of your other classmates, you’re one of the few who don’t really need to be here in remedial GCSEs.

I’d take the compliment and thank him with a nod. But why can I not focus? My mind would plead. Why is it that I can never sit still, why is it that I need to be talking or using my phone to function during lectures? Why is it that I can’t learn the same way everyone else does?

But I’d learnt to be quiet, after a while. My parents had told me I was attention seeking and that there wasn’t anything wrong with me. How could there be? I was pretty, I could make friends easily if I so wanted, and I was smart. In the homeland, anak, my mum would tell me with a scathing look. The mentally disabled people are in wheelchairs, you don’t have any mental illness. You just want there to be, and it’s all in your head.

(I wish I hadn’t lived, I’d whisper to my brother in the hospital. This would be the third time, and not the last.

Huh? What did you say? My brother would ask.

I said, I screamed, I wish I hadn’t lived.)

Why did you do it? The third, Jamie, would ask, after the fourth, the fifth. Did you plan it?

Everything was spinning out of control, I’d reply. And I needed to escape. I wanted to disappear. I didn’t plan it, but it made sense at the time.

So you didn’t want to die?

Contemplatively, I’d tell him I don’t know, but maybe.

Hmm, would be all he’d say for a moment. How do you feel?

I feel empty a lot. Like I need something to fulfil me so I won’t feel like dying today. Even when I try to sleep at night, I can’t, because there’s so many things that I need to do. Like go for a long jog, bake a cake or write as long a story as I can write. I used to have a drinking problem, I’d tell him shakily. Back when I was 14. It was the only way I could get to sleep at night. Everything that I do to myself needs to be intense, so it can break through the monotony. I struggle in school, I do, I’d plead with him. Everyone looks at my grades and they don’t see it, but it’s hard going in and doing work, when I can’t sit still and be focused.

Hmm, he’d say.

I have sex a lot, I’d tell him. I don’t like forming attachments to people because they always leave, so it’s always different people. Sometimes... I’d hesitate. It’s not safe.

What do you mean?

They’re strangers I meet on the internet, I’d whisper. I can’t do it at my home because of my parents, they’re catholic and believe in chastity, so we go to their house. Or their cars.

Hmm, he’d say. Why?

Why what?

Why do you do this to yourself? You’ve mentioned before that you dissociate during sex and find no pleasure in doing so, so why?

I... I’d say truthfully. I don’t know.

Jamie would ask about my sex life. My parents would say I’d indiscriminately have sex with men and women too often, and they were scared for me. He’d ask about drugs, and my parents would say they didn’t know, but that I was easily influenced. He’d ask about school and friends; my parents would say I was very smart, but lazy. They’d inform him that I argued and fell out with my friends often, and had a penchant for the short term. He’d ask how I was like at home; my parents would share a look, and tell him how I could be two different people sometimes. Lovely, my mum would say, and other times horrible and a stranger to us, my dad would finish. She can be sweet often, my mum would tell him, and other times she’ll be so angry she trashes her room, my dad would finish.

(What’s it like, I’d ask my boyfriend. Having ADHD?

It’s like being a magpie. You have one thought, but the other is too shiny, and the next is always shinier. Your thoughts are always racing, conversation topics are always changing, you can’t stop talking, and people say you’re annoying. Sometimes, I’ll have that nyan-cat song stuck in my head on repeat. It’s like needing subtitles when you watch a movie and the Wikipedia page up, too, because you can’t focus. It’s like the way I can never find the right tab, because there’s always more than 50 open on my phone. It’s like having a long list of things you really need to do, but no matter how much you know this, you can’t do any of it. It’s like, when I was 5, I’d say swear words in school all the time. It’s like always being late to everything, no matter how hard you try. It’s why I get angry at you a lot, he’d tell me. And why I can never remember what you last said to me. It’s like being a normal person and drinking 10 energy drinks, but you don’t need the energy drinks.

Oh, I’d frown. I understand what you mean. And I did. I really did.)

Finally, my third psychiatrist would say to us, have you ever heard of Attention-Deficit Hyperactivity Disorder?

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whitetigerdemoness · 4 years

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People (like, one person) asked for a continuation of Evillustrator messing up Lila due to being fed up with the class shitting on Marinette and well...here. I’m shipping trash so peep the tags first. As an explanation for the end, it is my full belief Hawkmoth does not need a strong negative emotion to akumatize someone, just a strong emotion. Negative emotions are just easier for him to manipulate.

Master post of all chapters

The day was not going so well for the Evillustrator. He had been moments away from chucking Lila Rossi, bound and gagged, of off the school roof when Ladybug and Chat Noir had arrived (How had they gotten there so fast anyhow?). After a very brief scuffle he had barely managed to get away in one piece. Hawkmoth had been badgering him non-stop about fleeing instead of fighting, but Evillustrator had played this game before and lost. He had seen dozens of other Akuma try and ultimately fail against the super duo, all recklessly throwing themselves at the pair.

What he needed was a plan, something the red head had never been good at. He created things. He didn’t think about them. He needed someone to direct him. Someone good with seeing things from all their different angles. Not just anyone would do, it would have to be someone who knew how superheroes operated. Someone like...

“Hey Hawkmoth? Do you think you could send me another Akuma? I need my writer.”

....................................................

Marc wasn’t having a very good day. First he had forgotten his lunch this morning. Then during science lab the akuma alarms had gone off and caused him to drop the glass beaker he had been holding on the floor, shattering it. Which caused his own personal bully to harass him more than usual. Which was a lot seeing as Juste had some weird hyper fixation on him as a target to begin with. Then when he thought he could finally escape to the art room at the end of the day (what? of course classes were not canceled. If class was canceled every time there was an akuma, there would be no class) Nathaniel had been absent. Oh, and it was raining and Marc had forgotten his umbrella.

So here he was, hood pulled up in a futile attempt to keep dry, walking home alone. He had taken the back exit from the school to avoid the police cars out front, taking a statement from a sobbing girl Marc vaguely recognized as the new girl who sat next to Nathaniel that Nath grumbled about sometimes. Something about her being too talkative. Oh well, none of his business. Maybe if he got home fast enough he could sneak into his room before his older brother saw him and started picking on him. What a great day.

Marc was so wrapped up in his dour thoughts he didn’t notice the person standing in front of him until he walked into them. Instead of landing on his butt as he flinched away to apologize, warm arms wrapped around him holding him in place.

Grinning down at him (how? Marc was taller than Nath so why...?) was the Evillustrator.

Marc’s day really sucked.

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

“So let me get this straight. You want me to voluntarily be akumatized again so I can come up with a plan for how you can defeat Ladybug and Chatnoir?”

“So we can defeat them!” Evillustrator said, almost pleading, a black butterfly lazily resting on his hat. The akuma had taken Marc to a currently abandoned warehouse, sweeping the shocked teen into his arms and hopping over rooftops like they were hopscotch squares. Evillustrator had used his powers to dry Marc off and create the most comfortable chair Marc had ever sat in. The akuma had also tried to create some hot chocolate, but had discovered his powers of creation did not extend to edible items. Every time he tried he only got wax and plastic props. Despite currently being a kidnapping victim, Marc was pretty content. He couldn’t remember the last time someone went so far to make him comfortable. There was only the small issue of his friend trying to posses him with a demonic butterfly.

“I don’t really want to defeat them. They protect the city from Hawkmoth. Besides, you basically have the most versatile super power ever. Why do you need me?” Even purple and wearing a ridiculous skin tight outfit (which Marc was NOT complaining about but...) Nathaniel, that is, Evillustrator was almost too adorable for Marc to say no too. Despite the stupid hat, those puppy eyes were lethal.

“How....” Marc sighed, “How did you even get akumatized in the first place?” He really probably should have been more afraid of the akuma, but lavender or not this was Nath. Marc was 90% certain he would never hurt him. 80%, Marc corrected glancing at the butterfly.

“Lila.” Evillustrator hissed, faced turning a complete 180 from adorable to menacing. Wow, were his teeth that sharp before? Maybe 80% was too generous, Marc thought though he still didn’t feel threatened. He probably needed to work on his self preservation instinct.

“That conniving vixen,” Evillustrator spat in a way that Marc was sure had he not been in polite company would have been an entirely different adjective “Since day one she has had the entire class wrapped around her little finger with her outrageous lies. She’s slowly been poisoning them against Marinette, the only one brave enough to stand up to her, and everyone BELIEVES her! Even me at first! I can’t believe I was so stupid...but today was the last straw.” Evillustrator had stood from where he had previously been kneeling at Marc’s feet and was now furiously pacing back and forth. Stalking, more like.

“Lila claimed to have created one of Marinette’s deigns herself, saying that MARINETTE was the one lying for attention and everyone just-just BELIEVED it!” The akuma shouted, throwing up his arms. “You know the worst part? Marinette got there just in time to hear how everyone thought she was a liar. Sweet, kind Marinette. I couldn’t take it anymore. I wish I had been brave enough to do something sooner, but now at least I’m strong enough to do something.” The dark look on Evillustrator’s face said that something might be homicide.

“How do Ladybug and Chatnoir fit into all this?” Marc questioned. He had heard rumors about Marinette that painted her in a bad light, but had quickly dismissed them as nonsense. He had no idea they had gotten so bad...Marc felt a little guilty for not noticing sooner.

“As I was throwing Lila off the roof-”

“As you were WHAT?”

“-Ladybug and Chatnoir saved her.” Evillustrator plowed on, ignoring the outburst. “Come to think of it, they always save Chole too, and XY’s manager that one time. If they’re such good people why are they always saving the bad guys?” Marc stopped Evillustrator’s furious pacing by grabbing his hands. In the back of his mind, Marc thought he must be having some sort of....mental breakdown, or crisis or something. Who just calmly walks up to an akuma and touches them? Him apparently. Why couldn’t he be this bold when Evillustrator was Nathaniel? There had to be something wrong with him that he felt calmer and more confident around his crush’s evil alter ego than his actual crush.

“Evillustrator,” Not Nathaniel. Akuma were notoriously touchy about their names. Having been akumatized himself once Marc sort of understood. He didn’t remember being Reverser, but he recalled feelings. Impressions. The names were important. “Ladybug and Chatnoir save them because they’re the good guys. They wouldn’t be very heroic if they let someone die just because they didn’t like them. Besides, letting people die won’t solve anything anymore than throwing Lila off the school roof would.”

“You’re right.” Evillustrator murmured. “We should throw her off the Eiffel Tower.”

“No.” Marc scolded. “Please surrender to Ladybug. Then we can go home and-”

“No!” Evillustrator snapped, clutching Marc’s hands a little too tight in alarm. “I can’t do that! I have to get their miraculous!” The akuma looked frantic. The butterfly that had been napping on his hat fluttered away as if startled.

“But why? For Hawkmoth? What ever he promised you, it isn’t worth it.” Marc pleaded.

“It is! You are!” The akuma spoke fervently, leaning closer to Marc’s face than he liked.

“M-me?” The writer stammered, puzzled.

“Yes.” Evillustrator whispered, voice going soft. “If I get him his treasures, he’ll let me keep my treasure.” Marc’s heart was pounding so fast as he processed the confession he couldn’t tell you exactly when his beating heart became a fluttering butterfly.

#miraculous ladybug #nathaniel kurtzberg #marc anciel

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troubletimestwo · 4 years

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Overgrown - A Luz Noceda Backstory Drabble

Summary: Luz is hyper fixated on the haircut she so desperately needs. (A backstory drabble based off some minor personal trauma.)

AN: TW: There is a mini altercation scene where Luz gets into a fight at her human school. If you're not comfortable with that, please don't read this fic. I wrote this as a means to convey a very specific feeling I know some people have involving short hair and trauma. This is not written to romanticize trauma but rather to give those people who have experienced this or something similar to this a feeling of belonging. It is okay to cut your hair in a time of crisis. It is okay to alter your appearance to feel more comfortable in your own skin. You matter. Your choices are valid. Your feelings are valid. You are loved and supported here. <3

The clanging thud in the kitchen had been more than enough to disturb King from his mid-afternoon slumber. The sun’s beams had crawled their way across the living room and pooled over the far end of the couch, an indication that there was plenty of time before dinner. This meant the audible bangs, clangs, thuds, thumps, and crashes could only mean one thing: a burglary was in progress and it was up to the King of Demons ™ to stop it! The small creature wiggled his furry little behind off the couch and skittered into the kitchen, practically colliding with the island in his own hasty hubris.

“Halt, Thief! Or prepare to face the wrath of the Ki—oh… Hi, Luz.” His voice fell to the floor like a bowling ball off a high shelf, heavy with disappointment. When Luz did not answer him immediately, he redirected his attention momentarily to the nearby stools and scrambled his way onto the counter. “What are you looking for?”

Luz hadn’t meant to ignore King’s presence, but she only had two hands to rummage with and both her eyes were fixated on the contents of the drawers in front of her. Her day had started off on the right foot. She’d packed a lunch so she could avoid the nameless monstrosities of Hexside’s cafeteria’s repertoire. She’d ensured that she had her textbooks for the day and that she neatly organized her homework in order of her schedule so she wouldn’t lose anything (any more than she already did, anyways. Though Luz blamed the demonic lockers for always chewing up what she needed.) She had even given King his morning besos before she left. But it was when Eda had ruffled her hair that she realized…

“Esta muy largo…” Luz mumbled, reaching for the back of her neck, probably for the millionth time that day. She ran her fingers through her hair and tugged a little. The tugging. No matter how many days, months, years had passed, she always remembered the tugging. “Muy, muy largo.”

[ Read More Here ]

#Luz Noceda #Edalyn Clawthorne #Camilia Noceda #The Owl House #TOH #TOH Fanfic #Hurt/Comfort #TW: Bullying #tw: hair pulling #TW: altercation #I wrote this fic because I felt there was a deeper reason why Luz's latina mother let her daughter have short hair #Also because this is why I have short hair #Or- a less graphic version of why I have short hair

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project-stormblessed · 4 years

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1-50

Alrighty!

1. What color are your socks?

All of my socks are either completely black or black and gray. Lol.

2. Have you ever lied about your age? Why?

Only once when I was like, 12 or 13 making a second Youtube account lol.

3. What is something you regret in the past month?

Becoming distant and isolating myself from most of my friends. Quarantine has not been good for my mental health tbh.

4. Do you believe in love at first sight?

Honestly? Not sure. Part of me doesn’t, and part of me does. Can’t really get either part to agree one way or the other.

5. When was the last time you wrote someone a letter on paper? Definitely well over a decade ago. Honestly can’t remember.

6. How old were you when you first learned how to ride a bike? Who taught you?

I was 11 or 12, and it was my older brother Jack who taught me. He also taught me how to drive lol.

7. Do you get along with your parents? Why or why not?

We get along well enough. Now that they’re retired the house is a much calmer environment.

8. What’s your favorite season?

Spring. I love seeing everything in bloom—the colors are very pleasing to me. I love seeing lots of green, and lots of lush plantlife.

9. Do you currently like someone?

Hmm, not entirely sure about that one. I guess I don’t really have any strong feelings for anyone in particular. Maybe. 👀👀

10. Have you ever used an Ouija board?

Nope, and I don’t plan on it.

11. What’s the last song you sang?

It was a song for choir this past semester, though I don’t remember the title that well or the composer.

12. What’s your favorite scent?

Never really had a favorite scent, honestly. My sense of smell has been pretty dull/weak for as long as I can remember and I’ve never really given much thought to any favorite scent.

13. What’s your favorite urban legend?

The Roswell UFO incident of 1947. It sparked my interest in aliens and UFOs at a very young age, and is probably responsible for a good deal of my love for sci-fi.

14. What’s a bad habit that you have?

Poor self control when it comes to time management. I tend to let myself get absorbed in things.

15. What’s a strange habit that you have?

Hmm. Totally blanked and could only come up with “making noises and pretending to be a mech of some sort when moving around my house”. That’s all I got.

16. What’s the first instrument you learned to play?

Piano. I started learning at 8 years old.

17. How would you describe your ‘type’?

Y’know funny enough I’ve never really thought I had a type. However reaching my mid-twenties has made me realize that my ‘type’ is kind, compassionate, goofy, and nerdy/geeky.

18. Would you rather stay in or go out?

Depends on the company, I guess. Though, usually I prefer to stay in anyway.

19. What was the last thing you said to your mom?

“I’m taking Dax out.” When I went for a walk with my dog lol.

20. Do you want to get married someday?

Definitely didn’t used to. I’m at the point where I’d be down if my partner wanted to, though I’m not sure I’d wanna spend a shitload of money on a wedding. Guess it depends on financial status at the time and the preferences of my partner.

21. Have you ever snuck out?

Nah, though I never needed to. My parents typically let me leave house whenever I wanted to as long as I told them who I’m with and when-ish I’m going to be home.

22. Can you sing well?

I can match pitch pretty well, but I can’t produce pitch un-aided. Usually. So kinda. I’m ok at best, all things considered.

23. What’s an embarrassing thing that happened this week?

I went off on some of my friends over something kinda silly because my mental state as of late hasn’t been all that great.

24. When was the last time you went sledding?

Uhhh, definitely more than ten years ago.

25. Have you ever liked/do you like someone you know you can never be with?

You kidding me? That’s like, all of my crushes ever. Maybe that’s an exaggeration but honestly it’s certainly FELT that way each time.

26. Do people often mispronounce your name?

No, though I have known a few people throughout my life that said “Bin” rather than “Ben”. I eventually realised it was an accent thing and stopped giving a shit very early.

27. Would you like to live in another country?

Yes, actually. For no small number of reasons. I’ve always wanted to live in Italy ever since I visited when I was 15.

28. Do you like to watch ghost hunting shows?

I definitely used to. I don’t really watch tv much in general anymore, though.

29. Who was the last person you said “I love you” too?

My mom.

30. What’s something you’d like to be better at?

Social interaction. Speaking in general. I’m MUCH more articulate in writing/typing than I am speaking.

31. Have you ever stayed up with someone who was sad?

Yes, and I’m always willing to do so.

32. What was the last thing you cooked?

I helped my good friend prepare some bomb ass ramen a few months back. I guess that counts.

33. Do you think you’d make a good parent?

I’d like to think so, yeah. I would make sure my children know I’m always there for them and will support the hell out of them.

34. Do you have trouble sleeping at night?

I don’t, but my dipshit body does.

35. Where is your best friend right now?

All of them are either playing video games or asleep.

36. How long does it take you to get ready in the morning?

Factoring in every aspect of the morning ritual, about 40 minutes. That’s if I’m going somewhere like work or school. If I’m staying home then there’s no getting ready for anything but sitting on my ass lol.

37. How late do you usually stay up at night?

Depends on the time of year/what I’m doing the next day. Right now during quarantine I average anywhere between 2am and 6am. I’m trying to fix that currently.

38. When was the last time you cried and why?

The last time I truly cried was sometime in 2015. I was listening to Breaking Benjamin’s latest album and feeling exceedingly lonely/depressed. It wasn’t a great day.

39. Have you ever won a contest?

None that I can remember, honestly.

40. Can you draw well?

Lol. No. I have very little visual artistic talent or skill.

41. Would you ever date someone you met on tumblr/the internet?

Definitely, though obviously I wouldn’t just jump right in. I’m down for long distance relationships, too. But obviously mutual trust and emotional connection would have to be established first.

42. What was the last thing you ate?

Some brownie fudge M&Ms lol.

43. Do you think you’re/you’d make a good boyfriend?

I don’t really know. Never been in a relationship so I don’t have anything go off of. On the one hand I’m super understanding, laid back, and accepting of boundaries. I just want to make sure people feel comfortable and safe around me. On the other hand I’m also forgetful and very selfish when it comes to my time. I also obviously have plenty of emotional trauma/baggage (who doesn’t?) that tends to impede how I interact with people, so. 🤷🏼‍♂️

44. Have you ever had a near death experience?

Not that I can remember, and I hope I never do. The closest I think I ever came was when I fell off a ropeless bridge into a dry riverbed at 4 years old. Got a concussion from that.

45. What do you think people think of you?

Well, my anxiety tells me I’m annoying and boring. The logical side of me tells me most people in my life enjoy my company, so I guess there’s that.

46. What is your middle name and do you like it?

Don’t feel like sharing my middle name here, but I will say I don’t dislike it. Kinda neutral.

47. Are you close with either of your parents?

Kinda. My parents were often emotionally distant/abusive to my brothers and me growing up, and it’s left me rather stunted emotionally, and generally unwilling to establish a deeper relationship with them. We’re a bit closer than we were when I was a teenager, but honestly not much.

48. Do you like yourself?

Generally speaking? No. There are parts of me I’m proud of, but honestly I often find myself wishing I was someone else. I’m far from the self-loathing I experienced when I was younger, though.

49. State five facts about your appearance—

1. I’m 6’1”-ish.

2. Definitely just a bit chubby.

3. Blue eyes.

4. Currently sporting longer hair because I haven’t had a haircut since about September.

5. I have a number of faded scars on my arms from various self inflicted/work related injuries. All of them were caused by extreme clumsiness/poor spacial awareness.

50. State five facts about your personality—

1. I’m super goofy—I make lots of weird noises and motions.

2. I tend to ramble about things I’m interested in, particularly hyper fixations.

3. I like to think I’m a pretty compassionate human being.

4. Extremely awkward, but strangely that doesn’t show because I’m apparently a social chameleon.

5. I’m an observer, but also an overthinker.

Whew, that was a lot! Thank you, friend!

#asks #answered asks

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captainkippen · 5 years

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I'm sad and if you're still taking prompts, could you write a fluffy prompt of a universe where TJ does dress up as the summer to Cyrus's salt and they're just being all cute and the Mt. Rushmore costume is still completed and things are happy

I GOT YOU BRO.

Costume day is one of Cyrus’ favourite days of the year. It’s the one day of school where everyone seems to really go all out for once. People put a lot of effort into their outfits and it’s always fun to try and guess what some of the more obscure ideas are in between classes. This year, with TJ asking him to do a joint costume, he’s even more excited than usual. He feels a little bad about bailing on Andi because he knows how much she loves the Mount Rushmore costume (it’s been lurking in her closet waiting for a chance to rise again for ages much to the exasperation of everyone else - not that they’d ever ruin her fun by telling her that though). However, it’s hard to be too worried when he knows they’ve got Marty as a backup and TJ wants to do a joint costume. A joint costume of their own inside joke no less. It’s pretty awesome.

When he gets to school he picks self-consciously at the hem of his shirt until he spots TJ walking towards him and he can’t help himself from beaming. TJ’s face lights up in response. He looks so good in his board shorts and flip-flops. They greet one another with the usual handshake and bro hug, lingering for a moment when TJ doesn’t drop Cyrus’ hand immediately.

“Looking good, Teej,” Cyrus says, poking at the sunglasses on his face.

“You don’t look so bad yourself,” TJ smiles. “I like the strainer. Nice touch.”

“Thank you, thank you,” Cyrus does a little bow, the strainer sliding forward as he does. TJ catches it quickly with a loud bark of laughter and places back on his head with light fingers.

“Hey, guys!” Comes Buffy’s voice from behind them and the two of them turn to see her with Marty, Jonah and Andi carrying a large papier-mache mountainside with four head holes. Cyrus’ grin widens.

“Good morning,” he greets them.

TJ gives them an odd look. “What’s with the… boulder?”

“Mount Rushmore,” Andi chirps. “That’s what we’re going as. We just have to do the makeup and stuff, we’re on our way now.”

“Oh man, you guys are going to look awesome,” TJ says. “That’s such a cool idea.”

“What about you guys?” Marty asks, then gestures excitedly at Cyrus. “Wait… don’t tell me! I totally get it. Salt!”

Buffy snorts.

“But I don’t get what TJ is meant to be..”

“Summer,” Cyrus provides helpfully.

“Salt and summer?”

“Oh! Summer-salt!” Andi says. “That’s so cute.”

“I have no idea what’s going on,” Marty sighs. Jonah nudges him and shrugs as if to say ‘me either’.

TJ smiles and throws an arm around Cyrus’ shoulders. “It’s an inside joke.”

The rest of the day follows in a similar fashion but Cyrus finds that he doesn’t mind explaining the costume to people over and over again. Every time they do, TJ gets this big soft smile on his face like he’s really proud of himself for thinking of it and that makes it hard to feel anything but pleased. It’s confirmation over and over again that TJ really cares about their friendship, that he actually enjoys being around Cyrus and thinks about the memories that they’ve made on a regular basis.

It probably shouldn’t take as long as it does for everything to click for him.

He’s sat in English class before lunch and totally zoning out on whatever their teacher is talking about because he’s thinking about TJ’s smile when someone asked to hear the somersault story a little while ago. When he looks down at where he’s been doodling mindlessly on the page he realises that he’s filled the corner of his notes with little scribbled hearts. Oh no.

The bell goes and all of a sudden he’s incredibly glad that Buffy is in this class with him because it makes it so much easier to grab her as they head out the door. He pulls her aside and sort of just flails at her for a moment, letting loose incoherent babbling mess of words at about eighty miles an hour while she stares at him with wide eyes.

“Cyrus,” she says, putting her hands her shoulders to ground him. “Speak slower. I can’t understand a word you’re saying.”

And with that, he calms down just enough to say, “TJ.”

“What about him?”

“I think I have a crush on him,” he blurts out.

There’s a pause. Buffy diverts her eyes upwards like she’s praying for boys to be less stupid then looks back at him, exasperated. “You’re only just figuring this out now?”

“What?!” He squawks. “What do you mean I’m only just figuring this out? You knew? How did you know?! I didn’t even know, how could you have possibly known that!”

“We just figured-”

“We?!”

“Yes, me and Andi.”

“Andi knows?! How do you-”

Buffy clamps a hand over his mouth, effectively silencing him for the time being and gives him an impatient look. “You guys spend a lot of time together. Like a lot. And that wouldn’t be unusual except for the fact you’re always touching each other and looking at each other like you’re the only two people in the world. Did you know you talk about TJ literally all the time? And he’s the same with you. You’re in a couples costume, Cyrus. I can’t believe you didn’t realise this earlier.”

He says something but it’s muffled by her palm and she drops it. “What?”

“I said,” he repeats in disbelief. “Are you implying that TJ also has a crush on me?”

“Obviously.”

“But we don’t even know if he likes boys…”

“Cyrus, he brought challah to your Bubbe’s shiva. He reported Reed’s gun to the police for you. He made up with me, Jonah and Andi because of you. He taught you how to do a somersault and then came up with a costume for it. If he doesn’t like you I’ll eat my own foot.”

Cyrus leans back and lets his head thunk back against the wall in a stunned daze. Buffy’s right. Oh God, she’s so right. He has actual, legitimate, romantic-type feelings for TJ Kippen and TJ probably has those same feelings for him. How the hell did this even happen?

“I know your brain is like exploding right now,” Buffy says, only half-sympathetic. “But can we go get lunch now? I’m starving.”

Cyrus and TJ walk home together and the two of them end up sitting by the pond in the park. It’s become one of their top places to hang out, ever since the gun incident, and the peaceful way that the sun falls on them while a soft breeze blows over the water does not match the pace of the reeling thoughts in Cyrus’ head at all. He knits together a chain of daisies as he thinks - he, Buffy and Andi used to spend hours making all sorts of flowery jewellery just like that. It’s soothing.

“You okay?” TJ asks, knocking their elbows together. “You’re really quiet.”

“Just thinking.”

“Penny for your thoughts? Though… I don’t think I actually have a penny on me. The pockets on these shorts suck,” he jokes and Cyrus can’t help but laugh a little.

He’s always doing that. He’s always making Cyrus smile and laugh without even thinking about it. Things are so easy around TJ and it’s all hitting him at once. He’s never felt like he had to be anything but himself around him. Never felt pressured to try and be ‘normal’ or change. TJ listens to his rants and his rambles and his info-dumps. He listens to Cyrus talk about his hyper fixations non-stop, then he goes away and looks them up so he can take part in the conversation in a meaningful way. In return, he shows Cyrus the things he loves and always looks so happy to do so… as if he wants Cyrus involved. He wants Cyrus to be a part of his world.

Cyrus wants to hold his hand and cuddle up to him on the couch when they watch television. He wants to go on picnic and bowling dates, to the movies and arcade together. He wants to steal TJ’s hoodies, take tons of cheesy pictures for Instagram and make so many inside jokes together that they can’t possibly remember them all. When he looks at TJ it’s like his heart is overflowing with emotion. How did he not see it before?

“Why did you want to do a costume together?” He asks.

TJ shrugs and picks at the grass beside him. “It seemed like fun. It was a cool idea, right?”

“It was awesome,” Cyrus confirms.

“Why d’you ask?”

Cyrus shrugs and looks away. “It’s nothing. Just… don’t worry about it. Here,” he finishes threading the daisies into a circle and drops it over TJ’s head so it falls around his neck. TJ beams at him and the butterflies in Cyrus’ stomach erupt into an excited flurry.

“Do I look pretty now?” TJ asks teasingly.

Cyrus can’t stop himself when he says, “You always look pretty.”

He feels himself going red and TJ raises his eyebrows in surprise. He doesn’t look mad or uncomfortable though, just slightly amused and like he hadn’t expected Cyrus to say it. He supposes that’s fair - he hadn’t expected himself to say it.

“Thanks, Underdog,” he replies. The sincerity of his tone is startling. “You look pretty too. All the time.” And then he kisses Cyrus on the cheek, leans back and bites his lip nervously. “Sorry, was that okay?”

The space on his skin where TJ’s lips pressed is still tingling and Cyrus lifts a hand to his cheek to press his fingers against it softly as he nods. “More than okay.”

“Great,” TJ says, his dopey smile returning full force, and he lifts his own hand to take Cyrus’ from his cheek and thread their fingers together. “I’m glad you said yes to the costume.”

“I’m glad you asked.”

They grin at each other and return to talking about their days. The daisy chain that hangs around TJ’s neck gets pressed between the pages of a book and kept in a box of memories for years to come. Ten years after that day by the pond, Cyrus hangs a picture of the two of them in their matching costume on the wall of the living room in the first house they buy together. It’s pretty awesome.

#tyrus #andi mack #my writing #anonymous

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tickle-her-senseless · 5 years

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Dungeons, Restraints And An Electric Flosser: My First Real-Life Experience

Hey all. I’ve been suffering with a virus all weekend and have ended up typing this out to alleviate the boredom after a couple of people encouraged me via private message. Although I’m publicly anonymous here it’s still a very personal story, so please be kind. Also, this isn’t a “piece of writing”, I’m not trying to stylise it like a tickle fic or “make it sexy” - I’m just retelling things as I remember them and I’m aware that it takes a while for the story to get to the point.

I began to explore my fixation in earnest once I turned 18 and moved away for university, but I’d been aware of my fascination with tickles for a long time. Just the playful side initially, as it happened a lot around my extended family, although the more I saw online, the more the intensive side appealed to me as well. Growing up on a small and cold Scottish island, it was rare to see any of the classic tickle spots uncovered at school - and thinking back, that may have enhanced the taboo aspect of eg. hearing squeals and giggles from a corner of the common room where someone would be playing with his girlfriend’s stomach or squeezing her sides.

As a skinny outsider with an English accent who was terrible at football and did well in class, I’d had such a nightmare at school that I became incapable of making eye contact with anyone - even now I find it very difficult. I made it to the end purely because everyone assured me that if I nailed my exams and went to a good university, everything would be alright and I’d be surrounded by similar people. When I was offered a place at Cambridge it felt as though life would come together at last, but while I was no longer in daily physical danger, I still struggled socially. Most of the other students were at the very least middle-class, so their reference points were very different, and had been to good schools where academic success had only made them popular, confident, well-rounded people instead of walking targets. I connected with one of my supervision partners in the first year, one of those “extremely sensible but fun after a drink” types, as we used to work on the same problems every week. This girl - to my shock and paralysing flusterment - would also mention how mortally ticklish she apparently was, without a hint of a blush, amongst friends at the pub.

“There was this guy at my school, and all he’d have to do was THIS *mimes slow spidering* from the other side of the room, and I’d be doubled over in hysterics.”

I can’t remember how it happened, alcohol was definitely involved, but I have a very vivid memory of this girl chasing me around a tree in one of the quads with outstretched fingers, determined to wreck me. I remember desperately wanting to let her catch me and do her worst for a bit before turning the tables and exacting my revenge, but people were watching and I was still very unsure of the boundaries re. physically touching a girl ... I figured that the “done thing” would be to keep running/dodging and not get caught, so like a complete MORON that’s what I did.

While I was managing to miss gaping open goals like this in the real world, I was taking full advantage of my new broadband connection and laptop to explore the online scene. Prior to this I’d been able to get online using my parents’ computer at home, but the dial-up connection that was the best the island had to offer made it largely pointless. It was all forum-based back then. The TMF was the biggest, but there was also a small local one, now offline, run by a group of like-minded friends. After lurking for a long time to see how people interacted, I made a profile and introduced myself. The response was casually warm and, while I wouldn’t say I made friends there, I contributed to the discussion enough to be a fairly recognisable presence for a while.

This group would also organise real-world meet-ups from time to time. Most of them were drinks in a city pub around a pre-booked table. I went to some of these and had fun, although there weren’t many references to the reason we were all there barring a few teases between the forum’s stalwart “power couples”. They were more of a way to humanise the online usernames and avatars. Once or twice a year, however, they would get the most daring forum members to chip in towards booking a purpose-built BDSM dungeon for a day of kinky tickling. After being on the forum for what I felt was a respectable length of time and attending a few of the drinks, I signed myself up. At the time this was very out of character for me and I still don’t really know what made me do it, as I hadn’t connected strongly with anyone on the forum and would be going alone. Maybe it was a crushing romantic disappointment in the real world that changed me as a person forever, maybe I was finally sick and tired of living vicariously through others, but I coughed up the cash and marked it firmly in the diary. I would’ve been 20 years old at the time.

I stayed in a nearby B&B/guesthouse the night before, which for someone on a student loan felt like splurging on 5-star treatment at the time. I felt fine on the journey up there and the night before, but the morning of the gathering brought on an intense attack of nerves and I almost bailed. I focused on trying to show up as presentably as possible, having the world’s longest shower, trimming every nail I had, shaving my stubble and applying masses of anti-perspirant.

I was the first to arrive at what looked like a small industrial lot, with not much to give the place away. Wandering around, I was startled by what looked like a mechanic yelling from the other side of the lot:

“Oi mate, are you looking for the spanking place?!”

Oh Christ, no...

Thankfully the others showed up soon afterwards and we went inside. There was a large room on the ground floor with snacks and drinks, a communal play room upstairs with all sorts of restraints, and a small cell adjoining each room. There were two women to begin with, both involved in the running of the forum, and both were with their partners. There were a couple of other single guys there too. We’d been told the rough plan in advance - the women would take a turn in the restraints to be tickled by anyone who wanted to get involved, to give the people who’d come alone a chance. After that, they’d head to the cells and switch into domme mode - and any lee would be able to reserve a private session with them in advance, although you couldn’t choose which of them would do it. The group play room would stay open for the duration, and more people were expected later in the day.

The first person to be strapped in was the wife of one of the forum admins, let’s call her Lara. She always came across as a fun and really sweet-natured person. She was also stunning - mid to late 30s, curvy in build with long, dark curls and a lovely smile. Her bare feet were already strapped in when her husband rearranged her top to reveal her underarms and tummy, then suddenly attacked her sides mid-sentence!

Lara let out a squeal followed by a gorgeous, totally unrestrained peal of laughter. One of the other regulars joined in, but everyone else stood off to the side. I don’t think I was the only one to be apprehensive about the idea of touching someone in front of their partner. Moreover, at that point in my life I’d only exchanged handshakes or quick hugs with women. Not only had I never been intimate with anyone, I’d never even kissed anyone despite being towards the end of my degree. Eventually one of the other guys sidled up to an underarm and was given an encouraging nod by one of the existing lers. Right, I thought, here goes nothing. Where to begin? I’ll start with a foot, that’s not too intimate or presumptuous, right? Swallowing, I reached out and gently held her left foot - it was olive-skinned with painted toes and strikingly small, the same size as my hand. So far so good. You’re touching another human being’s foot and nobody’s exploded. Now do something with it before it gets weird! I held it upright with my left hand and spidered the fingers of my right hand into the soft arch. Lara was already laughing but began to corkscrew her left leg from side to side. I went from foot to foot, alternating between her arches and underneath her toes, trying to be as random and unpredictable as possible while drinking in the sound of her laughter.

Before long her husband moved down to where I was and went to work with his teeth and tongue, which utterly destroyed her. The cushion dropped from behind her head as she thrashed and someone picked it up.

“Shall I put the cushion back for you?”

“I CARE NOT FOR YOUR CUSHIONS!!!”

Heh. Poor ticklish Lara. I was standing idly to one side at this point, trying to work out if it’d be OK to approach her bare tummy when-

“Guys, can I have some private time with her?”

“Of course, no problem.”

Everyone but her husband stepped away and went downstairs for a snack. Damn, missed my chance. I chatted to some of the others for a bit and tried not to eat all of the food. After a while the air was split by a long, full-throated scream from upstairs.

“That’s definitely Kim,” observed her boyfriend nonchalantly. I excused myself and headed up, trying not to visibly sprint. Kim (not her real name) was a legend on the forum and one of the driving forces behind it. A tiny, pale blonde with a gymnast’s figure who was even younger than me, she was supremely confident and sarcastic, hyper-ticklish as a lee and a truly sadistic ler/dominatrix. On top of her formidable kinkster persona, she was an accomplished belly dancer (I know, right?!) and supposedly awesome at kung fu with an extensive collection of exotic weapons. These days, she’d be someone I’d make it my life’s mission to date. Back then, she was slightly terrifying and it was difficult to look directly at her.

Kim was lying horizontally on the same piece of kit that Lara had been tied to before, with her arms above her head. She was wearing short shorts and a white tank top that’d been raised past her ribs, and was already swearing her head off and thrashing around under the ministrations of three guys.

This time just do what you want to do, you idiot. Nobody’s stopping those three others, we’re all here for the same reason and everybody knows it. You’ve taken the huge step of showing up - don’t leave with regrets.

I scanned the scene. Someone was waving what looked like a small, very thin vibrating rod with a plastic handle between and under Kim’s toes. It was the first time I’d seen what I now know to be an electric flosser. As I drew closer, he put it aside. Picking it up before anyone else could nab it, I tested it on my palm to be sure it wouldn’t hurt at all, then took a deep breath...

...and slipped the vibrating tip directly into her navel.

Kim would often write about her sessions on the forum and I knew that this was her ultimate death spot. Unfortunately for her, female belly buttons were (and still are) a major focal point for me. She let out an explosive shriek, followed by another and another as I scritched up and down and drew tiny circles inside the hypersensitive shallow oval. I was expecting someone to say something like “easy, pal” or Kim to yell “red” as a signal to stop, but neither happened so I just kept going! While the flosser continued its work, my left hand began to explore the rest of her razor-thin tummy, scrabbling in the hollows of her hipbones, gliding up and down her sides and gently kneading her abs while she howled and bucked in the restraints. It was the first time I’d ever touched a woman’s stomach and I couldn’t get over how impossibly soft her skin was - I was in heaven, if slightly deafened...

“Guys, could I have some one-on-one time with her?”

Déjà vu. Well, at least I hadn’t missed my chance this time. We left her boyfriend to it and filed out. Others were arriving by this point, including a Scottish woman who went straight into a cell to be worked over by one of the guys, and a friendly couple in their mid-twenties who seemed to be established regulars. I was doing my best to mingle when someone called my name.

“Hey, you’re up. It’s the cell upstairs.”

I had signed up for a session with one of the house dommes in advance. I’d believed I was 100% ler for a long time, but recently I’d begun to wonder and thought it was worth finding out just how lee I could be - after all, when was I going to get the chance again? However, now that the time had come, I was bricking it. I trudged upstairs like a condemned man.

Let it be Lara. Let it be sweet-natured, softly-spoken Lara with the lovely smile - I can tell her it’s my first time and I’m just trying to work out where I’m at, and she’ll understand and be kind.

I approached the black door with the tiny, red-tinted square window, took a breath and pushed it open. The walls, floor and ceiling of the tiny room were a uniform matte black. An unadorned, dim light bulb swung above a horizontal, thickly-padded black leather couch that was covered in heavy-duty straps. Kim the known psychopath sat perched on one corner, cleaned up and freshly decked out in a domme’s basque, her expression all business.

“Lie down.”

Shit. RIP me.

“Right, yeah, er ... so what do I, y’know, take off and so on? I haven’t actually-“

“Whatever you want, as long as there’s no full nudity.”

Fine by me. I piled my trainers, socks and (after a moment’s hesitation) my T-shirt in one corner and lay on the couch in nothing but my jeans. Kim began the lengthy process of strapping me in - four straps per limb, with my arms by my sides. I glanced at her face as she went about her work - she looked positively predatory and with a cold thrill I realised that she wouldn’t have had time to forget my handiwork at the group session an hour earlier. Revenge was definitely on her mind. I closed my eyes and waited, trying to steady my breathing.

“Are you cold?”

“Nah.”

“You’re shaking.”

She sounded faintly amused.

“Oh yeah, maybe a bit...”

“Riiiight ... try to relax.”

She stalked out of sight towards the lower end. I tested the restraints - I could wiggle my feet but my arms and legs were totally immobile.

“You have very well-kept feet for a man, you know. Do you moisturise?”

Nope, just a lifetime in comfy trainers, even when indoors.

“No way, I guess I just - AHH!”

Classic misdirection - she’d caught me off guard. God help me, this was ridiculous. I’d never had my feet played with, not even as a kid, and had assumed that they wouldn’t be particularly sensitive. Kim’s vice-like grip and sharp nails gliding torturously up my right arch had disproved that in an instant, and now I was gritting my teeth, tensing up and making stifled gasping sounds in a monumental effort not to laugh. It felt amazing and I wanted to just give myself over to it, but I was very conscious of the people in the adjoining room - they may have been wondering how the newbie would stand up to the infamous Kim.

She spent a long time down there - she was an unapologetic foot maniac, and definitely enjoyed herself although she said very little. I still have no idea what was being used but I felt bristles and feathers under my toes, scratchy implements against my soles and at one point something motorised that was probably an electric toothbrush - and the smallest motion was amplified exponentially by the response from my nerve endings. I’ve no idea whether or not I managed to keep a lid on the giggles, but I tried my best.

Things became very ... hectic, let’s say, when Kim eventually moved north and eased my jeans down onto my hips. Although I had four tight straps on each arm pinning me in place, my torso was completely uncovered and when both of her hands started to squeeze my sides and knead my lower belly, I just lost it.

“A-HAAA-hahahaha no!! Nohohohohoho!! Stohohop! STOPPP!!!”

In a flash, her face appeared in front of mine, her cold grey eyes serious.

“If you really want me to stop, say ‘red’, understand?”

I closed my eyes and nodded, gasping. The last thing I wanted was for her to stop and she knew it, but had checked just in case. Now she had carte blanche to go as wild as she pleased until the safeword came out. She resumed her work, tormenting my stomach and ribs with light, grazing, spidery tickles and randomly timed/placed pokes that were even more effective than the squeezes. Without warning, a fingernail raked downwards against the bottom of my navel and a panicked yelp escaped my lips.

“WELL now, THAT was a good spot, wasn’t it?”

She sounded very, very smug. Doubtless she was thinking of my earlier crimes with the flosser. I said nothing, too busy trying to catch my breath. I was dimly aware of Kim rummaging inside her bag of tricks before feeling something tiny and fuzzy slowly twirling around in the same spot.

“Oh Gohohohohod, what is THAT?”

“A Q-tip.”

“AAAAH-hahahahaha!! AAAAH-hahahahaha!!”

“Actually hang on, I’ve got two of these.”

“WHAT?!?!?!”

“Enjoy...”

I don’t know if it was because the addition of the second Q-tip made the movements impossible to track or predict, but the next minute or two nearly ended me. Quite possibly it was the first time since I was a very little kid that I’d actually SCREAMED, although to be honest the memory of it is hazy and I’ve no idea what kind of sounds I was making. At one point muffled voices drifted in from the group play room.

“You’re not supposed to ACTUALLY KILL him, you know...”

I turned my head to the right to see two indistinct faces peering in through the tiny pane of red glass.

Oh I just can’t, this is too humiliating...

I was mortified beyond belief. You can understand why - nobody’s going to feel at their best when they’re caught half-naked, helplessly tied up and making a racket because, of all the absurd things on earth, they’re having their belly button tickled and can’t handle it. On top of that, this was the first time in my life I’d had a woman lay a hand on me in anything other than the most cursory way, and it felt extremely personal and intimate - so let’s just say I wasn’t thrilled that people were poking their noses in. To my horror, someone actually began to open the cell door...

“FUCK OFF!!!” snarled Kim. She dropped the fiendish Q-tips, sprang to the door and thundered it shut before anyone could take a good look inside. I swear I heard the clumsy thud of a body hitting the floor outside.

I guess that settles that.

Blazing with fury, the pint-sized terror strode back across to a position right above my head and launched a furious, full-on assault on my chest with her scrabbling fingers. This probably shocked me more than anything else. As a straight guy I’d hardly watched any videos involving a male lee, and it’d never occurred to me that this might be a ticklish area. It was intense and totally relentless. I strained upwards against my bonds with every bit of strength that I had, but Kim would regularly punctuate the chest tickling with devastating attacks to my belly, making me crash backwards again as my abdominal muscles turned to jelly at her touch. I was beginning to really struggle for air and was on the point of capitulating with at least an “amber” to get a break, when Kim stepped back. She silently walked towards my legs and began to untie them, while I closed my eyes, gratefully sucked in air and tried to slow my heart rate down. I actually felt giddy and physically light, like I was floating. It’d been the most incredible experience, and I was deeply sorry that it was over. It’s hard to guess at the length of time, but I imagine it was probably around 20-25 minutes.

I thanked her, hopefully without embarrassing myself, got dressed quickly and went to wash myself up a bit. Unfortunately I was going to have to leave soon as I had an evening commitment a long way away, but there was still one more very brief session to be enjoyed. The friendly couple who’d arrived later in the day were very open and curious, asking how I’d found the experience. I answered honestly, saying that while I’d really enjoyed it and it’d been a big personal step to take, I found the “gang tickling” aspect of the group sessions difficult to get into - it seemed very impersonal once you got got over the novelty, and it was difficult to feel as though you were having much of an effect a lot of the time as the lee would be laughing with or without you there.

“Yeah, I know exactly what you mean. When are you heading off, twenty minutes’ time?” The guy shot his girlfriend an inquiring glance and she nodded happily. “I’m going to tickle Jen one-on-one for a bit, d’you want to take a turn by yourself first before you have to shoot off? Only if you feel like it, of course.”

I wasn’t about to say no to an offer like that! Jen (another fictitious name) grinned, slipped off her shoes, hopped up on the apparatus and stretched out while her partner strapped her in. She was very tall with long red hair and her feet dangled over the edge, while her raised arms had pulled the hem of her top above a flat but soft stomach.

“All yours, mate. I’ll be next door.” He took off, leaving me alone with her. Well, not quite - Kim was having a great time obliterating a guy who was hanging from the ceiling but I did my best to ignore them. I turned to Jen.

“So, er ... what sort of thing would you like me to do?”

She gave me an understanding smile.

“I’ll enjoy whatever - just do exactly what you want to do. They don’t organise these things very often, you know, so enjoy yourself while you can - surprise me!”

What an angel. Marry me. Thus encouraged, I began to slowly wiggle my fingers along her sides, gradually making my way in across her pale tummy. Jen wasn’t crazily hypersensitive or a screamer, she just laughed very easily and naturally with a big open-mouthed smile. She hardly struggled at all, surrendering herself to the sensations. I tried a few more of the tools this time, including an electric toothbrush between her toes where she seemed most ticklish, and I even managed a quick repeat of my “flosser in the navel” trick from earlier, which earned me a delicious “oooooooh” from Jen. After about ten minutes I sadly had to leave, but I was very grateful to her and her boyfriend for allowing me that brief spell.

Largely, the experience had been very positive. It had gotten a huge monkey off my back in terms of touching/being touched by women, and immediately afterwards I found myself able to date girls at last, kissing some and sleeping with a select few. It’d also confirmed a few suspicions about my interpretation of this particular kink:

Firstly, that I saw it as an extremely intimate form of play between two close friends or lovers and the “gang tickle” sessions with people I hardly knew did very little for me. I was going to have to find a partner.

Secondly, that I was just a freak for the female midriff in all situations and tickling was no exception to that rule!

Finally, that my days as a ler were over - I would forever after be a switch. The private session with Kim had been the highlight, no question. Getting to tickle three beautiful women had been amazing and a fantasy come true, but the physical and mental impact of being at Kim’s mercy had been a game-changer, practically an out-of-body experience. Even now I sometimes have dreams where I can feel the sensation of her fingers stimulating my nerve endings and driving me to hysterics...

I’d been going to write more about the aftermath, why I pulled out of the next one last-minute after booking my place and paying the money, and how I met my ex and converted her to the tickling way of life in a big way, but this thing is far too long already. Happy to talk about any of it over messages though. Well done if you made it to the end, and I may eventually write another one of these if the level of interest’s there. Hope everyone’s having a great weekend, bye for now x

#tickling #tickle community #real life experience #tickle story

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kusunogatari · 4 years

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[ ObiRyū October | Day Thirty: Musical Soulmates ] [ @abyssaldespair ] [ Uchiha Obito, Suigin Ryū, Hatake Kakashi ] [ Verse: The World’s a Stage ] [ Previous || Next ]

It takes him a while to notice that something isn’t quite...right. And not just because he hears music at odd hours in his head. Everyone does that…it’s part of how people claiming to be soulmates find one another, after all. Whenever music gets stuck in your head out of nowhere? Your ‘other half’ is listening to it. And the same goes in reverse.

He’s always wondered if his supposed match has any interest in his favorite genres. Blues and metal isn’t the most...typical combination. But he considers it fair game given that his head tends to fill with any manner of music. Orchestral, pop, jazz, swing, rock...it’s like they can’t stop flipping through stations, it drives him nuts!

And yet, in a way...he finds it comforting.

...not everyone hears music in the quiet.

So, he endures. Some people actually join message boards telling what they’re listening to, hoping to find a match and figure out who’s on the other end of their musical experience the easy way. But Obito puts off such a method for a while. In truth? The notion scares him. Is he really supposed to be bound to one person for life? That just sounds so...forced. Besides...people change. Sometimes the music you hear switches. And at times, he wonders if his own mental music being so sporadic is the result of his heart not being able to make up its mind.

Sometimes he looks up the music he hears that has lyrics, but he avoids the forums. There’s just something...holding him back. All through high school he dodges the opportunity, still uncertain.

...but then something...odd starts happening. He hears music in pieces. Bits at a time, and it...changes. He scours the net for the lyrics, but comes up empty handed. Several songs in a row - his other half bouncing between them a few days at a time, but otherwise hyper fixating. And either this stuff is way indie, or...it just doesn’t exist. He can’t find it anywhere.

So, he finally takes the plunge...and starts asking on one of the bigger musical match sites. He posts inquiries about the lyrics, but...no one else has heard of them either. A few people pitch in to try and find the obscure references, but...nothing. Eventually they all get bored and leave him with his mystery music.

Sitting in a quiet diner one night, Obito absentmindedly rolls a quarter under a finger, back and forth, back and forth. There’s only one other occupied table: one full of teenagers that his early twenties mind finds obnoxious. He doesn’t have much for a tip tonight, but he’s managed to dig out the change from the bottom of his coat pocket, idling it while he waits for a coffee refill.

And then...he hears it.

Staring forlornly at the coin, it comes to a halt, eyes widening as the speakers in the diner suddenly switch to a tune he knows. One he’s never actually heard before - not with his ears. Only in his mind…!

Turning to stare at one in shock, he listens, hearing the familiar tune. But...he’s looked for months...and nothing! Now it’s on the radio?

...is he losing his mind?

The song plays through, the radio DJ taking over as it fades out.

“And there you have it: the titular track from up-and-coming artist Marshmallow’s first ever record! New to the scene and soon to be climbing the charts, we’ll be playing her new tracks hot and heavy, so prepare your ears! Now, on to the chart topper -”

Focus shifting, Obito pulls out his phone, quickly searching the name. Scrolling past pages about literal marshmallows, he finds what he’s looking for. A new pop artist, huh…? Then...that explains it. He was hearing something no one else had heard...because she was making the music as he heard it…!

...holy shit.

Surely a few other people have had this happen - after all, musical artists are people too, and people have matches. Well...most of them do. Why didn’t he think of that…?

But...that presents him with quite the dilemma. How is he ever supposed to contact her? Surely her social media will be flooded with fans - he’ll be drowned out! And there’s no way he’d ever get into some kind of private message, or a phone call. Is he just...doomed to be unnoticed forever?

...and then he gets an idea. A rather...interesting idea.

If he can hear her make music, then...maybe he’ll just have to make her a song…! He’ll just...put an explanation in the lyrics, and where to find him, and...there! She’ll hear it!

...won’t she?

...he has to try…!

Jogging home, he keeps his phone to his ear, hearing it ring. “Come on, pick up…!”

“Hello?”

“Kakashi! Kakashi, I need your help -”

“Whoa, slow down - you okay?”

“You still know how to play guitar?”

“...uh...yeah? I mean, it’s been a few years, but -”

“Great! Listen, I need you to help me write a song.”

“...didn’t know you were into making music.”

“I’m not...but someone important is! I’m coming over - I’ll explain when I get there!”

“Obito, dude, it’s almost eleven o’clock, I’ve got work in the -”

“It’ll just take a minute!” He cuts off any refusal with a hang up, grinning widely. This is genius…!

Obito doesn’t stop until he reaches Kakashi’s building, making his way up and knocking almost frantically.

A very irritated Kakashi opens the door. “...I’m gonna kill you.”

“Just let me explain -!”

“You’ve got five minutes. And then I’m going to bed. Because some of us have work in the morning, Obito.”

Ignoring his friend’s complaints, Obito makes his way in, trying to catch his breath. “Okay, so: music soulmate thing.”

“...uh huh.”

“I found mine!”

“...that’s great.”

“She’s a songwriter! A new one!”

“...and?”

“And...I don’t think I’ll be able to talk to her because she’s, well...y’know…”

“Cooler than you?” Kakashi offers, folding his arms with a smirk as Obito scowls.

“...you’re an asshole.”

“And you aren’t letting me go to bed on time. So we’re even. Keep going.”

“...I thought maybe, since I could hear her writing a song...if I wrote one, and put all my info in it, she’d know where to find me, and I wouldn’t get lost in the crowds!”

“...that’s a good point. Good luck DMing someone that far out of your league.”

“Hey, she’s my soulmate!”

“...yeah. She’s yours. But soulmates don’t always line up...remember?”

The reminder sobers Obito slightly. “...well yeah, but…”

“...I’ll help you try. Just...don’t get too bummed out if she doesn’t hear it, okay?”

“...she will. I know it…!”

“Whatever you say, buddy. I’ll make you a five minute ditty, just...let me blow the dust off the ol’ six string, okay? Like I said, I haven’t done this for a while.”

Obito, in the meantime, scribbles down what he wants to say. Which Kakashi quickly scraps.

“If you’re gonna make me do this, at least make it rhyme.”

“Rhyme? There’s no time!”

“You literally just did. C’mon. It’s not that hard.”

“Ugh, all right! Uh…” Sitting and thinking for a while, he scribbles something else.

Kakashi picks it up.

“Hello, my name is Obito.

You’re someone that I’d like to know.

I hear your music in my mind.

You’re someone that I’d like to find.

Before your songs were on the air,

I’d hear them daily, everywhere.

Long before the others knew,

I heard the music made by you.

Maybe that means we’re destiny

Us together, you and me.

If you hear this song of mine,

Could you please text me sometime?”

After come his phone digits, and Kakashi looks up to his friend, seeing the anxious look on his face.

“...this sounds like a fourth grader wrote it.”

“I’m in a hurry! And I never said I was good at poetry, okay? I’m desperate…”

“Yeah, well...that much is obvious.” Sighing, Kakashi drag his empty hand down his face. “...tell you what. I’ll work on this when I get home from work tomorrow -”

“But Kakashi -!”

“And that way...I can try to make this dumpster fire sound decent. Right now I’m tired and I’ve got an early morning ahead of me. You can wait another twenty-four hours, Obito.”

The Uchiha huffs a curt sigh. “...fine!”

“And you owe me for this.”

“Owe you?”

“I’m helping you get your soulmate, and it’s not out of the goodness of my heart.”

“And here I thought we were friends…”

“Buy me a beer next time we’re out, and I’ll call it even.”

“All right, fine. Sorry for...barging in…”

“...it’s fine. Now scram. I need to get to bed.”

Leaving the apartment, Obito scuffs his shoe against the carpet dejectedly. Maybe Kakashi is right...maybe this is a stupid idea. But...he has to try…! At least if he tries...he’ll know one way or the other. Heading home, he puts on his favorite blues album and eventually falls asleep.

Being as he’s between jobs, he doesn’t wake to an alarm, staring at his ceiling before throwing an arm over his eyes. He’ll have to wait until Kakashi gets home...and even then, Kakashi has to write the song. And then...all he has to do is hear it. Maybe a few times, just to make sure she hears it. Then maybe…

Not wanting to dwell on it, he gets up and goes through his morning routine: a quick workout, a run, and then breakfast.

...by then it’s ten o’clock, and the hours left are going to kill him.

He tries watching TV. Tries surfing the web. But nothing is enough to fully distract him, and he spends most of the day moping before getting a text from Kakashi that evening.

Think I’ve got it. Get over here so I never have to do this again.

In a flash, he’s out the door. Never has he made it to Kakashi’s so quickly.

“All right, it’s...nothing fancy. And I can’t sing very well, so...brace yourself.” Adjusting his guitar, Kakashi strums a few chords, and then gives Obito’s lyrics a go.

Sitting with rapt attention, Obito nods along, gesturing for a repeat once Kakashi finishes. She needs a chance to write his number down, after all! In his hand, he clutches his mobile, pleading for it to buzz.

Kakashi goes around and around for ten minutes before stopping.

...nothing.

“...maybe she’s asleep,” he offers. “Uh...I can record it real quick, if you want. Put it on your phone so you can listen to it later?”

“...sure.”

Hearing the dejection in his friend’s voice, Kakashi does as promised, moving the file to Obito’s phone. “Give it a try a few times tomorrow. See what happens.”

“Yeah...thanks, Kakashi.”

“...no problem. And hey...good luck.”

Obito manages a flicker of a smile before making his way back home, pace sluggish. Flopping into bed later, he puts in earbuds and listens to the track a few more times...just in case, before doing his best to sleep.

Come morning, he stutters awake as his phone vibrates, nearly falling out of bed as he checks his message.

...it’s Kakashi, asking if he’s heard anything yet.

No, not yet. I’ll text you.

Sighing, Obito reattaches his earbuds, going through his routine while listening. Then a short break...and he listens again.

By mid afternoon, he’s getting awfully sick of Kakashi’s voice. And still...nothing.

Sitting at his table with his head in his hands, his vision blurs before a few tears impact against the surface. He’s running out of ideas for excuses about why he hasn’t heard from her yet. She’s travelling. She’s ill. She’s...busy. Something. It’s not that she can’t hear him...it’s not...it can’t be…

Folding his arms, he burrows his brow against them, sulking self indulgently. He’s always been afraid of this...afraid of being unheard. Of being...alone.

Nearby, his phone vibrates, but he writes it off as Kakashi again. But then, it...keeps vibrating. Someone’s calling…? Maybe he’s finally gotten an interview. Picking the mobile up, he doesn’t recognize the number, swiping and holding it to his ear. “...hello?”

“Hi! Um...is this...Obito?”

“Yeah.”

“Oh, um...h-hello. My name is Ryū! I’m...well, you might know me better as...Marshmallow…?”

Stiffening, Obito’s eyes fly wide, unable to answer.

“I’m so sorry I’m getting to you so late...I literally just finished a tour yesterday and I was exhausted and on a plane, and couldn’t call! But as soon as I landed I tried your number! I...I heard your song. But...the voice is different…?”

“T-that, uh...that was my friend! Kakashi. He...plays guitar. I...well, I don’t, heh…”

“Oh! Well that was such a good idea! I never even thought about that...and to think, you’ve been hearing my silly music for months, even before it was ready! I’m so embarrassed…”

“No, no! It’s not silly at all!” Grinning against the phone as it sinks in, Obito replies, “I mean, I can’t write or make music, so...I was impressed! You heard my pitiful attempt, heh…”

“Oh, no! It was good! Perfect - I knew just what was going on, and who you were! Really, it was a genius idea.”

His chest warms, smiling so wide his scars ache.

“But, listen...I’d really like to meet you, if...if that would be okay? I understand if that’s too forward -”

“I’d love to!” Obito blurts, going red as he realizes his manners.

Ryū, however, only laughs...and man, he already loves her laugh… “O-okay! Well...um, do you have an email? It’d be easier to get all the information back and forth that way, right?”

“Yeah, yeah - uh, one sec…” He relays the address, waiting as she jots it down.

“Okay...perfect. I’ll get something figured out! You...do you need some time to arrange your schedule, or…?”

“I’m, uh...I’m actually wide open right now,” he admits a bit sheepishly, itching his neck.

“That’s great! I’ll see if I can get something in the next few days - will that be okay?”

“Yeah, no problem.”

“Okay…” There’s a small pause, and then she admits softly, “...I already can’t wait to meet you...I’m so excited…!”

“Yeah...me too…”

“I was so scared I’d be someone matchless, you know? I mean...well, I won’t ramble, but...it’s a frightening thought. I’m so relieved…!”

“I know what you mean.”

“...well...is it okay if...if I text you between now and then?”

“I’d...love that, honestly.”

“Okay! If I’m ever annoying, just...tell me to can it,” she laughs.

“I doubt that’ll ever happen.” He doesn’t admit to how lonely he’s been - about how he’d be happy if she just sent him random emojis. Something, anything.

Ryū laughs. “Well...I’ll go work on getting you here. We’ll have to arrange all the details based on where you’re at, but...yeah! Just let me know all the info, and we’ll make it happen.”

“Okay.”

“I guess I’ll...talk to you later?”

“Yeah, for sure.”

“All right...bye…!”

“Bye…” Hearing the line click, he lets his arm go slack to his side, suddenly a bit dazed.

...he’s got to text Kakashi.

...okay I actually really like this, it's so cute xD This is based on a prompt (one of many lmao) that Meg generated off a site I...can't remember the name of. I've always loved soulmate AUs, and this is my first attempt at one, so...hopefully it's okay! Very cliche, and both Obito and I were rushed coming up with his lyrics, but...at least it worked! It was very clever of him x3 Anywayyy...only one prompt left...I'm kinda sad...but then I remember all my WIPs and I feel better xD But that's it for today's - thanks for reading!

#obiryū october #abyssaldespair #uchiha obito #suigin ryū #hatake kakashi #the world's a stage [ au ]

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