#enough of my rambles. heres rain world impact.

[rosefires20]

This week with the QSMP reminded me of this ramble I wrote last year thinking about Technoblade so I thought I'd share it because it really does attempt to describe my thoughts and feelings quite well.

Little Flame

I dont know how to put it but life feels like holding a little star or flame and protecting it with all you got.

Some days there is no wind. No threats.

Some days fuel is added and it glows brightly.

Some days it's given just a smidge darker. Or it rains.

But it's always there. You might not remember it constantly but it's always there.

There are certain things that will remind you of the little flame you are holding and how precious and important it is. How much you could just sink into staring at it.

When I'm proud of other people it's because they are showing me their own flame/star. Showing me a vulnerable and deep side of them and its the coolest and most important thing to me.

I get to enjoy this little light in the world because people decided to share anything with me.

I think it also works with legacies too. When I think of Technoblade and his impact on the world, its a little flame that I cradle in my hands and time stops for just a moment. I'm so damn glad he existed at all. I'm glad he even remotely decided to share anything with his viewers. He was fighting until the very end when he needed to put down his sword and rest finally. Now we are left with a flame that burns brightly with his legacy and its our job to ensure it never dies or goes out.

It also applies to changing. The flame is always there. It never goes away. Maybe it smolders because rain poured on it but it's never gone. And flames fluctuate. You are constantly adding and even taking more and more. You have the room to change because you are still you.

The strongest people are the people that maintain their flame to the best of their ability. No matter what you've gone through, you are still here despite everything. You are still a flame burning.

I have even more respect for people that are willing to share their flame with others. It opens the possibility to rain or lack of oxygen or lack of fuel but if you are still burning afterwards, then you are strong. You made it.

Even more are people who share their fuel and fire to help someone else's flame. Giving just enough to restart the bright flame.

This metaphor makes me have so much value for life and the people around me. As well as just my own life. It's nice to think about my little flame that is still burning and fluctuating and changing. It's the most me I will ever be. And it will exist forever. I also love passing fuel and fire to other people because my flame does burn so brightly. I want to be blinded by how strong every flame is.

#my ramblings #grief and loss are strange things #technoblade #qsmp #qsmp eggs #i have since realised that say its a flame is also important and imapctful because fire is so important to humans #im a historian and mythology nerd #fire is at the heart of a lot of things because it means survival #god im making myself insane about my own thoughts lol #there's a lot here both easy and hard to see

[rek1s-headband]

Hello may i request reki angst taking place after episode 7 with a fluff ending?

➯ A/N: Thank you for the request! I’m sure after episode 7 we all need a little bit of Reki comfort. Let’s all give this boy some much needed loving:)

A question for those of you who watched the recent episode: how are we feeling?

➯ Character: Reki Kyan x Reader

➯ Warnings: Shouting, implications of a panic attack

➯Word count:1.7K

“Someone who deserves you”

You could feel yourself struggling to keep your balance on your skateboard, the rain beating down on your figure. Reki hasn’t been answering any of your texts, and had been very distant with you in school, so you’d decided to ride up to his house to see what was wrong. Any time you asked him if he was alright in school, any time you’d beg him to tell you what was making him look so upset, he’d simply ruffle your hair and tell you not to worry your pretty little head about it, that there was nothing wrong. You were his s/o, surely he’d tell you if something was wrong? You’d asked Langa if he knew what was up with Reki, and he’d simply shrug, telling you reki had been kind of off with him as well.

Your thoughts were abruptly interrupted as you hit a stray pebble, sending you flying over your board and hitting the floor with a thud. You heard your board roll away, heard someone stop it and pick it up. Looking up, you saw none other than Langa Hasegawa himself walking over to you. He looked concerned, but as he got closer to you, he was wearing what could only be described as a look of pure despair. He put your board down beside you, tears quickly collecting around his eyes.

You were off the floor in an instant, pulling him into your chest, swaying the two of you as langa quietly sobbed into your shoulder. You could feel your hoodie begin to get soaked with rain and his tears, holding him impossibly tighter and playing with his hair in an attempt to calm him down. When his shoulders stopped shaking, you pulled his head out of your shoulder, holding his face in your hands and using your thumbs to swipe away his tears that were beginning to gather again.

“Langa,” you say it gently, but there’s a firmness in your voice that holds enough importance for him to hold in his third hiccup within a minute. “What happened?” The question was barely out of your mouth before his grip on your arms tightened, and he began talking 90 miles a minute.

“It’s Reki, he—I went to his house because he seemed off today and I wanted to know what was wrong, but he wasn’t there so I waited until he came home, but he didn’t show up for ages and I thought maybe he was busy but then it started raining and he came back and he looked so sad, I just wanted to figure out was wrong, but he started shouting a me, saying I was gonna break our promise to not skate against Adam. And I know I told him I wouldn’t skate against him, but its just so exciting and I know I need to beat him if I’m gonna get better, y/n, I need to. But Reki doesnt see that, he just thinks I’m gonn get hurt and-“ you placed a careful hand over his mouth, effectively shutting him up.

“Langa,” you repeated yourself, urgency prevalent in your voice this time. “Where is Reki now?”

“At his house. His mom thought he was with me, can you believe that? He wouldn’t tell me where he was, though. He looked all roughed up and hurt, I just wanted to make sure he was-“ once again, poor Langa’s rambling was cut off, this time by you getting on your skateboard and riding off to Reki’s house. You could tell both boys were clearly hurting, but Reki was all that seemed to fill your mind as you sped down the road to his house. As you began to approach his house, you could make out a small figure leaning against the wall, head in his hands, and soaking wet. Why wasn’t he inside? You saw his head perk up a bit when you got off your skateboard, only to hide his face when he realised it was you, tears also streaming down his face. You knew something was wrong, so why the hell did he try and keep it from you?

Reki didn’t have much time to compose himself or try to explain what was going on before you were marching up to him and flinging your arms around his neck. He stumbled back slightly from the impact, tensing up a bit, before finally letting go and wrapping his arms around you, burying his face in your neck. You kept him there for a little bit, before he was slowly pushing you off him, not daring to look you in the eyes. You looked him over, seeing his multiple bruises and rips in his clothing. For once it was him who couldn’t seem to get a word out, and you who couldn’t seem to stop talking.

“What the hell was that? Why did I run into Langa on my way here, and why was he so upset? Why are you so upset? What’s been going on the past coupe of days, you’ve seemed so sad, and I just wanted to make sure you’re okay, but you’ve been so distant and you keep telling me you’re okay, when you’re clearly not okay, so why the hell would you keep it from me? And your clothes, did you fall? Why would you...Reki?” Your questions slowly faded out as you watched Reki slump against the wall, refusing to say a word or look you in the eyes. You got closer to him, a quiet “Reki..?” passing your lips. As you got closer, you heard how quickly he was breathing, heard him quietly repeating “I’m sorry” over and over. You placed your hands on his face, forcing him to look at you. “Hey, Reki, look at me. Its okay. It’s me. I’m not mad at you, I could never be mad at you, no one is.” You could feel his breathing slow down a bit, but he didn’t stop shaking. “Please, talk to me.”

He stood up straighter, taking one of your hands in his, looking away from you once again. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.” When you gave him a look of curiosity and concern, he let out a shaky breath, continuing to speak. “I didn’t mean to worry you, I just—I didn’t want to hold you back, any of you. Maybe,” he looked at you for the first time in what felt like forever, “maybe you’d be better of if we weren’t together.” He gave you the fakest smile you’ve ever seen as you felt your heart fall into your stomach. “You should find someone who can keep up with you. Someone who deserves you”

Oh.

So that’s what it was....

“Reki....” you pulled his chin up to look at you, tears pooling in both of your eyes at this point. “Is that how you really feel?” You thought he was having a hard time after Langa had gotten better at skateboarding, but any time you questioned him he simply perked up, claiming he was delighted with Langa’s “newfound fame.” But now you were certain of it. “You know we’d never, ever leave you behind, right? We love you, all of us do!” You stopped to wipe a tear away from his face, feeling his shuddering breath on your face.

“It’s just that,” he pulled away from your hold, pulling his arms in around himself. He took a step or two back, tilting his head back to look up into the sky, rain pouring onto his face. “It was me who started skating first, he’s barely even started! And now he’s beaten two of the top competitors, and he wants to go against the founder of the whole thing? It’s not fair, it was my thing, and now he’s got all the recognition! I dont even care that he’s gotten good, I couldn’t be happier. I just dont want this to all get to his head and leave me! Or worse,” he made his way back over to you, putting his hands on your shoulders, “what if he gets hurt, and he quits skateboarding and I’m alone again? I can’t do it again, y/n, I cant lose another friend.” He collapsed into your arms, and you could feel him begin to cry again. For someone who was always such a ball of enthusiasm, this was heartbreaking to watch unfold. You held him close to you, pushing your hands through his sopping wet hair, making a mental note to force him to take a warm bath later.

You began to trace patterns on his back as you felt him calm down a little, poking his head out from where it was hiding. “There’s no one in this world I’d rather be with than you, Reki, so you can cut the ‘someone who deserves you’ shit. I’m yours, and you’re stuck with me whether you like it or not” you gave him a soft smile as he began to wrap you in an embrace, the persistent rain still beating down on the pair of you. He placed his hands on your hips, looking down on you with what could only be described as a look of pure adoration.

“What the hell did I do to deserve someone like you”, he gave you a soft smile, before leaning down to give you a desperate, passionate kiss. You reciprocated immediately, running your hands through his hair once again. You stayed like that for a while, pressing long, open mouthed kisses to each other’s lips. You felt him let out a quiet sigh, pulling you even closer to him and gripping onto the back of your hoodie. When you finally pulled away, he kept his hands on your waist, yours still playing with the ends of his hair at the back of his neck. He looked down at you, a dopey grin plastered on his face.

“I’m not going anywhere, Reki Kyan. None of us are. You’ll never be alone as long as we’re by your side.” You kept your face close to his, your breath mingling in the middle. You pressed one last kiss to his forehead, pulling away from him. “Now lets get out of the rain, you’re gonna get sick.” He followed you down the path to his house like a puppy, a fond smile never leaving his face. “And you better talk to Langa as soon as you get out of that damn shower, I’ve never seen that guy look worse than he did than he did leaving your house.”

“Shit”

#reki kyan x reader #reki kyan #reki x reader #sk8 the infinity x reader #reki kyan angst #reki kyan headcanons #reki angst #sk8 reki #sk∞ #sk8 langa #langa hasegawa #sk8 the infinity #sk8 x reader #sk8 angst #episode 7 #sk8 episode 7

[mar-s-bar-s]

strength - a tartaglia story

(this fic is part of the series i am doing)

!genshin spoilers (specifically about childe) in explanation! i haven’t really read the lore on him but i still know a bit so apologies if i got something wrong

The card of strength upright represents, well, strength. It symbolises the courage it takes to persevere. Persuasion also is an aspect of it. Other aspects of this card include compassion and influence. I think Childe fits this card really well as a major aspect of his character is strength and desire to get stronger. Persuasion is shown in the form of both his quick wit and rough charm, along with more.. physical means as a Fatui member. Compassion isn’t obvious, it’s more towards his family, and he holds a lot of influence as a Harbinger. 

Now what’s interesting is the reversal of Strength can also apply to him. He has a ton of inner strength, clearly, to have survived both in mind and body the fall into the Abyss. Does self-doubt also apply to him then? I think that since he’s constantly trying to prove his strength, even though he is extremely strong and he knows it, he suffers self-doubt towards his actions. He’s not on the right path, joined because he was chosen by the Tsaritsa as her weapon and to protect his family. His loyalty to the Tsaritsa is unquenchable, but I think there are still those shreds of doubt deep inside asking whether he wanted this. Low energy is an aspect of Strength reversed, and is shown right after his show of strength as Foul Legacy, his battered and weak human body coping with the transformation effects. In conclusion, he is the perfect person for this prompt, in my opinion. I also just wanted to show how it’s okay to be weak sometimes, that strength isn’t just physical and yeah.

gn!traveler! reader (reader is not lumine or aether, just a traveler from another world; weapon is more of a melee/close combat weapon)

warnings: genshin archon quest (liyue) spoilers, violence, aftermath of foul legacy, no one dies, but there's blood, typical golden house violence, childe is slightly ooc towards the end but that's because he’s soft and mushy, also poor medical knowledge sorry to any medical people reading this, there’s a bit of angst but a lot of fluff 

in which u beat tartaglia up then look after him then kiss him to shut him up

series m.list

Blood drips from your weapon as you hold yourself up, panting heavily. Red tints your vision, the harsh crackle of lightning coming from Foul Legacy’s polearm harmonising with your pulse resounding through your ears. It’s overwhelming, yet you’ve never felt more alive.

You’ve been fighting Childe for the past hour, and the quick defeat of his first two forms is eerie. Have you grown stronger? There’s no time to wonder as his flurry of attacks force you to leap out of the way in defence. The squeaks of your shoes feel almost comical in this dark place, the only light being from the moon glinting off the Mora lying all around, piles and piles of the gold causing a warm glow across the room that was never meant to be used as a makeshift arena. 

His attacks are becoming slightly repetitive, the same three slashes, and just when you think you have an opening, he summons the godforsaken whale, leaving you to sprint to the side of the arena lest you drown in the incoming flood. You’re closer to him than you thought, and you immediately get on the offensive, slashing out and barely scratching through his armour. 

Childe laughs, the sound distorted by the mask materialised by his transformation. He sounds terribly amused, you scowl, and dodge his polearm swinging down at you, stabbing at the slight gap in his armour, not expecting it to connect. When it does, you slide the weapon out in shock, seeing the crimson drip off the blade, yet are left with no time to marvel as Childe immediately starts a new sequence of attacks, and you are once again on the defensive.

A slight pause in the sequence is enough for your red stained blade to rain down upon his armour, the weapon beating down upon his arms, the Harbinger countering with double blades. You’re shoved back with the force, coughing slightly at the impact. The night is still young, yet it feels like hours since you first began.

Your lungs burn and your head feels clouded. Yet as you stand there, watching Childe warily, you notice that his movements are slowly becoming sluggish. Have you worn him down? The very thought gives you an energy boost, your screaming muscles are not heeded as you circle him slowly, his movements becoming slightly easier to read. He is incredibly strong, you admit to yourself, but tonight you’re walking out of here the victor. 

You spring out of the way as he speeds past you, twisting through the air as you kick him in the back, unbalancing him with his momentum just enough to hit him with the butt of your weapon, hard. He stumbles, and that is enough to bring him down to the floor with a barrage of your attacks. 

He doesn’t get back up. 

Unsure, you stand with your weapon poised, the dried blood a testament to his injury. Childe fought well, and you cannot tell if it is just a fluke that you emerged victorious. 

A small gasp alerts you, Childe’s Foul Legacy form dissipating from his body, which is littered with cuts and bruises. Your eyes immediately are drawn to the deep wound matching your blade shape on his torso, and his eyes fly open. A weak smile is on his face.

“You fought well, comrade,” Childe grins, his face pallored and sweaty, and you drop your weapon. “Putting your weapon down? No matter how injured someone may be, never let your guard down around them. Especially a Harbinger.”

He somehow wrestles with the ground enough to sit up and kick your legs out from under you. You land with a heavy thud, a breath of air getting knocked out of you as you grab your weapon and point it at him, worry obvious in your face at his flushed, sweaty face. He looks sick. Is it the wound? You grab your belongings.

“Leaving already?” Childe’s lazy smirk is betrayed by his voice cracking slightly. You ignore him, rummaging around in your bag for needles and thread, ointment and bandages. You return, and he looks at you, lips parting in surprise as you kneel by him, your weapon left by your bag.

You wordlessly gesture to his outer clothing on his torso, and he is unusually quiet as he slowly slips his shirt off, his flushed face getting even more red as your hands guide him to lie down. You clean your hands and the wound and take out the sterilised needles and begin stitching, taking out your seelie to better aid you in seeing what you’re doing. 

After bandaging the wound and helping him put his clothes back on, Childe is wordless. You’ve been so gentle with him, even though you don’t particularly like him. He calls you his friend, yet he knows deep down he’s lying to both himself and you. He knows you don’t view him as anything but an evil Harbinger with bloodstained hands, and he definitely doesn’t view you as a friend, he views you as so much more. How he longs to throw away the crimson mask he wears constantly, a brutal reminder of the role he has taken on, and join you on your travels across Teyvat. Yet reality is merciless, and his hopes are constantly shattered when you leave once again, eyes dancing with mirth as you interact with the citizens of Liyue. 

But not when with him. Your face is not carefree when with him, it is a battle mask of bared teeth and frenzied eyes. He loves seeing both your faces you show, but he wishes you’d laugh when with him. His eyes are cloudy, and as you gently run your hands through his hair, they close. Just for a bit, he thinks. I’ll let my guard down just for a bit.

When he wakes up, he isn’t in the Golden House anymore, but a soft bed. Golden ribbons of light pierce through the shutters, and he immediately sits up, wincing slightly at the sharp pain in his torso. He looks down, noticing a figure slumped over the bed from a chair, and is struck at how beautiful you look when asleep. He holds his breath, hoping you stay like that for a while. 

You yawn and awake, stretching your arms out and over your head as you stare at Childe. After he passed out from your ministrations, you mentally groaned and carried him out of the Golden House, all the way over to your small apartment on the outside of Liyue Harbour. Were you regretting it? Definitely. Were you feeling bad for him? Yes. Was this a stupid decision? Of course. But seeing his pretty face sleeping almost made up for it,

“Hey comrade,” Childe smirks. “Sleeping in the same bed as a Harbinger? This really wasn’t your brightest moment.”

Your nod is perfunctory and you stand. “Glad to see you’re alive.”

Childe curses at himself mentally. Why is he provoking you? 

“I’ll go make something for us to eat,” you stand up, leaving to go to the kitchen. “Stay here.”

Childe looks down at his hands, confusion seeping its way into his brain. Why were you being so kind to him? Why weren’t you making the same remarks as always? He doesn’t deserve it. So why?

You return with a large plate of fried eggs and toast. Childe takes it numbly, not caring to check if it’s poisoned as he swallows. 

After he’s done and you’ve gone back to the kitchen, he decides he’ll leave. Why burden you further? He grabs his scarf you’ve neatly folded and placed on the dresser, the scent of your laundry detergent lingering on it and he short-circuits. It smells like you. He wraps it slightly tighter and walks to the kitchen.

“What are you doing?” you stare at him with concern in your eyes as you make tea. The look in your eyes makes his heart pound. You’ve never looked at him this way before, and he feels his walls threatening to crumble. 

“Well, I figured I’d get going,” he rambles, waving his hands as you stop what you’re doing and walk over to him. Childe’s eyes dilate slightly and he feels his pulse speed up. “You know, I’ve got stuff to do and comrades to train and you’ve been really nice-”

He’s cut off when you pull him towards you by his scarf and kiss him. His heart almost gives out before he realises that, holy shit, he’s being kissed by you and oh Archons it feels amazing. And he’s holding your waist, and you’re pulling him closer and closer and if you asked right now for the world, he’d give it to you. And he’s kissing you back, the warmth you share drives away the morning chill. 

When you finally pull away, Childe looks like he’s over the moon. 

“Finally, quiet,” you speak first, imitating his annoying smirk as you gesture towards the kitchen table. “Would you like some tea?”

#childe #childe x reader #genshin #genshin impact #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact imagines #tartaglia #tartaglia x reader #childe genshin #foul legacy #childe oneshot #childe fic #childe x you #genshin x reader #foul legacy is kinda fine #foul legacy is hot idc #genshin tartaglia #childe imagines #gensin impact x gender neutral reader #x reader #gender neutral reader #gn #gn reader #i wrote this at 4 am good night #good night fic #bro i want some tartagalicious dreams #not proofread

[violetsoju]

page 30彡★

kageyama tobio · fluff · 3.2k

a/n: came up w this idea based on a tiktok vid of this trend that randomly popped up on my feed (which i can't find anymore T_T) do let me know if you enjoyed it! ❤️

“Hey, Tobio.”

The mop of raven hair doesn’t look up to you, eyes fixated on the jiggly onsen tamago on top of the curry tonkatsu.

“There’s this new trend going on.”

He hums in response, fingers gripping onto a pair of wooden chopsticks, manoeuvring the fragile soft lump towards the spoon. Just a few more steps till being cradled snugly in the deep end of the cool ceramic spoon.

“And we’re gonna learn the moves and film it right here after this.”

His fingers twitch. One of the long pointy chopsticks loses its cool and stabs the tamago right in the core, streaks of yellow bleeding across the crisp golden brown tonkatsu. Its counterpart desperately tries to put pressure on the wound to stop the bleeding, but too much yolk has been lost, and more jabs were made in the frantic rescue mission. Not even the string of ‘shit’ muttered could save the day. So long, dear onsen tamago.

You’re finally met with piercing blue eyes glaring at you.

“No. And look at what you did to my onsen tamago.”

“You should’ve scooped it up with your spoon instead of pushing it with your chopsticks. Common sense much?” You thank the waitress for the hot steaming tempura udon. “Plus, you’re supposed to break the yolk and coat the luscious essence over your rice, unless you’re a freak and eat it in one go.”

Kageyama’s scowl softens when a piece of fried tempura lands in his bowl in exchange for a piece of tonkatsu. A glint of delight gleams in the two pair of eyes at the first bite of delicious food, taste buds tingling in satisfaction.

It’s a rainy Wednesday night. And rainy nights call for warm comfort food to make up for the gloomy wet weather brought by the pitter patter parade of fat rain droplets. So after a spontaneous text message, here you are, with an old close friend of yours, inside a small cosy shop hidden in an alleyway without any prior arrangements.

“And let me repeat myself. I’m not going to do any dumb dance trends with you again.” Kageyama restates his point firmly.

“Come on, you had so much fun the last time! Even Tsukki sent a good job sticker in the group chat.” You reason.

“You mean he enjoyed seeing me almost tripping over my feet.”

“That was the highlight, to be honest.”

He smacks your chopsticks away with his at your attempt to snag another piece of tonkatsu, not giving in into your pout.

“Anyway, I was just kidding. You’re in luck this time because it’s not a dance trend.”

Kageyama raises an eyebrow at you suspiciously, tilting his head to ask you to continue on.

“This time it’s a trend where you grab your nearest book, turn to page 30, and the first sentence will describe your love life. Interesting, isn’t it?”

“Just when I thought you’ve outgrown these ridiculous nonsenses.”

“Says the one who still insists on drinking a box of strawberry milk before matches.” You jab your chopsticks towards his direction accusingly.

“That’s different because it actually works. And it’s good.” He counterattacks by returning your gesture.

“I hate to say this but, point taken.”

He triumphantly snickers as you sigh in defeat.

“Aren’t you curious on how my love life is described?” You question, blowing off the steam from your spoon full of udon.

Kageyama chomps on another piece of pork cutlet, unamused at your question. “If you’re generous enough to share, I’d be honoured.”

“‘He smiles’”

“What?”

“That’s the first sentence on my page 30. ‘He smiles’.” You reply matter-of-factly, taking a sip of your hot green tea.

“What’s that even supposed to mean?” His brows knit in confusion, hands momentarily forgetting the spoonful of curry rice in hand.

“Use your imagination, Tobio. Awaken your romantic cells.” You gesture with your hands dramatically, earning a deadpan look from the boy seated across you.

“Does it mean whoever’s smiling is the love of your life? Or someone who’s always smiling?” Kageyama rests his cheek against his left knuckle, trying to connect the dots together.

“Well-“

“Wait a minute! Don’t tell me it’s Suga-san. Because if it is, I won’t allow it because Suga-san is way too good for you.”

He yelps as you not-so-accidentally dip your chopsticks stained with broth into his green tea.

“Shush, we both know how much Suga-san adores me. And everyone else.” You smugly take another bite of your fried tempura as he frowns in disgust after drinking the now broth infused green tea.

“I guess it’s feeling of love at the sight of his smile? Like feeling all warm and fuzzy seeing him smile.”

“Is there someone who makes you feel that way with their smile?”

You swirl the udon with your chopsticks mindlessly for a moment. “Maybe there is.”

You look up to the pair of blue eyes staring back at you, holding the intense gaze firmly, neither side backing down to break the tension.

“Do I know him?” Kageyama falters, a hint of anxiousness cracks in his voice.

“Since when were you so interested in my love life?” You laugh awkwardly, hoping to conceal your nervousness.

Despite the surrounding bustling chatter, the world suddenly falls painstakingly silent, with the irregular beats of two young hearts thumping deafeningly and out of rhythm.

The raven-haired boy succumbs first, looking back down to his half empty bowl. You continue swirling your bowl of udon, mentally slapping yourself at your answer and cracking your head to come up with something to save the mood.

“Well, I could help to scan him for you, if you want. Boys know boys better after all,”

You snap back up to look at the boy seated across you, eyes not meeting yours. This is a surprise.

“Plus, you can save the tears and snot to yourself because I might not be free to attend to your midnight crying sessions. If it really happens.”

A surge of warmth radiates throughout your body at his words. Definitely not from the hot bowl of udon.

Kageyama still has his eyes on the bowl before him, looking anywhere else but you. He tries to keep himself busy by scooping more rice, groaning as he further destroys the onsen tamago, unaware of the faint blush painting his cheeks. Definitely not from the hot bowl of curry, too.

“Don’t worry, he isn’t a jerk. I’m sure you’ll like him too.” You chuckle, adjusting your chopsticks to pick up more udon.

Oh, Kageyama Tobio, what exactly should I do with you.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽.* :☆ﾟ. ───

Scroll. Refresh. Switch apps. Repeat. Sigh.

You’ve been stuck in this constant loop for the past hour. Instead of getting much needed sleep for the next day, you subject yourself to the chains of the device held in your hand, despite the drooping eyelids and strained arm muscles.

What’s so fascinating about social media anyway? If it’s not friends or random acquaintances posting sinful food pics of ootds, it’d be someone ranting about either their work or love life, or memes you’ve already seen before. Sometimes you wonder if you’ve been casted a spell by social media.

Crying out a yelp as the gadget lands right in your face at the slip of your hands, you massage your nose bridge and forehead from the impact, grimacing in pain. It’s not easy being a slave to social media, huh.

Tossing your phone to the side, you roll over to lie flat on your back, sprawled like a star fish on your bed. A long sigh escapes your lips, eyes staring blankly at the bare celling above. Maybe you should really call it a day.

A beep from your phone tells you otherwise.

Tobio [23:17]

I did it. You owe me one box of strawberry milk.

[23:18]

IMG_20210402_961222

You immediately plop yourself up to sit cross-legged on your bed, tapping on the notification to open the message. As expected of Kageyama Tobio, it was a full-page picture of a book, with a small number 30 on the top left-hand corner. But unexpectedly of Kageyama Tobio too, the page wasn’t from those volleyball books or magazines stacked in the corner of his room. Looks like the mini ramble session you gave him on the way to the metro station worked.

“I know volleyball is the love of your life too, but we’re talking about your actual love life here! So no volleyball books or magazines, go rummage Miwa-san’s book shelf for one random romance novel. Just one. She’ll thank me for taking care of your love life.”

Sliding both your thumbs outwards on the screen to zoom in, your lips press together to form an ‘o’, brows arching in fascination at the first sentence.

She knows.

Interesting.

Your fingers dance across the screen swiftly.

me [23:20]

Ohhh interesting. See, it’s exciting, isn’t it?

Tobio [23:21]

I guess so

me [23:22]

Do you think it describes your love life well?

To actually imagine Kageyama Tobio having something that he loves as much as volleyball is, an odd and foreign feeling.

Tobio [23:24]

I’m not sure tbh

me [23:25]

Well spill the tea so I can help you analyse it

Tobio [23:25]

No

You swear you would throw punches at him if he was beside you now.

me [23:26]

Tsk tsk, so who’s the girl you’ve been hiding from me

Tobio [23:27]

Since when were you interested in my love life?

The use of your own words against you has you clicking your tongue in amusement.

You were contemplating between a civil or sarcastic remark when a new message bubble pops up.

Tobio [23:29]

But do you think she knows?

me [23:30]

About what?

Tobio [23:31]

Nvm, forget what I said

Seriously? This conversation is by no means, ending like this. You tap on the video icon on the right-hand corner of the screen hastily.

It takes a few rings for the familiar face to appear on screen, face a little too close to the camera, brows furrowed, lips pursed.

“What the heck, do you know what time it is?” Kageyama huffs in annoyance, running his fingers through his dishevelled black hair.

“Says the one who sent me such juicy information at this hour.” You bend your legs up, resting your hand on your knees for a better angle.

He throws his head back exasperatedly, muttering something inaudible along the static noise from the speakers, resting his head on a wooden frame you recognise. He still hasn’t changed his bed that he has long outgrown, complaining about soreness in his legs and arms that dangle off the edge every night.

“How do you expect me to go to bed with you hanging me like this? You have the worst timing ever.” You raise your hands in protest.

Kageyama buries half of his face in his palm. “I shouldn’t have listened to you.”

“But you get a box of strawberry milk from this! It’s worth it.” You gesture a finger gun to him knowingly.

He moves two fingers away from his face, peeking to see you through the screen like a child. Heaving a long, heavy sigh, he shifts his weight to sit up properly, half of his face still cradled in his palm.

“So, ‘she knows’, huh. Back to your question. What do you think she knows?” A tinge of excitement and fear bubble up your throat.

Kageyama avoids your gaze, looking to the side. “Well, I mean, about my, er- my feelings, I guess?”

“You mean your heart.”

The sentence has his eyes back on you, vivid blue eyes clouded by the shadows of dimly lit room.

“Yeah, uhm, well, I guess.” His voice trails off.

“Well, have you told her before?” You keep your voice steady.

“No, of course.” His words come out like a whisper.

“Then how is she going to know without any words or actions?” It comes out like a blunt statement, but somewhere deep down, a wave of relief washes over you.

“But I’m always there for her. Whenever she needs me, wherever she is, I try my best to be there for her,” Passionate flames ignite across the vast blue ocean. “I know something is on her mind when she bites the insides of her cheeks, when she flicks the tip of her thumb with her index finger constantly, or when she plays with the piercings on her ears. I’m not one with words, but I stay by her side when she needs me to, listening to her rambles or vents, or wiping away tears that stain her cheeks soft like mochi.

“I set notifications the night before to give her morning calls during her exams or important days because she tends to snooze the alarm on days like these. I always have extra band-aids ready on hand because she always somehow cuts and hurts herself, which hurts my heart too. Heck, I even learn ridiculous things that would be the death of me just for her, because nothing compares to the sparkle in her eyes when she flashes her precious smile, brighter than the sun that takes my breath away every time. I-”

Kageyama stops midway, face painted with horror as if he just let out a million-dollar secret. Panic flares in his eyes, mouth agape in incredulity as his body rigids, dumbstruck with terror by what rolled off his tongue so smoothly. You wonder if the line got disconnected because he turned into a static image, with a full-blown flustered look on his face.

You wave at the screen. “Tobio, you still there?”

It takes a few seconds for the raven-haired boy to snap back to his senses and regain his composure, coughing awkwardly in attempt to calm himself down. Small patches of blush blooming furiously on his cheeks peek out from his hands covering his mouth.

He looks cute.

No, he’s cute.

He’s always been cute.

“I- Er- Ye- Yeah, I’m still here.” Kageyama struggles to find words from his tad-larger-than-average vocabulary vault that has seem to disappear into thin air.

“Gosh, breathe Tobio, breathe. Come on, take a deep breath with me. One, two, three.”

He exhales deeply at the count of three with eyes shut close, hoping that all his jitters have been expelled away in the air.

“There you go. Feel better now?” Your lips tug up gently as the boy on the screen visibly relaxes, shoulders loosening from the tension, face free of creased lines.

He opens his eyes slowly, blinking a few times to adjust his vision before returning a soft smile to you. “Yeah, I do. Thanks.”

“Anytime.”

A tranquil silence blankets over the both of you. This time, the steady beats of two young hearts thump in tune like a metronome. Two young souls gaze at each other, basking in the calmness and comfort of the sincere warm smiles that felt so much like home; but too proud to admit they were like lovesick fools, brushing off the feelings that were screaming loudly to be heard, feelings that they were afraid to face.

“Do you think she knows?” It’s a genuine question, one that takes a mountain high of courage to come up with.

“I’m sure she does.” It’s a genuine answer, one that takes a of couple hundred meters of might to emerge from the deep ends of the sea to come up with.

And you both hope that you’re on the same wavelength.

“So back to square one. Who’s the girl?”

“None of your business.”

“Another piece of crap from you and I’ll leave without you at the metro station tomorrow.”

“Sorry.”

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽.* :☆ﾟ. ───

When you reach the designated exit of the metro station the next day, a pair of eyes as blue as the day immediately catches your attention among the crowd, feet shuffling on its own accord towards them. As if there was a detector sensing your presence within him, the owner of the beautiful pair of orbs turns to you, raising a hand in greeting.

Kageyama gives you a smile, a smile that says, ‘I hope my smile makes you feel warm and fuzzy’.

You smile back at him, with a smile that says, ‘I hope you know that I know your heart’.

It’s hard to shake off the pride to be damned, but the two lovesick fools find themselves discarding it slowly, bit by bit with each step taken, together.

【☾】

Kageyama is a creature of routine. He always has his day planned out in detail and hates it when it doesn’t go according to plan, or when something pops out of the blue. But there are a few which he can make exceptions for. So when he receives your text asking for dinner after his training session, he agrees in a heartbeat.

He felt his heart sink deeply in his guts when you said there was, indeed, someone who made you feel warm and fuzzy with their smile. But who was he to have his say when his status was merely just a close friend?

Miwa thought he had lost it when he barged into her room without notice that night, scanning her bookshelf for novels, specifically of the romance genre. It was more nerve-wrecking than retaking exams back in high school with Hinata while flipping through the pages, and it didn’t help much when he finally found the particular page, with the first line inked in black staring back at him in doubt.

He doesn’t know why he sent the picture of the page to you. What exactly was he expecting?

Worse, he doesn’t even know why he started blabbing about how he was always there for you, how much he cares for you, and how much you mean to him. It all just came out so naturally that he could actually score an A+ for impromptu speaking.

But when your eyes were filled with concern while calming him down instead of making fun of him or pestering him for more, something flutters in his mind. Maybe it was from the rush of adrenaline from before, or maybe it was his heart that had leaped out from his chest taking over. He brings up the question once again, with more confidence this time.

He knows you’re not one to lie with your eyes. And he sees the kindness and honesty in them.

A ray of hope flickers in him.

So today, Kageyama musters up every ounce of courage he has, and tells himself it’s now or never: to close the gap he has longed for so long between two hands that swayed side by side. Instead of retreating his hands away when they brush against yours, he curls the tip of his fingers with yours delicately, as if your fingers would melt at his touch.

He hopes that he made the right decision.

And when your fingers curl back, intertwined with his, he knows he has made the right decision, and that his question has been answered.

She knows.

And the fact that he’s the one behind the smile that makes you go all warm and fuzzy, he swears it feels like he could run for miles and miles without running out of breath, soaring even higher than the clouds in the skies. None of the perfect sets he has set in his lifetime could compare to the satisfaction and bliss he was feeling right now.

Because you had set his life ablaze the moment fate brought the both of you together, and you’re his end game.

#haikyuu #haikyuu!! #kageyama tobio x you #kageyama tobio x y/n #kageyama tobio x reader #kageyama tobio #kageyama x y/n #kageyama x reader #kageyama fluff #kageyama tobio fluff #haikyuu imagines #haikyuu oneshot #hq imagines #i want a soft boy like kageyama T_T #fun fact: the first line on page 30 for me is actually 'he smiles' too #which i thought to myself 'ah yes my 2d men smiling best describes my love life' #i originally started this for suga but it turned into kags midway hhh #go grab your nearest book and tell me whats the first line of your page 30!

[milktyama]

— ☕︎ IF BY CHANCE

a/n: here are the imagines that anon gave me and gave me permission to expand with my own accord!! thank you anon i love this idea (and also added the song to my playlist thank you for that) ALSO longest work ever done!

— heavy reference to if by chance by ruth b.

synopsis: "if by chance... could you forgive me?"

pairing: 3rd year/adult!kageyama tobio x reader

genre: fluff to angst, hurt little comfort, in spain w/o the s

wc: 2.3k

thank you @kohi-zeri @snoozless for beta-ing! <3

❥︎ two swear words, most obvious n smallest manga spoiler

People like to emphasize how high school will be the greatest and the wildest years of your life. And a major part of high school is exploring first loves and small infatuations. High school love is so innocent and light-hearted and sometimes awkward, but that is what makes it so charming.

That is exactly how it felt being with Kageyama Tobio after meeting him in your final year of high school. Shy confessions were exchanged on the daily, pinkies linked as the main source of public affection, anything more flustering both of your young selves. 

You always thought that meeting your high school sweetheart in your last year was a sign of bad luck. It was way too late for any deep love to actually develop. It would almost feel forced or fleeting, the connection not having enough time to harvest and bloom.

Though, being with him proved that wrong. 

Having him in your life was a blessing from the moment you first encountered him on a rainy spring evening during your way home. You would’ve never expected that that day to become as significant to you back then as it does now. 

A small irregularity of Kageyama Tobio forgetting his umbrella when the weather forecast had explicitly predicted a 90% chance of raining during the evening. That night, you thought to yourself that he was  counting on the 10% chance that it wouldn’t rain, when in reality it was simply the fact that he did not check the weather forecast daily. 

Pft. You would think that being a senior in high school would mean taking up a little more responsibility, but that wasn’t the case with him. His mind still ran on the adrenaline and excitement of volleyball and volleyball alone. 

You saw him attempting to take shelter under a cherry blossom tree in the nearby park. The droplets of the rain reflected the sunlight as they landed on the light pink petals of the tree, giving it a warm and peaceful glow. 

Kageyama’s hair and clothes were damp from the minimal protection he had against the pouring rain. If you had not approached him that night and offered to share your umbrella, nothing would have happened between the two of you. 

You two would have remained as casual classmates, having small insignificant encounters that could be easily looked over: being assigned clean up duty together, collecting tests from people in your row — simple things that no one would ever think twice about. This encounter alone could have easily been part of the list of insignificant encounters… it was just a classmate looking out for another classmate right? 

But the warm kindness you showed him on that cold, rainy night had somehow reached Kageyama’s heart. What he at first thought was a mere act of kindness towards a classmate had sprouted into something a little bit more.

After that night, Kageyama found himself looking in your direction more often. His bright blueberry eyes would wander towards your figure who sat a few desks in front of him. You never caught him staring during class, but his presence was more than enough to burn through the back of your head. 

It seemed his not-so-subtle glances have rubbed off onto you because you would find your eyes starting to linger on him as well. His tall and lean figure captivated you. His raven hair, his blue eyes, his indifferent voice, and infamous “resting bitch face” were triggers your brain could not miss.

The more the days pass with your attention captivated by this man, the more you realize your feelings towards him. It was a rocky but surprisingly short journey, with both parties who faced difficulties with expressing their feelings to the other, but everything eventually fell into place, leaving it up to fate to bring both of your yearning souls together. 

And oh boy did fate put a strong magnetism between the two of you.

You fell in love with Kageyama Tobio through and through. Sure, it was a little awkward at first, with stiff movements and a sprinkle of miscommunication, but after speaking your hearts out, it became clear: you were in love with him just as much as he was in love with you. 

At least that is how it seemed. 

Even after sharing light kisses under the cherry blossom tree where you met for the first time, your hands held in his rough ones, surrounded by the smell in his clothes that you borrowed from his closet. Or passing small notes to each other during class and sleepless nights when you tried to tutor him in classes he lacked on. Or shouting from the top of your lungs whenever you attended any of his games while sporting his spare jersey. 

All these memories seemingly came crashing down a week before your graduation. 

Your ears rang after he utters a short phrase that had enough power to crash your world, enough power to make you feel as if everything you’ve done the past year had been a waste, enough power to leave you on your knees, helplessly clutching your chest as the pain starts to spread throughout your body. 

“I’m sorry. But… I think I’m in love with someone else.”

He continued to ramble endlessly. Maybe it was more apologies, or maybe he was reasoning what he’d been doing with you this past year. Maybe he was word vomiting in order to make this impact on you less heavy. Whatever it had been, you couldn’t hear it. You lost your grasp of your senses the second those words had reached your ears.

How did you not notice this? How could you not see how his glances towards you became less frequent, how his kisses grew more reluctant, how he wouldn’t reach for your hand first, how his eyes didn’t sparkle for you? You only now realized that he fell out of love. Or maybe he loved someone else all along? Or maybe you were just a game to him? You didn’t even want to consider the latter.

Your sight was blurring with tears that you desperately tried to keep in, but they had already fallen helplessly down your face. You didn’t even notice that Kageyama was no longer in front of you. 

When you finally  composed yourself, you could see his retreating figure in the distance with someone else at his side. They weren’t hugging or holding hands or kissing or anything of that sort. But watching the person you thought you could love for the rest of your life walk away with someone else was just too much for your poor heart to bear. 

It has been exactly 4 years since. You  graduated from university and did some intern work during your summers to distract yourself. You truly believed that you have finally picked yourself up and moved one. It was only after seeing him on TV, seeing that he had achieved his dream of going pro, that all the emotions came rushing back. 

You still loved him. You always have and never stopped. Your love for him was so great, so powerful, so unconditional that it never left your system, even after being broken in one of the worst ways possible. 

Maybe if he had loved you then you would still be by his side, cheering him on.  

He reached out to you a few months after your break up. With your wound still fresh, you had truly believed he called to get back together, only to get your hopes crushed. Well, not completely, at least. He called  to apologize again, figuring that back in high school you — actually, both of you — had been too emotionally distressed to properly deal with the situation. 

It was a very short call, 5 minutes at most. His apology was simple and to the point, but that was how he was. He swore he was sorry for ending things the way they did, and ended the call with a promise. He promised to never hurt you again. 

Although his heart may or may not have not been occupied by someone else during your time together, he still found comfort and familiarity when he was with you. Before he could hang up, you too apologized for how you reacted and dealt with the situation, swearing the same promise.

But that promise proved  harder to keep than you had thought. 

You encountered Kageyama once again, but this time he was with someone else. He seemed happy. It was hard to believe that even after all these years, your heart still beat for Kageyama Tobio. It hurt your heart to see him smile for someone else, knowing those smiles used to be for you. It hurt your heart to know that you were no longer the reason for his smiles being so wide, so genuine. 

You wondered if  he still recalled the memories the two of you shared. If he still sang along to the song  you two spent weeks choosing and claimed as “your song” or if he skipped it. If he still reacted to advertisements that featured your favorite lip balm, the one he loved tasting on your lips whenever you kissed. If he remembered the future plans you talked about, where the two of you would live in a comfortable apartment and how the interior would be decorated; how you would spend nights dancing around the living room. 

Either way, you were no longer part of his life. He had found someone else to dedicate his heart to. As if to confirm the dilemma that has plagued you for so long, Kageyama leaned into a kiss to the forehead of his partner, smiling as he pulled away whilst leaning his head onto his partner. 

Tears brimmed in the corners of your eyes. You ran, allowing your body to take you wherever it pleased, hot tears falling helplessly from your eyes continuously. 

So much for keeping a promise. 

Your feet finally stopped, tired, your eyes worn out from crying. You slowly took in your surroundings as you felt the warm breeze of a spring evening, soft petals tickling your sensitive skin. It was quite obvious where your heart belonged. 

You found yourself under the tree where you first met him. Where you two would often sit and exchange fleeting kisses or a small treat, feeding each other with fond eyes. The wind blew past you as the petals from the cherry blossom tree slowly fell, surrounding you in a cozy ambiance that left a bittersweet taste in your mouth. 

As your legs finally gave up at the memory that came rushing into your head, you heard footsteps that sounded like they were approaching your way. A piece of light blue cloth neatly folded entered your line of vision. Your eyes shot up to the tall figure that was now towering over you. His body faced you, however his eyes did not meet yours. 

You hesitated before slowly reaching out for the handkerchief in his hand,  avoiding his eyes as well. 

“I’m sorry…” was all that came out from his lips. There was a moment of silence, disrupted every now and then by a couple of sniffles. Kageyama tried speaking again. 

“I’m sorry for hurting you again, even after I promised you I wouldn’t.” 

“It’s fine…” you managed to choke out, voice slightly cracking. You thought you sounded pathetic. You two broke up four years ago, for fuck’s sake! A lump formed in your throat again, a mix of the remains of old memories and your own consciousness trying to bring some sense into your pained heart. 

“If by chance… could you forgive me? For breaking the promise I mean,” Kageyama asked. His words were gentle and soft, maybe a little sweet like honey, attempting to cover up any harshness. It was clear he did not want to hurt you for any longer. His blueberry eyes that you missed so much had a small sparkle to them. You wondered what that sparkle meant. 

Was it because he still loved you? Did he miss you the way you missed him? Or maybe he only felt pity for you. Maybe he was hoping for something more. What could he be possibly hopeful for? Your forgiveness? It wasn’t like you were mad at him. Afterall, it was your own fault for falling so deeply in love with him. As painful and bitter as it was, you tried your best to pull your lips upwards.

It was the saddest smile he had ever seen. 

Voices in your head screamed at the pain you felt in your heart, but your head reasoned that this was not his fault. You had to let go, once and for all. 

“Of course I forgive you.” 

The words vibrated through your skull. Your head forgave him, your self-conscious told your heart to forgive him, but in the end, it wouldn’t succumb to logic so easily. You thought with your heart rather than your head, and you absolutely hated it. You broke too easily and gave in to the way your heart beated instead of the words that were trying to break through your thick skull. 

The sun sets, warm yellow tones of the fleeting rays of sunlight shone upon the pale pink petals of the cherry blossom tree. The petals turned into a light orange colour as they fell ever so elegantly from the branches above you, surrounding your figure on the ground.

You clutched your knees to your body as you watched his figure stray from you, slowly getting further and further away. Memories from the first time you met under this same tree flooded into your head as a single tear droplet slid down your right cheek.

You felt a lump at the back of your throat. It was an awfully bitter yet mildly sweet feeling. You didn’t mean to be selfish with your feelings towards Kageyama, but if by chance, things didn’t work out with his current partner, then maybe, just maybe, he could be part of your world again.

#hqhangoutnet #haikyuu #kageyama tobio #kageyama x reader #haikyuu headcanons #haikyuu imagines #haikyuu scenarios #haikyuu writing #haikyuu!! #hq #hq!! #hq x reader #kageyama #tobio #kageyama tobio x reader #kageyama headcanon #kageyama scenario #fluff to angst #angst #hurt comfort #hurt little comfort #angsty.rin #kageyama imagine #hq-branch

[flowerczennie]

✨⭐️ Happy New Year ⭐️✨

Happy 2021 to everyone ✨ If I was told what was in store for us all in 2020, on this day last year, I would not have believed it all. When we were still in 2020, the thought of previous years felt like an alternate reality, people travelling, moving freely, walking around without masks on and even hugging people, all felt like such an alien concept. But I hope that, one day, we can all look back on the year that has just passed and see that year as the alternate reality instead, even if it remains a bumpy road for a while longer. For me personally, I lost my job completely for six months, lost loved ones amidst the pandemic and like so many of us, my anxiety took complete control of me for a couple of months and I felt completely crippled by the world. Despite all this, I can’t look back on the year with complete heartbreak because I lucked out when I decided to click on one video and completely fall in love with seven men and the world they have created. I could go on about them for days but you all know already, that is why we’re here with these blogs. I know, you know, we all know how much they mean to us and the impact they have made on us this year 💕 But perhaps the most important thing is the amazing people they have brought into my life and I can’t begin to thank them enough for that ✨

~ @hobi-gif Of course I have to start with our Hope, who I have been blessed to know for ten years 💕 Sometimes life happens, and even if you don’t talk for the longest time you’re still following each other, rooting for their happiness and if you’re lucky enough, they will come back into your life and end up making one of the biggest changes. This is what Hope did for me this year, it was within the first week of discovering bts, I saw that she was army via instastories and immediately had to know her bias, I needed a bts friend so much. Not only did Hope provide that but she opened up the bts world to me completely. If you know her, you know how warm, inviting, caring, loving she is and, if she could, she would give you the world. I could go on and ramble in classic Clara style but Hope, I want you to know how much you’ve changed my life this year and how much you mean to me. You’ve listened to my story, brought me into this wonderful bts world, introduced me to so many people and I am endlessly thankful. I have one last word to say to you, “OtsukareEeEeEEEeeeee...” ☺️💕 love you!

~ @snackhobi Miss Joy! 💕 Talking of Hope introducing me to people, the thought that I’ve known Joy for less than three months blows my mind. She truly is one of the most caring, selfless, warm, hardworking and magical people I have had the pleasure to get to know. First and foremost, she is one of the most beautiful souls you will ever meet, inside and out, and I can’t stress that enough. She also happens to have me made me laugh until I cry in the middle of work, been someone who will listen to my rambling when I’m sad or stressed, the most fantastic writer and my fellow Team Kim Seokjin team mate. Joy deserves the world and if could give it to her, I would. Love you, Miss Joy 💕✨

~ @hauntedlilies Melissa 🌸 My fellow brain cell, the Hobi to my Jin, my 2seok partner. The person that holds my hand and screams with me into the void because of our respective biases. I feel like when we’re both flailing, we can depend on each other for a hug and laugh. Not only do we have very similar jobs but I feel like we also create a very similar chaos. She is a genius and to top it off, a phenomenal artist too. One word to describe this friendship: feral.gif. Love you M and I’m so glad I know you 💕✨

~ @yeojaa 💘 Erin is the person who has caused and enabled some of the hardest laughs that I have had this year. Without being introduced to Erin, I wouldn’t have been invited to one of the most welcoming, funny and friendly group of people I’ve have ever met. Erin is also one of the kindest, giving and beautiful souls I have ever encountered. She is my Jungkook girl, Jungkook and Erin are so embedded together in my mind that when Jungkook does anything, she is the first person I think of ☺️ As you all probably know, she also happens to be the most incredible writer, the sweetest person to talk to and someone I’m proud to know. ILY Erin 🐰💕✨

I have followed and discovered some of the loveliest mutuals that I have ever known through this blog, that I have only had for a couple of months now. All of you are not only incredibly talented at what you do but you have also created such a wonderful place to be in on this site. I want to give a shout out to you all as well ⭐️✨

@xjoonchildx - @yeoldontknow - @moonchild-mp3 - @mykrokosmo - @smokyy-mountain-rain - @jintae - @namjoonbaby - @teainthelibrary - @daechwitas - @himbojin - @balenciaguks - @gukfae - @yoongiandthebiaswreckers - @bluengrey - @sketchguk - @flowerkth - @cowboyjinbop - @flowerseok - @sweeterthan-suga - @nvmguk - @taegiseok - @sunshinehobi-07 - @strayyoongii - @telepathygf - @kooseokss - @jimindelune - @ladyartemesia - @minsuga202

If you ever want to talk to me, even if you’re not on this list, my blog is a safe place to all and everyone is welcome, always. I’m always a friend when you need one. I am sending you all wishes of warmth, safety and health in new year and beyond. Like Yoongi, I am rooting for you all ⭐️☺️ lots of love, Clara 💕✨

#Happy New Year #⭐️✨ #Friends #Mutuals #💕✨

[atmilliways]

Dethentine’s Day 2

February 9th - In the Style of Disney/Studio Ghibli

Inspired by but not closely following The Little Mermaid. Charles is a merman, Nathan is a human, they... meet and stuff. 

Blood Ocean

When it storms over the open sea, flashes of lightning illuminate the upper reaches of the depths in a pale facsimile of sunlight. It lasts for only an instant, and below the surface the sound of thunder feels like the impact of whale sonar. But when the lightning comes thick enough, it takes on the strobe effect of a stop-motion picture show. 

A man falls into the water, followed by the downed mast of a wounded ship. 

Impact. 

The man is sinking faster than the debris around him, weighed down by his heavy boots and coat. He moves his limbs, but sluggishly. Too slow to make any difference, at the rate he's going. 

Impact. 

Tiny bubbles stream from the man’s mouth as he fights a losing battle to hold his breath. In the inky blackness below, just at the outside range of the storm’s light, something is beginning to dart upwards. 

Impact.

The man is gone. 

~

Charles doesn’t know what possessed him to do this. He hadn’t liked the Water God’s order to destroy any ships that ventured through their waters. That’s what the rest of the patrol are off doing, and tearing the throats out of any sailors trying to swim to safety besides—he can taste it in the water even at this distance. 

But he swims on, balancing the necessity of speed with the difficulty of keeping an airtight seal between his mouth and the now-unconscious human’s, sharing oxygen and releasing the creature’s exhales through his gills. This one must have been smart enough to try and climb to safety, and fell with the mast when the ship finally capsized. If Charles hurries, he can throw the man up onto the nearest accessible bit of shore and race back before he’s missed. 

The place he finds is rocky, but not so shallow that he can’t swim up to it or too steep that the human won’t be able to climb back to its people. Getting the man onto it takes some effort—he’s very broad, and overburdened with approximately the same amount of muscle as a blue whale. No wonder you nearly drowned, Charles thinks with an irritated frown, and gives one final heave—there, he’s up. Should be fine. The tide isn’t due to come in for another hour. 

He prods him, just to make sure, with the heel of one hand. The human groans and coughs up sea water. Yeah, he’ll be just fine. 

Suddenly a big hand closes around Charles’ wrist. “Hey,” the human he’s just rescued mumbles. “Hey, you . . . saved my life. . . .”

Charles feels his dorsal scales prickle in alarm. This isn’t good, the human wasn’t supposed to wake up. Humans aren’t supposed to know that merpeople exist, let alone go around thinking that they’re particularly friendly towards them. In spite of what Charles has just done, it wasn’t because he liked humans, it just . . . didn’t seem right, clawing holes in the bottoms of their ships as the Water God had ordered. It was like shooting birds in an air bubble. 

“No, I didn’t,” he hisses, panicking and yanking his wrist free. “And, ah . . . don’t tell anyone about this!”

The surf is trying to push him past the rocks into tide pools but Charles kicks off hard, both hearts hammering and doesn’t slow down once he’s out over deeper water. He still feels a phantom of that hand on his wrist, and he doesn’t understand why any more than he knows why he saved the man in the first place. 

He does not see the pale shape following at a distance. 

~

It takes Nathan a while, but he does manage to make his way up the rocky incline. Doesn’t help that it’s February, and that between his already wet clothes and the rain he’s shaking almost too hard to stand by the time he reaches the nearest town, but still, he gets there. 

No one believes him when he tries to explain how he survived the wreck. 

He spends the next several days in bed, still shivering. From time to time he rambles about shapes in the water and being rescued by a man who had a tail in place of legs, and people are pretty nice about it but they clearly think he’s touched in the head. By the time the fever breaks even he isn’t sure if what he thinks he remembers is actually what happened. 

Once he’s recovered enough to move on, Nathan decides to stay. It’s a nice enough town, and he’d been on that ship in the first place because he was leaving his parent’s home to find his place in the world. The town butcher needs an apprentice and has a room to rent above the butcher’s shop for cheap. He makes friends with the town drunk, who knows some guys who’re great on string instruments. They’re thinking of putting a band together. There are a lot of things that make hanging around worthwhile. . . . None of them are why he actually stays. 

Every night, Nathan dreams of his mysterious rescuer. Of hazel eyes and a blur of skin and scales. Of a mouth on his, breathing life and a heavy taste of salt into him. 

“‘Course ya dream about it,” Pickles tells him one night, when they’re both wasted past the point of Nathan being embarrassed talking about what might just be a vivid remnant of fever dream and possible head trauma. “Yer the sole survivor of that shipwreck, dood. If someone or something saved you, yer connected to it now. Gonna be until that debt is repaid. So, y’know, meybe that is why yer still here, yer all . . . connected to somethin’ by one’a those strings of fate or whatever.”

Nathan squints in conversation as he slowly absorbs this new idea. His hair falls across his face—it’s getting long, but it doesn’t bother him much so who knows when he’ll bother to cut it. “You mean like . . . an anchor?”

“Sure, either that’r survivor’s guilt.” Pickles shrugs, belches, and signals for the barman to bring them new pints. “I’d say it’s a fifty fifty chance that one’a those is true.”

That percolates in Nathan’s thoughts for a while, and in the meantime he finds himself picking his way back down to the rocky beach every day, rain or shine, and looking out across the water. 

Where are you? Nathan wonders. What are you? It had spoken to him with the voice of a man, so it, he, obviously had some reason. Nathan wonders if he has a name, and if so, what it is. 

He knows he’s obsessing. But if it’s fate or whatever, then what choice does he have?

~

Charles is going about his business, updating the abacai records for his patrol, when a great white behemoth of a merman crashes through the shell-curtain door of his office cave. Only a last minute dive saves him from being barreled into, but not before he gets a good look at the gnashing rows of teeth that belong to one of the Water God’s watchsharks. This one looks to be half Great White, and is wearing a misshapen piece of welded metal as a mask over the top half of his face. 

Fuck. This is because of that damn human, he just knows it. He’d thought he’d been so careful, and in the days since nothing had happened, reinforcing his sense of relief. . . . until now. 

The other merman has a crude knife, one of his own long teeth strapped to a handle with. After the first miss he turns—slowly, Charles notes—and lunges again. 

Everyday patrol schools are usually only taught minimal hand-to-hand combat skills, focusing mainly on hunting outer ocean game, targeted destruction of ships, and techniques for drowning struggling humans. But Charles had mastered the latter skills years ago and had, out of boredom and perfectionism, made a thorough study of the former in his free time. It’s something his colleagues often tease him about. 

Who’s laughing now?

He waits until the last second before darting to the right, counting on his own agility—and catches the arm with the knife, kicks into a spin, and pushes the razor-edged tooth into his attacker’s own side. The sand-rough skin scrapes at his palms, but if that puts any of his own blood in the water it’s definitely covered by the red gout billowing from the other merman, who Charles shoves ruthlessly into the wall before slipping out of the cave and swimming for his life. 

~

Leaving as quick as a riptide, for Charles, isn’t simply a matter of skipping town. It’s not just that he left without any of his personal effects until all this blows over. He knows his absence will be quickly noticed, and that means goodbye career. Between that and the watchshark—who could be dead or could have survived, there’s no way to know now, but even a corpse would tell a damning story—it’s goodbye colony as well. If the Water God has it out for him, no one will dare to take him in, not in any colony. He’s completely alone. 

Charles tries not to think about this, focusing instead on more immediate problems such as shelter and food. The further he gets from the colony’s heat vents, the colder the water becomes, so he’s forced to stick to the relative shallows along the coast, where there’s less chance of something spotting and ambushing him from below. 

Where he’d left that human. 

Somehow he proves harder to avoid thinking about than all the rest; when Charles floats awake at night in whatever new crevice he’s found to hole up in, he pictures the man’s face. Strong, stubborn jaw and high cheekbones. Heavy brow overshadowing eyes that are a deeper green than seaweed, with the dark depth of an ocean except without a trace of blue. Black hair that had streamed straight back during the hurried swim. Charles’ hand had brushed through it when first grabbing him and again when grappling to get him onto the rock, but out of the water it had clung to the man’s head and shoulders like an oil slick. 

He can still feel where the man had grabbed his wrist, an indelible handprint. Sometimes he catches himself rubbing at it absently. Still has no idea what possessed him to save someone only to lose everything, but for some reason he can’t move past that blankness of not knowing into being angry about it—at himself, at the human, at anything, because it just feels so . . . inevitable. As though he’d had to do it, no choice in the matter. 

This does not help him sleep, but eventually he does drift off. 

~

In some underwater caves there are pockets of air that were trapped tens of thousands of years ago when the sea levels rose. They sit, without light or wind, and do not wait because they expect nothing. 

But this one has light. This one has wind, and a smooth beach of solid rock against which Charles wakes, half out of the water. Using his lungs instead of his gills, which is more odd than uncomfortable. The air tastes clear and he smells the greenness of above-water plants. He has no idea how he got here; it’s definitely not where he fell asleep.

A human man stands above him. Not his human—Charles realizes he’s thought this an instant after doing so and feels his dorsal scales prickle—but an old man dressed in dark red and black robes. 

Somehow the old man knows that Charles is alone, an outcast in hiding. He introduces himself as Ishnifus Meadle and offers a way to escape pursuit for good. 

Naturally suspicious of both the offer and this whole set-up, Charles asks what the price is. 

Ishnifus tells him. 

Charles listens in dawning horror. It’s not the answer itself, but the scope of it; a coral outcrop that, upon further inspection, has formed an entire reef that he had until now mistaken for bedrock. Ishnifus knows things that no human should know. He knows things about Charles’ own life that no one could have possibly told him. Somehow it’s all connected, and the feeling of inevitability rises in Charles again like bile—but ultimately what Ishnifus is offering is an explanation. 

“Do you accept?” Ishnifus asks in his whispery voice. 

Impact. 

Charles takes a deep breath, slides down the rock shore briefly to wet his gills one last time, and says, “Yes.”

Impact. 

The merman is gone. 

~

On his daily visit to the rocky beach, Nathan finally sees something. He makes his way carefully but as quickly as he can down to the edge of the water, where a figure is sprawled on one of the rocks. It is in fact, he realizes when he gets there, the same rock he’d found himself on after the shipwreck, unexplained miles from where the ship actually went down. 

The naked figure is pale and hardly moving, cold and clammy to the touch, but Nathan helps him sit up because he recognizes him. Except for having legs instead of a tail, it’s the same mysterious hazel-eyed stranger who saved him from drowning. 

“It’s you,” Nathan says stupidly. He hesitates, but the guy is so weak from cold that before he even realizes he’s doing it he’s got his shirt off, a paltry offering but it’s better than nothing. It drapes hugely from the man’s damp, smaller frame, but after getting it on him Nathan feels like he’s at least provided some protection from the cold sea breeze blowing in from across the water. 

He scoops the man up—there’s something so weird about this, like their roles are reversed and how he has to stumble through the roll of rescuer like some sort of bumbling idiot with no experience in this sort of thing. But he manages to get them up the rocky incline and into town, into his room above the butcher’s shop without attracting anyone’s attention. Wraps the man in blankets and gets the kettle going until the bath is filled with steaming water. When the tub is full, Nathan turns back and sees the man struggling to unwrap himself, straining to get to the water on his own power.

“I can do it,” the man rasps as Nathan helps him, but it’s like watching a baby deer try to walk for the first time. This guy seems to have no control whatsoever over his shaking legs. But Nathan gets him stripped down again and into the hot bath, and he sinks into it with a sigh that borders on indecent. 

Nathan doesn’t know what to do with his eyes. It’s just the one room, and there’s not much to it, so it’s kind of hard to ignore the naked dude in his tub. Plus, he’s already seen everything the guy’s got to offer while carrying him in. So he settles for sitting on the end of his bed, shirtless and holding his wet shirt, and just . . . staring. He watches the man in the tub carefully pull each limb into the water and then dip under the surface, completely submerged, and stay there for a full minute. 

When he comes back up for air he uses the water streaming off him to slick his short hair back from his forehead and sits, nose just above the water to breathe, and stares at Nathan. 

“You, uh,” Nathan starts awkwardly. “You had gills before. On your neck. Right? Or did I hallucinate that?”

The man in the tub doesn’t answer, just stares at him. 

“What’s your name?” Nathan tries. “I’m Nathan.”

There’s a long pause, and then the man in the tub lifts his head just enough that his lower lip is out of the water. “Charles,” he says hoarsely, then coughs and dips down to sip from the tub. 

“Shit, don’t—You don’t know what I’ve had to scrub in there, don’t drink that. Hang on.” 

Nathan gets up and pulls on a shirt to go back out into the hall again, and returns with a glass of water. He hands it to Charles and watches him slowly try to sip from the middle of the glass. 

“It’s, uh, you gotta put the edge to your mouth and tip it,” he offers, miming it. 

Charles—fuck, it’s just so weird to finally have a name attached to the face, but a good weird, the reassuring Okay so I’m definitely not totally crazy after all kind of weird—gives him a skeptical look, but mimics the motion and successfully gulps the water down. Soon the glass is empty, and he hands it back. 

They stare at each other. 

“So, uh,” Nathan says, “you saved my life.”

“I did,” Charles replies. “And I, ah, think you might have just saved mine.”

For some reason, Nathan wants to deny this. Here he’s been, thinking about Charles literally every day for a while now, feeling at the very least like he owes him some sort of debt, then the minute he shows back up in his life they’re suddenly even again and that’s it? No. He shakes his head. “Nah, I just helped you get up the hill. You could’ve done that on your own.”

They stare at each other again. Nathan gets the distinct impression that they’re both fully aware that what he just said is all bullshit; Charles couldn’t even make it into the bath on his own. 

Charles says, carefully, “In that case, I, ah . . . I could use a place to stay.”

“You got it,” Nathan replies instantly, and is he really offering to share his small room and small bed with some stranger who he’s pretty sure is an honest to god merman, an actual mythic sea creature, no questions asked?

. . . Yeah. Yeah, he is. He’s not totally sure why, but he really means it, too. 

Charles is going about his business, updating the accounting book in the back of the butcher’s shop. Word has gotten around town that he’s good at this sort of thing; he’s due at the bakery first thing tomorrow morning to go through their books and make sure all the math is correct, and then in the afternoon the grocer wants him to perform an audit to make sure that none of the employees are stealing from the till. He actually much prefers this bloodless work to patrols. 

But he still practices hand to hand combat in his free time. Now that he’s found his land-legs it seems even more important to maintain whatever physical prowess that he can in this dry, non-buoyant environment. Nathan is helping him get better at lifting weights, and they both benefit in their own ways from the bar fights Nathan and his friends get into and that Charles finishes. 

At night, they share Nathan’s narrow bed. Charles is never cold anymore with Nathan there, although the man is strangely shy whenever he mentions this—some strange human hangup, he assumes, and doesn’t press the issue. He’s become unexpectedly fond of his human, more than fond if he’s really being honest with himself, but hasn’t yet learned the culturally appropriate way to act on this yet. 

Sometimes when he’s waiting for sleep to come, or when the figures on the page and flowing from the nib of his ink pen become so tedious he needs to tear his eyes away to stare at nothing for a moment, he thinks about what Ishnifus told him before giving him this above-water life. He wonders if it’s for the best that Nathan remains oblivious to all of it, Charles’ feelings included. 

There’s a storm coming, and Charles hopes that, if it comes to that, he’ll be able to save his human from drowning again.

#metalocalypse #dethentines 2021 #my fanfiction #narles #nathan explosion #charles foster offdensen #metalocalypse au #metalocalypse fanfic #pickles the drummer #mma #ishnifus meadle

[loruleanheart]

Desired Fate, Chapter 12

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Zelda poured over stacks of research notes at her writing table. As organized as it was, it was still proving difficult to locate what she was looking for.

The elixir recipe has to be in here somewhere…

She searched through the drawers, finding a neatly folded piece of paper tucked in a journal she’d used to write down field research notes.

Yes, I think this is it...

Zelda unfolded it, quickly appraising the recipe for the spicy elixir she had written down some time ago. She collected these recipes out of morbid fascination. She never imagined she’d be putting one to practical use.

It would be simple to gather the ingredients for the elixir, although she dreaded having to ingest the concoction that consisted of at least one monster part, likely from a bokoblin since they were so common and at least one creature that could give the elixir cold-resistant properties, likely an insect. These elixirs could be strengthened in effect or duration by adding additional monster parts, creatures, or plants.

I’m turning into Link, she thought grimly, recalling how Link had eaten rocks in her presence at least twice during their travels. It would be just like Link to drink one of these bizarre elixirs… or all of them…

Zelda grabbed an empty corked glass container to hold the elixir. She wrinkled her nose, imagining the taste of a potion that was created from the internal organs of a monster, and decided to bring an additional bottle to hold some water to wash it down.

The thought of Astor telling her she has bokoblin breath crossed her mind.

That is if he ever got close enough and we...

Zelda’s heart fluttered in her chest, and it took a moment to compose herself and focus on the task at hand.

She picked up the Sheikah Slate, pulling up its map function, which Purah had shown her recently after she and her fellow researchers had successfully activated the towers all over Hyrule. She studied it and decided the path she would take. The way through Dueling Peaks stood out to her at first, as it was the most well-established path, but taking a second look she saw a quicker, more direct route. Either way, she’d be passing through Kakariko village, which made her a little nervous. What if someone recognized her? Not that it would be the end of the world if someone did, Zelda reassured herself. It just wasn’t often that she went anywhere without an entourage of guards. The worst that could happen is one of the villagers would tell Impa she’d been spotted walking through the village alone. They probably wouldn’t guess where she was going, as Mount Lanayru was still some distance from the village.

She went to her wardrobe to grab a plain, dark cloak and put it on over her dress, adjusting the hood over her head. The cloak sat awkwardly over her long hair. She adjusted her hair so it would all fit comfortably inside the hood at the nape of her neck.

Leaving the comforts of her chambers was difficult. She had never done anything like this before. Still, the thought of staying put and doing nothing when the people of Hyrule were preparing for the worst was unconscionable. Soon there would be a mass exodus of people from Castle Town and she knew what they would think of her, thanks in part to her father’s never-ending scolding.

Outside, she was relieved to see the castle grounds were free of any guards, allowing her to walk out without incident. She supposed they had already been excused to retreat from Castle Town with their families. Her father was at least a benevolent king who cared for his people, despite his stern and sometimes harsh treatment of her. Zelda relaxed a bit and breathed deeply of the night air, looking out over the town from her vantage point as she made her way down the winding path.

Zelda cleared the gatehouse and then the main gate that led out into Castle Town, arriving in the central square. The gentle trickle of the fountain greeted her as the town slept. Zelda navigated through the empty cobblestone streets, heading for the final gate that would lead out into Hyrule Field. Once she had cleared the town’s gate, she headed east. 

The grass swayed in the gentle breeze. The moon was high and bright allowing her to see her destination in the far distance. The Sheikah Slate shifted in the pocket of her cloak. As she walked, she let her mind wander, trying to focus on sweet daydreams to overcome the sense that she was in a race against her kingdom’s demise. She remembered how conflicted Astor had sounded the last time she spoke with him. Her heart swelled and she walked a little faster, feeling hopeful and foolish at once. Her heart beat steadily in her mind over the sound of crickets chirping. She didn’t look back at the castle as she moved further and further away. If she looked back, she knew she would lose her resolve. 

Zelda neared a bokoblin camp. There were three of them, and fortunately for her, they were all in relative proximity to each other. She grabbed the Sheikah Slate from her cloak’s pocket and charged forward, giving a grunt of effort as she activated the remote bomb feature. By the time they noticed their unwelcome visitor it was too late. The pig-like creatures gave a chorus of animalistic shrieks just before they were blown sky-high. Zelda sighed in relief looking around the camp for whatever she could pillage for herself. There was a thick juicy steak cooking over an open flame. She was quite hungry now that she thought of it.

As Zelda moved towards the steak, a slew of bokoblin parts began to fall from the sky. Zelda flinched as purple guts rained down on her with an array of wet plops, some of them bursting upon impact. She wasn’t hungry anymore.

Zelda started working on the elixir after she had gained the nerve to gather the bokoblin guts and place them in a large cooking pot that already had a fire going under it. She stayed at the camp a few minutes waiting for a warm darner to appear and when one presented itself she caught it and added it to the pot. Slowly, everything began to liquefy, becoming an orange-red liquid. If she stood too close to the concoction her eyes began to water. Breathing in the peppery aroma the elixir gave off made her break into a coughing fit. 

Success… Zelda thought to herself.

She carefully scooped the rim of the bottle through the liquid, letting it flow into the container. She corked it and put it away for later. Zelda moved to the nearby Hylia river and bent to scoop up some water in her cupped hands, greedily drinking to quench her immense thirst. She savored the crispness of it, and it sated the burning in her throat. She gathered some water in the second glass bottle and corked it. She climbed back up the embankment and crossed the Rebonae Bridge.

oOo

By late morning it was discovered that Zelda was missing. The few staff left at the castle descended into a frenzy, searching the castle and even spreading out into Castle Town to look for her.

Link and Impa knelt before King Rhoam who was furious.

“It seems my daughter has forsaken her divine duty and has fled. I fear all is lost…”

“Your Majesty, with all due respect, I don’t believe she would do such a thing. I’m sure that wherever she has gone she has a good reason.”

The king narrowed his eyes at the Sheikah advisor. “Then where has she gone and what is she doing? This is unacceptable! You two are her closest companions. You must know something! If you are hiding something from me, I will hold you both personally responsible!”

Impa shifted nervously, shooting a brief look at Link for support. “Uh… S-she might be with a certain individual… He… He might have taken her, but then again, she might have gone with him willingly. I really can’t say for sure either way…. I don’t want to point any fingers, though, and I mean no disrespect towards the Princess…”

“What do you mean ‘went with him willingly’?” King Rhoam snapped, his anger flaring. “Who is this individual?”

“Uh… Let’s just say he’s a prophet with exclusive knowledge of the Calamity.”

Link gave Impa an incredulous look. Impa could only imagine what the young knight was thinking. 

Smooth, Impa, real smooth. You really know how to spin things.

“Hmm… A prophet…” Rhoam paused, contemplating this. “This still does not sit well with me… Especially the fact that you don’t sound very certain about this man’s intentions at all... Send word to the Champions at once to leave their Divine Beasts for the time being. Inform them of the situation and have them assist in searching for her.”

“Yes, Your Majesty.” Impa bowed, and they turned to leave the sanctum.

“It can’t be true can it?” Impa whispered to Link. “The other night when Astor interrupted Zelda’s prayers at the Spring of Courage…  We have no idea what was said between the two. What are the chances Zelda’s disappearance has something to do with him? What if… What if they both turned from their respective roles and ran as far as they could?”

Link regarded her. He seemed to consider what she was saying, a serious look in his blue eyes but refraining from expressing his thoughts on the matter, committed to silently bearing his duty, no matter what unexpected turns fate threw at him.

“Ugh… sorry, I’m just rambling, I guess.” Said Impa. “I don’t want to believe Zelda would just give up like that, but if she did... I guess I would understand why…”

oOo

Zelda had, at last, reached the gate that marked the entrance to Mount Lanayru. At the base of Mount Lanayru was a beautiful, tranquil field. This would probably be the last moment of relative comfort, for once she started her ascent the air would only grow colder the higher she went. She had to do some light climbing to reach the start of the path up the mountain. She followed the winding path up the mountain, and soon she noticed it was snowing lightly. The change in temperature was dramatic, and when she became too cold for her liking, she took a small sip of the spicy elixir. It wasn’t as foul as she’d been anticipating, so she was able to consume the rest, although slowly. Even after chasing the elixir with water, she could feel sweat beginning to bead on her forehead. The cold became tolerable, and soon, any unpleasant burning aftertaste faded.

The path up the mountain was steep, marked every so often with a segment of stone steps. Her legs began to ache but knew that if she stopped it would hurt to resume moving again. She wouldn’t stop until she stood before the Hylia statue at the Spring of Wisdom.

She sensed she was at a high altitude now. A cutting gust of wind snapped back the hood of her cloak and violently ruffled her thick hair. As she tried to pull the hood back in place, the wind hit again, stronger this time, and it took her breath away for several beats. She struggled to take a breath, gasping for air. Still, she pushed up and onward.

 Her legs were about to give when she, at long last, reached the spring. She wondered how the water wasn’t solid ice given the frigid temperature. She stepped into the spring, starting to shiver as the ice-cold water touched her skin up to her shins. She couldn’t turn back now, she’d come too far and was finally at her destination. 

She forced herself further down the spring, following the stone path below the water’s surface, coming to stand where the crest of Hylia was etched. She clasped her hands together, barely being able to form a coherent thought. Are the effects of the elixir wearing off, she wondered with rising alarm.

She braced herself against the immense cold, squeezing her eyes shut. “Goddess Hylia, please… I came all the way up here... I don’t understand… Don’t you want me to awaken my power?”

Her chest felt so tight. She could feel the bones ache in her fingers. She couldn’t stop herself from visibly shivering. The cloak that had felt so heavy and substantial all the way here, suddenly felt paper-thin now.

Had she made a mistake?  One she would pay for with her life? There was no way she was going to make it back down the mountain. She was far too cold, and far too exhausted to turn back.

“Please… Didn’t you call me here?”

oOo

The seer watched the princess in the ancient Sheikah orb. She was praying at the Spring of Wisdom, just as she had said she would. The girl’s breath was visible, coming out in steady puffs from her pale lips.

The seer hesitated. It wasn’t supposed to be this way. She was never meant to make it up to that spring, especially not alone and not this early. Astor could sense the goddess at work, altering fate’s course and forcing his hand. He had to choose and seal his ultimate fate.

He had once sworn to crush beneath his heel those who were trying to defy fate’s rightful course. No, not fate… Calamity Ganon’s will. The truth was slowly starting to dawn on him. He’d been so deluded by the Calamity for so long, only falling further into those delusions when he’d found the Harbinger. But fate had a true course, and even that was being rewritten. The hardest thing to accept was that it was being rewritten for his benefit. Why him? He never would have considered that a goddess would give second chances to those that turned their back on her in favor of serving an all-consuming evil entity.

 Hyrule’s two most powerful beings were at war over him. He was a tool to both, although he had to surrender to the fact that the goddess had far more benign plans for him. He’d be a fool to fight Hylia’s plan, but it still felt wrong. He’d repressed human desires for such a long time, or rather serving the Calamity had nearly destroyed all those desires, leaving barely a whisper of humanity in him.

Could the princess really be his? He could no longer fight or deny his want for her… Or was it he who would be hers? Astor wasn’t sure. It was the princess who had pursued him and won him over. He was vaguely aware his thoughts of her were consuming him, slowly changing him.

He recalled the last thing she had said to him.

I hope you will allow me to give you what the Calamity cannot.

Her words echoed through his mind. Those words had sent him spiraling. He wanted so much to do the same to her somehow.

And so Astor willed himself to that place. He appeared behind her on the stone platform, the frigid temperatures immediately hitting him.

Zelda turned, taking notice of him. Her eyes widened and her lips parted to speak, but she had no words. Overcome, Zelda ran to him, up the steps and onto the stone platform he stood.

“So... Cold!” She threw herself at him, burying her frozen hands into his robes. Astor cried out in surprise, vanishing from the Spring of Wisdom, taking her with him. And for a brief moment in time they were neither here nor there, but still locked in that embrace.

The princess was still shivering intensely when they reappeared at the base of Mount Lanayru, back in that tranquil field.

She hung on to him, trying to steal what little warmth his body and clothing could give. It occurred to her that he must have been watching her, knowing exactly where she was and when she was in trouble. “You… You came to save me?”

He didn’t know how to act towards her, doubling down. “Quite bold of you to make that assumption.” He said coldly. “Perhaps I only came to witness your demise brought on by your ill-conceived plan, but alas it seems I have inadvertently saved you…” He pried her off of him and pushed her away, yet it was far too gentle for someone who had once plotted her death. His fingers brushed against her ice-cold ones, and he flinched from the contact.

Zelda’s heart fell. “If you were still loyal to Ganon, you would have just left me to die… Please, stop playing games with me... I can’t stand this… I’m so cold.” She came close again, trying to bury herself in him once again. She must have been starved for affection and validation to be seeking it from him of all people. Astor halfheartedly held out a hand, trying to keep her at bay. He wanted so badly to give in to her, but her touch was paralyzing, for it ignited a chain of images in his mind’s eye. The visions were too rapid to interpret or understand, but still, they left him with a strange feeling. She may not have been able to find her power, but she had certainly managed to awaken something in him.

Zelda gave him a dejected look. “Thank you for saving me...” She said self-consciously, before beginning to head back toward the Lanayru Promenade. She wrapped her arms around herself tightly, still feeling the effects of the cold. Astor couldn’t help but follow, each step a subconscious desire to stay at her side.

They walked for a while in silence down Lanayru Promenade, its beautiful ancient stonework covered in moss.

Zelda came to a stop, near the edge of the path, overlooking the water. Her fist was wrapped tightly around the handle of the Sheikah Slate. “That was my last chance… Looks like I’m just not meant to awaken this power… But why…? Why won’t it awaken for me?”

Astor paused, her words deeply affecting him for reasons he couldn’t understand. He felt like a ghost of his former self, now numb to Calamity Ganon. The vision of the princess and the knight at Blatchery Plains ran through his mind, sobering him. It made Astor anxious that she would ultimately give up on him and find validation in the most obvious of places - that boy. Was it possible for fate to circle back around and bite him in such a cruel way?

“My seventeenth birthday is... tomorrow… There’s no more time…” Zelda’s voice cracked in a pitiful way. She stood perfectly still, her back to him. “I really am just a failure.” Zelda gave a horrible, soul-rending sob and pitched the cloak she’d been wearing into the waters below.

Laughter erupted through the promenade, catching Astor and Zelda’s attention. They looked up to see Kohga and Sooga watching them from a perch high above them.

“Well, well, well… Look here, Sooga… The doomed prophet and the heiress to a throne of nothing together at last… I never saw this coming.” Kohga howled with sarcasm. “Is that a banana in your pocket, Prophet? Or are you just happy to see the pr-”

Astor clapped his hands over his ears, his irises constricting. “Stop! Stop! Stop!” Astor screamed. “I’m going to consign you degenerate pests to oblivion if it’s the last thing I do!”

Zelda sniffed, blinking several times as if caught off guard and deeply confused.

Astor was dying inside, the desire to throw himself off the edge of the promenade only increasing.  He fantasized about all the ways he could kill Kohga, but he couldn’t help but admit Zelda’s reaction was strangely endearing. Had Kohga’s terrible joke actually got her to stop crying?

“Yiga assemble! Cut down the false prophet and the girl who carries the blood of the goddess!” Kohga clapped his hands together, summoning his footsoldiers, each bursting into the scene, scrolls falling around them. The footsoldiers began to swarm Zelda and Astor, while Kohga and Sooga vanished. 

One of the footsoldiers took a running jump towards Zelda, swinging his sickle. Zelda gasped, losing her footing as she stepped back, nearly falling into the water. Astor moved quickly, grabbing Zelda by the wrist and pulling her close to him.

With his free hand, Astor summoned his orb, hoping Calamity Ganon’s power hadn’t forsaken him yet as he called forth a Hollow. The Hollow of the princess’s appointed knight appeared in an instant and rushed at the Yiga footsoldiers with horrifying speed.

The footsoldiers screamed in recognition of the hero’s likeness, holding their sickles at the ready. The malice being wielded its ‘sword’ just as skillfully as the hero himself, expertly blocking any attacks the members of the Yiga Clan threw at it. It made short work of the footsoldiers, hacking and slashing until they each fell, nearing death. The Princess stood very still as she watched it all play out before her in morbid fascination, wide-eyed and still held in Astor’s grasp.

The footsoldier’s bodies jerked and spasmed, giving up the ghost, or in this case red-purple spheres of energy that rose out of their chests one by one, being drawn out by the power of malice Astor wielded. The spheres floated delicately in the air, and Zelda could just make out a faint electrical pulse within. Astor raised his chin in a ‘come here’ motion, and the spheres barreled through the air with a ghastly howl towards the pair. Zelda shut her eyes and flinched away, only to realize that the spheres had been absorbed into the orb Astor held.

Astor released Zelda from his grasp and stepped away, looking surprised. He had saved her, again, on his own volition this time. He had held her so close, and the moment had passed too quickly, barely having acknowledged it at the moment due to being under attack.

Zelda regarded him silently, waiting for him to speak. He looked as if he was waiting for Calamity Ganon to strike him down.

“If you’re going to perish, it must be by my hand...” Said Astor, as a way of an excuse, as confidently as he could muster.

Zelda’s face fell. The fear and anticipation of the impending Calamity hung palpably between them. Zelda thought of her father, her anxieties mounting. She didn’t know how she was going to face him knowing she’d broken Lanayru’s decree and failed to awaken her powers yet again. “Well... I don’t suppose you’d like to accompany me back to the castle? Father might want to kill me when he finds out where I’ve been.” Zelda gave a nervous smile.

Astor smiled a bit. This girl thought she was clever. “I can do that…” In truth, he’d follow her anywhere at this point.

This took Zelda by surprise. Her features contorted a bit, nearly breaking into tears again. She gave a small exhale of relief. “Thank you…”

#Age of Calamity #Astor #Zelast #fanfiction #Giving this dying tag a much needed shot of adrenaline

[lightsupinthenorth]

Always ready to bolt

Read on AO3

When he learns that Billy survived Starcourt, Steve visits him every day in the hospital. At first, Billy doesn’t say anything, because he can’t speak, so Steve does all the talking. He babbles almost constantly, so neither of them will have to focus on the beeping of the machines Billy is hooked to, or on the greyish white of the walls, of the ceiling, of the bed sheets, of everything in this fucking room, in this fucking hospital.

 The first words Billy says to him when he recovers the ability to speak are:

 “Why are you here?”

 Billy’s voice is rough from disuse and nearly inaudible, but the words have the force of a punch in the gut and they leave Steve winded. For the first time in a long while, he’s speechless. It took Billy finally talking to shut Steve up. It’s not all that surprising. Steve always has the worst timing.

 He has no answer for Billy, because that question, the one he just asked, Steve has asked to himself countless times in the last few weeks. And he’s no closer to answering it than he was when he first thought about it.

 So, he replies with another question. That’s all he has.

 “Do you want me to go?” Steve gets up.

 “No!” Billy whispers-yells, reaching instinctively for Steve’s wrist.

 He lets go of it almost immediately and clears his throat. “Sorry, I didn’t mean anything by it.”

 “No worries.”

 Silence settles, and it’s uncomfortable. So much so that Steve starts rambling again. He’s relieved when Billy butts in with a comment here and there. Maybe, just maybe, he doesn’t entirely despise Steve.  

 It goes on like this until Billy is discharged from the hospital. Steve is the one who comes to fetch him, because apparently his father couldn’t make it. He drops him off at the Hargrove-Mayfield home and, right after Billy exits the car, before he can close the passenger door, Steve tells him to call if he wants, so they can talk or hang out “or whatever”. He’s not looking at Billy, when he says it. And he’s pretty sure he’s blushing… he can feel the tell-tale heat in his cheeks.

 “Sure. And, Harrington… thank you.”

 Steve isn’t sure what Billy is thanking him for: the ride, the visits or both, but he replies:

 “It was no trouble.”

 Because that’s the truth.

 He thinks that he’ll hear from Billy in a couple days, at best, but it happens much sooner than that. Steve hears from him a few hours later, but indirectly. He gets a call from Max, and she sounds panicked. Steve is on alert as soon as her dread registers to him.

 “Steve… You’ve got to do something. It’s Billy… He’s not home… I don’t know where he went but I don’t think he’s planning on coming back. All of his stuff is gone… I… I’m really worried.”

 Fuck. That’s quite bad, but at least Billy probably hasn’t gone very far. He doesn’t own a car anymore, after all. Steve probably has a shot at finding him.

 “I… I’ll look for him. Try not to worry, I’ll update you as soon as I can.”

 “Thank you.” She says, and Steve can hear the tears in her voice.

 His chest tightens. He needs to hurry.

 He only notices he was gripping the phone far too hard when he slams it down to hang up, the clanging noise it makes resonating in his barren flat.

 Steve drives around, trying to ignore his shaky hands and frantic heartbeat. It’s pouring rain, which makes it hard to see. He still notices a hunched figure by the side of the road, on the outskirt of town. He slows the car and roll the passenger window down.

 It is indeed one Billy Hargrove, wearing a now soaked hoodie and carrying a duffle bag.

 “What the fuck do you think you’re doing, Hargrove?” Steve yells to be heard above the sound of the rain.

 “I’m going somewhere.” Billy says.

 The bastard isn’t stopping.

 “Where?”

 His steps falter.

 “I don’t know… just somewhere.”

 Just somewhere… What a brilliant plan. Steve sighs, equal part annoyed and worried.

 “Get in the car.”

 Billy doesn’t move.

 “Get in the fucking car, Billy, I swear!”

 Steve instantly regrets letting his stress get the best of him, but at least it gets him what he wants.

 “Fine, fine, I’m getting in…” Once Billy is seated and has closed the door, he adds: “just, don’t drive me home, please. I just can’t live there anymore.”

 Steve would like to enquire about it, but now isn’t the right time for that. His number one priority is getting Billy some dry clothes.

 “Why didn’t you just say so, earlier? You could have just come to my place with me.” Steve asks as he makes a U-turn to get them back to Hawkins.

 Billy doesn’t answer, preferring to fidget with the zipper of his duffle bag.  

 -

 It takes a lot to convince Billy to stay at Steve’s. Steve understands that he isn’t Billy’s first choice for a roommate, but surely living with him is better than having nowhere to go, right? Well, Billy doesn’t seem certain.

 Billy’s not a bad roommate… he’s the opposite, in fact. It’s just that, for the first few weeks of their arrangement, Steve barely even notices he doesn’t live on his own anymore. Sure, Billy’s there all the time, but he barely takes any room at all.

 Steve tries to make Billy take the bed, since he’s still recovering, but Billy insists he’ll be fine on the couch.

 Steve’s emptied half of his own closet for him, and Billy just puts his duffle bag in it, instead of taking his clothes out of the bag and into the closet. Billy’s hair products, shower gel, shaving cream, razor, toothbrush and toothpaste all stay in the bag too, unless he’s using them. When Steve gets up every morning, Billy is already awake, and the couch doesn’t even look slept in. He’s silent, most of the time, reading book after book from the library. He washes the dishes and does pretty much all the cleaning (including Steve’s laundry) while Steve is at work, no matter how many times Steve tells him he doesn’t need to do all that. Maybe Billy would feel better living with Steve if he stopped doing all the chores, as well as cooking most meals, and behaving like a prisoner.

 It takes a broken mug for Steve to understand what’s really going on:

 One afternoon, Steve comes home earlier than usual from his shift at Family video and finds Billy doing the washing up in the kitchen. He must have been too deep in thought to notice Steve’s arrival, because when Steve greets him, he startles and the mug he was washing slips from his hand. It hits the edge of the sink and falls to the floor, shattering on impact. Steve flinches at the same time as Billy does.

 “Fuck, fuck, I’m sorry, Steve. I’m so sorry.” Billy kneels down to pick up the pieces of the broken mug. It’s his favorite one, the one Dustin got for him. There’s a big “world’s n°1 mom” written in block letters on the front. He grumbled when it was offered to him, but he loves it really. He doesn’t even care that it’s broken, though. It’s just a mug. He’s more focused on the fact Billy might cut himself.

 He’s going to tell him to leave it, that Steve will go fetch the broom, but it’s too late: Billy hisses, and suddenly there is blood on his hand, on the piece of ceramic he’s holding, falling on the floor in a puddle. Billy doesn’t stop though: he keeps trying to clean the mess.

 Steve has to kneel beside him and hold his wrists to prevent him from continuing. He takes the jagged pieces from Billy’s bloody hand and puts them back on the floor.

 “Let’s go to the bathroom, alright? We’re going to need the first aid kit.”

 Billy doesn’t reply, he doesn’t nod, but he doesn’t resist when Steve pulls him up and leads him to the bathroom.

 Once he’s done bandaging Billy’s hand, Billy gets up from the edge of the bathtub on which he was sitting and leaves the room without a word. Steve follows him and watches, bewildered, as Billy takes his duffle bag from their shared closet and goes to the front door.

 “Billy, where are you going?” Steve tries to hide his concern, not wanting Billy to freak out even worse than he apparently is, but he’s not doing a very good job of it.

 “I’ll get out of your hair. I’m a dead weight, I’m just dragging you down.” Billy replies in a deadpan tone.

 That’s when it clicks: Billy doesn’t act the way he does because he hates living with Steve… he acts the way he does because he thinks Steve doesn’t want him here.

 He rushes to Billy’s side and puts his hands on his shoulders, as if it would stop him from bolting if he wanted to.

 “Where the fuck is that coming from?”

 Billy’s staring at his shoes.

 “I don’t deserve to live here with you… I’m taking too much room, and I’m useless and clumsy… I broke your favorite mug… and…”

 “Hey, hey” Steve interrupts him. He can’t take anymore of this. “it’s just a dumb mug, it doesn’t matter. You’re not useless, and I love having you here, okay? You’re not taking too much room at all.”

 If anything, he is not taking enough.

 “You’re just saying that because you’re too nice.” Billy mumbles.

 Steve feels helpless.

 “I swear I mean it, Billy. I wish you felt more comfortable here. It’s your home too, now.”

 Hell, Billy even insists on paying part of the rent with the government hush money. He belongs here as much as Steve does, even from an objective point of view.

 “Really?”

 Billy looks up, unsure, and there are tears in his eyes. Steve can’t help but envelope him in a tight hug. He should probably have asked beforehand, but thankfully Billy doesn’t freak out on him. He just tenses slightly, before relaxing and hugging Steve back tentatively.

 Steve convinces Billy to stay, and after that incident he’s less lenient about Billy behaving the way he did before. He used not to protest because he wanted to respect Billy’s boundaries and because he thought Billy disliked him (at best). Now that he knows the horrible truth, though, this will not fly any longer. Steve’s misunderstanding of the situation led to him not doing anything to make Billy feel more welcome, and it has to change. He insists that Billy unpack, that he stop doing ninety percent of the chores and only do half of them instead. He includes him more in his own activities, instead of letting him stay in a corner reading.

 The only thing left is getting Billy to sleep in a real bed. This problem ends up solving itself when Billy wakes Steve up from a bad dream one night. Steve asks him to stay with him and Billy accepts without hesitation. He keeps to his side of the bed at first, but Steve snuggles up to him and Billy doesn’t protest. After that, they spend most nights together.

 And Steve loves it. The proximity, the intimacy, the comfort it brings. But it’s hard. It’s hard to hide the feelings he caught for Billy along the way. He can’t pinpoint when they sprang, exactly, but now they’re here and they’re not going anywhere any time soon. How could Steve not love Billy, now that he knows how caring, sensitive, and intelligent he is?

 Yes, hiding how he feels is hard. But Steve won’t say anything. He can’t. It would ruin things, and things are so good these days.

 At least, that’s what he thinks. However, one night, it becomes clear that Billy isn’t dealing as well as Steve thought with their living arrangement, that he still doesn’t feel entirely at home at the flat. And it breaks Steve’s heart.

 Billy is having a nightmare and waking him up is a struggle. Billy’s trashing too much and Steve receives a punch in the nose for his effort. When Billy finally wakes up and sees Steve holding his hand under his bloody nose, he puts two and two together and it doesn’t go well.

 “I hurt you.” He says.

 His tone is neutral, which is never a good sign.

 “Hey, it’s fine. It was an accident. You didn’t mean to.”

 “It doesn’t matter whether I meant to or not, I still hurt you.”

 And Steve loves Billy, but his stubbornness is so infuriating, especially in this kind of situations.

 “See, that’s why I shouldn’t have moved in with you. I knew I’d only bring you problems… I’ll just go.”

 Billy is already out of bed and in front of their closet, taking his empty duffle bag out. Before he can put any of his things in it, though, Steve’s by his side and basically ripping the bag from his hands. There is no way he’s letting Billy go, especially not in the middle of the night, when the pink hue of the sky indicates it’s going to snow soon.

 “Billy, stop it! I thought you were done trying to run away.”

 Billy flinches.

 “I don’t want you to leave. Okay? So, don’t use me as an excuse. If you still want to go, it’s on you, just admit that you don’t want to stay because you hate it here and be done with it.”

 Steve’s frustrated, and he’s getting worked up. He doesn’t know what more to do to make Billy comfortable.  

 “Of course, I don’t hate it here, Steve… I just… I just think you deserve better than me.”

 Billy’s voice so low that Steve wouldn’t hear it if the night were any less silent.

 “That’s bullshit. You’re good Billy. You’re a great roommate, and you’re my best friend, and I don’t want anyone else. Get that into your thick head.”

 “I’m… I’m trying.”

 “I know you are. Can you also try to stop being ready to bolt at the slightest issue? It feels awful, knowing that you might leave at any time… because you are my home. If you leave, you take my home with you.”

 Billy stares at him for what feels like ages before he tackles him into a strong hug, nearly cutting Steve’s airways. Steve doesn’t mind one bit, though. He hugs back just as tightly.

 “I’m sorry.” Billy apologizes as they separate.

 “It’s okay. You’re annoying, but I love you, so I can deal with it.” Steve assures him, putting one of Billy’s curl behind his ear.

 He can see his eyes shine in the pinkish glow of the winter sky.

 “I love you too.”

 Steve’s breath hitches, and then they’re kissing softly, right in front of their open closet, their bare feet on the cold linoleum floor, goosebumps on their skin both from the chilly air and the kiss.

 They’re going to be fine, now.

#Harringrove #Steve Harrington #fanfiction #fluff #sligh angst #hurt and comfort #tw blood #just from minor injuries

[chickensarentcheap]

Best Part of Me -Chapter 88

Warnings: none

Tagging: @tragiclyhip, @innerpaperexpertcloud, @c-a-v-a-l-r-y, @alievans007

The final attempt at sleep had been successful. Although the road ahead of him is destined to be long and extremely difficult -and no doubt agonizing- his brief moment of wakefulness had done wonders to life Esme’s spirits. That chance to speak to him; to see him open his eyes and know -with one hundred percent certainty- that he was able to acknowledge her. It wasn’t a drug induced incoherent rambling or hallucination. He actually saw her and was able to engage; giving appropriate responses and showing concern for her and the baby. Able to express how he was feeling and that telling her he loved her. No one could ever possibly understand how just incredible that small moment was, or what an enormous impact it had on her state of mind. She knows it won’t be easy. There will be weeks, even months, of healing; tremendous pain and more hard times than easy ones. A full recovery could take as long as a couple of years; countless rounds of physical rehab will be needed and most likely therapy for mental health and addiction issues.  But he’s already shown just how tenacious and strong he actually is; his will to live a lot more powerful than the agony he’s experiencing. With so much to live for, his desire to be with his family again is his main driving force, and she knows he’ll be willing to do whatever it takes to get back on his feet again.

Nathan may have been able to break his body, but he hadn’t made a dent in his spirit.

The burden she’s been carrying -the fear, worry, and uncertainty- had been lessened, and she’d been able to drift off; both body and mind allowing her to rest. So soundly in fact, that she’d only briefly stirred in the wee hours of the morning when Julie had come in while on her rounds. Merely lifting her head from the pillow; quietly observing as the nurse switched empty IV and medicine bags with full ones. Then she’d simply rolled over, pulled the blankets over her head, and easily drifted off.

Her sleep once again had been filled with dreams of the past. Millie’s first steps and how ecstatic and proud Tyler had been; never getting to experience many of Austin’s milestones because of deployments. How tearful he’d been the morning he’d walked into her room and Millie -who’d  been standing up in her crib, excitedly bouncing up and down at the mere sight of him- had called him ‘daddy’ for the very first time.  And the way he’d broken down in the delivery room when the twins had been born -even harder than he had when his daughter came into the world- and the nurse had given him TJ and said “Here’s your son”.   He’d lost his first, and getting that moment again -a baby boy presented to him- had profoundly affected him  A man that rightfully shouldn’t even have been alive. Who’d been given a second chance and at times didn’t feel as if he deserved it. There are still times he thinks that way. When the demons of the past resurface and play havoc on his brain; convincing him that the mistakes of a younger man and the amount of blood on his hands has turned him into a monster. It’s the nightmare of living with mental health issues and PTSD; those dark moments where he questions his mere existence and openly states that he doesn’t deserve the life he has now; a wife and children that love and accept him unconditionally.  

It’s hard for people to understand. How a man that is so big and so strong -and often intimidating- can have those kinds of thoughts and vulnerable moments. But they don’t know everything that he’s battled. His childhood is one of his best kept secrets; only her and Koen know the full extent of his father’s behaviour, the abuse inflicted, and the long term damage it has caused. It’s not something he readily talks about; even with her.  That toxic masculinity still gets the better of him at times. His father’s attempts at beating into him that a man -a REAL MAN- doesn’t show emotion; it means that he’s weak and there’s nothing more pathetic than being weak. And she’s tried to break him of it; years spent assuring him that he isn’t a weak man.  A weak man would have given up in that storage facility. In the same way he would have given up on the Sultana Kamal Bridge seven years ago.  And he certainly never would have survived the nightmare of his upbringing. Nor would he be so determined to be a better man; the kind of husband and father that a wife and kids can brag about and proud of. Who never have to live in fear of him ; cowering every time he raises his voice or even comes too close to them. Who know -beyond the shadow of a doubt- how much he loves him.

Tyler Rake is anything BUT weak. And he’d shown that the night before.  Somehow finding a way to battle his way through this thick haze of multiple medications; gathering the strength to not only open his eyes, but actually think coherently and communicate. He was right. He DOES do whatever he wants.

When she finally wakes, it’s to the patter of rain against the window and the sounds of hospital life trickling through the half open door. Doctors being paged, the shrill ring of patients’ using their call buttons to summon for help, the loud rattle of gurneys being pushed through the halls. It’s a harsh reminder of her current situation; stuck in the ICU of a private hospital in Dhaka, thousands of miles away from her children and the comforts and security of her own home.  She misses it. The sound and the smell of the ocean. The morning breeze and sunshine as she stands out on the back deck enjoying that first cup of tea, watching her husband as he helps Millie and the twins search -and dig, at times- for shells, rocks, and beach glass. Often wondering who is enjoying the quality time more; father or children. The  dinners cooked on an open fire down by the water; the smiles brought to their faces -and that unconditional love and immense pride in his eyes- as they watch their children play and listen to those little voices and musical giggles floating on the air. And those strong, protective arms wrapped around her from behind as she sits between his legs. Her head resting against his chest as they quietly marvel at the sky; painted vivid shades of orange and pink as the sun sets.  

It’s a life she had never even dared to dream about; a beautiful home in an even more even more beautiful place,  amazing children and a husband that is faithful and loyal and only has eyes for her.  All those things that she’d come to believe SHE didn’t deserve and had long ago given up on finding. How poetic in a way; two broken people coming together to make a slightly dented whole.

Sighing heavily, she rolls from side to back; eyes closed as she stretches and yawns The morning sickness has returned. With a vengeance. More than likely made worse by lack of food and the stress and worry that have accompanied the last twenty four hours. When she manages to quell the threatening nausea and brief spell of dizziness, she opens her eyes and sits up, finding a small paper bag sitting on the extra pillow beside her; name written on the front of it in black marker. And the contents bring the first genuine smile since yesterday morning; aside from Tyler’s brief period of consciousness. A bottle of prenatal vitamins, a small carton of chocolate milk, and an enormous blueberry muffin. Accompanied by a handwritten note from Julie; asking Esme to promise she’ll look after herself AND the baby, assurance that she’ll be back on in the evening, and her home phone number. The latter being offered as not only a ‘helpline’ if she feels overwhelmed and scared and needs someone to vent and cry to, but so she can give the nurse a list of some of her favorite foods. Julie vowing to bring a selection when she clocks in for her shift. It’s refreshing; having someone WANT to take care of her in that motherly fashion. Especially when her own has been anything but.

She shoves her feet into her sandals and climbs off the bed; returning  it to its couch form. “Hey baby,” she greets as she stands at the side of Tyler’s bed; combing her fingers through his hair and pressing her lips to his temple. “Good morning.  I hope you slept god. You didn’t snore, I know that much. That’s a first, huh? Me not complaining about your snoring? Must have been a really good sleep for you to be THAT quiet. You deserve it; that kind of sleep. Your face looks a little better, I think. Not as swollen. Pretty bruised though. And you’re going to have a couple wicked scars at the end of this.”

Her fingers gently touch the stitches below and above his eye.

“You’d probably joke about how it balances your face out; the right catching up with the left in the scar department.  I think they’re going to make you even sexier. Which should be illegal, if you ask me. One man being that sexy?  No wonder you’re a DILF. The thirsty ladies may drive me crazy, but I can’t really blame them. Right now I’m kind of mad at you though. I am so nauseous. And I swear, the bump is even bigger this morning...look…”   she pushes her fingers through his, then draws their joined hands through the safety railing and places them on her stomach.  “...bigger, right? You can’t tell me this is normal. None of the other ones were this size so soon. Not even Declan, and he was over ten pounds when he was born. And you better not be thinking multiples; one is all we can handle right about now.  Let’s not bite off more than we can chew, alright? Six is more than enough. And speaking of babies, I’m going to ask Ovi to bring Addie here. She’s tiny still, Tyler. She shouldn’t be away from us this long. Especially me. She needs to be with her momma. And I think it would do you some good, too; having at least one of them here. So that’s my decision and you’re just  going to have to live with it.”

She moves his hand back inside the confines of the bed, gently setting it on the mattress

“I love you,” she says, and presses a kiss to the corner of his mouth. “You keep sleeping, okay? And I hope if you’re dreaming, it’s good things for a change.”

****

She gives a small start when she exits the bathroom and finds Koen sitting in the bedside chair. Sipping from a take out cup of coffee and freshly shaven;  his face bearing its own fair share of bruises and a handful of  butterfly bandages keeping small, superficial wounds closed.

“Morning, sunshine!” He cheerfully greets, and nods to the cup of tea and a bag of fast food breakfast sitting on the window ledge. “I finally get to see you in your sexy jammies.”

Esme gives a derisive snort. “You DO have issues if you find sweatpants and an oversized shirt sexy,” she says as she journeys over to the window “I was going to give you shit for scaring the crap out of me, but seeing as you come bearing gifts, I’ll let it slide.”  She peers into the bag, a grin tugging at her lips. “Either it was just a lucky guess, or you somehow know that when I’m pregnant, I always crave breakfast burritos.”

“There’s a lot I know about you. Someone talks about you. All the time.  Mostly about shit I don’t need to know.”

“Well I’m glad you listened. Because this is a very nice surprise. Thank you,” she lays a hand on his shoulder and presses a kiss to his cheek. “And what’s up with this?” She lightly taps a hand against the side of his face. “All cleaned up. Smooth like a baby’s bum.”

“I thought there might be some hot nurses walking around. Want to put my best foot forward. Maybe you can hook me up; put in a good word for me.”

“Why would you want to hook with someone here? You’ll be going home soon.”

“Exactly.”

“Ewww…” she grimaces. “...I don’t need to know that you’re a ‘pump and dump’.”

“Considering the things I’ve had to hear from you and him?”  Koen nods in Tyler’s direction. “What I said is tame. I’ve actually had to listen to you two….”

“I thought you were moving on from random hookups?”  Esme remarks, and she perches on the arm of his chair and delves into one of the burritos. “I thought you were getting too old for that shit?”

“Excuse me, who are you calling old?”

“I thought Tyler was rubbing off on you. That he was some sort of inspiration to you and Rata; convincing you two it was time to stop sowing your wild oats and settle down once and for all.  Didn’t you say it gave you hope? That if...and I quote…’someone can put up with the likes of him, that’s proof there IS someone out there for everyone’.��

“I did say that.”

“So what gives? Why are you looking for a random? You deserve more than that”

“Well if he was awake and could tell me where to find another one of you, I’d be all set.”

“Sorry. I’m limited edition. And I’ve already been claimed. A couple breakfast burritos just aren’t enough to make me divorce my husband and run away with you. It definitely takes more than that.”

“I knew I should have gotten you hash browns too.”

“That would have done it! Boy, did you ever blow that.  I would have for sure ran away with you. Right this very second.”

“You know, as much as I enjoy our little banter, I don’t think I could handle you.”

“Oh, you definitely couldn’t.  It takes a special breed of man, believe me. And I’m serious; aren’t you tired of NOT having someone to call your own? Someone to go home to at the end of the day? Someone that is your ‘be and end all’? Your ‘ride or die’?. You deserve to be happy. I WANT you to be happy.”

“I think Tyler took all the happy and didn’t leave any for anyone else.”

“When we get home, I am finding someone for you. I don’t care what it takes; I will put you on every dating site out there.”

“What about your sister? Or step sister. Whatever she is.”

“Riley? Are you serious? She’s twenty three!”

“And?”

“And you’re thirty years older than she is!”

“How old do you think I am?”

“I know you’re eight years older than Tyler. He’s almost forty two. So I lied; you’re only twenty seven years old than she is.”

“And?”

“And that’s fucking disturbing!”

Koen shrugs. “She’s cute”

“She is. You know who else finds her cute? Women. Who she is into. And she’s not a switch hitter.”

“Doesn’t take after her older sister, huh?”

Esme frowns. “He told you THAT, too?”

“He’s told me a lot of things, sunshine. You forget; he’s a chatty drunk. Until he’s a depressed and weepy drunk, that is.”

“There are many sides to him you don’t get to see. Sober sides. And don’t worry; my sister isn’t in contention, but I WILL find someone for you.   And speaking of someone, where’s your sidekick?”

“He saw something downstairs he liked.”

“Really…” she playfully wriggles her eyebrows. “...blond or brunette?”

“Something in the gift shop. For the baby.”

“He knows?”

“EVERYONE knows.”

“Yaz has a big mouth,” Esme grumbles. “We weren’t going to tell anyone until we got home and found how far along I am. It’s what Tyler and I wanted.”

“I could gather a guess. About how far.”

“Sure you could,” she mutters. “And why do you keep looking at me like that? Why do you keep staring at my crotch?”

“I’m looking at your stomach. Where’d that come from?”

“It’s been there. I’ve just been hiding it because no one was supposed to know! Now that everyone does,  I guess I don’t have to wear baggy clothes anymore.  And it’s big, right? The bump? Bigger than any of the others?”

“How should I know? I only saw you pregnant with Millie and Addie. Never saw  you with any of the boys.”

“It’s never been like this so soon! How big IS this baby?”

“Look at the size of the kid’s father. Maybe it’s taking after him. Or maybe there’s more than one.”

“Why would you do that? Why would you think it? Don’t put that out into the universe. There’s just one. That’s it. That will make it six. A nice even number.”

“Number six must be pretty damn big then.”

“You know what? You’re off my Christmas card list. There’s no way we’re running away together. You totally shit the bed. No second chances for you.

“What if I bring you chocolate?”

“Not even then. You just had to jinx the entire thing.”

Koen gives an over dramatic pout.

“Buddy, I have seen better pouts on a much bigger man. That won’t work on me. You have nothing on Tyler’s pout.”

“He doesn’t pout.”

“He sure as shit does. I’m going to prove it one day. I’m going to catch him doing it and take a picture. Then I’ll have the evidence. Tanner has the EXACT same pout; he mostly does it when he’s sleeping.”

“Speaking of pictures, I’ve got a little something for ya.”   Koen reaches into the side pocket  of his cargo pants, pulling out his cell and then thumbing through the gallery; choosing the image he wants and offering the phone to her. “Thought it would make you smile. The world’s a shitty place when you don’t. You got yourself a pretty nice smile.”

“You’ve been taking ass kissing lessons from the best, haven’t you,” she chides, then pops the last of her breakfast into her mouth and wipes her hands on her thighs. “Oh...my...god…”  she breathes, and almost squeals in delight at the sight before her. Her husband long before the hardness and weariness brought on by his time in the military, substance abuse issues, and the dangers of the job. Before all of those demons took hold of him and he’d yet to go under a tattoo artist’s needle and no scars marred his body.  Tall and lean; broad shouldered and bearing the start of the strong and solid physique of a soldier. A brush cut and a smooth, clean face; the smile -genuine and pure- making his eyes crinkle and sparkle.

“Back when he couldn’t even grow a proper beard yet,” Koen muses. “When he was still wet behind the ears. Nothing hard ass about that bloke in the picture, is there.”

“Where did you get this?” Esme can’t explain it; the tug at her heart and the emotion choking at her and the tears that well in her eyes. There’s something so surreal about it; seeing the person you love long before a hard and unpredictable life got a hold of them.

“Found a box of old pictures when I was going through some stuff back home. Meant to show it to him, but never got around to it. You mentioned before that you’ve never seen what he looked like before...well...before all of this.”

“I’ve only ever ever seen one picture of him. When he was five; with his mom on his first day of kindergarten.  He doesn’t have any other ones; he says it’s not worth the grief he’ll get if he asks his dad if he has any.   This is…I don’t know...it’s amazing. You have no idea what this means to me; seeing this. ESPECIALLY right now. This is everything. You can’t possibly understand what this does for me.”

“I think I do. I know how you feel about him. That you’re just as much a fool in love as he is.”

“I certainly am,” she smiles. “How old is he here?”

“Nineteen. Hadn’t been out of basic long; a couple weeks maybe. When he was a cocky little shit and as green as fresh baby shit.  Cute, ain’t he?”

“Very cute. It’s weird seeing him like this. I’ve only seen MY Tyler. The one I’ve spent seven years with.  I’ve never seen THIS Tyler. I know that sounds strange.”

“I’ve heard stranger.”

“Fourteen year old me would have had a huge crush on him.”

“What was fourteen year old Esme like?”

“Awkward. Geeky. Short as fuck and chubby.  I had braces and jet black hair and I dressed like a goth. Big old Doc Marten boots that went up to my knees and everything.”

“Now THAT I’d like to see.”

“I don’t even have pictures of ME when I was that young. Tyler’s never seen old photos of me, either. I think the youngest he’s ever seen me was when I was twenty-three and just got into the Corps.  It’s what happens; when your family is toxic and you’d rather not deal with them. Can you send this to me? I’d  love to have this. And I’d love to show the kids. Especially Millie. She’d like to see her daddy when he was young and cute.”

“I’ll send it to ya. And when we get home, I’ll bring that box down and we can go through it. I’m sure there’s more you’d love to have. “

“Thank you.” She can’t hold back the tears. “You have no idea what it means to me. Even just having one picture. And I’m sorry; that I’m a whiny bitch baby. I would like to be able to blame it on the baby and my hormones, but it’s not those things. It’s just me. I’m not exactly having the best twenty four hours. I miss my kids. I hate being so far away from them. Especially Addie. But I can’t leave Tyler here. I just can’t.”

“I could stay,” Koen offers. “He wouldn’t be alone, you know that.”

“And I appreciate it, I do. But I need to be here with him. I didn’t leave him seven years ago, and I’m sure as hell not leaving him now. It’ll be better; when he gets sent to a hospital back home. Closest one is an hour from the house. It’ll be better than.”

“Well I’ll stick around as long as you need me to. Sort of made a promise that I’d take care of ya. I ain’t breaking it.”

“You’re all heart, Koen. You can pretend to be surly and hard ass all you want. I’m onto you.”

“Yeah, well I kind of like that giant, dumb ass bloke you’re married to. And you’re growing on me. So I figure I might as well step up and take his spot and treat like you like the queen you are.”

“You smooth talker,” she teases, ruffling his hair and pressing a kiss to his cheek. “Thank you. For the picture. You really don’t know how grateful I am for it. And thanks for being here; for both of us.”

“Anytime, sunshine.”

“And thank you for being with him yesterday. I could tell he was scared and in pain, and when I think what would have happened if he’d been alone…”

“Well he wasn’t. Alone. So don’t even think about that.”

“Thank you for getting him out of there. At least if he DID die, he wouldn’t have been left there. I don’t think I’d ever get over that; if I had to leave him here. I couldn’t cope with that.”

“Let’s not think about that, yeah? He got through it. He got out of there and it’s only uphill from here.”

“He really thought he was going to die, didn’t he.”

“Honestly? We all thought he was going to die.”

She releases a long, shaky sigh and blinks back tears.  “I’m glad you were there with him. At least if the worst happened, he wouldn’t have been by himself. That is my biggest fear when it comes to the job; that if it DOES happen, he’ll be alone. I don’t know why it bothers me as much as it does. I just don’t want him to be alone...you know...IF…”

“Can’t dwell on stuff like that. You’ll drive yourself insane. Or give yourself gray hair.”

“Bold of you to assume I don’t already HAVE gray hair.”

“I don’t see anything.”

“I appreciate you feeding my ego, but I know you can see it. And believe, every one of my gray hairs has Tyler’s name on them. Maybe TJ too. Go figure; the junior being a TRUE junior.”

“That kid is his dad through and through. Tough on the outside, all heart on the inside. And that Millie…”

“Female version of him.”

“Exactly. It’s fitting if you ask me; him having a girl first and her being just like him. Gonna have his hands full with her.”

“She called last night. Wanting to talk to him. She had a bad dream and he always makes her feel better after a bad dream. Daddy’s the one that chases all the monsters away. She has so much faith in him; she knows he’d never ignore her. She’s already questioning why she can’t get a hold of him. I have to tell them; I can’t keep lying to them. And I’d rather they hear it from me than someone else. They’ll take it better if it comes from me, I think.”

Koen nods in agreement.

“But on the bright side, he had a really good night. An amazing night, actually. He woke up. Twice. Once for the nurse, once for me.”

Koen frowns.

“What?”

“He woke up?”

Esme nods. “The first time, Julie...his night nurse…said he woke up and   wanted to know who the hell she was and that he asked for me. And he even told her he was feeling sick and she gave him some meds for it.”

“Hmm…”

“Second time, he opened his eyes and looked right at me. Told me to not cry. He said he wasn’t in any pain and that he was just tired. And he asked if the baby was okay and he said he loved me. It was amazing; to see him open his eyes and hear his voice.”

“Are you sure? That this happened?”

“What do you mean am I sure? Of course I’m sure. Why wouldn't I be?”

“Thought the doctor said they weren’t going to bring him out sedation for a few days? At least.”

“Julie said it isn’t uncommon; moments of wakefulness and some lucidity.  It’s just sedation, it’s not a medically induced coma  like last time.”

“He actually woke up? After everything he went through during the day? All the surgeries, the amount of meds they’re pushing into him? He opened his eyes and talked to you?”

“That’s  exactly what happened. Why are you questioning it? I wouldn’t lie about this.”

“I’m not saying you’re lying. Maybe you were dreaming. Maybe you were hallucinating from lack of sleep.”

“I wasn’t dreaming and I wasn’t seeing things. He woke up, looked at me, and talked to me. It happened. It was real.”

“Esme, don’t take this the wrong way, but maybe it was wishful thinking on your part and…”

“It happened,” she insists. “I was there. I witnessed it.”

“And I was there in that storage and in that van. I know what kind of shape he was in; I know how close he was to lights out. Permanently. And you’re telling me, after all the injuries, all the surgeries, all the meds, he just woke up? The same day?”

“I know it sounds crazy. And I wouldn’t believe it if someone told me either. But I SAW it. With my own two eyes. And you know how tough he is; how damn stubborn he is.   Does it really surprise you that of all the people who would fight THIS hard, it’s Tyler?  You know him; you know how strong he is.  You know he’d do anything for me and the kids. So is that big of a stretch that he’d wake up like that? Even if it was just to give me some hope?”

Koen sighs.

“He woke up AND he talked to me. And you know what? It was incredible and made me feel better; to know his brain is working and that he’s not giving up. I needed that; some kind of sign that he’s going to be okay And he gave it to me.”

“So why isn’t he awake now?” Koen challenges.

“Maybe he used up all his energy last night and he needs to build it back up again.”

“If he’s got it in him to wake up last night, he should be awake right now.  I’ve got some shit to say to him for scaring me as bad as he did. How come he’s not up now and talking to me?”

“I don’t know. I only know what happened last night. I only know…”

“Maybe I don’t want to talk to you,” Tyler’s voice -weak, groggy, and slightly slurred by the effects of medication- pipes up. “Now shut the fuck up. You’re given me a headache.”

“See!” Esme smiles triumphantly.  “I told you.”

****

When she returns from taking a much needed shower, she finds Rata outside Tyler’s room tightly clutching a gift bag from the shop in the front lobby and pacing at a near frantic rate. It’s odd to see him this way, clearly frazzled and nervous shoulders tense;  chewing on his bottom lip and occasionally stopping and peering into the room. Normally he’s the ‘life of the party’; clueless in an adorable way, always acting far less intelligent than he actually is  just to get a laugh. Possessing an air of confidence without an ounce of cockiness; quick with sarcastic comments and witty comebacks. The ‘uncle’ that always sits at the kids’ tables during Christmas dinner and then helps build lego sets and put together toy car race tracks instead of socializing with the adults.

“Hey you,” she warmly greets, and lays a comforting hand on his back. “You okay?”

He responds by wrapping her in a huge; strong, muscular arms noticeably trembling.

“You alright?” Esme asks, as she runs her hands up and down his biceps.  “You don’t look so good. What’s going on?”

“I don’t like hospitals much. Especially a place like THIS in a hospital.  Where people are really bad.  EXTRA bad.”

“He’s a lot better than anyone thought he would be. Especially so soon And he doesn’t look THAT awful, I swear. He’s even waking up for a little bits at a time. A person who is ‘extra bad’, wouldn't be doing that, would they?”

“I just don’t know if I can go in there just yet. I mean, I was there. Yesterday. In the van. I saw what he was like; how bad he was. And I’ve never seen Tyler like that. I’ve seen him shot a couple times during our tours in the Middle East, but those were nothing. Just flesh wounds, you know? But that? Yesterday? Those weren’t just flesh wounds. And by the time he got back home seven years ago…”

“He was already somewhat on his feet and in rehab.”

Rata nods. “He was almost back to himself. It’s going to be a long while before he gets back to himself this time.”

“Yesterday was pretty awful, huh?

He releases a small, shaky sigh. “Wasn’t so much how he looked. All the blood and what not. I mean, that was bad, don’t get me wrong. It was fucking awful. Pardon my language.”

“I hear and say worse all the time. You don’t have to filter yourself around me. You’ve met my husband, right? You can’t be easily offended AND stay married to him. It just won’t work.”

“It was terrible. A fucking nightmare. To see a friend of yours THAT messed up. But the worst part? It was what he SOUNDED like. When he was talking to you. I’ve never heard him sound like that. Ever.”

“Neither have I,” she admits. “Not seven years ago, not even the two times he tried to...well, you know.  He never sounded like THAT.”

“Like he was going to die.”

“Yesterday I tried telling myself he didn’t sound that way. That he was just tired and scared and in pain and he just needed it to end. I convinced myself that he didn’t sound THAT bad. Near death. Now I realize I was just trying to make myself feel better, know what I mean?”

Rata nods.

“He was a lot closer to it than I want to admit. I thought nothing could be worse than seven years ago. I was so wrong.”

“It was what he said to you. How he said it. He was pretty sure he was never going to see you again.  That’s the only thing he was really scared of; the thought of not getting to be with you anymore.  You and the kids. You’re his entire world. I didn’t think I realized how much he loves you all until I heard the things that came out of his mouth.   Opened my eyes; made me see him a different way. A good way, just different. He’s lucky. He’s got someone that loves him as much as he loves them. That’s something I think we all want but never seem to find.”

“Sometimes I wonder what I ever did right to deserve him,” she confesses. “And he’s here because of you guys. You and Koen. You did whatever you had to go get him here alive. So thank you. I know it wasn’t easy; what you had to see and do. I was there myself. Seven years ago. I know how hard it is.”

“I feel like such a dick. For not being able to go in there. Like a total pussy.”

“You’re not any of those things. People handle stuff like this in different ways. But you should go in there. He’s really not that bad. And he was awake and talking a bit to Koen. I don’t know if he still is, but I do know he’d like to see you. I know how much he appreciates what you did to help him. I’ll go in with you if that would help.”

“It would. A bit. But first,” he offers the gift bag. “ I have something for you. And the baby.”

“The baby won’t be here for months. You didn’t have to do that.”

“I wanted to. Just a little something.”

She reaches into the bag, smiling at the stuffed tiger that she pulls out of its confines. “How did you remember the tradition? Every Rake baby gets a stuffed animal?”

“Just something that stuck with me, I guess.”

“It’s adorable. Thank you. Better not let Millie get a hold of it. That girl and her stuffed animals, I swear.  You didn't have to do this. You didn’t…”  her voice trails off, fingers reaching for the familiar object tied to the ribbon around the tiger’s neck. Eyes narrowed at first, then slowly widening when the realization sets in it.   “Where did you find this? Where…?”

“I didn’t find it. Tyler gave it to me. Before we got to the storage place. He asked me to give it to you if something went wrong.”

“He did?” Esme unties the thin piece of fabric, sliding the ring off of it and then cradling it in her palm.

“He wanted me to make sure you got it. If he didn’t make it. Said it was important that you got it.”

“I thought it was lost,” her voice cracks with emotion. “I thought maybe he took it off beforehand and put it in his pocket and it fell out. Or that the ER staff misplaced it. I didn’t think I’d ever see it again.”

“I should have given it to you right away. Yesterday. Please don’t cry.”

“I’m not crying because of what you did or didn’t do. I thought it was gone. Forever. And I know it’s not much; it’s not expensive or fancy or anything like that. But it’s his. All the dents and scratches that he’s on it over the years. Sounds weird, but they all mean something.  I really thought I’d never see it again. And I didn’t think  I’d be as torn about it as I was. But it killed me inside; when I couldn’t find it. It felt like a piece of him was gone and I was just waiting for all the other pieces to disappear too. Thank you; you have no idea how much this means to me. To have this back.”

She hooks the handle of the bag around her wrist, then reaches around to the nape of her neck and removes the necklace -the custom made piece with the beach glass Millie had found- and slips the ring onto the chain.

“I’ll do it,” Rata offers, and steps behind her. Large fingers clumsy and struggling at first, but then manage to secure the clasp.

Esme lays a palm over the ring, firmly pressing it into her chest. Feeling the smooth, cool   metal with its many imperfections, the familiar weight of it against her. And the relief that simple piece of jewellery brings is profound, stifling sobs with both of her hands as she turns and tightly embraces her friend.

#Tyler Rake #Tyler Rake fan fiction #Tyler Rake fan fic #Extraction fan fiction

[meetevieinthehallway]

cus y’laugh is pretty.

in which harry gets his wisdom teeth removed.

-

harry isn’t a fan of drugs.

not like that— the medicinal drugs that they put you under for surgeries, or even the ones that take away headaches.

specifically— the ones that alter the mind and consciousness.

first of all, he doesn’t like needles and he doesn’t understand people who don’t get bothered by them; he thinks it’s absurd someone is okay with a large, sharp object impaling at their skin and altering their immune system.

and the effects they have!

it’s a freaky fucking way to put something helpful into someone’s body.

second of all, he doesn’t like pain. nobody does— but harry fears pain and has crazy anxiety about its intensity, its severity. he’s never had a cavity in his fucking life so he has never really experienced a toothache, what if this is the worst pain i’ve ever felt? it worries him sick and he hasn’t been sleeping well for the past couple days, waking from dreams where he was in the dentist chair and there’s needles and tools and they pinched at his flesh but they didn’t truly numb his nerves and he could feel everything going on—

third of all, he doesn’t like the idea of not having control over his own being, his mind loose and free and with no filter. harry is a man of calculated speech; he chooses his words with care and makes sure they are impactful before they are released. his tediousness and careful words only intensified as he grew in fame— he can’t slip up in the media when he possesses the spotlight.

drugs like these ones—the ones being injected with a tiny needle into his fucking arm—are just keys able to access the locked depths of harry’s mind.

forget the control aspect— the fact that harry won’t even remember how he acts under drugs freaks him out; he won’t know what he said, how he said it.

what if i say something completely inappropriate?!

well fuck, he’s always thinking raunchy or romantically about his fiancée—

what if i embarrass myself? or even her! oh god—

it was these thoughts and nerves that cause harry’s knee to bounce up and down in the waiting room chair, his fingers twitching at the material at his thighs. his eyes have been downcast since they checked in, eyebrows furrowed as he dazes off at the tile floor, worries and concerns and nerves swirling in the pit of his stomach.

he doesn’t want to do it.

he really doesn’t.

i can’t do it.

but another hand rests on top of his, causing his leg to halt and for his eyes to break over next to him.

his lovie is looking at him with soft eyes, her lips pouting. harry gazes at her, his eyes blinking as she thread her fingers through his, pulling their hands into her lap. she’s fiddling with his fingers, twirling his rings and rubbing his knuckles.

“you shouldn’t be so scared, bub.”

he bites his lip.

“you’re gonna be fine, okay?”

he shakes his head, putting his eyes back on the ground, his leg beginning to bounce again.

“harry.”

he looks at her again. her eyes are pleading for him to go through with it—and god, he doesn’t want to disappoint her in any way—but he is so fucking terrified that he might just have to get up and leave.

“please don’t make me.”

his voice is cracking and breaking so sadly and although his brain is moving too wildly to produce any tears, his eyes are glossed over and her hand is squeezed extremely tightly in his,

she’s never seen him this way.

her fiancé is a strong and confident man—for the love of god, he’s worn pink and floral suits and has pranced around like a lunatic—who doesn’t typically let something like this bother him.

he’s been a mess for days— she had to physically pull him out of bed this morning because he refused to get up, mumbling that he wanted to take a rain check. she coaxed him with the promise of starbucks on the way, and he was dumb enough to only notice her trickery when she drove straight to the dentist office, murmuring in a fake-sad voice that oh, i forgot, you can’t eat or drink before this, h!

he hasn’t looked at her since. not until now— with sad eyes that purely begged to just take me home.

she sighs. “bubby.” she turns her body to face him completely. “it’s starting to impact your other teeth and jaw. if they aren’t removed, it’s gonna be detrimental.” her hand cards through his hair.

“b-but… can’t i do it without anesthesia?” he murmurs, his other hand joining in holding hers. “’s scary. people...— people die from anesthesia! i don’t wanna die i—”

“it’s best for you to be put to sleep.” she whispers gently, a hand coming to his cheek to hold his eyes to hers. “with how anxious they know you are… with the pain and everything, h.” she touches his face. “you also have six wisdom teeth, baby, so it’s a bit more complicated.”

he exhales loudly, turning his face. his hands loosen around her palm, breath sighing and hands moving to ruffle his hair.

“harry.” she says sadly.

he doesn’t look at her.

“i love you, and i promise,” she whispers. “you’re going to do absolutely amazing. and ‘m gonna spoil the fuck out of you with cuddles, ice cream and your favorite films.”

he mumbles, dejected, “don’t want ice cream.”

“popsicles then.”

“hmph.”

“even the orange ones...” she coos, and he looks at hers.

“t-the... the orange ones i like?”

“mhm.”

“from th’shop across town?”

she looks a him with gentle eyes, nodding.

harry’s lips pull into a small, lip-trembling, hesitating smile. “okay.”

“okay.” she smiles.

it’s quiet, the only sound the waiting room elevator style music, and he cringes. the room is such a stark white that it’s hurting his eyes, stinging his head and he sighs through his nose.

then his mind drifts.

it drifts off into more pessimism, the excitement for his favorite treat vanishing away as he thinks and thinks.

he remembers back on those loopy videos that he had rewatched incessantly, eyes wide as he bit his lip as the man throws a literal fit in the car, swollen cheeks and a muffled screaming voice.

his love had told him to stop watching them but he didn’t listen, and now he’s sitting here in a stupid waiting room and his brain is rambling because he doesn’t know what he will say when he has no control over his body—

“do you promise to forgive me if i say something inappropriate?” he bites his lip.

she breaks into soft giggles, nodding furiously and squeezing his hand. “absolutely.”

“y’sure?”

“course i am.”

“even if—”

“harry styles?”

the world goes a bit fuzzy as they’re pulled out of their conversation.

they both look and turn towards the soft voice, a dental hygienist in blue scrubs smiling at them brightly. her eyes and smile are warm, welcoming even, and it did nothing to aid harry’s pain and worry.

harry looks at his love and stares at her eyes. they are confident and strong, and at least if he isn’t okay, she is.

he hopes he will be.

he leans over the arm of the chair and kisses her cheek softly, slowly, pulling back and wetting his lips with his tongue. “hold my hand till i fall asleep?” his voice is pleading and quiet.

her eyes flicker to his, head nodding slowly. “of course.”

and that’s all he needed.

so he stands slowly, smiling small at the woman.

he takes his lovie’s hand and pulls her close to his side.

and together, they walk down the hallway after her.

—

“lovie!”

her head snaps up, her coloring book app on her phone forgotten the moment that her eyes land on her fiancé.

oh, boy.

here he is—the man she can proudly call hers—smiling greatly and stumbling with his long limbs despite the dentist holding up eighty percent of his body weight. his arm is strewn in an open gesture, silently requesting a hug from his favorite person, his other arm around the struggling dentist’s shoulders. she stands quickly, hurrying over, biting back a smile at his giggling and his coos. she brings his other arm over her shoulders, helping the dentist hold and walk him. his face immediately bends down and nuzzles into her neck, his voice cooing and humming.

“my lovie.”

he picks his head up and stares at her intently, a dopey smile stretching his swollen cheeks.

she turns to look at him briefly, doing a double take when she realizes how he dreamingly he’s staring at her. “hi” he drawles, moving his head again, this time to nuzzle his face into the top of her hair.

“hi, bub.” she laughs. “gotta help us get you to the car, alright?”

“okie dokie.” he murmurs, picking up his feet only a slight bit more, lazily feigning a march as they left through the door of the dentist’s office.

maintaining to get a six-foot-something groggy and giggly man—arguably child—into the passenger seat is more of a challenge than she originally thought. it’s a mess of unmoving limbs and a stubborn whiny voice and knocking-together-knees, and his love and the dentist both are out of breath by the time his butt hits the leather seat. when he is finally in and situated, he pouts, telling his girl that he doesn’t wanna sit, through a muffled whiny voice from the gauze filling his cheeks.

“’s my car!” he whines, stomping his feet on the floor of the vehicle. “can i drive?”

“no.”

another whine.

“why not?”

“because i wanna be home in one piece.”

she closes the door gently, turning to face his dentist with humored eyes as the man chokes back a breathy laugh. “thought you guys reversed the drugs towards the end?”

the dentist laughs. “poor kid was freaking out so bad, i thought we should just... let him be blissful for as long as possible.”

she smiles, giggling, “you left me with a handful.”

she turns, looking over her shoulder, and she snorts and holds back more laughs when she sees her love staring at her through the tinted window, pouting, his hand pressed to the glass. the tip of his nose is smushed there as well, gently rubbed against the surface as he whines.

the doctor holds back a laugh. “he should be okay, he’ll most likely fall asleep and wake up fine.”

she grins, shaking her head.

after she is done discussing final details with him, she slides herself in the car, sighing lightly and turning to her fiancé.

she furrows her eyebrows.

his arms are crossed in front of his chest, puffy lips pouting and his knees pulled toward one another.

“what is it, bubby?”

he mumbles quietly, voice slurring and lisping.

“what was that?”

“th’dentist took ’m’tongue.” he mumbles softly, words jumbling together. “’s gone.” he frowns.

she snorts.

“your tongue isn’t gone, h.” she leans over the car, grabbing his seatbelt and crossing it over his frame. “’s right in there, sweet.”

he pouts at her, fingers reaching to touch his cheek and mouth. “can’t feel it, feels funny.”

she giggles. “it’s supposed to.” she pries his hand away, putting it in her own palm.

“feels like a balloon.”

she shifts the car in drive and pulls out onto the road, shaking her head with an endeared smile. he simply was adorable like this, widened eyes of wonder and a childish voice that questions every sense around him. he’s pointing at trees and dogs on the roads and gasping and giggling at everyone and everything.

then he quiets, and she is driving a while before feeling harry’s gaze on her cheek. she turns, smiling when he gives her a big dopey smile, giggling and babbling at nothing, bouncing his head to some imaginary music.

“you okay, harry?” she glances at him again.

his lips instantly turn down. the hand that has been clasped in her fingers is immediately pulled away, a wounded and offended look casting over his face. his eyes stare at her, wide, as they water quickly and he sniffles. she’s instantly alarmed, her own eyes going wide at him as she pulls up to a red light and looks over.

“what’s wrong, hm?” she coos at him. “are you hurtin?”

“no.” he sniffles, shaking his head and blinking rapidly.

“what is it?” she murmurs softly, her hand failing in its attempts to grasp his.

“harry.” he whimpers, gauze slipping up to the corner of his lips and muffling his voice.

“what?”

he tucks his hands into his chest, shielding them away from her grasp. “’m not harry.”

“you’re not harry?” she’s so confused.

his eyes stare at her, wide, upset and astonished at how obvious the answer was. “m’name’s not harry!”

her eyebrows furrow. “what’s your name, then?”

he scoffs, mumbling how utterly unbelievable this is. “bubby!”

silence.

she erupts into giggles. she can’t help it, because he looked so devastated over something so ridiculous.

“you call me bubby. buh-bee.” he pouts, voice whining and eyes spilling out tears. “that’s m’name.”

“you’re right, bub. you’re right. i’m sorry.” she says through a fit of giggles.

his eyes narrow at her, and he looks genuinely offended. “why are you laughin’ at me?” he slurs, frowning at her profile.

“nothing, nothing. all is okay.” she grins. “’m not laughing at you.”

“’m your husband. y’can’t laugh at me.”

“oh?” she giggles.

“m-hm. ’s in the rules.”

she glances at him. “the rules?”

“mhm. the marriage rules.”

“yeah? what else is in the rules?”

he huffs, looking out the window as he thinks. his drugged mind makes him feel really floaty, so he is drunkenly pulling all of his energy in to think as his body is swaying as he genuinely ponders through his altered mind.

“y’have to make me brownies.” he says seriously.

she quirks an eyebrow and shoots another glance his way, a smile gracing her lips. “i hafta bake brownies for you?”

“mhm. every day.” he looks at her. “with the— the big chocolate chips i like.”

he’s speaking absolute nonsense and she doesn’t know how to contain her laughs.

“anything else in the marriage rules?”

silence.

“i get t’eat you out every day.”

silence.

she cackles.

her body jolts forward violently and her laughs transform to heavy breaths, and she’s giggling so intensely that her abdomen throbs, arm crossing her stomach as she tries to slow her breathing.

“y’laughing again!!”

he yells at her with a childlike voice, and she holds back another round of laughter as he sounds upset.

“i’m not i’m not... just— saw something funny outside.”

his green eyes are swimming with a drunkeness she’s never seen.

“that’s a lie!”

“i’m not laughing.” she grins at him. “promise.”

he huffs at her, arms folding back over his chest. “sounds like y’are.”

“’m not, bubby.”

harry’s eyes light at the name, and he fails to hide it, his emotions conflicted between happiness and detestment as he looks at his girl. on one hand, she’s laughing at him and that’s just... mean. and on the other—

his hand slowly slides back into her palm, a small smile on his lips starting to hum as he looks out the window.

she smiles, rolling her eyes at his antics and continuing to drive.

it’s quiet for a couple miles, besides the humming from his throat and the raspberries he’s blowing into the air.

then he gasps loudly, causing her to jump.

“lovie!”

she breathes, “yes?”

“i-i—” he stammers, unsure of how to word his sentence. “do— do you realize what just happened?”

“uh... what d’you mean, love?”

“l-like… that guy just… stole m’teeth!”

here we go again.

“didn’t steal them, bub.”

“well then—” he challenges, “where did they go?”

“on... on a vacation.” she says quickly, hoping it would settle his questions.

“...how come m’teeth get a vacation and i don’t?”

“not a good vacation, love. they were bothering you, so they had to go.” her voice is soft, gently suggesting so she wouldn’t have to tell his drunken mind that they ripped his teeth from his skull.

well, harry has to think about that.

he sits back in his seat, eyebrows furrowed as he mumbles to himself. he touches his lip before she mumbles a stern “hey.” and bats his hand away, his eyes going wide in realization.

“he’s like superman.” he mumbles, awed.

“who is?”

“m’dentist. superdentist.”

his fiancée starts laughing at his seriousness, giggles spilling from her lips. harry looks to her and starts chuckling as well, their laughs blending in the air of the car. she pauses, her giggles dying down slowly.

“why are you laughing?”

“cus y’laugh is pretty.” he grins cheesily, his feet swinging in the space of the car floor. “makes m’smile.” his voice is like a child’s— giggly and adorable and sheepish, his cheeks flushing with pink.

she grins at him, shaking her head gently.

“can i sleep?” he slurs, eyes fluttering and body starting to lean backwards into his seat.

“yeah, baby. y’need help reclining?”

“nuh uh.”

“are you sure?—”

she’s cut off by a snore.

a loud snore that she quickly looks towards, snorting when she sees her love’s face pressed against the glass of the window, body slumped. his heavy breathing increases the deeper he falls asleep, her lips letting out soft laughs at his behavior.

she shakes her head, turning to face the road.

oh, just wait until he hears everything he missed.

#fluff #harry #harry blurb #harry styles #harry styles au #harry styles imagine #harry styles imagines #harry styles one shot #one shot #harry styles writing

[kiruuuuu]

Oneshot in which Conrad deals with the aftermaths of surviving the Ourang Medan. ...more or less successfully. (Rating T, angsty rambling, ~2.3k words) - written for @wintergirlsoilder2​! You requested a Conrad-centric piece and I hope you enjoy it :)

.

“I don’t think it’s a good idea”, says Julia with this expression on her face she gets whenever she’s about to rain on his parade.

“Are you kidding?” He’s about to scoff but stops himself – she’s worried, he can tell, and he knows better than to make light of any part of their relationship. Julia’s accompanied him his entire life. “Halloween is my favourite holiday, I’m not gonna let some lame ghost ship – which we survived, by the way, hello – ruin it for me.”

She lifts an eyebrow. “Connie, your birthday is your favourite holiday. It’s the Fourth of July, so you can double-drink yourself into a coma.”

Well. She’s not wrong. She never is where he’s concerned, and it’s one of the reasons he wants to get away from her, just for an evening. Just for a night, he wants to be whatever he chooses to be instead of being Julia’s brother. “It’s gonna be great, Jules. Keep worrying like that and it’ll show on your face.”

She’s silent. She could bring up the times he’s woken up screaming, his tic of brushing over his ear with his thumb, the one really bad day when he stopped breathing for a long while and then puked his heart out. She doesn’t. And the fact that she doesn’t explains why they’re still rooming together, despite all.

“I don’t think Alex wants to marry a worry-wart”, he keeps going, unprompted, just can’t stop running his mouth, “he wants to live together with the free-spirited, reckless, adventurous Julia who doesn’t mind her brother attending a Halloween party without her playing chaperone.”

It hits the mark. Like having touched open fire, she recoils and drops the subject and he almost, almost feels bad. They’re going through a rough patch right now, following the time during which they were attached at the hip right after coming home. It’s nothing they won’t overcome, Conrad can tell they’re too committed to each other, but it’s a sore spot nonetheless. And he just twisted the knife. So to speak.

.

He wouldn’t say he’s friends with the guy organising the party, but he knows a few people here and there – not enough to have earned a reputation, enough to feel invited. Bringing booze is an automatic ticket to being welcome anyway, and the greeting at the door seems heartfelt. After a few semi-awkward moments (and those have been common lately, he sometimes doesn’t notice the morbidity of his own jokes until shocked expressions drag him back to the real world), he’s found his social legs again and strikes up casual conversations here and there, drops one-liners which are met either with eyerolls and groans or half-hidden giggles and hearty laughs, and if he’s honest he doesn’t mind either. He’s always preferred being memorable over being modest.

Some people are in costume, most aren’t, but the home décor screams tackiness: spray-on cobwebs, badly carved pumpkins with half the candles out already, a mat under the carpet which lets out a witch’s cackle when anyone steps on it. Apart from that, the house is gorgeous, a large pool, a sunroom and even a tiny home cinema stuffed into the three-storey family home – family not included, apparently, all of them gone except for the son taking advantage of their absence.

Somewhere between the second and third beer, he considers texting Fliss. Asking her whether she celebrates Halloween, maybe, though it’d set her off again. Thinking of her causes his stomach to drop with the guilt of dragging her into the whole thing, the guilt of never again bringing up that investment he genuinely considered back then. She told them to never contact her again and keep their mouths shut. They have, for the most part.

The most part meaning everyone but Conrad.

“Do you want to know how I lost part of my ear?”, he addresses a small group of cute freshmen who were struggling to un-stack some chairs until he arrived and gallantly lent his aid. “It’s a long one, though, I must warn you. And not for the faint of heart – but you ladies look like you can take it.” He wiggles his eyebrows and they’re captivated, expecting a ghost story and a ghost story they shall get.

He fucking loves recounting the whole thing.

When Julia caught him the first time, she was livid for days, had a few one-sided screaming matches and tried to get Alex to talk sense into him, but Conrad laughed it off. No one’s gonna believe me, he said cheerfully. What, they’re gonna fly over and check? Launch an investigation? Tell their lawyer daddies?

Brad says it’s his way of coping with the trauma: by turning it into a spiel, he diminishes its significance, reduces its impact on him. Or tries to anyway. Brad also says it’s not a very effective coping mechanism. But Brad says a lot and Conrad doesn’t listen most of the time.

He’s too busy being the hero of his own story.

This night, he embellishes, dramatises, acts out what he usually glosses over, sugarcoats nothing. It’s Halloween and they expect a thrilling, gory tale, so he allows them the full experience – several times, he has to interrupt himself and give a brief thus far because of all the newcomers gathering around him like a bloodthirsty audience at an execution. God, it feels fucking good.

How their eyes go wide the moment he mentions the pirates. How their lips part subconsciously when he ditches escaping on the boat, alone, in favour of saving his friends. How none of them dares moving as he describes the military ship in great detail. In this moment, they’re living through it by his side; they’ve been transported to the ship themselves, feeling the clammy air, the cold, unforgiving metal under their bare soles. Wrapped around his little finger, he builds and builds and builds for them until they almost forget to breathe, and finally, inevitably, he releases them with a happy ending. It looks like a cathartic experience, and slowly, they return to the present, shaking their heads a little like a dog getting rid of raindrops, glancing at each other to gauge whether they were the only ones so tightly in Conrad’s grip. He’s convinced them all he’s a hero, a martyr, a protagonist.

All of them except for himself.

“That’s a fantastic story”, someone says appreciatively. “Do you have any others?”

And this is where his carefully erected self-importance crumbles. Because he lived it. He fucking lived it, you asshole, he’s got the scars to prove it and the memories so he’ll never forget, and still this dimwit beams at him like he’s the new Spielberg or King, fudging narratives out of thin air to please the crowd. “Sorry, dude”, he replies with as much venom as he can muster, “I only had the one horribly traumatic experience in my life. I understand that might not be enough for you, so my apologies. Maybe I can set out to almost get murdered next time – oh wait, that already happened.”

The atmosphere tilts together with him. People seem confused – is he method acting? Getting pissed because they’re not giving his well-spun yarn the credit it deserves? He should stop. He really should.

“If you want more thrill in your life, why not come and fight a guy who’s got nothing to lose, huh? Certainly beats doing the same meaningless shit over and over and over again.”

“Dude, chill, I didn’t mean to -”

“Yeah fuck you. Fuck off.” He’s washed into the kitchen by a wave of concerned partygoers and appeased with a few sips of the badly-hidden whiskey belonging to the head of the family, and after no time at all he’s back to his good-natured self.

Largely. He feels sharper ever since he survived that stupid ship, more cutting. Less forgiving. As if the world owed him after what he’s gone through, and he lets those around him feel it. Remarks hit where it hurts and he realises with increasing worry that he doesn’t care. They will never experience the same gut-clenching terror he did, so what’s a snide comment here or there?

There are moments in which he resents Julia. They frighten him, yet staving them off is impossible. It’s not her fault she’s found her happy ever after, he can’t blame her for having Alex anchor her. Alex is perfect and he should share their happiness, at the very least leech off it so his empty everyday life isn’t as bleak anymore, but instead he watches them with jealousy he frantically conceals from everyone.

He knows he’s spoiled. But he can’t help the pangs of contempt whenever they laugh about something, or Alex plucks something out of her hair, or she falls asleep in his arms during a muted commercial break. She always got over things more quickly, even if it never seemed that way. Conrad carries a lot around with him, most of which he refuses to acknowledge.

And then someone suggests going to a haunted house.

“Sure, man.” He laughs, and it sounds as easy as he intended. “Nothing can be scarier than what I’ve been through.”

.

The door’s locked.

He fucking knows the door’s locked.

In between deep breaths, he turns around and checks again, slides the deadbolt shut two more times, rattles the handle, turns the key as far as it will go. It’s locked. It’s secured tightly, and no one will be able to get in.

He has to force himself to walk away and though his legs carry him, he’s unsure where to go. He could go shower, that way no one will hear his quiet sobs, or he can be a fucking man and not cry like a baby over something that wasn’t even fucking real.

Having once read that eating counteracts anxiety as it tricks the body into thinking it’s not in danger, he sneaks to the kitchen and stuffs himself on fruits until he’s vaguely nauseous.

He’s such a fucking idiot. An idiot and a failure, a good-for-nothing, someone who can’t even figure out what he wants to do later in life. Who he wants to be. Certainly not Conrad the crybaby, Conrad the expert storyteller who nearly pissed his pants in a shitty haunted house.

He double checks the shutters, then turns to leave. Checks them again.

God, he’s pathetic.

For the first time in his entire life, he sends a u up? text to a guy. It doesn’t make him feel any less sorry for himself, but he couldn’t stomach Julia’s concern right now. The worst thing would be the compassion in her eyes instead of the triumphant I-told-you-so attitude. He’d welcome a smug grin more than a hug right now.

I am now, comes Brad’s response. Yikes.

sry, Conrad writes back, and then he’s stumped. Why did he contact him in the first place?

A few half-typed and then deleted additions later, Brad apparently gets impatient and sends another message: How’s your Halloween been?

Alright, he can work with that. apropriately spooky, he replies, went to a haunted house. disapointing tho, no beer anywere

Brad is silent for so long Conrad considers whether he’s fallen asleep. Are you trying to prove to yourself that you’re over it?

He can practically hear Brad utter the question in his head – no irony anywhere, no intent to attack or accuse. Mere curiosity. Maybe this is why he texted him, because he certainly approaches most everything analytically, whereas Julia can’t help but make it personal. wat do u mean?

We’re all suffering from significant trauma, yet none of us are seeking thrills the way you are.

Conrad stares at the words for a long time. It’s been barely a week since Julia begged him not to pick any more fights.

A haunted house does not sound like an advisable place to go in your condition. Are you alright?

He deflates, sinks onto his bed and kicks off his shoes onto the pile of clothes in the corner. He doesn’t bother to switch off the light. He sleeps with it on anyway. yeah, he claims, and then: not realy actualy. i was more afected than i thought i would be. Flashbacks are a bitch. It didn’t help that some guy thought his distress hilarious, given his chilling story before – as if he’d be immune from any scares, forever. It turned out to be the opposite. Conrad used to love haunted houses.

Don’t dwell on it. Finding the right way to cope is difficult.

No judgement. Somehow, speaking to Brad is soothing his frazzled nerves. wat do u do?

I research. Mostly real accounts of people who have gone through comparable experiences, but also on the history surrounding the ship.

To Conrad, that doesn’t scream ‘moving on’. doesnt sound that helpful ether tbh

It helps rationalise and normalise what happened. Knowing what others went through, I feel less isolated now. This will not define who we are in the future, even if it might right now.

He re-reads the last sentence a few times. Thinks of the night terrors which rarely let him sleep. Of how he considered getting a dog despite none of them having the time to care for a pet, just so there’d be an additional line of defence, in a way.

He wants so bad to move past all this.

alright, profesor, lets hear it, he types and gets more comfortable on the bed. hit me with the sob stories.

It’s not like he’d be sleeping any time soon anyway.

#man of medan #conrad #julia #brad #conrad/brad #can be interpreted that way but extremely mild #fanfic #oneshot #if you don't know man of medan I recommend just watching a lets play without commentary #it's less than 4 hours #I liked the characters a lot more than in until dawn

[fiti-vation]

Is Eating Healthy Really More Expensive & Time Consuming? (A heartfelt post)

Hey guys,

I noticed that a pressing debate has taken place under one of my posts (Healthy Lunch Recipe Ideas); some people have been debating about healthy eating and I’m happy to see many people share their point of view! That being said, while I am happy to see many thoughts being shared, it is important for me to emphasize that I never want the comment section under any of my posts to become a battleground for nasty arguments.

As someone who studied in criminology and completed numerous undergrad law courses, I have always been open to intelligent debate, as long as it is conducted with respect and diplomacy. Always remember it is rain that grows flowers, not thunder, so don’t raise your voice, but improve your argument instead.

When I post content on my blog, it is never intended to create tyranny, but always to educate. Simply put, my blog is an educative space. The comment section under my posts is not a place for radical ideologies, shaming or pointing fingers at others. Someone who truly advocates for healthy eating on a budget will never shame or point fingers at those who can’t. On that note, here’s my 2 cents on the entire debacle.

Before I start, I’d like to stress that everything written below is from my perspective as a Canadian! I live in the National Capital Region, so there are many places where one can get nutritious food at affordable prices. Canada has for the most part some good places where healthy foods can be purchased while on a budget. Obviously, for people who live in the Territories (Yukon, Nunavut and NWT) that’s a different story…

P.S. I will be counter-arguing many of the points stressed by @nerdgul • Time • Availability • Seasoning

SO, WHAT DO I REALLY THINK ABOUT HEALTHY EATING ON A BUDGET?

Before I begin to present my counterarguments, it is important as always for me to stress the importance of healthy eating. For those of you who have been following me for years, you know how much I advocate for taking good care of our body.  Our body is our temple. It is a gift, and it is the only one we will be given in this life. I believe that fitness needs to come from within you. You need to respect your body. Only then will you have the zeal to maintain it. No one should ever downplay the importance of eating healthy simply because of their financial/socio-economic situation.

The body is amazing, and if you’re not healthy and do not take care of it, it will affect many aspects of your life. The body can heal itself of anything if it is given the tools that it needs and the conditions it requires for natural healing to occur. If we take responsibility for our health, we will develop a desire to accomplish our exercise and fitness goals. The body is your temple. Keep it pure and clean for the soul to reside in.

Minimizing the importance of healthy eating is so prevalent in North American society that obesity, which is linked to many chronic diseases, has become a pervasive and critical issue that many people turn a blind eye to. In Canada and US alone not to mention the other parts of the world, we have far too many people suffering from obesity, diabetes, cancer, heart disease, hypertension and stroke. Studies after studies have shown that we can reduce the risk of these diseases, and maintain our good health by eating properly, getting enough regular exercise, avoiding stress and breathing clean, fresh air. While it may not always be possible to avoid stress and breath clean air, it is indeed possible to control what we eat by choosing the right kind of foods.

The idea that healthy food costs more than junk food is something I hear far too often. People generally believe that ‘healthy’ equals ‘expensive, but as I’ve come to find out over the years from personal experience this is not completely true. One part of the problem is that many people confuse “healthy” with other labels that do increase costs, like “organic” or “gluten-free.” However, unless you have a diagnosed medical condition, you can have a nutritious diet without worrying about those extra labels. I personally don’t buy organic or gluten free food, I just buy heathy food periodt. They key is to eat more whole foods and fewer processed ones.  The other part of the problem is where one shops.

My definition of healthy eating, as stated in Body, Mind, & Mouth...Life's Eating Connection is: "Eating food that is enjoyable to you, in the quantity that is good for you." This means the fruit and vegetables you find enjoyable can be eaten in a larger quantity than the chocolate cake you find enjoyable that should be eaten in a much smaller quantity. It means that you don't deprive yourself, but you learn to make choices congruent with your desired results. It also means your grocery cart is full of the food that nourishes you, and less or none of the food with no nourishment. In the grand scheme, it cost you less.

My food philosophy is: Embrace gorgeous greens, beans, legumes, nuts, seeds, grains, sea veggies, fruits and vegetables galore. It is good to eat foods that keep your body alive, but it is better to eat food that keep your body healthy; it is best to regard your body as a temple and eat appropriate food. The point is you have to invest in your health - it is your biggest asset in life!! Feed your body only best quality food, you deserve it! You eat better, you perform better, you feel better, you look better. It all ties together.

Now that I am done rambling about healthy eating here are my counterarguments.

Money – Responsibility

As someone who has been on both sides of the socio-economic spectrum, I can say with certainty that eating healthy while on a budget isn’t impossible. I have experienced poverty, homelessness and financial stability. That being said, when I experienced financial instability, it never stopped me from eating healthy.

Over my 25 years of existence of this earth, I have never let my socio-economic situation define who I am and what I can accomplish. When I hear people say that they can’t eat healthy because of their financial situation (e.g. my family is on welfare), it strikes a chord in me. To me, asserting that poor people cannot eat healthy simply because of their financial status perpetuates and reinforces the stigma and representation of the unhealthy lower-class individual. It insinuates that eating healthy is only for rich people – this couldn’t be further from the truth.

The circumstances of our lives, especially when they seem stressful or intense, do have an impact on us, for sure. However, all too often, we give away our power to these circumstances and situations. At some point, you have to take control of your existence. You cannot keep on blaming your parents or your circumstances forever. You are totally responsible for your life.

Like discipline, responsibility is one of those words you have probably heard so many times from authority figures that you've developed a bit of an allergy to it. Still, it's one of the most important things to grow and to feel good about your life. Without it as a foundation nothing else really works. Not taking responsibility may be less demanding, less painful and mean less time spent in the unknown. It's more comfortable. You can just take it easy and blame problems in your life. But there is always a price to pay. When you don't take responsibility for your life you give away your personal power.

Disciplining yourself to do what you know is right and important, although difficult, is the high road to pride, self-esteem and personal satisfaction.

The fact of not having the financial means does not necessarily mean that one cannot eat healthy. Everyone can rise above their circumstances.

Note, I’m not referring to homeless people here, but to people who either live on financial assistance or a modest salary. Also, keep in mind that again I am sharing my 2 cents as a Canadian. I perfectly understand that in terms of social benefits, Canada and the US cannot be compared (I’m assuming that @nerdgul, you are American).

At the beginning of my last year in high school, my mother developed a mental illness. Eventually, she ended up not working anymore and we started living on social assistance. If you’ve been following me since I started my blog, you know that at that time I was obese type 2. Fast forward, when I graduated high school and entered college, that’s when I really turned my life around and took responsibility for it. Despite being almost broke, buried under college assignments and dealing with personal life issues at home (taking care of my mentally ill mother), I managed to lose 70 pounds on my own, going from 220 pounds to 150 pounds – by exercising and starting to eat healthy while on a budget.

I didn’t have the time, but I made the time. I didn’t have the knowledge, but I did what I knew. I didn’t have the support, but I learned to support myself. I didn’t have the confidence, but the confidence came with results. I had a lot going against me, but I had enough going for me. I had plenty of excuses, but I chose not to use any of them.

When I look at my old pictures, all I can see is what I used to be, but am no longer. I think what I can see is what I am not… It's not my story anymore: whenever I speak about the past now, I feel as if I were talking about something that has nothing to do with me. All that remains in the present are the voice, the presence, and the importance of fulfilling my mission. I don't regret difficulties I experienced; I think they helped me to become the person I am today, I feel the way a warrior must feel after years of training; he doesn't remember the details of everything he learned, but he knows how to strike when the time is right.

I wasn’t in the best shape of my life, but I wanted to prove to myself I could do something that seems insurmountable and inspire others by showing them no matter where they are in their fitness goals, they can do it, too. “You just do it. You force yourself to get up. You force yourself to put one foot before the other, and God damn it; you refuse to let it get to you. You fight. You cry. You curse. Then you go about the business of living. That’s how I’ve done it. There’s no other way.

One thing that college and university have taught me is how to be resourceful. RESOURCEFUL! One more time for those in the background: RE·SOURCE·FUL! Resourceful in terms of money, time and sources! Having the ability to find quick and clever ways to overcome difficulties will get you far in life! Not having much is not a reason that should prevent someone from realizing greatness. As a post-secondary student, I learned to make the most of the little money I have, I never let my lack of money prevent me from being healthy. Obstacles don't have to stop you. Obstacles don't have to stop you. If you run into a wall, don't turn around and give up. Figure out how to climb it, go through it, or work around it.

There are so many great places where food can be purchased at affordable price. Stores such as Dollarama, Dollar It, Dollar Three, Walmart and Giant Tiger (a.k.a GT Boutique) have so much to offer. As of late I’ve most of my grocery shopping at GT.  Y’all postsecondary students in Canada need to stop sleeping on GT boutique!

10 Healthy Things You Can Buy at the Dollar Store [X]

What's VEGAN at Dollar Tree? Frozen Foods Edition - ON A BUDGET [X]

What's VEGAN at Dollar Tree? Frozen Foods Edition - ON A BUDGET [X]

Never Pay For Food Again In NYC [X]

Why Do We Waste Perfectly Good Food In The U.S.? [X]

I purchase most of my fruits and veggies at Giant Tiger. As you can see in the images below:

Mangoes are ¢79 each (60 cents USD) – Third pic

A bag of 5 avocadoes $1.99 on sales ($1.51 USD)/Regular price $3.97 ($3 USD) – First pic

A bag of apple $1.97 ($1.49 USD) – First pic

A bag of oranges $2.97 ($2.24 USD) – First pic

A pack of 4 bell peppers $1.97 ($1.49 USD) – First pic

Cantaloupe $2.47 each ($1.86 USD) – First pic

Cucumbers ¢97 each (73.17 cents USD) – Second pic

Mushrooms $1 (75 cents USD) – Fouth pic

Pasta ¢79 (¢60 USD) – Fifth pic

Here’s a list of stuff that I regularly purchase at these stores.

When it comes to meat I always check for specials. When the meat is on sale I stack up my freezer. In the image below you can see I grabbed on some chicken at $1.91 CAD and $5.55 CAD + Pork ribs $4.72 CAD. 

Essentials

Since many cooking commodities such as herbs, spices, flour and oil can be purchased in dollar stores, it seems a little misleading to say that these products are expensive. It’s $1 per seasoning at Dollar Tree [X]. That being said, they sell flour at many dollar stores, Walmart, Target, Giant Tiger.

Availability

Unless you live in a remote area, Dollar stores, Walmart, Target stores, and many similar stores are everywhere. That being said, there are numerous blogs and websites that give great advices on how to eat healthy while living in a remote area. While it may be difficult to have access to affordable, healthy and nutritious food in remote regions, it still isn’t impossible.

In consideration of the foregoing, it should be emphasized that very few people in North America live in remote areas. Today, the most urbanized regions include Northern America (with 82% of its population living in urban areas in 2018), Latin America and the Caribbean (81%), Europe (74%) and Oceania (68%). The level of urbanization in Asia is now approximating 50%. In contrast, Africa remains mostly rural, with 43% of its population living in urban areas [X].

Time

Time, don’t we all wish we had more of it. As I have indicated above, one of the most important things that college and university taught me is how to be resourceful!  As a varsity athlete I work out 4 HOURS per day, go to class, work, and still manage to make time to prepare healthy meals. It’s not about having time, it’s about making time. Many things aren't equal, but everyone gets the same 24 hours a day, 7 days a week. We make time for what we truly want.

Prior to being on social assistance - before developing her mental illness, my mother worked 12 hours a day as a cleaning lady; from 8 am to 4 pm, then from 5 pm to 9 pm. Despite her 12-hour shift, she still found time to cook. Now that I’m older and thinking about it, that wild…

There’s a difference between interest and commitment. When you’re interested in doing something, you do it only when circumstance permit. When you’re committed to something, you accept no excuses, only results.

Healthy eating doesn’t have to be fancy. There are so many healthy recipes out there that require very little time to prepare. Sometimes I end up preparing my lunch right before leaving for work. These below are all meals that I prepared right BEFORE leaving for work in like 15-20 min.

It's not the will to win that matters - everyone has that. It's the will to prepare to win that matters. The will to win is worthless if you do not have the will to prepare. By failing to prepare you are preparing to fail...

Here’s a chicken salad I made in 30 min.

I bought a whole cooked chicken for $6 which I boned and then seasoned

Boiled some pasta for 10 min – then put in the freezer for 15 min

Cut some broccoli and cherry tomatoes

Mixed the pasta with the broccoli and cherry tomatoes and some extra seasoning + Mayo

P.S. Here are a few more of my recipes:

Tuna Alfredo Pasta

Cranberry Tuna Salad

Creamy Garlic Shrimp Alfredo Pasta

As a final word

Although, I have much more to say, this post is definitely longer than I expected, so I will stop here. That being said, before closing this post, I would like to emphasize here that we all have our own struggles and by no means I am trying to invalidate the struggles of others with this post.

If someone is tired after working 5 hours and you worked for 7, it doesn’t mean that they’re not allowed to be tired. It doesn’t mean they can’t feel what they’re feeling just because you’ve had it worse.

It is true that there’s a lot more to the price of being healthy than just money, but in the end it all comes down to responsibility. Our background and circumstances may have influenced who we are, but we are responsible for who we become. Nobody chooses to be broke; nobody wants to be broke, and nobody likes to be broke, but again —our financial status doesn’t have to define us. Your financial situation does not have to dictate how you live your life – rise above adversity. As stated in one of my previous posts, the moment you leave your future in the hands of things outside of your control, is the moment you place it in the hands of circumstance. And, circumstance doesn’t much care about your success. Circumstances are beyond human control, but our conduct is in our own power. Your present circumstances don't determine where you can go; they merely determine where you start.

Obstacles don't have to stop you. If you run into a wall, don't turn around and give up. Figure out how to climb it, go through it, or work around it. If you do not have money, time and resources to eat healthy, do not give up, figure out ways to change your lifestyle. You can’t change the direction of the wind, but you can adjust your sails to always reach your destination.

I am a firm believer in the law of attraction.

“Watch your thoughts, they become words; watch your words, they become actions; watch your actions, they become habits; watch your habits, they become character; watch your character, for it becomes your destiny.”

If you constantly say that you cannot eat healthily because you do not have money, time and resources, it will become a habit. You won’t make an effort to eat healthy because you think you can’t – you will have this misconception in your head that eating healthy is out of your reach. But if you start to change your mind and think more optimistically, you will change your actions. If you start telling yourself “you know what I don’t have much but let me see what I can do with the little that I have”, you will improve your eating habits. Will it be easy? Absolutely not.  The path to a healthy lifestyle is never easy, but the road to it is always rewarding.

Thinking that you can’t eat healthy because you don’t have money, time and resources is a detrimental way of thinking. It's not what happens to you, but how you react to it that matters. Everyone is a victim of circumstances they accept. If you decide not to eat healthy because you don’t have money, time and resources – well you have let your circumstances win. Never let your circumstances prevent you from achieving greatness.

A positive attitude gives you power over your circumstances instead of your circumstances having power over you. Your mind is the most powerful force you will ever face. It will tell you lies— it will tell you: you can’t do that – you’re not meant for that; you’re not good enough for that, you can’t go on anymore – you don’t have the energy. You must thank it for its opinion and carry on. The only locked doors that exist are in YOUR own mind. The doors in reality are open and all you have to do is walk through…

Don’t be that person who thinks that because they cannot eat healthy, they are not going to eat healthy.

#me #Fitblog #fitblr

[maikatc]

Black Sun Tale | November 1st

sorry for the delay! i really hoped to have this released during my vacation but regardless, i hope you all enjoy! this chapter is fairly special, along with others from here on out

remember that this is a first draft with only minor edits, and comments are always appreciated!

-

The weather was damp on the first day of November. Rain showers drew down to the ground making minimal sound; however, it was all deafened by the daily events of Obodo. 

In the alleyway, Ayu’s body shivered in his slumber. Not a passing minute did he still. His arms and legs crouched over each other to give warmth from the cold droplets on his skin. 

“Stop bein’… cold,” he mumbled in his sleep. Though the showers continued to pinch him to a tiresome amount. 

His weariness itched him from everywhere. The noise of the crowd, the traffic; the clicking in his mind; the faded nightmare of a dream; they all dimmed into his sleep but for a second, the world went silent. In Ayu’s ears, his touch, his senses, his attention drew to a single voice calling out in a blank dream. 

“Wake up, Ayu.”

The voice whispered in Ayu ears, her tone soft and sweet, almost like a lullaby. The command kept running in his mind until his eyes finally fluttered open. 

His mind processed who was talking and his eyes dulled. Nostalgia brought him to a numb halt. 

“… Hi Lillie.”

“How’s the story going?”

“Bad.” He grabbed his journal with sluggish hands, opening it to illiterate writing. “Not as good as yours.”

“Oh really?” Her pitch perked up. 

“I can’t ask for more advice from you,” he sighed. 

“It’s a shame. There’s so much you can improve on too.”

“That’s…” he flipped a page. The used page full with a disproportionate character. “Under-exaggerating.”

“Under-exaggerating?”

“Yes, I can’t find the word,” Ayu huffed. He covered up his legs with a thin blanket after a gust of wind reminded him. 

She hummed. “I can always tell you what’s wrong if you need it.” 

Ayu kept his mouth shut, pushing himself up to sit by his wall. His eyes lingered towards the ground. He waited for what’d be inevitable. “… I know you’ll just tell it to me either way.” 

She giggled. “I’m predictable, aren’t I? Now let’s see… Well, you really are terrible. Your drawings can’t evoke the characters at all. It should already be easy for your age.” 

Ayu didn’t move. 

“You keep changing everything I gave to you. Everything you’re adding is making it worse.” Her voice was calm, no bitterness spatting out. 

“I’m sorry…” He breathed out. 

She rambled on, “If people were to see this, nobody would understand and bat an eye for what you want.”

“I’m sorry.” He repeated. His throat began to heat up. 

“Oh,” she chirped, “It’s okay to be sorry. Just remember, I’m doing this to help you…” 

Ayu gasped at a hand caressing his cheek. Another held him gently by the other cheek. Eying down, the hands were a snowy pale. Drawing his eyes ahead, a vivid figure formed by the hands. The only clear thing being the beauty of her lilac eyes. 

“Don’t cry… you look ugly when you cry,” she smiled. 

He closed his eyes against his doubt. “You’re real, right?” 

“Of course.”

“I- I know you aren’t-”

“Don’t you trust me,” she asked. 

Ayu entangled his fingers with his hair. His mind pounded in pain. “I’m sorry. I don’t.” 

 Lillie scowled. “You’ll never help anyone like that, Ayu.”

“Can you let go now?” Ayu swallowed. 

“... With pleasure.” She let her hands off of him. 

Ayu’s reality settled in by the rain again. He huffed, looking back at the girl. His legs brought himself up. He abandoned his book and her to exit the alley. 

The black-haired boy pulled up his hood as he stepped through the streets of Obodo. 

The streetlights radiated against puddles in the sidewalk cracks. Dozens carried umbrellas wide to stubble; arrangements of pinks to blues to greens spread through the streets. 

Ayu strolled and passed them all. He watched carefully at passerby’s, taking steps to avoid a single touch. 

A crosswalk pulled him to the next boulevard. “Where do I even go now?”

Damp leaves flew by from the winds, each with muddy colors of autumn.  One by one, they passed by the crowds. Though, it didn’t take long until one hit Ayu in the face. 

“Fuck…” He slipped the leaf off, drying out the water droplets on his face with his sleeve. He held the leaf by his fingertips, glaring at what just hit him while walking along. Giving a sigh, he threw it behind his shoulder in the hopes that nobody was behind. 

“I’ll just go around, I guess,” he shrugged. 

***

An hour passed; Ayu continued to wander throughout the streets. Ideas floated around his head whenever he was to pass by infamous sites and buildings. However, nothing stuck with familiarity like others would. 

That is, until he stopped by a particular park. 

The children laughed faintly in his ears. He stopped a step, turning around to see the entrance sign of Felle Park. 

Ayu’s face softened at the reminder of the setting. Maybe there.

“Let’s see,” Ayu poked his own cheek in thought, “November 1st, 201X…” 

Ayu sat in front of the playground fence. He watched silently as other kids his junior played. Their parents sat at the benches or standing, talking to each other about whatever news. Umbrellas rested by all of their sides. 

“Today so far’s… cold.” He scooched back as a little girl ran passed him. He pressed down on his lips. “Lillie wasn’t fun again, but that always makes sense.” 

Ayu took a breath. “I’m thinking about changing the story since things aren’t going good again.” He swallowed empty, dry air. 

A child fell off the swings. He sighed, “No monsters; No Akeldama.” 

As children cheered joyously from their games, Ayu observed them. In his obscure eyes, he visualized his own fun while they ran along. 

A younger kid, with scruffy black hair held back by a headband, ran throughout the playground along with others from the neighborhood. He laughed as they chased him around, dashing through everyone who couldn’t catch him. 

Ayu chuckled at the sight. 

It didn’t take long for the boy to stop. He paused to hide behind a girl dressed in a black dress, carrying an umbrella on a sunny day. Her white hair and skin were the only things capturing brightness in her still figure. 

She ratted him out merely seconds later. 

“Oh! Sorry, I didn’t even see you there.” 

Ayu snapped back into reality, blinking to see a toddler, who’d bump into him, staring back. 

“Why do your legs look funny?”

Ayu jumped up. “O-oh, um, sorry, I was meaning to leave-” He looked towards the side of the exit. 

“Why do your eyes look weird-”

Ayu shook his hands towards her tilted head. “It’s nothing! I’ll uh- be going now.” He rushed off from her, pulling up his hood more. 

“God, damn it,” he muttered under his breath. He exited the playground area. He kicked his ankles without effort, making him wince from every hit. They aren’t gonna bruise. 

The farther he avoided obstacles and drifted in thought, the more he’d part ways with the sidewalk path. The rain showers continued to fall and they kept on dripping onto Ayu’s skin and clothes. 

However, it was the trees ruffling against each other that lifted Ayu’s ears. He peeked around to find a forest next to him. 

Something called out for him in his chest breathtakingly. It pulled him in a way Ayu couldn’t comprehend. 

Without a thought, he entered blind. 

*

A step in the grass can bring so much sound. The melody of them cracking and brushing each other softly rang through Ayu’s ears. It was peaceful compared to the constant ringing in his head. 

The forest whispered to him like a dream. It hid itself within its own shadows as Ayu gazed upon them. Flowers of soft blues and reds shriveled against the boy’s worn out shoes in every step. Faint scurries of squirrels and birds added to the environment. Though, even with the beautiful sight in front of him, Ayu’s head wouldn’t stop sensing something ahead of him, something to be ready for. 

“The forest is a thing I can get used to,” Ayu said aloud. He stepped over a log as he rambled and animals ran away. “If anyone’s here to listen, fuck ‘em, I guess.” 

He hopped through a tiny river. “Maybe I can get some cool rocks here… It’d make too much of a mess though.”

He spoke with whatever came up in his mind. Endless one-offs and quips echoed from the trees to Ayu’s ears. He ventured on to what seemed like a boundless forest. 

“Oh yeah, that’s why you don’t feed rice to pigeons.” He jumped off of a foot-long ledge after talking to himself for a half-hour.

“Are you done with your banter?” Akeldama’s voice rang in Ayu’s head. 

“God, damn it, I knew you were coming here sooner or later.” He stopped himself, tapping down his foot in the patience of getting through the conversation. “What are you here for now?”

“Impatient, I see. I was simply wondering how meeting Oliver went. What’d you think?”

Ayu formed a fist. “If you do anything to him, I will-”

“Don’t worry about that,” Akeldama assured, “He already has enough to worry about as is.”

“And you don’t let that slide for Annette,” he scowled.

“… You’ll understand in time. But I truly want your opinion here. What do you think of him?” 

“We just met,” Ayu exclaimed, “Most that I know is that he’s smart and can beat anyone at Ono.” 

Akeldama sighed. “That’s just for now, I suppose. I just hope that you like him.”

Ayu blinked. “Why would you want that?”

Wind blew through the forest again. Silence was the only reply for Ayu.

He kicked a rock with minimal effort. The impact let it fly across a few yards as Ayu only took a deep breath. His doubt of no-harm weighed him greatly. “What’ll the next stunt be Akeldama?” 

No reply, as always.

He walked on, shrugging off the suspicions of the conversation as just another Akeldama talk. 

Everything stayed in the same atmosphere, all until Ayu took a single step. 

From one place to another, Ayu sensed a change. There was thicker air surrounding him, almost suffocating him. All of the bustling of the critters and rustling of the trees and grass stilled, making silence the only thing to scream out.

Despite it, something in Ayu urged him to push forward. And his curiosity pulled him through. 

It only took a minute walk. The dead silence crept up through Ayu’s spine in suspense. No traffic, no talking, no footsteps, no chirping or brushes, it left him in unease. 

However, the silence wasn’t all that much of a bother once Ayu’s breath was swept away completely by the sight he found. 

It was a small field, empty of any flowers, logs, all that laid dormant was a single stump in the middle and a certain boy he’d seen days ago. 

Oliver was next to the stump, curled up and resting soundly. His hair was messy and he was draped with his crimson jacket as if it were a blanket. It would’ve been a nice scene to revisit.

Though flashes made Ayu doubt what he was seeing. With every second, the scene changed until it stopped to one that only left him with shock. 

The grass was dampened not by the rain but instead dark red liquid. What laid around Oliver and the stump were scraps of organs and flesh. They scattered all over, big and small, rotting by the minute. 

Then there was Oliver. His entire body was dressed in blood, apart from his coat. Though, splatters of intense reds rested upon his mouth and hands. 

Even with everything around him and himself, he still slept with a peaceful face. 

Ayu backed up, shaken by what was in front of him. He whimpered curses under his breath. His throat swelled up as he was on the verge of tears. His head pounded so loudly against him yet he still stood and didn’t realize the pain. 

Taking a small gulp, his gut forced him to walk forward. He raised his hand slowly towards Oliver. His entire arm couldn’t stop shaking. 

Though, it was only before Ayu could try waking him up, that he already did. 

Oliver’s eyes opened about, fluttering up along with his head. His drowsy face stared to space. 

Ayu froze in hesitation. 

It took a moment for Oliver’s expression to change. His eyes widened as he shifted his eyes left and right to see his surroundings. He shifted his hands to his stomach, pushing it in and out. “Shit.” His face turned cold. He slumped both his hands and face down, pulling up his coat’s hood and buttoning it up. It was only a mere second after did he pause, flinching up and jumping once he realized Ayu. 

They both stayed in place. Ayu’s heartbeat pounded in confusion. Why is he here? Why is there blood everywhere...?

A few seconds passed. Still no words; still no movement. Ayu’s mind jumbled up as to what to say and what to do. However, it was after those seconds did Oliver take a stand. 

Ayu stuttered out, “W-wait- uh, what are-”

Oliver dashed off immediately, pushing Ayu out of his way. 

“Wait!” Ayu pushed himself back up, stumbling off to run after him. If it weren’t for his speed, he wouldn’t have been able to catch up to Oliver’s sprinting at all, though he caught up in record time. 

Ayu grabbed Oliver by his left arm, making Oliver hiss in the process. He asked, “What the hell was that?”

Oliver hyperventilated, sweat pouring against the blood on his face. “No- please go,” he whimpered. His eyes were puffy, tears already pouring in the brink of an eye. He somehow pulled himself out of Ayu’s grasp, running off yet again. 

Ayu could read Oliver easily at least. He could tell he was scared, terrified even. Yet, the urge to understand what he’d seen led him on. 

He ran after the red-hooded boy again. 

Oliver continued to make twists and turns down his path, making Ayu fall behind. Though it was lucky for Ayu as Oliver tripped by a twig. 

Ayu caught up before Oliver could get up again. But before Ayu could do anything, Oliver cried out. “STOP THIS, PLEASE!” 

Ayu paused, watching the shaking boy curl up. His arms wrapped around his head as his begged, “Leave me alone…”

Ayu’s body relaxed as his adrenaline slowed. “I’m not gonna leave you alone like this, and without an explanation.” He pulled up his hoodie, taking it off and letting the now pouring rain settled all over him. 

“Here,” he tossed the jacket over to Oliver. “This’ll probably make the stains less… obvious.” 

Oliver peeked his head up, still shivering and shedding tears. Hesitant, he put the hoodie on, not saying a word. 

He didn’t say anything about the scent... 

Ayu reached his hand out to the redhead. “I’ll take you back to the alley.”

Oliver swallowed. And he slowly took his hand. 

***

Rain still fell through as the two boys sat against the alley wall. 

Ayu stared at Oliver, thoughts spiraling through his mind. 

Oliver only stuck his head down. “Can you…”

Ayu blinked to his attention. 

“Can you be quiet, please? I still need to process this.”

Ayu nodded, then keeping his eyes away from him. 

The sound of the rain was his only distraction. He tapped his foot, shifted his seat, looked around left and right to the crowds. His impatience prayed for time to fly by. 

It came to the point where Ayu counted 78 raindrops before Oliver quietly spoke. “This is the first time someone’s ever seen me like that.”

“But…”

“It’s-… it’s fine. I’m pretty sure out of anybody, I can tell you. You can even help, maybe… or hate me, either one.” Oliver forced out a chuckle. 

“Just tell me what’s going on,” Ayu urged. 

Oliver nodded in reluctance. He looked down as he started to explain. “I’ve… been starving for years,” he said, “Whenever I eat something from my mom or just whatever, it doesn’t process for some reason. And it’s only until I pass out and I find myself with a dead body am I actually full.” He curled himself up again. 

“Does that mean-”

Oliver nodded. “From what I can tell, I just need flesh to live.” 

Ayu shook his head, his breathing heightening. “No, no… when did this start…?”

“My seventh birthday four years ago,” Oliver explained. “I was with two friends at the park and just woke up to find them dead in the same forest. It usually happens on my birthday… like today.” He sighed. 

Ayu himself took a mental sigh of relief despite it all. However, another thing came into realization at the same time. “So… you take others’ lives…”

“I hate it enough that I don’t try to eat or pass out of exhaustion until I give in after a week.” He slammed his head back against the wall. “It hurts…” 

Responses were limited. Ayu could barely comprehend what Oliver was even saying. However, in a reluctant fashion, he asked, “It’ll get better at some point, won’t it?”

“I doubt it,” Oliver immediately responded. 

Bad pull. “I- I’m sure of it.” God, damn it, don’t lie.

They stayed in an awkward silence. No replies given and no conversation added. Ayu twiddled over his thumbs over and over again, waiting for some kind of conclusion. 

Though it was Oliver to close things up by adding, “At least we have one thing in common.”

“What?”

“We both have shitty lives, right?” Oliver looked back at Ayu, opening up his eyes instantly. 

That was when Ayu realized Oliver’s been avoiding looking at him this entire time. 

“Holy shit,” Oliver spoke. He reached out to grabbed Ayu’s arm. “How did I not realize how skinny you were?”

Ayu stammered, raising a brow. He pulled back his arm and shrugged. “I guess the jacket. I don’t really eat, remember?”

Oliver only stared. His expression twisted to concern. But all he did was take off Ayu’s own hoodie, giving it back to him. “You can have this back.” 

“Uh, thanks?”

Oliver stood back up. He licked off some of the washed-up blood on his mouth and pulled up his own hood again. “Can I go home now?”

“Uh- yeah. Just don’t do anything extreme.”

Oliver huffed out a chuckle. “Don’t worry, I definitely won’t for the next while.” He walked off to the edge of the alleyway, waving him a, “Goodbye,” as he disappeared through the building edges. 

As the calmed rain still hit his soaking hair, all he could mutter was, “What the hell…”

-

Ten Dollars | Bread and Water | Red Eye | Crimson Capture | Next>>>

#writing #my writing #writeblr #writblr #writers on tumblr #black sun tale #bst #chapter 5 #gore warning #panic attack?? #death mention #starvation warning #blood warning #swearing warning #abuse kinda #bst ayu #bst oliver #bst lillie #bst akeldama #i'm sorry

[hyperbolicgrinch]

Hiya~About the fanfic prompt, can I have #40 for Matsuo and Ebumi? ＾∇＾It'd be lovely to see your work!

I have taken so long with this, the manga has now finished… (next time I’m here going, yeah, I can totally handle a few prompts, send them over, you all have full permission to slap me across my lying face). ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

(I guess this ramble is now also my little thank you to Shiori Amase, for all her wonderful hard work bringing All Out!! to us over the years. 🙏🙏🙏)

Prompt #40 was: “You make me feel like I’m not good enough.” I tried something a little different writing-wise (brace for impact, it’s over the top) and this is what got spat out (heads up, it’s Matsuo’s point of view).

So, after a thousand years, here you go, @dahdah-rigeru. (~￣³￣)~ Enjoy it, or don’t. That’s entirely up to you. My job here is fecking done. I’m off to stare in disbelief at the last few weeks of 2019. ✌️

(Many thanks to the people who threatened to kick me into a ditch if I didn’t finally post this. You are the best guinea pigs ever. 😇)

_

It’s the way they look at him. The way they treat him. The way they speak to him.

It’s judgement he doesn’t deserve, an unfairness which is becoming heavy. He tries and he tries. But it’s never enough. It’s never right.

He knows he’s not a natural. It’s the most obvious thing in the world. He stumbles, he drops easy catches, he mixes up plays.

But he’s new at this. He’s trying, he’s learning, he’s growing. Bit by bit, he thinks he might end up enjoying it.

So the upperclassmen pretending to understand is the most terrible thing. Because they don’t, he can hear it in their careless laughter. They don’t care, and they don’t get why he does.

“You make me feel like I’m not good enough.” He doesn’t say to them. Over and over again.

He wishes he was. One day he might just be good enough.

*

It’s red hair and lightning eyes. It’s a face squeezed with joy at a well done play. It’s pointy teeth and endless pranks. It’s contentment. Seen from afar. He wants to chase after it.

They practice endlessly. Teaching themselves behind the third years’ backs. Ignoring the pain, and the rain, they go till their edges split.

He’s in awe, both drawn towards it and pushed away. How do you join in with something like that? It seems like you can only have it by being there from the start. And he hasn’t. He’s been a spectator. A longing gaze from the sideline. A poor throw. A dropped ball. A source of frustration instead of excitement.

It’s you make me feel like I’m not good enough but without meaning to. It’s just someone trying harder and doing better than you at the same thing. It’s a wish that you’d make yourself do the same.

He’s not good enough for them. Not yet.

*

Another year of expected turmoil turns into something great. They gather around him, now the ones in awe. 

“That play!” They say. 

“That was amazing! You’re amazing!”

“Come practice with us? Come teach us that!”

He treasures it. The way they push and push each other. Congratulating on the small and big, nothing ignored. They make each other feel good enough. 

He’s good enough, for them, for now. He’s content.

*

Ebumi’s a ball of fury without a target. He’s flashy and loud, dominating. Being close to him is like asking to be drowned.

Taku knows he’ll be fast, says he’ll be worth it once tamed. Mutsumi sees his enthusiasm and is willing to work with whatever else surfaces along with it. But the third years can’t deal with him, can’t intimidate him, can’t stand him. So he’s ignored. Left off the field. Left to boil over. Underestimated like all the rest.

Matsuo can’t believe you’d want to tame him in any way. Can’t believe you’d only want to put up with him. Can’t believe you’d ignore something so bright. Can’t believe no one else pays it attention, that soft little flame inside Ebumi. The one that blows up into wildfire whenever challenged, but is otherwise clutched to his chest.

The world has been smothering him, taking any chance to blow him out. The fact that he still blazes is breathtaking. As though gasoline and matchstick, they’re tossed towards each other, and Matsuo doesn’t resist catching alight.

The attitude Ebumi has built to defy the world seems made up of you make me feel like I’m not good enoughs. Every one he’s ever felt, been given, or told. But he wears them as something different. He wears them to show you how you’re wrong. They’re defiant fuck yous. His badges of pride.

He’s vicious and brutish. Obsessive, obnoxious. More willing to snap than bend. Tough but not without his cracks. To knock him down is to have him get back up again. He’s the most beautiful thing. And dangerously addictive. Matsuo doesn’t do drugs, but he thinks Ebumi might be just like a hit.

It becomes a challenge they both seek. Like an inside joke they share. When you’re made to feel like you’re not good enough, you keep going anyway. 

Ebumi dares him to be good enough, and he can’t back down from that.

*

Another year closes down and the third takes its place. He’s happy. He’s ready. Until his dad is on the ground and the emergency lights are giving him a headache and his chest won’t stop being so tight.

But it’s nothing to worry about. Nothing. He’s told to go live his dreams still. To not worry or be sorry. To have his own life. To keep on going with his ridiculous college plan even as his dad’s cough keeps them all up.

Training after school is an escape, and that makes him feel guilty. He’s needed at home, no matter how much his parents deny it. He’s needed by his little brother. He’s needed there, not here. Not here with Taku’s joy, or Mutsumi’s laughter, or Ebumi’s excited ya-has. Not here with these repetitive drills, these directionless plays, this exhaustion. This strange peace.

There’s new kids coming in and his place is going to slip away anyway. Maybe this is meant to be… Maybe he should just let it end this way? But his promise to Taku is still a desire. His wordless one to Ebumi pounding at his insides whenever he dares to doubt.

He could still be good enough… Couldn’t he?

He turns up to be there, to keep up appearances. To pretend everything is okay. It’s easier to do that here than at home. But now it’s there again, it’s come back. You make me feel like I’m not good enough. This time he doesn’t know where it’s coming from. It’s just inside him.

*

Coach turns up. Unasked for, unexpected. They’re unprepared. He makes them all feel like they’re not good enough. Standing on the pedestal of his success, he speaks from his experience. He knows he’s good enough. He’s shown the world. Matsuo doesn’t like him very much.

He’s rough at the edges but so full of the secrets they all dream of knowing. Nothing they can think of could compare to his reality. He’s the other end of their story. He’s been there, done that, and come home. They’re just at their beginnings, so graciously lost.

As he starts to share with them, they find the weight of being directionless disappearing. He points them to the path they’ve been searching for. To be lead instead of leading is freeing. It’s almost progress on its own.

So when they’re rasping for breath at the end of every elaborate practice, that thought sneaks in. Maybe we will be good enough…

*

Maybe they are! Winning is unbelievable. It’s better than anything. Matsuo got lost in the game, gave it his all after so long trying not to care anymore.

Their plans actually worked outside of practice. Their skills have heightened. They can beat other teams! They can win! They’re getting better. They’re getting somewhere.

Coach is smiling, small and proud. Taku is speechless, blinking wide, laughing nervously. Mustumi is dumbfounded but has his arms around the guys, ruffling hair. Ebumi is something lit on fire, smoldering underneath the surface, pupils huge. It’s too much.

You make me feel like I’m not good enough is now you make me feel like I could be good enough, and that’s heartbreaking. It’s worse. Because now, instead of just chugging along, trying their best, going as far as they could manage… They could actually be good. They could go far. And Matsuo can’t go with them. 

Improving is such a vicious reminder of reality. So unexpectedly double edged. He was proud of their progress before and that wasn’t fair. He was holding back and hiding. He shouldn’t be a part of this now. He’s not going all out. He isn’t needed here, he’s needed at home.

He has to say it. He has to turn away from these promises and keep a more realistic one. He has to let this all go. He has to break away before he can’t get out anymore. Before he gives himself one too many just one more days. Before he’s so deeply buried here he starts to grow.

But it’s agony just to imagine turning away from that unwavering strength and tender touch even to the opposing team. Turning away from Taku. Or giving up that bolt of speed across the field, madly clawing out success and yanking him close in the excitement. Giving up Ebumi.

He dreads Taku and Ebumi no longer waiting for him once they know. That glow in their eyes going out. Heading away separately, without him, to find stronger dreams. He dreads the whole damn team standing in front of him and asking why he’s running from them and not with them.

He can’t tell them. He can’t even say it to himself. He’s not good enough to do even that.

*

It hurts so deep he thinks his heart must of shattered. The physical pain of heartache, growing deep and thick. He’s infested with it. There’s a tightness in his chest that won’t go away again.

They’re so confused, so worried. So angry. They deserve to know the truth but it’s easier if they hate him. That they despise the words he says, and in the end, despise him. Forget him. Move on from him. Hate is a weapon, and he’s wielding it on his friends.

They don’t truly believe it, of course. They wouldn’t. They know him. How scary is that? They know him well enough now to see his bluff. That makes his heart rip even more. They’re a team.

Mutsumi knows it’s bullshit, his eyes don’t look quite right when holding so much sorrow. Taku is thrown, hurting the loudest, filling up the room with his stunned silence. Kashima loathes the lies, disgusted at him for it. His face looks like he wants to spit.

The rest of them fit anywhere from betrayed to devastated to sympathetic. There’s guilt too, the starting of pity even. Desperation even makes an appearance. But confusion and disappointment are the main hosts of the party.

Matsuo leaves. He can’t stand it, he can’t stand himself. They don’t deserve this.

*

And, Ebumi. Oh, Ebumi. He’s like a lost hound with a scent of home, mercilessly getting ever closer. He wasn’t in that chilly room with those concerned faces, but it feels as though he could have been. He almost knows without knowing.

There’s a reason Ebumi is good at what he plays in rugby. There’s a reason he’s who he is. He’s full of instinct, always finding those places to push. He runs at them knowing they’ll crumble. The looks he’s giving, the glares he’s piling on, are calculated. He knows something is fighting to get out, and he’s harassed by it. Irritated that he hasn’t already worked it all out. Acting as though he’s lost the upper hand to it in a fight.

And, like the others, he should know the truth, but Matsuo’s lost his strength for this war. He’s ready to just go home with his wounds. Telling Ebumi would be a second war itself. It’d blow everything up. It’d be a bad idea. It’d be a stupid idea, he’s giving up, he’s going to be what his family needs, he’s not going to keep playing, he’s fooling himself if-

*

He tells Ebumi first. Or tries to. After their nightly run when they’re heaving, standing just a little too close but never yet close enough. He tries to let it all go before he can get his breath back and remember this would be the last thing his plan ever needs. But he can’t get it all off his tongue. It sticks and feels so heavy, the truth hurting too much to force out. To say it would change too much. Knock his denial off balance. 

So he gives an abridged version, even though he knows Ebumi can clearly tell it’s not everything. But Ebumi doesn’t interrupt, unless it’s to call him on some supreme bullshit. It reminds Matsuo of the night back on that naive training camp at school. When coach had just turned up and they didn’t know what was coming yet. Of sitting out underneath the stars, with Ebumi proving him wrong about his comment of “you don’t talk much, do you?”

Ebumi had spilled himself that night, like a knocked over glass. He’d let Matsuo sneak in. Let Matsuo have a chance to listen. Maybe as just someone to unload on, but he’d placed some type of trust into Matsuo then. He still cradled that. They’d grown from it.

Now Ebumi was returning that. Letting him know that he heard. That no one was going anywhere till this was told. That he knew he was being given some secrets to hold. It was all in those eyes.

“You reckon we’d actually get anywhere without you?”

It’s not a question, it’s a dare. Ebumi daring him to even think about answering with anything but what he’s decided is the truth.

“Cause we wouldn’t. We wouldn’t achieve shit.”

Matsuo can’t help the bitter little laugh. It’s sweet but Ebumi is laying it on. Matsuo has been on the sidelines, he’s been watching them achieve without him.

The headbutt isn’t gentle but it doesn’t crack his skull either. There are pinpoints in his vision, a sting in his nose, and then Ebumi is back, mouth a snarl precariously close to his.

“How about you stop thinking this crap and just come with us? It’s your last year, fuck whatever happens! I don’t know how far we have to go, but I’ll be going to the top! And you better be there! You hear what I’m saying, huh? College or not, hell with all that. That’s later. We’re winning now. Don’t ruin it!”

“Ebumi. It’s not that simple.”

“Bullshit.“ 

He sighs, arguing that won’t change anything. Ebumi is probably right anyway. He usually is with quick fire things. He’s also outside the problem. He can see more of it.

He ignores the hand clenching up in his shirt, ready to yank, or just opportunistic, and closes his eyes. He focuses on the biggest thought. “I don’t know how to tell them…”

Ebumi’s forehead lessens its pressure against his, but only slightly. “Just say it.”

Even with such a numbness in his chest, he scoffs. “Well, I hadn’t thought of that. Thanks.”

Ebumi drops back down to his heels and pushes him away. He snorts. “Go screw yourself then. Tell them. Don’t. All I know is Mutsumi’s always raving about how teams don’t work if teams don’t talk. And this team has to work to win. Fix your shit before it fucks us.”

He trudges off. Hands dug into his pockets, hood aggressively pulled up. Shoulders stiff, bracing, seeming to expect resistance from even the night.

Matsuo watches him go, stemming the tease of blood from his smarting nose. Hope digs its way out of the misery.

Fuck. What happened to his plan? 

It wasn’t good enough to withstand Ebumi. They never really were…

*

But he does it. He pulls out his phone the next evening after helping his parents with the garden stock and stares at Taku’s number. It’s a crushing feeling to have anxiety come from something that once only comforted.

He’s giving up because nothing seems right and then he remembers Ebumi’s face so close their noses are smashed together, hissing ‘bullshit’.

Just say it. 

-I want to talk, Taku. Please-

SEND is the biggest thing in his life for a millisecond before he presses it and closes his eyes. The adrenaline doesn’t settle down.

When the reply comes back, he’s nearing a meltdown. Maybe he hurt him too much? Maybe destroying your friend’s dream is something you don’t get to say sorry for.

-Where?-

Oh, thank you, thank you.

It’s more than he feels he’s worth. He pulls on his shoes, hugs his parents when his request to go out is granted by tired smiles, ruffles his brother’s hair, and dashes out the door.

Maybe he’s good enough to fix his mistakes.

*

The water fountain is not as calming as he hoped. It’s too loud, blocking out the sound of footsteps and the night feels so small around it. His hands shake as he hides them in his pockets. He’s finally stopped checking his phone.

He knows Taku will come. He doesn’t stand people up. He’s not the kind.

But he’s long enough to let the doubts grow like dense weeds. Maybe explanations won’t be enough? Maybe it’s too late? Maybe excuses aren’t worth Taku’s time anymore? Maybe he can’t have his friend back? It’s all a constant ache that refuses to find rest or release.

Then, Taku is there. And he’s not happy.

“Toshi.”

Matsuo breathes out some relief. It’s still Toshi.

“What do you want? Don’t you realize we’ve got a match tomorrow?”

We. 

He grimaces. Shit. Of course he knows they do. He’s wildly aware. He shouldn’t have waited so late to find his guts and do this. He looks away, even more ashamed. Now he’s messing up Taku’s routine. 

Apparently him not responding is Taku’s chance to let him have it.

“I’m angry with you, you know!?”

A question and a declaration.

“I’ve been mad ever since you acted up at training camp.”

Shit.

“At first, I just thought you had something on your mind!”

All the time these days.

“You never tell us anything!”

That’s true.

“You just go off on your own somewhere.”

Because it’s easier.

“You never pay attention during practice.”

It hurts too much.

“You don’t listen to anyone.”

Nothing they say can fix it.

“Even the first and second years have noticed.”

Funny how the world still watches you when you’ve forgotten about it.

“I’m fed up with your shitty attitude!”

He doesn’t mean for the tears to start but that one does it. He tries to laugh them off but Taku’s shock won’t allow it. He’s become speechless, and now Matsuo’s got to explain what he came here to explain.

He pulls himself together. For them both, for everything. Taku is patient enough but the news about his dad startles him. He’s grabbing his wrist, demanding why he wasn’t told. Matsuo doesn’t know. After all, friends tell each other these things. Don’t they? 

He excuses it with a truth, that he really didn’t think it was too bad. The hospital stay had been short. Hope had been a blindfold. But then it feels like lying again. Cause there’s another reason. That he didn’t want to be felt sorry for. That he didn’t want to receive pity. He wasn’t good enough to accept it. He couldn’t handle it. It wouldn’t help, it wouldn’t change anything, so why open himself up to it?

He finally admits it. To himself. Outloud. Taku holds his arm, desperate to give him comfort, to give him strength. Heart on his sleeve, as always.

The tears start coming again, they don’t wait for the words he still has to say. But Taku does. 

“I’m sorry. Taku, I’m so sorry.”

And Taku thinks that’s good enough.

*

Winning this is delicious. It’s the sweetest thing Matsuo’s ever tasted. The taste of dreams finally caught.

Taku and Mutsumi are on him as soon as the siren goes. It’s a tame celebration. Nothing compared to what’s firing inside them. Nothing compared to what it will be later, in private. But they are still on the field and there’s still a place for rules. Even the unofficial ones. Everyone deserves their respect out here.

But their hearts all know what’s happened. “We’re good enough, we are good enough, we’re good enough”, they say so loudly in their chests. We made it. We reached it. Together. They drown in laughter and tears. Their hugs fierce. Content.

Then he doesn’t even get through the first bow before Ebumi is against him. Something about winning stirs Ebumi up. Ruffles him in the most appealing way, shaking all that naked adrenaline to the top. He stinks of pleasure. Unbelievably smug. Unabashedly proud. Unbearably cocky. Standing out like he’s the only beacon lit. Unhinged in the most glorious way, roaring his intent with those eyes. Not caring for the consequences, not believing in them. Done running around this.

He tastes like a bush fire. Burning rough and reckless. Controlled only for a brief second before bursting away unrestrained again. Desperate and scorching. His pulse a searing ember under his flesh, his heart thrashing to get out. It’s like he’s trying to steal every last breath Matsuo will ever take again. It’s finallyfinallyfinally. It’s howdoyoulikeusnow? It’s takethat! It’s fuckyoutoo.

It’s-

“We were good enough.”

Ebumi’s teeth bite into the kiss.

“Fuckin’ told you so.”

#all out!! #ao!! #all out!! fanfic #matsuo x ebumi #ebumi x matsuo #matsuo toshinosuke #ebumi masaru #sekizan takuya #dahdah-rigeru #asked and answered #from the dark pit #you were so kind and i made you wait so damn long i'm sorrryyy #i still have not figured out how to do the READ MORE line on mobile so fck i'm sorry to everyone who has to scroll by this bullshiit #pls don't hate me

[atrabiliousse]

@yifau my hunbun angel love!! this took so long for me to post, i’m so sorry, i really hope you like it and thank you for letting me play around with this one!! 💘💗💝💕💖

Lavender with Younghoon

Your words tasted like poison on your own lips and you quickly shut your eyes to avoid seeing their impact.

The regret rolled in like a storm, the rain burning behind your eyelids and when you heard the apartment door slam shut, you gave in to your weak legs.

With the clap of thunder in your heart, you fell apart on the floor after having kept it all in for hours.

You sobbed loudly into your trembling hands, the sounds breaking from your chest as painful as the ache they left in your raw throat. The repercussions were killing you faster than the poison that had started it all.

It had always been a destructive habit of yours to bottle your emotions, the stresses that weighed down on you kept suppressed in your chest, using the cavity to hide everything that you refused to give power over you.

But it was usually in these times of suppression that you forgot how truly destructive it was when it reached its capacity and had no choice but break through to surface, leaving you powerless in its reign. Emotions wild, free and thoughtless led you to saying things you didn’t mean to defend your weakened state.

There were so many times that you had told yourself that you had to break the pattern, make the change before it truly led to something irreparable and as you tried to pull yourself together in your empty apartment, you wondered if this was the exact moment you dreaded.

Your argument with Younghoon had escalated way too quickly. You knew you had not been yourself for the last couple of weeks, it was clear in the way you were pushing him away and asking for space much too often and barely living in the same world anymore.

Younghoon was patient however and he’d silently nod and close the bedroom door to leave you in the solitude you asked for. He’d only interrupt you to call you for dinner and there he would make small talk, hoping that would be enough for you to at least look at him.

When you were in these moments of complete shut down, you were very selfish, too selfish to see how much your boyfriend was struggling to give you what you had asked for and respect that you didn’t want him around.

You couldn’t see how much it hurt him to watch the person he loved live but like a shell of what they used to be.

Younghoon didn’t know you like this, he didn’t know you to be so dissociative. When he met you, you had actually intimidated the poor boy with your confidence and strong personality. He learned very quickly that you were stubborn and persistent and the two together made you a force to be reckoned with.

That didn’t go to say that he expected you to be strong every waking day. Your boyfriend knew you were as human as he was and he was always ready with open arms on your bad days, he’d suggest a million and one things to make you smile and pick you up as best as he could. Younghoon liked to be believe he at least knew how to comfort his partner in their worst moments.

But this was proving to be a whole different game park for him. You weren’t coming to him for comfort, you’d barely let him even touch you and all your replies came in such short sentences that there was no way of knowing what you were thinking. So he decided to do as you asked, respecting the space you asked for, leaving you to do what you wanted even when it was killing him to watch you fade away in greys, even when all he wanted to know was what had caused this drastic change in you and kept you down, even when he felt like your love for him was barely there anymore.

But he was only human, just like you and it finally broke him when you wouldn’t even reply to him at all anymore.

“Are you tired of me? Are you tired of being in this relationship?”

“What are you even talking about, Younghoon?” Your voice sounded irked and it was only making the boy more erratic with his thoughts.

“Please don’t ask me that when you’ve been ignoring me for almost a month. What am I supposed to think?” His eyebrows were furrowed and he was trying his very best not to be impulsive with his anger.

You sighed then and shook your head, “Why is it so wrong for me to ask for some space? I just need some time to clear my head and now you’re assuming that this has something to do with our relationship.”

When you made a move to walk away from the discussion, he stopped you, placing his hand on your shoulder and turning you around with frustrated eyes.

“Because I understand needing time alone, I understand trying to clear your head, but I can’t understand pushing me away, shutting me out every time I try to even hold a conversation with you. Needing time for yourself is normal but at the rate you’re going it’s making me question if you even want me in your life anymore.”

Your head was pounding and you could feel your heartbeat in your throat as you stood rooted, trying to grasp what Younghoon was telling you, but you were so stuck in your head, your own emotions and problems that it made it hard to see it from his perspective.

So of course, you took offense to his words. You picked out everything that sounded like he was against you, like he was tired of you and that your emotions didn’t matter to him. And in that moment, you weren’t sure if it was you thinking like that or the negative emotions making you think like that.

“It’s funny because from the sounds of it, it seems like you’re the one that doesn’t want this anymore.”

The boy let out an incredulous laugh, his hand sweeping through his hair like he usually did when he was frustrated. Younghoon turned to look at you with a mocking smile, “Me? Please pray tell how I’m suddenly the one wanting to bring this relationship to an end.”

That’s when it broke. The brimming hold on all of your emotions burst free and from it spewed rapid words and false accusations and almost anything to hide the guilt that you felt for causing a rift between you and the one person that always tried to be there for you, no matter what it took of him.

“Is it so hard to support me when I’m clearly going through a rough time?” Your voice was hoarse as you yelled this after your angry rambling.

Your boyfriend looked exhausted, completely drained from trying and trying to get you to see but the denial was too impenetrable when you were in such a state and slowly he was losing will to fight.

“That’s all I’ve been trying to do. All I’ve been trying and wanting to do is be there for you, to help you through whatever it is that’s weighing so much on you, to help you carry the burden but you keep continuously shoving me away. You won’t even talk to me let alone tell me what’s doing this to you. And if you can’t see that, I’m sorry but you’re making a big mistake in thinking that I don’t care for you.”

It was then, in your flustered, embarrassed and guilt ridden state that you said something you wish you could take back but knew that such chance would never arrise.

“And what if that’s true? You might think you care for me but I’m still here, wanting to be alone and maybe if you had tried harder, I wouldn’t want that. And that just proves to me that my biggest mistake was you.”

He looked absolutely broken for the split second that you did look at him before you squeezed your eyes shut so hard that it actually burned. The second the words left your mouth, you knew you had taken it way too far and you had most probably lost the boy you had spent two years of your life loving and a whole future you dreamt of continuing to do so.

You didn’t open your eyes again until the door banged against the frame and you fell to your knees, crying, just completely hating yourself.

If you had just told him that it was nearing the fourth anniversary of your sibling’s death.

If you had just told him that you had lost your job and were currently struggling to find another.

If you had just told him that your family was hammering down on you for quitting college to pursue a dream you had already lost hope in.

If you had just told him that it felt like everything in your life was slowing crumbling away.

If you had just taken a second to realize that you were destroying the one good thing you had left to hold onto. The one person that waited everyday to see you and talk to you and hold you.

The one person that stood with you, and you had broken him out of foolish selfishness.

Your thoughts were all vicious and harsh and they yelled at you in loud thundering voices, making you feel smaller than you already did.

Maybe you could run after him, maybe you could stop him and tell him. Maybe you could still fix it all, if only you had the courage to even face him.

You were torn to pieces with thoughts and it did nothing to stop you from crying, an unending sadness absorbed into the hardwood floor.

You wanted to do so much but your body had finally reached its limits with your antics and it hurt to even move your legs.

You were overexerted and even that made you feel guilty.

So for once you let the sobs break through as loud as they needed, you let your body finally drain away the negativity it had stored away. You let it all free into your apartment on that lonely evening, unaware that on the other side of the door, Younghoon has his head pressed to the wood, his own tears falling into his lap.

He had meant to leave, of course anyone would’ve after hearing what you had said, but the minute he heard you break down into tears, he stumbled in his steps. Your cries made him feel like you were mourning a lot more than the current situation.

Part of him thought that you’d stop soon and just drag yourself to bed, but he stood there in place for an hour and still you sounded so physically broken. When he sat himself against the door, Younghoon promised himself that he would leave once you stopped crying, that he would walk away when you finally got up and went to your bedroom.

But you never did get up from the floor, instead you had tired yourself out to the point of falling asleep against the coffee table, little whimpers still escaping your swollen lips.

It was after the second hour that Younghoon got up with the intent of going home and sleeping away his busy mind, but he turned around instead and quietly opened your apartment door, eyes landing on your frail figure slumped against the coffee table.

Your face was blotchy, eyes heavily swollen and your lips red from you biting them to keep yourself quiet. Your lips still trembled in your sleep and your hands were freezing cold.

Younghoon swallowed down the heartache and then moved you away from the coffee table, wrapping your one arm around his shoulders in order to pick you up.

It was when he hoisted you up, that your eyes opened and when the blurry image cleared into his face, the tears popped heavily in your eyes.

“Younghoon.” It hurt to speak, but if you didn’t, you’d only regret it even more.

“You should get some rest.” He spoke calmly, still carrying you to your room.

Your mind was working in overdrive to try and think of absolutely anything to tell him, to explain to him and make everything right again, but you knew that nothing you said now could undo what you had said earlier, but you’d be damned if you didn’t even try.

“I didn’t meant it. I didn’t mean anything I said to you.”

The boy laid you down on your bed, standing at its edge, looking at you with an unreadable expression, “I understand that, but it doesn’t make it any less painful.”

You tried to sit up and reach for him, but you flinched when you felt the shooting pins and needles up your arm, so strong that it made your arm feel way too heavy and lame.

“Let’s talk about this in the morning. We both need a break right now.”

You let him turn away then and walk towards your door, knowing that he was right and that he deserved some time away from you, some time to think and process and be on his own. He deserved the space.

“I’ll make everything right again, Younghoon. I’ll do everything that I can to prove to you that I never regretted loving you.”

The boy spared you a tired smile over his shoulder, a sigh releasing from him that accounted for so many emotions , so many emotions that you were responsible for but not once did he blame you for it. Instead he nodded and walked out, leaving you to wait for the morning to find him again.

#thank you hunbun #prompt list #requested #kim younghoon #younghoon tbz #the boyz #the boyz scenarios #tbz