#that just because my body often betrays me doesn’t mean I’m a burden or bad

[alsjeblieft-zeg]

338 of 2023

Spoonie Secrets! 🥄 [True or False]

Created by joybucket

At some point, living turned into just existing, just trying to survive each day.... It's hard when what little energy I have has to go into taking care of myself. It feels like an endless cycle of hospital stays, specialists, medications, and worsening symptoms. It never gets easier having to adjust to new limitations due to your illness. Medical devices do not make you any less beautiful. 🩷 Even though they do not say it directly, I know that I burden those around me. It's not my fault, but it still hurts. I wonder what it's like to live unafraid of your own body's destruction. Chronic pain is exhausting. Honesty about symptoms is not negativity. I am more than my illness, even if it doesn't always feel that way. I am always in pain, even when I'm laughing and smiling. Just because I look okay doesn't mean I am okay. Hearing that my illness is incurable was the hardest thing I've ever had to hear. You can be happy and still be in pain. You cannot tell how someone is feeling based on the way they look. Sometimes the good days make the bad days feel even worse. It's hard not to worry about what's going to happen next when you get so used to everything always going wrong. "You're coping so well with all of this!" Have they considered that maybe I'm just good at pretending? Chronic illness often means looking in the mirror and not recognizing your body. I'm not sure yet how to balance wanting to have hope with not wanting to get hurt again. Burnout doesn't just apply to the workplace. Nothing feels longer than waiting for pain meds to kick in. 💊 Showering when you have a chronic illness is exhausting. 🚿 Support can come in many forms, and online friendships are totally valid. Chronic illness changes the dynamics of your relationships for better and for worse. My fatigue is not the same as you being tired. One of the hardest parts about being disabled is living in a world that wasn't built for you. It's hard not to feel envious when others are doing what I once could. Some days, life with a chronic illness seems totally manageable, and other days it feels impossible. Although I recognize my strength, living with a chronic illness makes me feel constantly fragile. Rare disease looks like me. 🦓 It is hard not to feel like you are disappointing everyone around you when you are not improving. I know this struggle is teaching me so much strength, but it doesn't make it any easier. My illness may be a big part of my life, but I will not let it define who I am. There is so much more to me than being sick. Just because I got out of bed today does not mean I'm cured. At times I get sad that I have lived with these symptoms for so long that they are now my "normal." Telling me that other people have it worse does not make my situation any better. Sometimes the treatment seems worse than the disease. 💊 Being in survival mode all the time is exhausting. Chronic illness is so expensive. 💸 I do not think I will ever lose a sense of bitterness for my body betraying itself. I will forever hold some level of anger for the loss of my health. It is hard to explain the feeling of claustrophobia when you are stuck inside a sick body. It is defeating to know I can do everything right and still not get better. Chronic illness has made me unrecognizable to myself. A migraine is not just a bad headache. 🤕 Sometimes the grief I feel for my old life is all-consuming. Answering "How are you?" can be so hard when you are chronically ill. Chronic illness looks like getting your hopes up for a new treatment, only for it to fail. No, I am not "fine" one day and sick the next. My symptoms can just go from manageable to debilitating from one day to the next. I am sick always. Chronic illness: Being forced to be stuck in a constant state of survival mode. How is it that I can feel so strong yet so incredibly fragile at the same time? Sometimes a low-symptom day feels like a heavy reminder of what I'm missing out on. There is so much to juggle when you are chronically ill. Not abiding by your physical limitations can be very dangerous. It's okay if your biggest accomplishment this year was just surviving. Exercise won't cure my incurable illness. 🏃‍♀️ I don't share about my illness for pity or attention; I share for awareness. Sometimes I feel like I have to choose between staying alive and enjoying being alive. You do not have to consent to every treatment your doctor suggests. With chronic illness, some days our best looks like just going through the motions to survive. That is nothing to be ashamed of. I never imagined that testing "in sickness and in health" would be how my marriage started out. You can do everything "right" and still become disabled. It's hard not to feel like I've let my younger self down. Just because I'm quiet about my pain doesn't mean I'm not hurting. You call me strong and brave, yet you don't see how truly depleted I am from this battle. You expecting me to get better makes it hurt even more. My illness may limit me, but I will not let it dictate my life. It's an incredibly lonely and personal loss, losing yourself forever. Society tells us to hide our struggle, then questions if it is really there. I can't remember what it's like to wake up in the morning and not be in pain. It gets hard not to think about all the time this illness has stolen from me. When your days look the same, it's hard not to think about all you're missing out on. The bathroom floor has become all too familiar. 🚽 I wish I could go back and tell myself to appreciate what I had more. You never know how quickly things can be taken from you until they are gone. There isn't a single aspect of my life that chronic illness doesn't impact. Watching a doctor Google your symptoms is so disheartening. There's no off switch for my chronic illness--even when it is inconvenient. Living with a chronic illness can be incredibly monotonous. Disabled isn't a bad word. Just because I look good doesn't mean I feel good. It's hard to realize that my life will never be the same as it was before I got sick. Maintaining friendships with my healthy peers can be really hard. You don't need to apologize for having a chronic illness. It's not your fault. Having a rare disease that not all medical personnel understand can be really terrifying. I am so grateful for treatments that are keeping me alive, but sometimes I hate them. 💊 The changing of seasons can be HELL on a chronically ill body. The same diagnosis can look completely different on different people. There's no shame in taking medication. 💊 Flare-ups are not your fault. I'm so tired of this sickness. Some days I just want to scream and cry and ask, "Why me?" There is strength in this struggle. Missing out hurts, even when you know it's what's best for your body. Nope, still not better. It's called CHRONIC illness for a reason. It's hard to admit that seeing my peers thriving sometimes makes me feel even more upset about my reality. I wish I felt as strong as everyone thinks I am and assumes me to be. Accepting the reality that I'll be sick forever is hands down one of the hardest things I've ever had to do. It's hard to feel like your pain is truly seen when your illness is invisible. I know I will never be healthy again, but I still hold on to the hope that I will see some improvement. When you're chronically ill, it gets hard not to envy the healthy people in your life. You should never be made to feel like you have to prove how sick you are to anyone. I'm not unreliable- my health is. Your best is going to look different every day, and that's okay.

#survey #random survey #bolding survey

[treeshidingleprechauns]

.

#idk why I’m making two of these posts in a row but I really really just need someone to tell me it’s okay #I really thought something awful was going to happen yesterday one way or another #when really to calm those fears all I needed was to be held and told that it’s okay #that I’m okay #that just because my body often betrays me doesn’t mean I’m a burden or bad #that I’m safe and loved and my ability to do x y or z doesn’t change that level of love from one day to the next #I was so fucking scared yesterday #and so fucking hurt #and i was doing really well having a p okay ldov despite everything #and the past few weeks even have been good #and I’ve been smiling so much lately #everything was feeling lighter #i don’t know where I’m going with this tbh #but I want to go back to two days ago when I was smiling and feeling seen in the best way and the worst thing was I took a nap instead of #idk getting my oil changed #god what a fucking tragedy would love to be able n that situation again #I just slept for 14 hours and literally everything hurts #I can’t even think of somewhere else for me to go rn bc apparently having friends who live literally anywhere else but where you do will #eventually come back to bite you #oh you need a place to stay for a little while that has an extra bed and someone who won’t ask invasive questions??? #great Theresa a $1500 flight to NZ leaving tomorrow at 11pm good luck #*there’s a #it’s fine i’m fine everything is fine #if you’ve made it this far pls just send a little love and healing my way #I really need it 😔 #personal

[duskamethyst]

make it right.

a/n: i was on a writing high. i initially hated this so much but ended up with 12 pages long.

word count: 5.1k

genre: mature, smut, nsfw, angst to fluff

warnings: mentions of abortion, pregnancy

pairing: hawks x f!reader

𝅘𝅥𝅮  music rec: the reason by hoobastank  𝅘𝅥𝅮

summary: you told keigo that you’re carrying his child but he didn’t take it well. five years later he shows up in front of your door after being invited by his son and says he wants to fix everything.

you lean down towards the counter as you concentrate on creating pretty swirls of cream on the cake you baked with a piping bag. the dining table is full of food, a feast almost too huge for only two people, but you have a good excuse. it is a special day. your son’s fifth birthday to be exact. 

kids these days can be ruthless and your son doesn’t get along very well with the other kids from his kindergarten. they like picking on others that seem too fragile, too quiet – criteria that fits him well and it doesn’t help with the fact that they know he’s growing up without a father. your child never opened up to you about the constant mocking he faced until one day you overheard him sobbing through his pillow in his own room. it was dark, though the door was still open by an inch to allow a small amount of light to penetrate into the room whenever he slept. he said he wanted to sleep earlier because he was tired but the muffling sounds he tried to conceal betrayed his efforts when you passed by later that night.

it made you angry and disappointed in yourself. you really tried your best to juggle between being a mom and a dad at the same time, keeping an eye on your child and working your ass off to make a living for the two of you. you’d always put up a tough front, never broke down in front of him when you were dead tired from being overworked and the thought of him trying to not make you worry, shattered your heart into pieces. you know that all he deserves is a good life and you constantly blame yourself for not being good enough, mostly angry at your past self for not even knowing how to make good decisions and think things through. 

if only you could turn back time, you would tell yourself to never get involved with a pro hero – to never get involved with someone who feels so responsible for other strangers’ lives but not their own child’s. 

were you being selfish? for not understanding that his work always comes first? he can’t possibly have a family when he has villains out there that need to be put in their right place for their crimes. were you expecting too much from him?

“can’t you… get rid of it?” he muttered. his cold words felt like a sharp blade that just stabbed you in the heart. never once you thought that he would say that. how easy was it for him to ask you to throw out another life like it meant nothing? 

“keigo, you can’t be serious.” you shook your head, your legs were already wobbling and you felt sick to your stomach. this news should be happy for the both of you but unfortunately, you two weren’t on the same page. 

was it your fault? keigo never spoke about having a child together but he always said he’d love to build a family with you someday – he loved you, he would always protect you and be there for you. sure, it was a slip up this time. you always made sure to take proper measures to avoid pregnancy from happening but you were also more than glad to bear this child and you were convinced that keigo would be happy about it as much as you were. he loved you so much, after all. 

“i don’t think…” he stammered, trying to find the right words. “give me some time.”

your lips pursed into a thin line, hands clenching hard and knuckles turning white. think? the uncertainty in his voice was already giving you the obvious answer. he couldn’t even look you in the eyes. he never wanted this.

“save the trouble, keigo.” you spat. “how about i’ll just leave so you don’t even have to think at all?”

keigo finally lifted up his head to look at you with wavering eyes, but he still couldn’t find the words to say, to comfort you. “what are you saying?”

“i’m still going to have this child. even if it means i have to do it alone.” with a sharp breath, you turned around towards the door.

you heard a frustrating sigh coming from your back, “you know i can’t. you know damn well that i have my job as a hero and i can’t look after… after a child!”

“but it’s your child keigo!” you turned around to scream and look at him again, tears already welling in your eyes, threatening to pour out.

“and what difference does that make?!” he yelled back. “in fact, that’s even worse!”

the room was quiet as the both of you just stood there. keigo slowly realizing what just came out of his mouth in the heat of the moment while you just stared at him in disbelief. both were standing stunned and speechless from what he clearly said. that was it, you thought. 

“fuck you.” you cursed under your breath and immediately left his place, not even sparing a look back. 

if he was sorry, he would chase after you. if he didn’t mean it, he would look everywhere for you.

but none of that happened.

you ended up going back to your hometown after that. it was shameful, to finally see your parents again but just to cry on their feet as soon as you saw their faces and telling them that you were carrying an illegitimate child. it was devastating for them initially but thankfully they easily accepted it, welcoming you to stay over at their place with open arms so they could help you throughout your pregnancy until the baby was born and grown. above all, you were still their daughter. living far away, your parents had never met keigo and they were shocked to know that you were having the no.2 pro hero’s baby but also disappointed at how he reacted when you told him the news.

however, what was done is done and you can only manage to move forward by raising the child with your utmost capability. you promised yourself that you’ll protect and raise this child with as much love and care a mother can offer. whatever it takes, even if you’ll have to do it by yourself. 

you ended up living with your parents until your son turned four and decided to live independently, not wanting to burden them any longer. they didn’t want to let you go, the presence of the child brought so much joy in their daily lives. he was a bundle of sunshine and they loved him so much. 

and kyō is just beautiful. 

keigo’s genes manage to overpower your son compared to yours. fluffy but shorter blonde hair, dark and sharp on the inner corner of the eyes and not to forget the red wings on his back. it isn’t as big as keigo’s yet but it still stands out. although he takes on your personality more, every part of him reminds you of keigo and sometimes it feels like a jab to your chest. it hurts to be reminded of the man that hurt you and told you to get rid of the child you were bearing so ruthlessly.

throughout the years, you tried to make peace with the past. at first, it was hard to look at the news and see his face. he was almost everywhere, a lot of stores also sold his merchandise and his face even covered the magazines-- you realized you couldn’t escape him, your past. although he’s in the limelight, the media was still unaware about his private life and you were glad alas the similar features of kyō to the pro hero made some passersby and mothers at the park question you. fortunately, you already came up with a bullshit excuse like “he is such a big fan of hawks and he cosplays him every day… and oh, the wings are fake too.”

of course, strangers weren’t the only ones who inquired about it. even the little child himself could smartly notice his resemblance with the pro hero.

as soon as he first saw hawks on tv, he went on and on about how they looked so much alike. he was beyond fascinated, he could barely understand what the news was talking about at the time but being on the screen was more than enough to make him understand that hawks was an amazing guy. his eyes would twinkle in wonder when the news caught footage of him flying in the air with his red wings spreading graciously. if anything at all, kyō just couldn’t wait to flap his own smaller wings soon. 

then one thing led to another. a question that any curious child would ask their parents about. 

oftentimes kyō would ask you about his dad. why didn’t he have one like the other children he played with at the park and oftentimes you would try to avoid the topic and shrugged it off with a lame joke saying how you were also his dad and how you were powerful to have two bodies in one unlike other people. 

he ended up growing tired of it one day, crying to you and asked if the reason why he didn’t have one was because he didn’t love him – something he heard one of the kids said. it broke you and you were lost for words. you called your parents for support and after much discussion, your mother thought he deserved to at least know the truth and you did just that. 

luckily, he took it surprisingly well. even his little brain can comprehend the job of a top hero, he understood that it was a lot of work and keigo was often busy and far away. it was less to his liking when you made him promise you to not tell anyone about it and he should keep it as a secret because bad guys would chase after him if another single soul would know and his dad did it to protect him. it was a bad lie, but still, you had to do it.

later, kyō realized that his birthday was coming soon. he knew what he had always wanted. he didn’t know if he could have it but maybe… maybe if he tried and wished hard enough, it would come true. 

he sneakily took your phone to look up “hawks'' on your phone, though at first he was only shown results and pictures of the literal bird before smartly adding “pro hero” at the back. with limited comprehension, he eventually managed to find the agency’s website before scrolling further to find the address to the agency and scribbled it down on a piece of paper. 

-

“daddy?!” the bell has been ringing for a few times but you were too concentrated on decorating the birthday cake to even hear it but your son’s small wings flutter in excitement as he runs across the hallway to open the door.

your heart stops for a second. was that the reason why your son was pacing around the living room? you’re not expecting any guests for tonight’s dinner at all, especially the father of your child. 

“hey! i got your letter!” the familiar excited tone of his voice bursts from the door as he speaks. he kneels down eye-level as his son and gives him a big hug. “happy birthday.”

“what letter?” you break into the conversation, arms folded in front of your chest as you lean against the wall with an unamused expression written across your face. 

“i wrote daddy a letter!” your son says proudly, but you can already imagine the horrible squiggly lines on the handwritten letter. 

“and you gave me a picture too. you look exactly like me, am so happy!” keigo chuckles, ruffling the hair of his boy, eliciting little giggles from the other. it’s a beautiful sight and it makes your heart ache a little at the image of what it could’ve been. if only he was fully ready to accept the fact that he was gonna bear a child. if only he knew how to balance between his career and personal life. you could’ve had the most beautiful family you’ve ever dreamed of. 

“honey, can you go to your room for a bit? your daddy and i have to talk.” you say softly, hoping that he won’t take it any other way.

“am i.. in trouble?” kyō turns to you with a frown and puppy eyes – which he knows well that it would always work on you and it’s almost adorable how it’s exactly what keigo would do whenever he makes you annoyed with his antics. it’s just one of his ways to apologize to you. 

you sigh and shake your head, “no. we’re gonna talk about…” you glance elsewhere as you think of an excuse. “your surprise present!” 

“it’s not a surprise anymore if you say it like that, mommy!” the child laughs and scurries to his room as told and the both of you watch him with a smile tugged on your lips. 

you turn back to keigo with a dour expression as soon as your son closes the door to his room, causing him to fidget a bit from his spot. he hasn’t seen it for years, after all. he’s about to pull you into a hug but instead, you quickly turn your heels around towards the kitchen.

“i still have things to do. either you help me with it or leave.”

he quickly takes off his shoes and follows you, taking in the view around the house before he enters the kitchen. the atmosphere is stuffy and tense while you sit on the stool to continue decorating the cake. 

“you can help by setting up the plates. top cabinet.” you break the awkward silence and keigo obliges, he reaches the cabinet to take out the available plates and put them nicely around the table. 

“you made it yourself?” he tries to make a conversation as he glances at you working on the cake. 

“yeah.” you simply reply without taking your eyes off from your work. 

“it’s nice. chocolate?”

“obviously.”

keigo sighs from the underwhelming response, “i know you don’t want me here but –”

“no shit.” you almost slam the table but quickly recompose yourself by taking a deep breath. for the sake of your son, you know you shouldn’t get into an argument right now, at least not today. 

“look, i’ll leave as soon as this is over if that’s what you want.”

you glare at him, “it’s more than what i want right now,” then it’s your turn to sigh. “but i doubt that’s what kyō would want.” 

keigo already knows his name from the letter but his lips etch into a warm smile at the sound of the name you’ve given to the-- his child and a small part of him wishes that he was there in the process of choosing a name for the boy together with you. 

“okay, just for tonight. we’ll pretend like we’re a happy family.” you stand up from the stool after putting the last candle and set the cake in the middle of the table. 

“...and what if we don’t have to?” he blurts out after a brief and quiet moment, immediately catching your attention. he notices the puzzled look on your face and continues, “what if we really start being a happy family from now and onwards?”

you blink once, twice. for a second, you feel a heavy pang in your chest as your brain processes the words that just came out from his mouth. it’s like déjà vu, only this time keigo has certainty in his voice.

the room falls dead silent again as you stare at each other. you’re finding words and about to open your mouth to say something but kyō suddenly interrupts from the corner of the kitchen and both of your attentions quickly turn to him.

“mommy..? i’m hungry.” 

“oh, sweetheart. you’re just in time!” you walk up to kyō to carry him in your arms before bringing him to the dining table. his eyes sparkle at the variety of food spread across the table and his wings flutter in excitement. 

“can you help light up the candles? the lighter is in the drawer.” you usher to keigo as you show your son his favorite food you made earlier while keigo quickly rummages through the drawer. he lights up each candle as you put down kyō on one of the chairs before he stands on his knees to reach close enough to blow the candles. the both of you excitedly sing happy birthday and clap your hands as he blows off the candles after a brief moment for a wish. 

“what did you wish for?” keigo asks, affectionately patting kyō on the head.

“i wish to be a hero like daddy!” he exclaims, arms and wings spread in enthusiasm. a bittersweet feeling engulfs him-- a part of him is disappointed and ashamed of himself while another part of him is elated and relieved that he’s still looked up upon by his own child. in the corner of his heart, keigo thinks he doesn’t deserve it. kyō is a splitting image of himself (minus the color of his eyes that he takes after you) and it easily brings back visions of him from the past. he wanted to be a hero too, but his father wasn’t someone he could look up to. hence, making endeavor the only man he idolized. 

he realizes he is lucky enough to be the person his son looks up to. he knows that this was what his own younger self would want. a father he can be proud of, a hero at that. keigo wants to make it right with whatever it’ll take.

the night proceeds smoothly, all three of you have fun together like any normal family would and bonding over lost times. keigo is thoughtful (though his choice seems a little bit conceited) enough to give kyō a present; an action figure of himself. unknowingly, the walls that you built around you by the time keigo arrived earlier slowly crumbles and you grow less wary around him as time ticks by. when it’s bedtime for the boy, keigo insists on putting him to bed so he can spend more time with him which you gladly consented to so you can also continue cleaning up the kitchen.

a set of footsteps coming down the stairs can be heard as you’re seated on one of the stools while sipping tea. 

“want some tea?” you offer without turning around to look at the male.

“sure.” he says as he walks up to you. 

you can feel his tall and lean build ghosting you from the back as you pour a cup for him but his hands suddenly reach your shoulders and give them light squeezes. 

“what are you doing?” you ask quizzically, glancing at the hand on your shoulder.

“giving you a massage.” he smiles innocently as he continues pressing on the knot in your stiff shoulders, making you sigh in reflex.

“trying to get on my good side?” you say in a mocking tone.

“hmm, just showing my appreciation to you.” his hands move lower to your spine, your back arches a little as he presses down your aching muscles. 

“you’re five years too late, keigo.” you sneer but welcome his service as you close your eyes and hum in content. it’s not that bad, you assure yourself in your head. 

keigo diligently continues to massage your back as the kitchen now fills with your quiet sighs and whimpers whenever he rubs on the sore spot. without you realizing, he slyly pulls the collar of your baggy shirt down and plants soft kisses on your bare shoulder.

“k-keigo?” you immediately open your eyes and flinch at the sudden touch.

he remains quiet while his hands work up and down your arms gently and his lips move further up to your earlobe, sending tingling sensations down to your core and you can already feel your nipples harden underneath your shirt. 

“relax.” his hot breath fans over your ear as he whispers. your cheeks are already burning red and you’re out of sarcastic remarks as you can only find yourself to indulge into his touches. 

you gasp in surprise when keigo’s hands sneakily move under your shirt and quickly unsnaps your bra. he massages your breasts and kneads them gently before teasing your erect nipple between his fingers. your hands firmly clenches the edge of the island to hold yourself as he nips on the crook of your neck, just gently to carefully not leave a mark. 

“you want more, babybird?” he coos as he realizes that your thighs are pressing against each other. as much as you hate to admit it, the nostalgic pet name tugs on your heartstrings and you find yourself melting after hearing it after years again. 

feeling embarrassed, you quietly nod your head. 

“i can’t hear you.” a teasing tone lingers in his voice. he knows what he’s doing and you hate him for it.

“more, keigo...” you whine. it sounds so innocent and adorable but it absolutely makes his cock twitch. noticing that you’ve been avoiding looking at him the whole time, he uses one of his hands to make you look at him and grins when he catches the red tint spread across your face before he presses his lips onto yours. 

the traces of your ego make you hesitate at first but you’re quick to lose it as he deepens it, as if to send you a silent message of how much he misses you while his tongue intertwines with yours. 

one of his hands remains to massage your mound while the other travels down south to easily part your legs and cups your heated sex. keigo rubs the clit against the fabric of your pants, eliciting breathy moans from your lips between kisses. you pull away and lean back to his body as he slides his hand under your pants, feeling the wet patch that is already staining your underwear. 

“already wet from all of that?” he says playfully, taking out his hand to look at the damp juices as he rubs it between his fingers. 

“says the man that was grinding his cock on my back.” you roll your eyes halfheartedly, missing the faint blush that becomes apparent on his cheeks.

keigo then reaches for the cups in front of you and pushes them aside before lifting you up on the kitchen island, making you turn towards him. he swiftly pulls down your pants along with your underwear, your cunt bare and glistening under the lights for him to see.

his golden irises lock with yours as he kicks the stool to the side and crouches down to spread your thighs apart. he starts to lap off your juices, tongue alternating between your throbbing clit and hole. your elbows help to prop you up as your head hangs back and your eyes close in pure bliss. 

keigo smacks and clenches your thighs to draw your attention to him, “baby, look at me.”

you submissively lift your head to look at him, eyes locking with each other again as he watches you squirm on the tongue flicking your clit and eats you out like a starved man having his first meal after a long day. 

you grab a lock of his blonde hair in one hand, pushing him closer as your legs tremble around his head, feeling the bubbling sensation of your orgasm building up. 

“mmh – gonna cum!” you cry out in ecstasy, instantly forgetting the people next door and your son that’s sound asleep on the upper floor as you chase after your high.

keigo smoothly slides two fingers inside your pussy and your hips begin to grind desperately onto them. he knows you’re close when he feels the walls clenching around him and with another suck on the clit, he quickly gets to tip you over the edge. 

“so good for me.” he coos as he pulls away, licking his fingers clean before carrying your panting body in his arms and walks over to sprawl your body on the couch. he hovers on top of you and kisses you again while his hands work on unzipping and taking off his lower garments to free his throbbing cock. 

he smears the precum by pumping his cock as he watches you down, adoring the look of absolute bliss on your face and half lidded eyes that he longed for over the years. 

“my songbird,” he purrs as he leans down to you and lines his cock with your wet cunt, “you’re so beautiful.”

if you’re already red, the endearing pet name makes you even redder. your gaze avoids his to hide your embarrassment but he only draws it back gently by your chin with his thumb and finger. 

“don’t you miss me?” his brows furrowed as he searches your face. you can only stare back into his eyes – bright irises filled with nothing but genuine curiosity and desolation. 

your lips pull into a thin line as you ponder for a moment, promptly unable to vocalize like earlier. it’s as if you let even one word escape your mouth, it would make you burst into tears instead. of course you missed him. your mind often wondered if he even thought of you at least once. even when you did make peace with the past, you still couldn’t bring yourself to be the one to make the first step. ego is an ugly thing and you were certain that keigo should be the one to look for you even if it was hard for him since you just disappeared out of his life.

noticing the reluctance to give him an answer, he shushes you. “it’s okay.” he kisses you sweetly on your nose. “but let me show how much i’ve missed you.”

he trails open mouthed kisses down your jaw, neck and collarbone as your hands run through his hair and down to his back. a soft whine manages to escape from your mouth when he nibbles on the soft flesh of your neck, instantly marking it red this time. 

his mouth then latches onto your nipple through your shirt, making you squirm beneath him. your hands clenches to the fabric of his shirt when you feel his fingers teasingly dancing between your wet folds and his thumb ghosting over your clit. 

keigo gives you a kiss on the lips again before pulling away, the cushion dips as he props himself on the knees, rubbing his hard cock against your wet slits and smearing it with your juices.

a low hiss slips from his lips as he slowly prods in the tip of his cock and your expression twists into discomfort as you feel him stretch you out more – a familiar mixture of pain and pleasure that you haven’t felt for a while.

keigo waits for you to adjust and as soon as you give him the greenlight, he continues to completely balls deep inside you. 

“babybird, you feel so good.” he grunts as he bucks his hips and slowly starts to move. 

you bite your lower lip hard, enough to draw blood as you try to stifle your moans. keigo leans down to kiss you while your arms find themselves wrapping around his neck. he thrusts harder and faster and your whimpers and whines finally find themselves shamelessly slipping past from your mouth.

“fucking– hah– perfect.” he pants as he pulls away to look at your flustered face, eyes half closed and mouth agape with pleasure. 

you quickly bury your face on the crook of his neck and hold onto him tighter while your legs wrap securely around his waist. keigo moves his thumb on your clit, pressing down and rubbing circles all to entice nothing but tightening the coil down in your core more. 

“keigo, keigo –” you cry as your nails dig the fabric on his back and your toes curl to the intense sensation.

“baby wants to cum?” he growls as he feels your walls clamping around his cock, making him buck his hips even wilder. 

“yesyesyes – oh god, keigo!” your mind turns putty and unable to form any more coherent words, making only his name being the only thing you remember as your eyes close shut while you’re nearing your high. 

“that’s it – baby. cum on my cock.” he encourages and you do just that. your pussy flutters as you finally reach your orgasm but his sporadic thrusts doesn’t stop until it starts to falter and his wings tremble.

“fuck. i’m gonna fill you up.” he grits through his teeth and his cock twitches before his wings spread wider as he releases his warm cum inside you. 

the both of your bodies stay against each other, chests heaving for air before he briefly pulls out his cock and lays on top of your chest. 

“yes.” your voice suddenly croaks, breaking the almost silent air in the room if not for the sound of yours and his breathing.

keigo lifts up his head to look at you confusingly before a lopsided smile curls on his lips when he hears you utter the next few words.

“yes. i missed you and i don’t want to pretend anymore.” you suddenly feel overwhelmed and tears start to well in your eyes. a flash of panic crosses his face and he pulls you closer into his embrace, hoping to calm you down as you sniffle on his chest. 

“shh, baby. i’m sorry. i know it’s too late and i was so fucking stupid but i’ll – ”

“i want to live as a happy family with you, keigo.” you cut him off, sobbing through his shirt. he pulls away at once to look at you, unable to believe what he just heard through the choking sob but it still makes even him want to cry. 

“babybird, i – ” he’s completely tongue-tied. at this point he can only manage to lean down to be close to you again. he peppers kisses all over your face, saying how thankful and happy he is.

“i love you, my little bird. i won’t fuck up this time, i promise.” he whispers, finally regaining his composure.

that night, keigo could barely sleep a wink. so many thoughts are running through his head. he glances at you sleeping peacefully next to him on the bed and he already pictures how it is to be waking up to see your face every morning. he also hopes that kyō doesn’t know how to fly yet so he could teach him how to use his wings. oh, he’ll also get to find an excuse to buy more buckets of chickens once you three will start living together. 

he can already imagine how the headlines will be bombarded about him having a family and he sighs at the thought, but he hopes that his publicist is ready for a hell lot of work.

duskamethyst © 2020 • do not modify, translate or repost anywhere.

#hawks #keigo takami #takami keigo #hawks bnha #hawks x you #hawks x reader #hawks fluff #hawks angst #my hero academia #boku no hero academia #hawks smut #robinwrites #bnha fanfic #mha fanfic #hawks fanfic #keigo smut #keigo x you #keigo x reader #tw abortion #tw pregnancy #hawks mha #r; writes #tw; abortion #tw; pregnancy

[nctsjiho]

Alternate Universe

warnings: mention of COVID. This is was meant to be pure fluff ngl, but you might’ve guessed it, that’s not how it turned out.

era: May 2021

❀ During a sleepover in JiHo’s new apartment, she and Renjun imagine how life would be if NCT never met each other

“Okay, but with space being infinitely big, who says there can’t be multiple universes. And maybe, one of those universes could be an alternate universe similar to ours.” JiHo hummed as she listened to Renjun’s rant - which had been going on for about 30 minutes at this point. She pulled her blanket up to her chin and closed her eyes. “Do you think we’d still have met in that universe? Do you think NCT exists there?”

JiHo let out a deep sigh, “Go to sleep Renjun, it’s already past 1.” She turned her head to look at Renjun who was slightly pouting and she let out a small chuckle. “I just wonder how things would’ve been if we hadn’t met each other.” Renjun then locked eyes with the girl. “Any of us.”

Sitting up straight against the arm rest of her new L-shaped couch, JiHo stretched her arms. Renjun mirrored her action on the other end of the couch, curious as to why JiHo did so, she had been nagging him to shut up and sleep earlier anyway.

“As for me...” She trailed off. Renjun took notice of how JiHo’s eyes had focused on nothing particular. Even in the dimly lit room he could see how her eyes looked so bright yet charming. He never told anyone, but JiHo’s greenish eyes were one of his favourite things to look at. They were so pretty and interesting. Not only was she the only member who didn’t have just brown eyes, but something about them had him get lost in her eyes whenever he got the chance to look at them closely.

JiHo coughed before continuing. “I’d be in France right now. Probably had a reckless childhood with my weird friends and helping out at my grandparents’ pension.” Even though Renjun felt sad that he wasn’t part of that alternate-universe-childhood, he couldn’t help but smile when JiHo did. Reminiscing the childhood she had and imagining how it would’ve continued if she’d never gone to Korea to become an idol made her feel nostalgic in a sense. She didn’t get to experience it, but she could imagine it as if it really happened.

“I’d probably have a dog and live a normal middle-class, country side, family and friends oriented life. Maybe continued on with rope skipping and actually go semi-professional.” She contently sighed. “What about you?” JiHo’s eyes fell on Renjun’s shadowy figure. The light coming from the window only hit the far side of his body, so JiHo couldn’t really make out much of his appearance.

“I don’t know. I actually don’t know.” JiHo laughed softly. “Oh, don’t tell me you theorised about aliens, alternate universes, ghost, any kind of supernatural, but you’ve never thought about life without NCT?” Her mocking, yet innocently playful tone elicited a chuckle from him. “I guess I would’ve went on with school and worked hard to get into a good university so I could get a good job.”

“And your art? You’re really talented, you could do something with that.” The unexpected compliment casted a pink tinge on Renjun’s cheeks and he was so happy JiHo couldn’t make it out in the darkness of the room. “Hm. Maybe.” He hummed bashfully.

The two sit in silence for a bit before Renjun speaks up again. “How is it living here?” The sudden break in silence makes JiHo jump the tinniest bit and her head quickly turns to face Renjun. He laughs. “Sorry, didn’t mean to startle you.”

His eyes scan the room, or at least what he can see of it. He already got used to the dark, so he could the silhouettes of all the furniture in the spacious apartment. The living room, kitchen and dining era was bigger than those in most of the NCT dorms, but this apartment only had 2 bedrooms, a bathroom, a toilet and a small dressing room - it might as well just be a closet. It looked way more trendy than his dorm. “Esteem must have some good money.” He thought.

“It looks nice.” He then looked at JiHo, awaiting her response. “It looks nice yeah.” Her voice sounded way less chipper than it did before. “Why? Do you not like it?” Once again, JiHo’s head snaps up. “No, I do like it. It’s pretty big, not too much furniture so it’s easy to clean. My bedroom is big enough for a queen size bed. It’s nice.” “You don’t seem too happy about it though.”

Jiho sighed and let her body fall back down in a lying position on the couch. “It’s lonely.” She stated simply. No other explanation, just those two words. “What about your manager?” Renjun asked, but then he remembered. He, and no one of the other members who have visited her over the past two weeks had really seen her manager. Maybe one or twice in passing, but the manager wasn’t in the apartment for more than an hour whenever they came over.

A groan escaped the sleepy girl’s lips as she stretched her arms out in front of her. “She’s still managing for another talent under Esteem. And that person has a lot of schedules currently, so my manager is just out working all the time.” “But we come by often, and you come over to the dorms as well.” JiHo nodded, not necessarily for Renjun to see, she didn’t think he would either way, but he did. “So?” “It’s only the second time someone stayed over here. Which I really enjoy by the way.” She quickly added as not to offend Renjun because of her rather gloomy tone.

“It’s just that whenever I come back home, whether it’s from the company or from your guys’ dorms, I just get hit by the fact that I’m alone in this apartment.” Renjun sympathised with the girl, understanding why it could make her feel lonely. “Not only that, it also makes me realise that NCT really is all I have. I don’t have many other friends, or at least not those who I hang out with. It’s only you guys.”

Not wanting to face Renjun, whether he was able to see the disheartened look on her face or not, JiHo pulled her blanket up to her chin again. “My family lives about 12 plus hours away by plane. I haven’t seen them in six years, and quite frankly, I’m not sure when I get to see them again.”

Renjun felt his stomach sink a little as JiHo slowly lost her ability to hide her real feelings. Each word sounded more and more painful to utter, sounded like it took more energy, it just felt so sad.

In an attempt to cheer JiHo up, Renjun spoke up. “Hey, once COVID is over, you should just get on a plane and visit them.” JiHo let out a bitter laugh and it makes Renjun’s heart clench. Did he say something wrong?

“You don’t think that in those six years I could’ve just gotten on a plane and visited them?” JiHo asked, her tone sounding just as, if not more bitter then her laugh just a second earlier. “Don’t you think that my family could’ve just jumped on a plane and visited me?” She scoffed. Of course it wasn’t directed to Renjun, rather the situation itself, but the boy couldn’t help but feel a bit targeted. He didn’t blame her though, it must of been so frustrating for her.

“Do you mind me asking why it didn’t happen then?” JiHo looked at Renjun, who had pushed himself up further on the couch, his legs now crossed in front of him. “There’s literally no reason it didn’t happen before. It doesn’t make sense that I never went back or that my family never came here. It’s just like this.” “But- How?” Renjun felt so confused, it really didn’t make sense.

JiHo sat up as well and stared out in front of her at the window. “Whenever I wanted to go SM or the managers always made up some excuse. It was either schedule conflict, or I had problems with my visa in my trainee days, or I had a last minute meeting. SM never let me buy my family plane tickets and whenever they would tell me they’d come visit, they would always cancel last minute for something that happened. After a while I just stopped asking.” Renjun carefully stood up after JiHo’s confession. “And after a while, my family stopped planning to come.”

It went unnoticed by JiHo that Renjun had moved over towards her. She looked to the side to see her friend already sit next to her on the couch. “I didn’t know. I’m so so sorry.” JiHo shook her head. “It’s not your fault.” She responded, a silence fell over them once again.

Renjun watched as the gears inside of Jiho’s head kept turning. He felt so bad for everything she had to go through is silence. Everything she hid from everyone. All of it was just extra weight in her backpack full of worries and burdens.

He grabbed her hand which had fallen limply next to her lap. The touch making her snap out of her thoughts. “It just doesn’t make any sense.” She kept shaking her head. “Someone inside of SM must have been talking to my family, or maybe they felt betrayed when I left to Korea-” “Never.” Renjun interrupted, not wanting JiHo to even entertain that thought. “Maybe they got mad that I kept cancelling my visits.” Her head still continued shaking from left to right as if she was in denial, and to be honest she was. “Make it make sense Renjun.” Her voice cracked as her eyes locked with Renjun’s.

The same eyes that seemed to light up the dark room earlier felt devoid from all it’s usual brightness and youthfulness. On most days the green in her eyes reminded Renjun of jade, cool and charming, on other days it reminded him of nature, energetic and playful, but right now the green was so dull and was barely visible between the brown colour of the rest of her irises.

Renjun squeezed JiHo’s hand lightly. “I’m so sorry JiHo, I don’t know.” This causes JiHo to nod and let her eyes wander back to the window. “If I could I’d move back in with Haechan and the boys.” Renjun’s eyes stayed focussed on JiHo’s hand. It made him happy that her dainty fingers fit perfectly interlaced with his. The boy was used to holding for example Jisung’s hand, which was way bigger than his own and even though they fit into his as well, it was a different kind of fit. With JiHo’s hand he felt a sense of protectiveness and responsibility, like he had to be the one to make sure JiHo wouldn’t get hurt.

“Chenle doesn’t live with you guys, but at least when he goes home he has his family. Whether it’s his parents or his aunt, he has family with him all the time. As for me...” She trailed off. “This place doesn’t feel like a home at all. I was perfectly happy living with the boys. You guys are all the family I have here.” JiHo released a big breath as if she had just done a physical exercise that required a lot of energy.

Her eyes then fell onto Renjun and her intertwined hands, smiling at the way Renjun absentmindedly drew hearts on the back of her hand. “I love my parents and grandparents. I really do.” Renjun got startled by JiHo’s desperate tone, as if she was trying to prove him of her love for her family. “I know-” “I would like to believe I’d do anything to see them.” “And you would.” Renjun smiled assuring, even if his smile showed sadness. “I don’t think that’s true Renjun.”

JiHo’s breath hitched for a second before she made eye contact with her worried friend. “I could’ve just went. I could’ve not listened to SM and went. If I truly loved my family as much-” “Don’t say that JiHo.” Renjun scolded carefully, but JiHo just shook her head. “If I loved them so much, wouldn’t I have done it? I got on a plane to China for Xiaojun behind our managers back once for God’s sake.” She took a few seconds to calm her breathing. “Why haven’t I gone and visited my family?”

“You’re scared.” JiHo’s eyes widened in confusion. “What?” “You’re scared aren’t you? That going back might not be what you imagined it to be. But why does that matter? It’s your family, they love you and miss you just as much as you love and miss them.”

A wave of realisation hit JiHo and she felt tears well up in her eyes. Throwing her head back she tried her best to stop them from flowing and from more forming in her eyes.

Once the tears subsided she looked at Renjun who had a soft smile on his lips. “I’m scared that if I go back, that I’ll realise how much I actually missed my family.” Renjun laughed slightly amused. “What’s wrong with that?” “If I go...” She started and Renjun nodded along with her words, yet his smile faded as soon as JiHo uttered her next words.

“I might realise I don’t want to come back here again.”

---

Side Note: I wanted to write for Renjun for soooo long! This was based on a cute/funny prompt I found on Tumblr, but literally a few paragraphs in and my mind went “let’s make it a bit angsty”. This might be one, if not my favourite writing I’ve done so far <3 I hope you all liked it as well.

I know my content hasn’t been as good lately so I hope this writing will get me back on track a bit. I definitely have to do something about my inability to think of good titles tho O.O

I hope you have a nice day/evening/night <3

#jiho.writings #nct 24th member #nct addition #nct dream imagines #nct imagines #nct female member #nct extra member #nct additional member #kpop!addition #kpop!oc

[passable-talent]

Hey! I know you have done a lot of these but could you do a Zuko x Reader body appreciation fluffy/angsty thing? One where the s/o is naturally very sympathetic and forgiving and is one of the first members of Team Avatar to trust Zuko. And then when he is just sulking about his scar and his past and then the s/o swoops in and basically holds him and just stays like that for awhile while telling him everything good about him. I’m rewatching the series and honestly thats all I wanna do rn. Tysm❤️

good god isn’t that the mood... what we all feel when zuko exists, isn’t it? I’m soft

three posts?? in two days?? imagine

Ever since Aang told you about Zuko’s meltdown outside of the North Pole, you figured something very deep and very sad was going on underneath Zuko’s skin. There was something much more to him than he let on- and you figured it had to do with his banishment. You didn’t know much, as word of such things didn’t travel far outside of the fire nation, but you could guess.

His father would’ve had to have been the one to banish him. And he was young, your age, sixteen- how young had he been when his father cast him out? You couldn’t imagine.

And yes, Katara hated him, and you knew she had reason, but you hadn’t been around as long, you simply didn’t understand. But what you could understand was a sad and mistreated boy, and you felt for him, even as you fought against him.

But when things changed, and he turned to team avatar, you knew you had to do something. You wanted to learn more, to understand, because you couldn’t help but think that all of his anger was merely sadness hidden under a mask. You wanted to learn more, and to help, because he was your teammate now. You had always felt for him, and even more so now, with his full, if stunted, range of emotions bared to you.

You often took walks around the western air temple, late at night. As an earth kingdom native, the stone of the temple was home to you, and you loved the silence only broken by the padding of your bare feet.

And, by the sound of tears.

Your heart hurt for whoever was kept awake this late by their pain, and you began to follow the sound, though you had a sneaking suspicion who it was.

You rounded a corner inside the temple and found the room a little bit away from the rest of team avatar where Zuko had put himself up. Having not noticed you yet, he continued to stare into a puddle on the floor and shake, his knees pulled up as he sat on the floor.

Your heart nearly broke for him.

“Hey,” you whispered from the door, trying not to startle him. He looked up and quickly wiped away his tears, as though you hadn’t noticed, casting his gaze anywhere but you. You gave a small smile and walked into the room, sitting beside him, almost close enough to tough. You purposefully but subtly let your knee droop to the side, hiding the puddle from his vision. He hadn’t said a word, and you knew that starting a conversation would need to be a delicate process.

“I knew there was more to you,” you said, as though confirming a theory. It made him look at you, his good eye’s puffiness hiding in the dim light.

“What do you mean?” He asked, and you smiled, not giving him the burden of eye contact as you gazed off toward the wall.

“All those times you were chasing after Aang. Everything they’ve told me about you, from before. I knew there was something more than anger keeping you going.” He turned his face from you, and the both of you gazed off into the middle distance, side by side.

“There wasn’t, back then,” he said, a curt breath leaving his lungs.

“Yes, even then,” you corrected, “but I can’t figure out what. It was more than a drive to capture the avatar for the-“ you straightened your back and puffed out your chest, making fun of the statement you were about to make. “-victory of the glorious fire nation.” Another puff of air left his lungs, and you assumed it was the closest you were going to get to a laugh.

“Got any theories?” He asked, and you shrugged.

“Something about your banishment. You must’ve been young, huh?” You said, this time turning your eyes to him. He stared straight forward.

“Thirteen.” You shook your head, turning your eyes away.

“Wow.” For a moment, all you could hear was the cricket-flies out the window.

“That must be it, then,” you said, as though you’d solved the case. “Cast out by your father, at such a young age. I bet you thought that if you got the avatar back, your father would accept you home.”

“He was never going to accept me.”

“He doesn’t deserve to,” was your quick response, and he turned to you in shock. You continued.

“You’ve betrayed your father to come to us, and it was the right thing to do. You put the future of your nation and the world over your desire to win back his affection.” You finally made eye contact with him, a small smile on your face. “You know, I grew up in a small village in Abbey, one of the first that the fire nation took in the war. We were policed, and militarized, and poor.” His gaze faltered, and you could tell he felt guilty. “And though the fire nation controlled our education and filled it with propaganda, our parents taught us the truth- and often taught us to blindly hate the fire nation.” You reached out to take his hand. “You- you’re the first fire nation member I’ve ever met that I can’t find a fault in. All of those soldiers and teachers, they had malice in their hearts, but you’re doing what’s right for your people.” You brought his gaze back to yours with your free hand, gently. “You give me hope for the future of the fire nation.” He kept his gaze to yours for a moment before closing his eyes, breathing out. With the breath he let go of the last of the tension in his stomach.

“I hope I’m worthy of that,” he said quietly, and you felt a smile quirk at the edge of your lips.

“You are.” As that conversation seemed to dwindle away, you let him sit in silence for a moment, expecting to restart him talking on some other topic. However, he took up the conversation of his own accord.

“You were almost completely correct,” he said, opening his eyes again, but keeping them downcast. “For a long time, it was completely about regaining my father’s love. But that wasn’t all of it.” You tilted your head and squeezed his hand briefly, hoping to spur him on without words. He looked up, his golden eyes meeting yours with strength you hadn’t seen before, and he took his free hand up to point at his scar. “On the day of my banishment, my father did this to me. So every day, as it hurt, i was reminded of my father’s scorn. And every day more that I see it, I remember that my father thought I was such a bad option as an heir to the throne that he would marr my face. My face, of all places- no one can look at me without seeing the mark of a fire lord who said ‘this one isn’t good enough’.” As soon as he finished talking you leaned forward and hugged him, tightly, your cheek resting on his shoulder.

“You don’t deserve that,” you whispered, an intangible sadness gnawing at your heart. He was so abused- it was horrible. His silence was all you got in return but slowly his arms came around you, and you readjusted until it wasn’t so much that you had lept forward but now it was like you’d pulled him into you. “I’m so sorry.” He didn’t answer, merely nodded, his hair moving past your ear. Slowly you parted and reached up to softly touch his scar, fingers hovering just away from the rough skin to give him time to pull away. When he didn’t, you laid your hand down softly, your pinkie finger lining up with his jaw line. “It doesn’t take away from your handsomeness, you know,” you whispered, bravely. His cheek warmed up under your touch, though he didn’t say a word back. You smiled, and let your eyes drift from his golden gaze down to his lips.

His touch was warmer than yours. You had to assume it was the fire within his veins- or maybe that within his heart. Either way, afterward, when his lips pulled away and all you had were his hands on your lower back, the night air made you shiver.

-🦌 Roe

#zuko #avatar: the last airbender #avatar #atla #x reader #fluff #reader insert #imagines #imagine #zuko x reader #zuko fluff #zuko reader insert #zuko imagines #zuko imagine #avatar x reader #avatar fluff #avatar reader insert #avatar imagine #avatar imagines #atla x reader #atla fluff #atla reader insert #atla imagines #atla imagine

[dialovers-translations]

Diabolik Lovers GRAND EDITION for Switch ;; More, Blood ー Yuma Maniac [Prologue]

Monologue

ーー I could not get the concept of a livestock’s pride,

out of my head.

Since I became one of them, some time had passed.

Compared to the other kids my age, I had a large frame,

and my battle skills weren’t all too shabby either,

so whenever a fight broke out, 

I more often than not found myself by Boss’ side.

That day, I ended up finding out

about Boss’ secret.

Opposite to the fear I experienced at that time,

afraid of getting kicked out of the group,

Boss actually began to pay even more attention to me.

No, it was something slightly different.

Unlike before, it seemed as if Boss,

was seeking support from me.

While chowing down on the food he acquired through his secret activities,

we would talk about the most trivial things.

It was such a simple thing,

yet I came to realize that only during those times,

a pressure seemed to be lifted off Boss’ heart.

That is when I first found out.

That even Boss had a hard time,

burdening everything by himself.

It is so obvious when you think about it.

No matter how reliant or amazing of a guy he may have been,

in the end, he was still a young boy.

Boss was not much older than me,

he was still just a child after all.

However, even when I thought of him that way,

my respect for him did not falter.

If anything, knowing he still lived strong despite that,

I admired him.

ー The scene starts with a flashback in the city

*THUD*

Gang member A: Ugah...!

Bear: Ahーahー ...Can you guys not even read a calendar? Ah? I thought we decided we’d settle the score in three days?

See? As you can tell, this message was delivered from you guys’ boss to ours. He was even kind enough to attach a knife with it.

So why are you two here to try and strike while I least expect it? (1) What’s the meaning behind that, huh? You wanted to meet me that badly?

Gang member B: ...Because we have a bone to pick with you! We wanted to at least get one good hit off on you before you all get wiped out!

*Swoosh*

Bear: Wiped out, you say!?

*THUD*

Gang member B: Uguh!

Bear: You really think our whole squad would get wiped out by you little punks? Just how highly do you think of yourself?

Gang member B: ...Heh, hahaha!

Bear: Disgusting. Whatcha laughing for?

Gang member B: Nobody expects it. And that’s exactly why we aimed for those three days.

Bear: Ah...?

Gang member A: Oi, don’t say any more! Let’s go!

Gang member B: Che, guess we’ve got no other choice...!

*Rustle*

Bear: ...Hold it!

ー The other gang members run away

Bear: ...What do they mean...?

*TIMESKIP*

Lucks: ーー The day has finally come.

Once the morning dawns, we’ll go settle the score with those guys. Anyone under the age of ten remains here. You’ll be in charge of protecting the hideout until we return.

Everyone coming with me is all ready to go, right?

Comrade A: Yeah!

Comrade B: More than ever, Boss! We’ve set everything up perfectly for today.

Lucks: Don’t overdo it. Lately the military has been patrolling the city as well. They’re not the kind of guys you want to get involved with.

Bear: ...

Lucks: Oi, Bear? Are you listening?

Bear: Eh? Ah, yeah. What?

Lucks: What’s wrong with you? You look so gloomy. With you looking like that, it’ll affect the spirit of our team!

Bear: My bad...Say, Boss. Shouldn’t we think this over one more time?

Lucks: You’re still saying that? Are you that worried about what they said?

They all talk big like that, no? It’s basically a greeting at this point.

Bear: That’s true but...I have a bad feeling about this. For some reason, I feel restless...

Lucks: Hehe...Bear, you might excel in terms of your built and physique, but you’re more of a coward than I thought.

Bear: Boss! I am seriouslyーー!

*Rustle*

Lucks: Don’t worry. Nothing bad will happen.

We’ve been in plenty of fights up till now, right? However, we always came out victorious.

And if we defeat those guys today, we will finally stand at the very top of this city.

In short, we’ll have conquered the very bottom layer of this country. Do you understand what that means? It’s the first step towards our ‘dream’.

We’re not out to kill each other or anything. Well, I’m sure some blood will be spilt regardless. 

We might call each other the enemy, but we’re actually also comrades living in the same place. The real threat are the rich, not them.

Despite everything, I like the kids living here. They’re headstrong, genuine and strong.

Which is why I won’t let them fight ever again once I reach the top. I’ll start by changing my own surroundings like that.

Bear: ...

Lucks: Besides, I’m here for you guys. And so are you all for me. How could we possibly lose?

Bear: ...Yeah, you’re right.

( He’s right. I’m sure this is all just my imagination. ...But you know, Boss. )

( I still have a bad feeling about this. I know that there’s just no possible way we lose, but there’s this uneasy feeling in my chest... )

( ...Please let it just be my imagination. )

Monologue

...Back then,

if only I had stopped Boss even by force,

would he have...would everyone have,

possibly survived?

In those filthy quarters, wearing dirty clothes,

but eating the same food,

as we all became adults together...

...I wonder if Boss,

would have been able to fulfill his dreams...?

ー The scene shifts to another flashback in the city

Comrade A: ...What...on earth is that...?

Comrade B: A tank...!? From the army...!?

Bear: ( ...Those bastards! They really planned to set us up after allーー!! )

Military member: An armed gang has been spotted. We can assume they are a rebellious group as stated in the information we received. Commence suppression!

Lucks: ! You guys, ruーー...!!

*BANG BANG*

Monologue

ーー We were children.

Despite calling this a fight,

somewhere inside our hearts,

we believed it to be impossible to lose our lives in just a kids’ quarrel.

I’m sure that the thought of their comrades dying, their Boss dying,

or even themselves dying,

did not even cross their minds.

Before the overwhelming force in front of us,

we were utterly powerless.

Bear: ...

...Boss...Hey...Open your eyes...

Aren’t you the one who said...I’d have to watch you till the bitter end...?

But you never told me it would be like this...! ...Damnit...!

Military member: ーー A survivor has been spotted. Kill him.

*BANG*

ー The flashback ends as the scene shifts to the kitchen

*Rustle rustle*

Yui: Ah, Yuma-kun! Geez, you’re searching the fridge again...Dinner will be served soon, you know?

Yuma: I’m hungry right now. Actin’ all high and mighty tryin’ to lecture me, huh, Sow?

Besides, it’s ‘cause ya always take forever makin’ our meals.

Yui: ( I started on it as soon as I got back from school, so rushing me any more would be... )

*Rustle rustle*

Yui: ( Ahーah... Today he’s going for a whole package of sausages... )

Yuma: ...

...Oi.

Yui: Yes?

Yuma: Who’s that dude from the other day?

Yui: Eh?

Yuma: That NEET on the staircase.

Yui: Staircase...Aah, you mean Shuu-san? He’s the eldest son of the Sakamaki family. Sakamaki Shuu-san.

Yuma: ...Do ya think I’m dumb? (2) I obviously know that much!

Yui: T-Then why did you ask?

Yuma: This prey really doesn’t get a hint...Is yer head completely empty or somethin’, aahn!?

I’m askin’ what kinda dude the eldest son of those Sakamaki bastards is!

Yui: What kind...?

( He basically wants to know Shuu-san’s personality? Hm... )

A listless...person, I guess? To put it simply.

Yuma: Haah? That isn’t ‘simple’ at all.

Yui: But if I had to put it some other way...He always seems exhausted, for example...?

I’m pretty sure his only interests are music and sucking blood. Also napping.

Yuma: Haah...He’s an actual NEET. (3) Anyway, and that guy’s the eldest son? It pisses me off how those on top are always too lazy to do anythin’.

...No, I guess that’s exactly why he’s like that. He can get his ass on the throne just by sleepin’ after all. Whatever. What else?

Yui: There’s also...Don’t ask me about the details, but I heard he went through quite a lot in the past...

Yuma: ...The fuck? Did he almost get himself killed or somethin’?

Yui: Like I said, I’m not quite sure eithーー

*THUD*

Yui: Kyah...!

Yuma: You do know, don’t you? Ya had them wrapped ‘round yer lil’ finger with that body of yers, didn’t ya? Ah?

So don’t tell me ya don’t know their secrets.

Yui: I’ve told you before, I never...

*THUD*

Yui: ...!

Yuma: Oi...I don’t think you’re that stupid but, you’re not tryin’ to cover for those bastards, are ya?

Yui: Cover...?

Yuma: Aren’t ya hidin’ all and any information which could put them at a disadvantage from us? Aahn?

Okay...Listen up!

Right now, you are our livestock and my toy. In short, we are yer owners.

If ya dare betray us ーー I will kill ya. I’d mess ya up real good, we could actually feed ya to the pigs and cows once I’m done with ya. (4)

Yui: ...Uu...

Yuma: ...Heh. You’re just gonna stand there quietly, shiverin’ in fear again? Ya really are so borin’.

Just don’t betray us then? As long as ya can do that, I can look past minor slip-ups.

‘Course, I have a limit. If ya make too much of a fuss...

ー Yuma grabs hold of her

Yui: ...! What are you doing...!?

Yuma: I’ll teach ya while I’m at it. What kind of punishment would be waitin’ you, that is.

Well? I’m pretty sure yer body is already used to this, whether ya like it or not. 

ー He bites her

Yui: ...!

Yuma: Nn...Phew...

Yui: ...Nn...!

*Rustle*

Yui: ( Ah...! )

Yuma-kun...! The pot! The stove is still on...

Yuma: Aahn? Who cares ‘bout that crap? Just keep still!

Yui: No! If it boils for too long, the noodles will become overcooked and it won’t be good...

Yuma: ...Che, pasta out of all things? I can think of at least one person who will throw a tantrum if that happens.

Yui: If you understand, let me go...!

Yuma: Won’t do. If ya want me to stop that badly, then try and stop me yerself.

Yui: No way...!

( How should I do that when he’s holding onto me with his full strength...!? )

Nn...Nn...!

Yuma: Hehe...Do ya really think ya can slip free like that? You’re basically just shiverin’.

Don’t overestimate yerself too much, ‘kay?

‘Cause you’re the one who will end up regrettin’ it in the end...

Yui: ...!

*TIMESKIP*

ー The scene shifts to the dining room

Kou: ...What’s this...? I don’t want to eat this mushy mess!

Yui: I-I’m sorry, Kou-kun. I was going to boil a new batch, but we ran out of pasta...

( I got yelled at as to be expected... )

Kou: Then please give me a reward instead.

Let’s see...Fufu, I’ll forgive you if you let me suck your blood, okay? Say, what do you think?

Yui: W-What I think...?

*Thud*

Yuma: If ya continue spoutin’ that bullshit, you’ll be takin’ one hefty blow ‘gainst that face you’re so damn proud of!

Ruki: Yuma. We’re in the middle of our meal.

Azusa: Don’t worry, the pasta is safe...Hey, Yuma...You can hit me instead if you’d like?

Yuma: Ya stupid!?

Kou: Geez~ What are you getting so upset for? I was just messing around a little. Joking is what we idols do! (6)

Yuma: Do you see me laughin’!? As her caretaker, I’m obviously the one who has to blame her whenever she messes up! Don’t try and take my job!

Yui: ( Actually, it’s Yuma-kun’s fault the pasta overcooked in the first place... )

( Speaking of which, I wonder why Yuma-kun asked about Shuu-san earlier? )

ーー TO BE CONTINUED ーー

Translation notes

(1) Yuma uses the word 寝込み or ‘nekomi’ which literally implies that they tried to attack him ‘in his sleep’. However, I think this is meant to be taken less literal in this case, but refers to the fact that they were expecting an attack in 3 days, so they could have been caught off guard. 

(2) Literally he says ‘are you looking down on me/are you underestimating me?’ but ‘do you think I’m dumb’ sounded better in this context.

(3) A NEET stands for a person who isn’t in education or training, implying that they don’t work but aren’t currently in school either. They have a very bad reputation for being ‘lazy’, simply wasting their life away at home, sitting at the computer, watching TV, etc.

(4) Yuma says he would mess her up so badly, she could actually become ‘food for livestock’ by the end of it.

(5) In Japanese, the expression for overcooking noodles in Japanese is ‘麺が伸びる’ or ‘men ga nobiru’ which literally means ‘the noodles will stretch’, referring to them being too plump/soft because they cooked for too long.

(6) Kou calls it an アイドルジョーク or ‘Idol joke’ which isn’t a term I’m actually familiar with. I do know that idols in Japan appear on TV quite often and a lot of those programs are geared towards comedy, so I assume having a decent sense of humor is a must if you want to be a Japanese idol. xD

→  LIKE MY TRANSLATIONS? SUPPORT ME ON KO-FI!

<- [ Dark Epilogue ] [ Maniac 01 ] ->

#diabolik lovers #dialovers #yuma mukami #more blood #diabolik lovers translation #mbyumamaniacprolog

[ga-yuu]

~Kurama~Main Story Chapter 11~

Chapter 10

*

*

*

------Part 1------

After Sueharu left Kurama's room----

Sueharu: "Hey, everyone. Thanks again for having me."

Benkei: "Welcome back."

Yoichi: "Yeah, it's been a long time."

Sueharu: "I've been very busy, thanks to your orders."

Yoshitsune: "You went to the East this time, didn't you? How were the people there?"

When Sueharu arrives, Yoshitsune greets him with a faint smile.

Yoichi and Benkei, who had been waiting for him, also looked relaxed.

Sueharu: "I should be feeling the sign of war, but it seems peaceful here. The East is a place where Yoritomo's rule is strong. The people there trust him very much."

Yoshitsune: "----His talent for capturing and manipulating people's hearts with a single word or breath is still alive and well."

Benkei and Yoichi: ".................."

Sueharu: "Well, as a merchant, I'm glad to see that the city is gaining momentum."

Sueharu smiles as he pulls some stuff out of the carrier he keeps beside him.

Sueharu: "Also. Here's a little something for you guys. A nice potter's wheel for Yoichi."

Yoichi: "Woah."

Sueharu: "Benkei. I've brought tassels for your armor. They're heavy so, I've already kept them in your room along with some spare weapons."

Benkei: "Sorry for the trouble and also thank you. I'll have a look later."

Sueharu: "You're my clients, so you're in good hands."

Talking amiable as a merchant, Sueharu turned to Yoshitsune and held out his hand in a grand gesture.

Sueharu: "-----So. Minamoto no Yoshitsune, the general of the Rebel army. What do you want? Weapons, human resources, information....anything you like. However it's not for free though, remind you."

Sueharu smiles sarcastically, a hint of male sex appeal escaping his lips.

Yoichi: "Ohh, Black marketers are scary these days. Did you turn evil too?"

Sueharu: "Maybe...but no as much as Yoichi-san."

Benkei: "Come on guys, be serious."

Yoshitsune: "I don't think they're both bad."

Sueharu and Yoichi: ".............."

When Yoshitsune replied with a straight face, Yoichi laughed and Sueharu had an indescribable expression on his face.

Sueharu: "Haa....that's because you are very innocent at times."

Benkei: "Idiot! That's one of the great things about Yoshitsune-sama, isn't it?"

Sueharu: "Yes, yes."

Sueharu shrugs his shoulders as Yoshitsune looks on in wonderment.

Yoshitsune: "....? For a start we have a lot of weapons, people, and information that we want. I want enough to beat the Shogunate. Sueharu, I'll take your price."

-----Part 2------

Yoshitsune: "I want enough to beat the Shogunate. Sueharu, I'll take your price."

Sueharu: "Whoa. Are you sure? You can't say that to a merchant."

Yoshitsune: "We've known each other a long time. I trust Sueharu to have been accommodating after we were targeted for defeat as the Rebels. It was only with your help that we survived an army and were able to rebuild Hiraizumi from a shabby state."

Sueharu: "Haa....Just so you know, mine is not a friendship, it's an investment. I'm a businessman."

Yoshitsune: "Even if you are, I'm grateful. That's all I'm saying."

In response to Sueharu's oblique stance with his cheekbones, Yoshitsune spoke plainly.

Sueharu looked away as if he was out of tune.

Sueharu: "....I see. Then, thank you for everything. I'll let you know the price tomorrow and when each item will be delivered."

Yoichi: "You're going to stay here for a while, aren't you, Sueharu? We're having a party tonight!"

Benkei: "I don't know if we'll have any good sake. Kurama drank a lot of it yesterday."

Sueharu: "Worry not, I've got a bottle with me."

Yoichi: "Oh, that's even better~"

Sueharu: "Praise be to you."

After beating his chest with his trumpet, Sueharu opened his mouth as if he remembered something.

Sueharu: "By the way, what happened to Kurama?"

Yoshitsune: "What happened?"

Sueharu: "He seems to be very close with Yoshino....also he reacts in a very human way."

Yoichi: "Hmmm.....you think so too, don't you?"

Sueharu: "No matter how you look at it."

Benkei: "I can't even say that Kurama himself is unaware of it."

They all look at each other and nod.

Sueharu: "As far as I know, Kurama has a very particular taste in things and people. When it comes to being suitable for those glasses, Yoshino is no just a person, but...."

Yoshitsune: "Maybe so..."

Yoshitsune's muttering words made Sueharu a suspicious face.

Sueharu: "She looks ordinary at first glance, doesn't she? Cute and not out of place..."

Yoshitsune: "There's nothing unusual about the way she looks. But....Yoshino looked us straight in the eye."

Yoshitsune continues to speak quietly, as if in deep thought.

Yoshitsune: "Although she is alert and nervous, I don't see any hostility in Yoshino's eyes. That is the gaze of someone who has endured fear and is quietly trying to grasp the essence of us."

Benkei: "....Yeah."

Yoichi: "It's a shame. If only we had been on the same side from the start....." <-they already like her.

Sueharu: "Ohhh, I see now."

-------Part 3-------

Sueharu: "Ohhh, I see now."

Sueharu, who had been listening in silence, let out a breath.

Sueharu: "A mere pharmacist girl, who is bound to the Nine-tail fox, captivated the attention of Karasu Tengu, joined the Shogunate to fight and is adored by the Rebels....It's a shame because if she was a free bird, we would have never let her go."

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

(I'm very nervous to stand in front of this guy, indeed.)

Yositsune(expressionless): "I see. You want to go with Yoshino to see a silversmith."

Kurama: "Yeah. I want to make her useful."

When it was afternoon, I was taken by Kurama to visit Yoshitsune-sama's room.

Benkei and Yoichi-san were also present, apparently having a meeting about politics.

Benkei: "Did you forget that Yoshino is a prisoner. She's not allowed to have that much freedom."

(Of course, if you think about it calmly, it's only natural that they won't allow me...)

(But for whatever reason, I think it's nice to be able to get out of this building at least.)

Kurama: "Even if she's a prisoner, she should be allowed to do as I say."

Yoichi: "Hmm....just so you know, she's the prisoner of the Rebels, not just your alone."

Yoshitsune: "As long as Kurama is with you, I don't mind."

Yoshino: "Eh?"

I blink my eyes in surprise at the unexpected statement.

Benkei turned his sharp gaze on Yoshitsune-sama.

Benkei: "Yoshitsune-sama is too sweet with Kurama."

Yoshitsune: "If that's the case, it's partly because Kurama has a soft spot for me."

Kurama: "When did I ever have a soft spot for you? I'm sure I've only trained your body and soul."

Yoshitsune(smiling): "Exactly."

Despite the unchanging tone of voice, I was struck by the dreamy smile on Yoshitsune-sama's lips.

(The bond between Yoshitsune-sama and Kurama still feels a little special.)

Yoshitsune(back to expressionless): "Yoshino."

Yoshino: "Y-Yes!"

His amethyst eyes stare at me in silence, and I break out in a cold sweat.

Yoshitsune: "Are you okay with that?"

Yoshino: "Hm?"

Yoshitsune: "Even if you go out there, you can't escape from the flying Kurama. You'll be dragged through the hostile territory, and we'll be forced to do things to you, that we don't want to."

(Does that mean that if I say I don't want to, Yoshitsune-sama will persuade Kurama....?)

Yoshino: "I..."

After thinking, I opened my mouth carefully.

Yoshino: "I think I'll go with Kurama."

(I don't want to know what they'll do to me if I tried.)

(If that means I should be near Kurama, then so be it. But still....)

I wanted to know the true nature of the unfathomable strength and vibrancy of this demon, Kurama.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

1. I don't know if I'm useless.(+4/+4)

2. If there's something I can do to help....

3. I don't know what I can do..

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Yoshino: "I don't know if I'm useless until I've done it."

Kurama: "That's the answer I love to hear. You have my praise."

(Oh)

Kurama, who lifted one end of his lips, pulled my hand.

Kurama: "We're done here. Come, Yoshino."

------Part 4-------

Kurama: "We're done here. Come, Yoshino."

As I was being dragged away, I quickly thanked Yoshitsune-sama and the others.

Yoshino: "P-Please excuse us!"

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

After Yoshino and Kurama left the room------

Yoichi: "Don't look so worried, Benkei."

Benkei: "I'm not. If it's Yoshitsune-sama's decision, I don't mind."

Yoshitsune: "I'm sorry. I always give you a hard time."

Benkei: "That's not it. But...."

A faint smile played on his lips as he broke off his speech.

Benkei: "But hey, if he's trying to change something by interacting with Yoshino, then maybe that change might not be too bad."

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

After that------

Yoshino: "Haaa.....finally I'm outside!! It's been a long time and I'm really looking forward to it."

As I breathe in the air and stretch out in the sunshine, Kurama gives me a stare.

Kurama: "Don't even think of running away. It's no fun in killing someone before they've achieved their goal."

(I'd be lying if I said that I didn't think about running away at this moment.)

Yoshino: "I know. I also promise I'd be there and I never break my promises."

Kurama: "Obidient woman."

I blinked in confusion at Kurama, who chuckled.

Yoshino: "Kurama, you look happy."

Kurama: "If I get the silversmith to work, I'll make him do more of what I like. It is the right and pleasure of the strong to have what they want."

(You are really obsessed with shiny articles, don't you?)

Kurama: "And today....you're here."

Yoshino: "Yeah, so?"

Kurama: "Do I have to tell you again? well, whatever."

(Ah)

Kurama turns around and pulls me towards him, looking closely into my face.

Kurama: "You often betray my expectations. While frustrating, your attitude certainly keeps boredom at bay. Let me enjoy myself as much as I can today."

(I don't know what you mean by that....)

When he said it in a voice that resonated in the pit of my stomach, my heart raced as if it were a sign.

Yoshino(blushing): "Don't put so much burden on my shoulders."

Kurama: "You have a small amount of freedom to choose whether to endure the pressure or go under."

-----Part 5------

Kurama: "You have a small amount of freedom to choose whether to endure the pressure or go under."

(I think Kurama treats me like a rare insect in a cage....)

(No, don't think that. It makes me feel empty!)

Yoshino: "I don't know, but I'll do my best...."

Kurama: "I'm not sure how to put this but I'll take it. Let's get on with it."

Yoshino: "Mm. So will you let me go?"

Kurama: "Let go? You've got it all wrong..."

Yoshino: "Hm?"

(Kyaa)

As soon as I felt myself being embraced more strongly, I felt a floating sensation.

Kurama: "I can't wait for you to make your move if I'm to achieve my goal as quickly as possible."

(No way!!?)

Yoshino: "Wait! If someone sees us then....."

Kurama: "I've already made sure there was no traffic. Now we just need to fly high."

Yoshino: "No, no, no..."

My protests fall on deaf ears as Kurama continues to fly up high.

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

(Haaaaa, I'm feeling dizzyyyy!!!)

Kurama: "I took the whole trouble in bringing you here and you're wobbling?"

A few hours later, we left the town of Hiraizumi.

Finally, Kurama puts me down and hid his wings.

Kurama: "According to Sueharu's map, it should be around here."

Yoshino: "Yeah. The house that looks like it could be inhabited...."

Looking around, we see a simple hut in the countryside.

Yoshino: "Maybe it's that one?"

Kurama: "It should be."

.........

(Oh my!)

Without any time to stop him, Kurama instantly opened the door and walked inside.

Kurama: "You're the silversmith, right? Come on, work for me."

Old man: "Wh-Who....Who are you?!!?!!?!"

A small old man, who had been sitting alone at the hearth, looked up at Kurama with his soulless eyes.

Kurama: "Don't answer my question with a question, you fool."

(Oh god! He is going to kill the old man!)

Chapter 12

#ikemen series #ikemen genjiden #ikemen genjiden kurama #ikemen mc #otome fandom #cybird #cybird ikemen #cybird otome #main story translations

[suzu-kun22]

Scars

AO3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25760671

Prompt: Trust Issues Fandom: Percy Jackson and the Olympians Pairings: None Warnings: Discussion of scars, vague implication of character death Summary: Ian often wonders about the vast collection of scars on Percy Jackson’s chest. He regrets asking. @badthingshappenbingo​ If there are any specific prompts you’d like me to write and any specific scenarios/fandoms/pairings you’d like me to write for, just send in an ask! Story below the cut!

"Hey, Percy, where did all those scars come from?"

It's an odd question, to say the least. Well, less of an odd question to come from Ian McHale's mouth and more of an odd situation to be in. The fact that the question even crossed his mind in the first place is odd enough. Very few teenagers have to look at one of their friends' bare torso as they change for gym class and wonder where the giant gashes that cover his chest came from.

Maybe he shouldn't have asked. The thought crosses his mind when Percy Jackson seems to freeze. Shoulders seem to tense and eyes seem to drift far away, as though he's trying to remember something. Or perhaps like he's trying to forget something. Which honestly would be understandable. Those scars look really nasty. Whatever happened to give him marks like that couldn't have been fun.

Ian is just about to say something. Open his mouth and apologize for even asking – seriously, Ian. You should know Percy better than that – before he's interrupted by Percy's awkward laugh. His friend finishes pulling off his bright blue swim-team hoodie and the t-shirt underneath it. The scars that Ian had been asking about are on full display. Nasty. Massive. Some look as though they healed without issue and some look as though they really fought before finally submitting to the whims of Percy's strange healing.

Seriously. They've never seen him get hurt before, and the few times they have seen him get even mildly injured, it's gone by the next day. What's up with that?

"They're some pretty crazy stories." Percy says with his typical sarcastic grin. "Sure you're ready to hear them, Ian? I dunno if you'll even believe them." He sets his hands on his hips, not yet bothering to pull his gym shirt over his head. If there's one word that absolutely cannot be used to describe Percy Jackson, it's ashamed.

"Uh, sure." He blinks. He blinks and does a double take, eyes combing Percy's entire body one more time. Because, as much as he'd never think it the case, his eyes just fed him the information that Percy Jackson's hands are shaking against his own skin.

The idea of Percy Jackson shaking is ridiculous enough on its own. Ian can't think of a single time he's ever seen Percy even slightly afraid. Nervous, maybe. Percy gets nervous before big tests and jumps when his phone rings too loud and always seems like he's looking over his shoulder. He's cautious. Always watches his back, always has the same pen twirling in his hands, always seems like he's ready to get up and run at a moment's notice.

Percy Jackson doesn't shake, though. Never, in the almost year that he's known Percy Jackson, has Ian seen his friend shake.

"I mean, you don't have to–"

"This one came from the Minotaur." Percy's grin almost seems to falter, just slightly, as he raises a hand and points to a mark up near his collarbone. "Got that one when I was 12." He says, almost proudly, but Ian doesn't think the emotion in his friend's voice is meant to be pride. He thinks – his mind won't accept any other explanation – that Percy must be joking. The minotaur? Everyone knows that's just some stupid myth–

"It got me real good with its horns!" Percy's declaration pulls Ian right out of that brief train of thought. Quickly accompanied by the shifting of Percy's hands, pointing to another mark. This one closer to his stomach. "This one came from Echidna and the Chimera. They poisoned me. If you look me up, you'll find out that I was kidnapped when I was 12," He says that so casually, and of course Ian had known about that. Everyone knew about that. But he'd never actually worked up the nerve to ask. "And I blew up the Gateway Arch. That's when I got that. Almost died, too!" He laughs it off like it's no big deal, and Ian thinks he should really start getting them moving.

"Oh, and this one." He points to a scar closer to his hip. "Ares himself gave me this one! I'm really proud of it. I survived a fight with Ares himself!" Percy continues the ridiculous stories as though he's completely serious. Ian thinks that he must have really struck a nerve, if Percy is taking this fake story so far.

"Oh," Ian finally manages to say something before Percy can start on the next mark. The one he was pointing to was on the palm of his hand. Massive. Dark. Old. It had been infected – Ian is sure of that – before it healed. And, honestly, Ian isn't sure that he wants to know the story of that one.

Percy's fingers tremble, and he doesn't seem to have noticed Ian's discomfort. Ian is too fixated on the fact that Percy Jackson is trembling to say much of anything before the story is being told to him.

"This one's from when I was 12, too." He whispers. "A friend of mine poisoned me." He continues, and suddenly his voice doesn't sound so nonchalant anymore. "Well... He wasn't my friend. He betrayed me. Tried to kill me. Wanted..." Percy bites down lightly on his lower lip. "He wanted to do some real bad stuff. But... in the end, he saved me." Percy squeezes his eyes shut, and Ian thinks that he really should have just left the topic alone.

He thinks that he really should have just left the topic alone,

but he can't help but think that... it's the first time he's felt that Percy Jackson has truly trusted him.

"Your friend poisoned you..?" Ian prompts him, and almost immediately regrets it. 

Percy almost jerks, as though brought out of a deep train of thought. He pauses. Blinks a few times. Takes a long, deep breath, and raises his head to meet Ian's eyes again. Though, now, this time, they look different. That soft green that typically reminds Ian of the sea seems to have shifted to something darker. Quieter. Lonely and desperate. Maybe something that longs for someone to share itself with, but hides behind the knowledge that it's a burden that must be carried alone.

"Percy–"

"You know I was kidding, right?" Percy's entire being suddenly shifts back to that same ever-sarcastic, fun-loving personality that he's always had. As though he had never played at being serious in the first place. As though this had all been some hilarious joke that they shouldn't even bother remembering.

"C'mon, man," Percy interrupts his train of thought once again. "We're gonna be late for gym." He says with exasperation, as he finally pulls his gym shirt over his scarred torso. Not a word on the topic passes between them, as they make their way out of the locker room and into the gymnasium. Percy doesn't show a single hint of that nervous energy that he had practically been radiating. He grins to greet Hannah and Emma as they approach them, just as he always does.

Yet, something holds in Ian's chest.

Something that tells him that, those few moments, that trembling in Percy's fingers, is the most honest that Percy Jackson has ever been with him.

Something that tells him that, whatever it is that haunts the guy who he'd call his best friend, is something that he'll never truly understand.

Or maybe Percy just doesn't trust him enough to let him understand.

#percy jackson #percy jackson and the olympians #pjo #original characters #bad things happen bingo #angst #whump #trust issues #scars #trauma #ptsd #past battles #writing #my writing #suzu speaks

[amaranthinecanicular]

heartsick

[My gift for @nekosisterart, for the @bnhasecretsanta2019 event. Enjoy!]

It doesn’t happen often, to be fair. Usually Tamaki’s instincts are good enough to avoid the trouble, but even he falls prey to a bad oyster now and then. Or turned chicken, or soured dairy. And given the sheer volume of food he eats by the day, it’s quite impossible to tell which component of which meal was the culprit.

Then again, thinks Tamaki, with his head shoved in the toilet bowl, it’s possible that it isn’t food poisoning at all. He and Fat Gum had recently caught a villain on a minor crime spree in Hosu, whose quirk afflicted victims with flu-like symptoms for an excruciating twenty four hours. Then again again, a stomach bug has been going around the agency. Then again again again—

“You pushed yourself too hard,” says Mirio, easily. He’s crouched beside Tamaki on the bathroom tile, one hand combing hair back from Tamaki’s brow and the other massaging soothing patterns into his spine. One hand peels away to jiggle the lever, and then returns, cooler after palming the metal. The sick swirls down the drain, the sour smell swirling away with it. Relief, if only for a few minutes.

“It’s food poisoning or it’s a stomach bug,” Tamaki says. His voice echoes in the porcelain, wobbly and weak. “I haven’t been pushing myself any harder than normal.”

“You have.” Mirio thumbs the stringy hair sticking to Tamaki’s temple. “You’ve been working your butt off since Fatgum made his announcement.”

The announcement. Fatgum’s retirement. Tamaki grimaces, only in part due to the roll of nausea that works through him. Mirio might have a point there. “There’s only a few weeks left until he leaves. I have to prove to him that I can handle the agency.”

And to myself, he doesn’t add, though he’s sure Mirio hears it anyway. He’s kind enough not to say it. “If you weren’t good enough to take care of the place, he wouldn’t be leaving it to you. Anyone with eyes in their head can see that you’re the right choice, and no one believes in you more than Fat Gum. ‘Cept for me, of course!”

He shoots Tamaki a cheesy wink, and Tamaki means to smile, except he pukes instead. Violently. Ugh.

“I’m dying, Mirio,” he moans, once he’s able. “Say goodbye to Kirishima and Hadou for me. Apologize to Fatgum and the sidekicks. It’s over.”

“That’s too bad,” Mirio says mildly. He flushes the toilet again, and hands Tamaki a glass of water from the counter. He’d brought it with him when he shuffled in this morning, still mussy-haired and bleary-eyed. Tamaki woke him with the sound of his retching. “I’ll cry a lot at your funeral. There will be a lot of crying, but don’t worry, I’ll cry the most.”

Tamaki coughs a thank you into the toilet.

Mirio asks, “When’s the last time you took a day off?”

A bad question. Tamaki should know the answer but he doesn’t. He stalls for time by rinsing his mouth once, twice. Then he says, lamely, “When was the last time you took a day off?”

Mirio laughs. “Today, actually! I’m going to stay home and take care of you.”

Queasiness swoops into Tamaki’s stomach. He braces to throw up again, but no, this time the reaction is purely emotional. “You don’t have to do that. Really. I’m just going to go in late. I’ll text Fatgum. You should go to work, I’ll be—”

Oh, no, that swoop was physical too. He spits out something rancid and yellow-green while Mirio pats his back sympathetically.

“—just fine,” he finishes miserably.

“Right. So you’re not going to die?”

“No,” Tamaki tells the toilet, in a voice that betrays exactly how much he feels like he’s dying.

“That’s great! I’d still like you to stay home, though.”

Tamaki knows the face Mirio is making, half exasperated and half soppy. In his opinion, tossing his guts into the toilet calls for neither exasperation nor soppiness. Mostly it just calls for disgust. But he lifts his head, and lo and behold: there in Mirio’s face, utterly uncalled for tenderness. Tamaki is pathetically weak for it. He rests his head on his arms and watches him, and Mirio watches him back.

He musters up the courage to whisper, “I don’t want to be a burden on you.”

Mirio bursts out laughing. Despite the embarrassment that instantly heats Tamaki’s face, it’s good to hear. “Tamaki, we’re married! This is exactly the kind of burden I signed up for, you goose.” He kisses Tamaki’s forehead, and in response to the weak protests about how disgusting that is, he kisses him all over the rest of his face as well.

“Are you okay to go back to bed?” Mirio asks, once he deems Tamaki thoroughly kissed. Tamaki considers the delicate state of his stomach. He nods.

“As long as we bring a wastebasket, just in case.”

Mirio scoops him into his arms with so much care that Tamaki’s head doesn’t swim at all. He’s too exhausted to feel embarrassed, and instead chooses to rest his head against Mirio’s chest and indulge in the steady thump of his heartbeat. As far as Tamaki is concerned, there’s nothing more soothing in the world.

When they were nine, Mirio fell halfway through the floor. It was the most frightening moment of Tamaki’s young life—nearly two decades later, it still ranks pretty high. At their next sleepover, when Mirio inevitably fell asleep first, Tamaki squirmed as close as he dared, until he could feel the warmth coming off of Mirio’s body. That was grounding, but he squirmed closer still, and closer, until suddenly there was Mirio’s heartbeat fluttering against his ear. Constant. Clear. There was no way something so dependable could vanish into the ground and leave him forever. He was asleep in moments.

In their last year at UA, Tamaki found himself seeking that same reassurance. Mirio had lost more than most pro heroes could fathom, and Tamaki had nearly lost Mirio. Sat next to his hospital bed, half of his own face still smothered in bandages, he put his head down on Mirio’s chest and anchored himself to the rhythm beneath his sternum. The loss of his quirk was crippling. The loss of Sir Nighteye had broken his heart. But it was still beating. Mirio would stand again, quirk or no quirk, because something that strong simply couldn’t give out.

“Everything’s going to be okay, Mirio,” he had said then, and he says it now, as Mirio lowers him to the bed. Admittedly this situation is much less dire than the last, which is what Tamaki is trying to make Mirio understand. “Really. You should go to work. I’ll feel better soon.”

Mirio exhales a patient laugh through his nose. He pulls the comforter up to Tamaki’s chin. “Everyone needs a break now and then, Tamaki. That doesn’t mean you’re giving in, or that you’re weak. Just let me take care of you for once, yeah?”

For once. As though their whole lives Mirio hasn’t been—Tamaki chews on his cheek. It tastes sour with old sick. After several long seconds, he sighs. “I guess… one day wouldn’t be the end of the world. For either of us.”

Mirio’s smile is brilliant. The sun, warming Tamaki’s shivery insides. “Great! I’ll let our agencies know. Just lay back and let me spoil you. You’ll be better in no time.”

Tamaki already wants to take it back, but then Mirio presses his sunshiney mouth to the arch of Tamaki’s cheekbone, and Tamaki’s heart oozes through his ribs and down into the roiling tempest of his stomach, soothing it some. Just one day. Not the end of the world. Better in no time.

:

Several hours of devoted care later, and Tamaki might actually feel worse than he did that morning.

Mirio has always been hardy, is what neither of them took into account. Even as a child he rarely fell ill, and losing his quirk didn’t change that. His stellar bill of health has never been more evident than right now, as he fumbles through tending to Tamaki: the cool cloths draped over his forehead are never wrung out properly, stray droplets of water left to dry slowly along his scalp. Mirio has retrieved every blanket they own and piled them haphazardly on the end, until Tamaki feels constricted and overheated. The soup is canned and watery, and the jokes Mirio tells to distract him from his misery are tacky, half of which he’s heard before.

Tamaki loves him so desperately he can hardly breathe.

“What did I do to deserve you?” he murmurs, as Mirio locates yet another blanket from some closet or other and lays it atop the lumpy pile.

“I’m pretty sure you just existed, Tamaki.” He digs out Tamaki’s hand and holds it in both of his own, kisses the knuckles. “How are you feeling?”

Lightheaded. Nauseous. Sick with love. “Um. Snug? I mean—much better, thank you, Mirio.”

Mirio sees right through him, of course. He scratches the back of his neck, grins bashfully. Guilt cradles low alongside the nausea in Tamaki’s belly.

“I guess I don’t really know what I’m doing, huh? Me and dad didn’t get sick much.” He chuckles. “Thanks for indulging me, Tamaki. I’ll let you get some rest.”

He kisses Tamaki’s knuckles again, and then his forehead, and then he turns to leave. Pulls up short. Tamaki hasn’t let go of his hand.

“Stay,” he croaks, “please. I’ll sleep better with you here.”

Mirio’s grin softens into something so fond it aches bone-deep to see. Tamaki doesn’t look away.

“Of course.”

With effort they pry back the corners of half a dozen covers, and Mirio slips under. He draws Tamaki close. His added body heat turns the nest of blankets into a furnace. Sweat breaks out all over Tamaki’s skin, soaking slowly through his pajamas and into Mirio’s. It really is disgusting.

Tamaki is asleep within moments, lulled away by the white noise of Mirio’s heartbeat, as familiar and comforting as a favorite song. It’s the most peaceful sleep he’s had in weeks.

:

The next day, Hadou is hauling container after plastic takeaway container of fresh and steaming soup into the bedroom, where Mirio and Tamaki are both huddled up and shivering.

“You know, this was really irresponsible of you two!” she declares, voice barely muffled by the surgical mask she’s wearing. More soup stacked on the side table: chicken noodle, miso, and okayu. To an outsider it might look like overkill. In reality she’s well-armed. “Though I’ll admit it’s pretty cute that you’re sharing the same garbage can. Gross too, you know, but cute. This will help with the nausea. Take one every six hours. If you don’t want that, some ginger ale should help settle your stomachs. Your agencies each signed get well cards, so here are those, and here’s one from Eri. I read them, hope you don’t mind, and Eri’s is definitely my favorite.”

Mirio laughs; it’s hoarse and phlegmy, but no less bright. “As ever, Hadou, you are an angel! What can we do to repay you?”

“You can eat your soup and stay well away from me, mister!” She sticks out her tongue. Mirio returns the favor. “Stay warm, eat a lot, drink a lot a lot of water, and rest. That means no fooling around, either.”

Tamaki, who is already scarfing down the chicken noodle, chokes on the next spoonful. Mirio laughs so hard he coughs up a ball of mucus. Hadou continues, one finger tapping her chin.

“What’s that like, by the way? Since you’re both sick with the same thing, it’s probably not much different than normal, right? You don’t have to worry about getting each other sick. I guess you have to worry about throwing up in the middle, though, so you’d probably have to take it slow. That could be nice! I bet there’s a lot more fluids. Hey hey, what’s it like?”

Tamaki hides his mortification in his soup. If illness doesn’t kill him, Hadou’s insatiable curiosity will. “We’re not—fooling around, Hadou, we’re sick.”

“Good!” Hadou gives him a thumbs up, completely unfazed. “I’ll be back to check on you after work. Eat! Drink! Rest! Love you!”

“Love you!” Mirio calls after her, and “Love you,” Tamaki mutters. He returns to scarfing. After two days, he’s so hungry that he doesn’t care if his traitorous stomach disagrees with him. He’s starving and he’s keeping this down.

He pauses mid-bite when Mirio knocks their shoulders together. “I guess it was the bug at the agency, huh?”

“Probably. But.” Tamaki takes a slow breath. Caps his soup and meets Mirio’s eyes. “You were right, yesterday. About pushing myself too hard. I’m just—afraid. And I have to keep going, because if I don’t, the fear might get the better of me. People are counting on me now, Mirio. That can’t happen.”

“It won’t,” Mirio says, warm and intent. “You’re brave, Tamaki. The bravest person I know.”

In their shared lives Mirio has made the same claim with searing enthusiasm, when Tamaki’s doubts were so severe and all consuming that Mirio had to clutch him close and sob it into his shoulder. Here and now, fully grown, he speaks gently; Tamaki just needs the occasional reminder.

Heat rises behind his eyes. He presses a kiss to the corner of Mirio’s mouth. “I couldn’t do this without you.”

Mirio’s face is flushed and feverish, but Tamaki doubts that’s what makes his eyes so bright. “Think of it: soon we’re both going to be leading our own agencies. Talk about power couple, huh?”

“I can’t wait. We better eat up and get better if we want to get there faster.”

“Ha! You're right. Thank goodness for Hadou!”

He tucks into the okayu. Tamaki lifts his spoon again, but for a moment is content just to watch him.

He says, “I did tell you it was probably a bug, though.”

Mirio groans, a low and stuffy rumble that vibrates the whole bed. “Yeah, yeah, you told me so, go ahead and say it.”

“I told you so.”

He still feels mostly like death. The nausea hasn’t totally subsided, and Mirio smells awful. He’s sure he doesn’t smell any better. But for the first time in two days, he isn’t anxious to get back to work. In fact—Mirio sniffles hard and grins at him around the spoon—there’s no place he’d rather be.

#miritama #boku no hero academia #my hero academia #togata mirio #amajiki tamaki #ran's writing #bnha fic #bnhasecretsanta2019 #nekosisterart

[mawritesbnha]

I felt a little bit down lately so its time for some angst headcanons :D angst make me so happy:D,,, if you want to obv, can I ask some angst headcanons for shinso, shigaraki and hawks talking bad about his curvy crush's body because he doesn't want to admit his feelings, but s/o hears everything and she feels the betrayal in the air(?)?

I’m sorry you’ve been feeling down darling… I hope these will help!

I had to change the request though, I hope you won’t mind too much. I just don’t see my baby caring enough about body types to be petty about them. I found something else though, don’t worry.

Oh and Shiggy’s a bastard. Yeah. Don’t read if you’re feeling bad about yourself.

Shinso

so if not your body, then what’s bb going to complain about to hide his feelings?

I’m guessing either your intellect and/or your general personality/behaviour

this is, IMO, really not a situation you’d have a lot of chance to experience

kitty usually keeps to himself, so he’d have to be in a seriously bad mood to drop something like that

I can see him not wanting to admit his feelings either because he thinks you’d never be interested in him

or because you might be and people are giving you a hard time because he’s that weird kid with the villain quirk

he can only imagine it’d get much worse if you were actually together

another reason could also be that he wants to focus only on becoming a hero and he doesn’t need any distraction

anyway, his feelings are clearly not something he’s ready to discuss

so when someone (Kaminari) has been harrassing him for days about his crush on you, he snaps

complains about how exhausting it is to talk to you or have you around cause you’re so slow/loud/annoying/boring

makes it really sound like you’re a bother to him, something he has to put up with and suddenly you remember all the times he’s sighed in your presence

lavender insomniac wonder was just tired of course, but you don’t know that

you’re no longer sure of anything

tbh he sounds extremely convincing, whoever is talking to him (Kaminari) is taken aback and decides to drop the subject

but when they glance behind him they spot you, and the frozen look of horror on their face tells Hitoshi all he needs to know

you’ve heard everything

he isn’t going to run after you if you flee the scene

and if you try to confront him about all the rude things he just said… he’ll most likely leave

he isn’t ready for this

he knows he’s acting like a phenomenal jerk, but he doesn’t know how to fix this

beats himself over it to the point it’s actually pretty unhealthy

extremely mad at himself and takes it out during training

the following days, he’ll look even more sleep deprived and sick than usual

might try to ask Aizawa for advice, in a very convoluted way

at some point he’ll stop acting like a coward and confront you

if you don’t want to talk to him anymore he’ll understand and write you a letter instead, praying that you’ll read it

he has a hard time getting to the point and actually expressing his feelings

they’re more implied than anything, he’s not gonna outwardly tell you “sorry I’m a jackass but I’m a jackass in love with you”

tbh if you stayed mad at him no one could blame you

but you can see that he profoundly regrets what he said, and you can imagine that if he really didn’t care about you or thought you were a burden, he wouldn’t try and make amends

Shigaraki

alright, nasty stuff here

Tomura is NOT, by any means, a decent person

so he’d have zero problem with insulting you, whether it’s your body, your intellect or your overall personality

but since I think he has a pretty unhealthy relationship with his sexuality let’s go with your body cause it’d be his biggest source of frustration and thus the object of his ire

he was attracted to you waayy before he developped any sort of feelings

but whether it’s physical attraction or emotional connection, you having any kind of control over him (that’s how he sees it) is NOT something he enjoys

so he’s gonna be a big meanie

doesn’t even need anyone to prompt him honestly

you wouldn’t need to overhear anything to feel betrayed, Shiggy boy gives you proof of his disdain day after day

that is if you’re part of the League (let us pray for you)

instead of “hello” and “did you sleep well?” you get “cover yourself, no one wants to see your fat rolls” and “you’re still eating? aren’t your tits big enough? you’re gonna end up looking like a cow”

now that you think about it, more often that not your tits are mentioned

that man has a kink

but no matter how painfully obvious his crush might be, his words still hurt

if his frustration’s skyrocketing, I think he wouldn’t even let you touch him

not that he lets anyone get too close to him in general

but I can see you trying to lend him a helping hand only for him to bat it away and leave in a huff, grumbling about something being “gross”

not sure whether he’s talking about you or the fact that he’s physically “bothered”

if you’re not part of the League… then he’ll insult you whenever he gets the chance

Hawks

soooo

two ways chicken nugget here could be pretty offensive when asked about his feelings for you

either by acting like you’re really unimportant to him

not saying he doesn’t find you cute or anything

just… that you’re simply a pastime, he honestly forgets about your existence pretty often, that’s how transparent you are to the #2 hero

ooor by pointing out that you’re nice but reeeaally not his type

whatever he says, he says with a smile and it doesn’t sound like he’s trying to be mean so no one could really be mad at him

it’s just his opinion right?

well overhearing him listing all the things he’s looking for in a girl and realising that the portrait he’s painting is the exact opposite of you…

yeah

ouch

he doesn’t know you’ve heard him until he comes to see you one day and you’re, rightfully, sulking

whether you tell him why right away or he has to pry it out of you, he’ll act surprised

not even a little bit contrite or embarrassed

again he has a right to his opinion, no?

he really thought you knew, and he wasn’t mean you can’t argue with that

just… painfully “honest”

he’ll give you a little pat on the head as a way to say “sorry you had to learn it that way” and it feels really condescending like “guess you should have been smarter, eh?”

that’s about as much comfort as you can expect from him

he’ll keep acting the same way as before around you

now why would he hide his feelings like that?

tbh I have a hard time picturing him as a relationship guy, I think he’d get bored pretty easily

or that’s what he believes?

the idea of being with someone might sound appealing but he doesn’t trust himself and there’s no need to put you through a heartbreak that could have been avoided

also he’s really busy with his work

#mawrites #bnha #mha #my hero academia #boku no hero academia #hcs #headcanons #angst #hawks #fem!reader #female #reader #you #hitoshi shinsou #shinso hitoshi #shinso #shinsou #hitoshi #shigaraki tomura #shimura tenko #fatphobic #I think? #shiggy's trash #he my problematic child #emotional hurt #emotional pain #feels kinda good writing angst? #I want to be even meaner #but also shower you all with love #am I actually Twice?

[lavieenprose]

on being ill

“On Being Ill” isn’t just making a case for illness as a literary subject, but for the brute, bare fact of the body itself. By insisting we acknowledge that we sweat and crave and itch all day (“all day, all night”), Woolf reminds us we have the right to speak about these things—to make them lyric and epic—and that we should seek a language that honors them. The man who suffers a migraine, she writes, is “forced to coin words himself, taking his pain in one hand and a lump of pure sound in the other.” What does it sound like, this strange, unholy language of nerves and excretions? How do we articulate the kind of pain that refuses language? We throw up our hands, or we hurl our charts: one through ten, bad to worse, from the smiley face to its wretched, frowning cousin.

Woolf’s argument may have been more urgent in her time than in ours—we have more records of the “daily drama of the body” now than we did then—but when I first read her battle cry, her call to arms (not just arms but legs and teeth and bones), it felt like encountering a long-lost relative: the banner I’d never known I’d always been fighting under: Bodies matter—we can’t escape them—they’re full of stories—how do we tell them? Her argument might have the urgency of a battle cry but it’s also vulnerable; it’s posing questions; it’s got mess and nerve—it’s leaking some strange fluid from beneath its garments, hard to tell in the twilight, maybe pus or tears or blood. Even her syntax feels bodily—full of curves and joints and twists, shifting and stretching the skin of her sentences.

People have often told me my own writing seems to be all about bodies. A woman from a writing workshop once suggested I call my collection of stories Body Issues. (I didn’t have a collection of stories: If I did, I wouldn’t have called it that.) But I’ve never wanted to write about “the body,” by which I mean I’ve never set out with that explicit intention; I’ve only ever wanted to write about what it feels like to be alive, and it turns out being alive is always about being in a body. We’re never not in bodies: that’s just our fate and our assignment. (In her beautiful memoir The Two Kinds of Decay, Sarah Manguso writes that she despises “the body” whenever it describes anything but a corpse, and I love that, though I use the phrase constantly anyway.) To my mind, the more aggressive choice is writing that isn’t physical; this insistence carries the burden of intentional absence.

All that said, I’ve always felt a certain shame about the ways my writing keeps coming back to bodies, which is why I loved finding Woolf. My shame felt such relief at the prospect of her company. My first novel was all about addiction and eating disorders and sex, and there was food everywhere, some of it gone rotten. I used the word “sweat” too many times (my editor told me); there were too many fluids (my editor told me) and far too many bruises (my editor told me) and even worse, too many of these bruises were “plum-colored”—for this last one (my editor told me), we would both get mocked, if we didn’t get rid of some of these plum-colored bruises right away. A certain shame hung over the whole narrative, like a faint body odor I couldn’t smell because it was mine: There was too much body, and this too-much-body risked banality and melodrama at once. I’ve always wondered if this shame about writing about the body is connected to the shame of quasi-autobiographical writing, that sense of failing to imagine beyond one’s own experience. Is writing about bodily experience somehow the extreme form of this failure, the ultimate solipsism? You haven’t even gotten beyond your own nerve endings; it’s no accident they call it navel gazing.

I often think of an old painting I once saw that shows an injured body pointing at its own open wounds. The most graceful victim, of course, is the one who doesn’t need to point at his holes or ask for sympathy—who doesn’t take up the lump of pure sound, who just keeps quiet. The way I imagine being scolded goes something like this: There’s something selfish about talking about bodies too much if the bodily experience fueling everything is your own.

I often think, also, of a cross-country race I ran in 10th grade: I tripped on a slab of concrete sticking up from the dirt, about a hundred meters after the start, when the pack was still dense; and I was trampled by the horde of 15-year-old girls running behind me. It was pretty minor, as tramplings go. But still, it was a trampling. I got up to run the next three miles of the race but I was shaken up and bleeding. I wasn’t running well at all—nothing close to what I’d need to do to place well for our team.

When I reached my coach, who was calling out our one-mile splits, she said something to the effect of “Why are you running so slow?”—only perhaps not so delicately phrased. I remember the awkward way I tried to point at my own wounds without slowing my (turtle) pace; and I remember how badly I wanted her to see the streaks of dirt-clotted blood; I almost stumbled again in my urgent need to show her the proof of my stumbling.

That memory has become the vessel for a certain kind of shame—the shame of pointing too overtly at what hurts, jamming the laser-pointer of language at some wound and then expecting it to yield wisdom or explanation. My coach didn’t want the epic or lyric account of my damaged body, she just wanted me to keep running, and hopefully pick up the pace.

I’m still haunted by the specter of myself in this moment—a mute form pointing, bleeding. A few years after that race I spent a couple months actually mute: I’d gotten jaw surgery and they’d wired my jaw shut to help it heal. During those months I wrote quite frequently but it was mainly practical, because I couldn’t talk. I requested things by scribbling them in a little notebook: vicodin, please; okay ensure (my mom was always foisting Ensure on me), but are there any cans of dark chocolate left? HATE butter pecan. I asked for sheets draped over the mirrors, so I wouldn’t see my swollen face; I asked for the pair of scissors that I was supposed to keep on-hand in case I vomited and needed to cut the wires between my teeth.

Eventually I started writing poems about those quiet weeks, and the surgery before them, the days in the hospital. The poems were full of IV lines and numbness and feeling returning after numbness like water oozing back into crab holes in damp sand (“crackling lines of hurt,” I wrote). I imagined myself the bard of swelling; I wanted to write toothache lyrics for swelling—to evoke the chronic panic of its deforming sculptural practice: it shapes you into something like you, but not you. I wanted to bring that aching knowledge to my nonexistent reading public.

I turned the poems into a series and then I turned them in to my undergraduate writing workshop. The series was called “Waiting Room,” meaning the waiting room before surgery but also the injury afterward as a waiting room—get it?—the aftermath as the cramped little chamber where you wait to get better; where you have to keep waiting even once it seems like you should already be there.

I wasn’t satisfied with the poems. Pain was hard to describe. I encountered Elaine Scarry’s famous formulation—“pain does not simply resist language but actively destroys it”—which recognized but did not solve the problem. My workshop wasn’t satisfied with the poems either. Everyone wanted to know: What were they about? I thought it was pretty fucking self-evident, but no, it was a different problem: My classmates got that these poems were about pain and injury—maybe in a dental office?—but what were they really about? My workshop was thinking everything must be a metaphor for something else: the cut lines on raw gums, the self-quieting sparkle of anesthesia. But in truth, nothing was a metaphor for anything. It was more or less this happened, and it hurt. There was nothing below the surface.

At the time I took this as a verdict of poverty and lack—which is why I loved finding Woolf, so many years later, who seemed to be saying, the surface of the body isn’t poverty; it isn’t lack. She rose from the dead for the express purpose of silencing that workshop, or at least arguing against the notion that there had to be something besides bodies for these poems to matter. She was saying the surface is poetry; bodies are poetry; or poetry can be made of what these bodies need and crave and bleed and feel.

I felt her summoning an army, everyone I’d ever read whose language does some justice to the way our bodies are, the ways they betray us or bind us together: Walt Whitman’s greed to catalogue the physical forms of his countrymen, William Faulkner’s fixation on muddy drawers and the waft of honeysuckle; Marcel Merleau-Ponty’s insistence on the body as an “eloquent relic of existence.”

Woolf writes: “It is not only a new language that we need, more primitive, more sensual, more obscene, but a new hierarchy of the passions; love must be deposed in favour of a temperature of 104; jealousy give place to the pangs of sciatica.” I can see the way these marching orders have infected my own prose—even this piece, with its twisting, bodily contortions—and the way they’ve helped me claim a dialect I’d been afraid was junk, a ledger of the body’s travails, not the “Waiting Room” poems (which weren’t really that great) but the notebooks I kept when my jaw was wired silent, full of their banal complaints and requests: Vicodin, please. Where are the vomit scissors? These are daily dramas of the body, charged with force and longing; the record Woolf never found, the words that pain and pure sound made.

#Leslie Jamison #virginia woolf #being ill

[princeescaluswords]

Tragedy of the Good Boy

One of the things that attracts me to Scott McCall is how much I can relate to a particular burden his character carries throughout the seasons: the expectation that he has to be better than everyone else on the show.   All the heroic things that Scott does – and they’ve been listed out time and time again – are done consistently without expectation of reward and, in the end, most of them are actually done without reward.   In fact, his attempts to save people often cost him a lot in physical pain, emotional pain, and life opportunities.

Scott’s aware of this, yet he does it anyway because he’s the good boy.

The production starts out establishing his attitude when they introduce him.  He was dedicated to improving himself so he can make first line, but he wouldn’t blow off his best friend to do it.  He won Allison, not through sports prowess, but through kindness.  He offered her a pen when she needed one, and he comforted her when she hits a dog with her car.  His teachers were surprised at the drop in his grades and truancy. Melissa worried that his new behavior wasn’t like him.   Deaton said “You’re literally the least slacking kid in this city.”   He’s presented as a kid who doesn’t act out, even though he had a father who is obviously voluntarily absent from his life and a mother who worked ridiculous hours.  He got up to some hijinks, like playing ball in the house with Stiles, but he didn’t get into any serious trouble.  He’s responsible, he’s compassionate, and he’s moral.

We can reasonably assume these are part of the reason he rejects the idea repeatedly put forward by Peter, Chris, Derek, Gerard, and Deucalion – all the villains really – that he has to abandon this part of himself.   We can reasonably assume it’s why he tries to save Jackson and Lydia and Boyd and Isaac and all the other people he tries to save.  It’s who he is.    

But’s it’s also why he submits to letting Stiles make him his pet super-hero; why the only way he reacts to Derek is to employ him in defeating Gerard and then refuse to follow him after Derek has consistently hurt and betrayed him and tried to murder innocent people; why he doesn’t hold it against his mother when she refuses to talk to him for a week.   It’s why he only expresses his anger at Isaac for moving in on Allison after Isaac has moved into his house and his life when he’s consumed by the darkness of the Nemeton sacrifice.   It’s why he follows Liam into the tunnels under Beacon Hills after Liam nearly beat him to death and only expresses his anger about this terrible betrayal when white boys give him permission to do so.

Because he’s the good boy.   Good boys save people.  Good boys help people. Good boys stuff their fear and their anger down so they can be what everyone else needs rather than what they need.  It’s why he can try to stop Theo from falling for the Surgeon’s taunts even though Theo tried to destroy everything that Scott cherished and even takes a step forward to save Theo from Hell mere moments after Theo tried to kill him once again.

Why is this a tragedy? Because when someone is established as the good boy, the audience comes to expect them to be good, in the same way as when someone is established as a bad boy, the audience comes to expect him to be bad.  Derek feeling up Erica in the hospital isn’t taken as a sign of him being a sexual predator because Derek’s already a bad boy anyway.  After all, he’s been through the metaphorical ringer, so we’re supposed to give him a break. Yet Scott sitting on Allison’s roof to make sure she doesn’t get attacked by the alpha is stalking, because he’s a good boy.   Stiles lying to the entire pack about Donovan, sabotaging the investigation into who was taking the chimeras’ bodies, and allowing himself to be blackmailed by Theo wasn’t taken as a sign of selfish treachery, because Stiles was already a Bad Boy anyway.  After all, he was possessed and his mother died hating him.  Yet Scott not believing Stiles after catching Stiles’ lying to him is a sign of bad leadership and bad friendship, because Bad Boy Stiles can be flawed, but Good Boy Scott must be perfect.  

Fandom sorting these men into these categories is a tragedy because people don’t really work the way those categories require.   There is no biological factor that makes you morally gray, just as there’s no secret blessing from the universe that makes you effortlessly good.   All these things are choices – and sometimes characters make the good choice for which we should cheer, and sometimes characters make the bad choice for which we should hold them responsible. 

In my opinion, the production – I’m not sure whether they did this on purpose but hope springs eternal – focused on this as well.  The longer the show went on, the more they indicated the price of Scott being the good boy by portraying him as trapped by his own virtues.  Think about it: in 5B, there’s not even a single moment when any character wonders if the True Alpha is going to get back up and battle against people who’ve demonstrated that they can defeat him effortlessly.  There’s not a single scene where Scott ponders saying “Fuck it, let Sheriff ‘The Law is the Law until My Son is Involved’ Stilinski deal with the Dread Doctors, I’m moving to San Francisco.”  We get those moments like this for Stiles, for Malia, for Liam, for everyone, but never Scott.  His behavior is taken for granted by ever other character, and even by himself.

In Season 6, they don’t even bother to have Scott try to send Peter back to Eichen House or punch Theo in the throat a few times to balance things out.  In Season 6, there’s not even a moment where Scott contemplates going to UC Davis and letting the adults handle the Anuk-Ite.   Even more telling, not a single character really gives Scott’s future that much thought – Melissa tries half-heartedly in 6B, but she abandons that position as soon as humanly possible.   Malia gets to whine about going to France, and Liam gets to pout about not being able to handle things, yet Scott is not only there to fight the Ghost Riders and Monroe’s crusade, but he also has to give up his position as Lacrosse team captain to focus on his grades, like a Good Boy.  And in the end, giving it up was all for naught, because the show ends with him miserably fighting a war years after he’s graduated.

The worst scene ever is the one where Argent, of all people, goes to Melissa with an evaluation of his father’s plans in 6B, and Melissa – completely unrecognizable as a mother – scolds Argent for even suggesting that Scott’s life is worth more than fighting for a town that is turning against him.   She’d rather see him dead and in the ground than have Scott put himself first for even one second.  I mean, his life has already gone to shit by his 18th birthday, with torture, violation, betrayal, mutilation, a girlfriend murdered and a girlfriend lost, possible forever, so if he gets gunned down in the street like a dog, is it really a big deal?  The whole concept that Scott might have a choice about whether he wants to risk his life and future after everything else he’s done is simply not addressed.   Why should it be?

This is what happens to Good Boys.   If they make the correct choice, if they do what they should do, other people consider them boring, take them for granted, or even worse – when they finally do decide to do something for themselves, it’s seen as a betrayal.   Eventually, they’re not even given a choice; it’s simply what is.  Instead, they’re supposed to be good and do good in the background forever and ever, while the Bad Boys violently scheme or angst uselessly in the foreground.

#teen wolf meta #scott mccall #scott mccall defense squad #fandom racism

[lcving-ateez]

She’s dreaming ♡

Genre: Fluffiest of fluffs! A little steamy right at the end if you squint real hard

Word count: 1,492

Synopsis: It’s late when Yunho comes back home from the studio to see you tiredly lolling on the couch in your shared apartment, whilst the light of your laptop illuminates the face he has come to adore so much. He sighs, frustrated that you refused to go to bed and insisted on waiting up for him to come home, but it doesn’t matter, because the comforting weight of your body in his arms as he carries you to bed makes everything else seem irrelevant in comparison; maybe, he wonders, thinking of nothing but you wouldn’t be such a bad thing, after all.

Yunho’s deep blue duffel bag weighed heavy on his shoulder as he walked up the dimly lit stairs of the apartment complex. Living on the top floor was hell if you’d had a long day but the view was definitely worth the ache in his thighs.

As he reached the door he could hear a laugh track playing, she was watching friends again. A smile grew on his face, Yunho always told Y/N not to stay up waiting for him and that he’d always be with her when she woke up but she never listened.

He fumbled for his keys before unlocking the door. As soon as he did the sweet scent of lavender hit him with a wave of warmth, this was home.

Although the apartment was in no way his since technically he didn’t pay rent, his girlfriend insisted he stayed there until his company sorted out dorms for Yunho and the rest of the KQ trainees although she really wished he’d stay forever. The apartment wasn’t quite home without him.

“Baby?” He hummed taking off his shoes and leaving his bag in the doorway. Oddly enough there was no reply. Concerned, Yunho walked deeper into the apartment to the living room where the TV was blaring.

To his surprise, she was out cold on the sofa. Her laptop was open, its light casting a white glow on her text books. He

laughed to himself and turned off the TV. Usually he’d fall asleep before her even if he came home at the crack of dawn, Y/N always wanted to hear him talk about his day over snacks or while lying in bed together.

It may not have looked that special to anyone else but the sight of his girlfriend led down on the couch on top of his Harry potter bed spread had yunho’s heart melting like marshmallows by a fire.

She had fallen asleep finishing her English thesis and managed to send it in exactly 34 seconds before it was due, not her finest work but it wouldn’t happen again. Her head rested on her forearm with the rest of her limbs spread out leaving most of her right side hanging off the gray L-shaped couch. Her somewhat damp hair flowed down the pillow under her in rich flowing curls.

It was clear she’d been home all day as she hadn’t changed out of the old volleyball shorts she had on this morning, Yunho’s white t-shirt bunched up just above her tummy as her chest heaved up and down peacefully.

Yunho stood in admiration as he thought of what to do, although her gentle snoring indicated she was comfortable she sure as hell didn’t look it. He walked closer to the sofa; squatting down to his girlfriend’s level, their faces mere inches away from each other

“What are you dreaming about, princess?” He wondered aloud but his vocal chords fail him as his sentence escaped a mere whisper. Yunho brushed the pad of his thumb across Y/N’s cheek so lightly it could make a feather seem heavy. Of course he could sit there and stare, slipping into her beauty and eventually drowning in its depth but he would have to get to sleep eventually.

“One day you’re gonna strangle yourself” He sighed pulling away the headsets and setting her phone on the coffee table, it was a bad habit of hers to fall asleep with her earphones in. Slipping one of his arms under her knees and the other under her back, Yunho Effortlessly picked his girlfriend up and walked into the bedroom, his steps as quiet as humanly possible in an effort not to wake her up.

He pushed the blanket aside with his foot before laying Y/N down on the mattress. As soon as Yunho turned around she sat up to find her little giraffe teddy, startling him in the process.

“Hi yunnie” she smiled cuddling with the stuffed animal, although she’d just been asleep her eyes showed no sign of fatigue.

“You weren’t even asleep were you?” Yunho let out a hearty chuckle while pulling his black top off.

“I woke up when you opened the door but figured you’d carry me to bed if I pretended I was asleep” it wasn’t unusual for Her to pull something so childish and he almost felt like he should’ve known.

“I have trouble believing you could hear little old me over your loud ass music and the TV”

“It gets lonely when you’re not home, Friends makes me feel like I have you know, Friends” Yunho pulled the blanket over on his side and crawled into bed right behind her. Y/N turned to face him immediately betraying her teddy by wrapping her arms tightly around her boyfriend,rubbing her head against his bare chest to get comfortable.

He immediately moved lower, burying his face in her hair finding the source of the sweet smell that welcomed him into the flat. The stress he’d felt from the mission he had today washed away like patterns in sand when the tide comes out. A whine surfaced from his lips as he stretched out his back feeling more comfortable than ever.

Yunho loved how perfectly Y/N’s body fit into his own. She was taller than most girls but still shorter than him, the perfect height for his lips to plant those gentle kisses on her forehead that she adored so passionately.

“How was your day sweet cheeks?” She pondered, rubbing small circles on his bicep. The nickname was cute, Yunho loved when she’d use such sweet pet names on him. It was a special thing the couple shared when they weren’t calling each other more,, mean spirited nicknames.

“So long. No talk. Only hug” Yunho shrugged. The boys had to choreograph their debut song today and as one of the main performers of Ateez, Yunho was definitely feeling the burden of it all.

Y/N was sympathetic, the two had texted earlier in the and he’d complained about how short-notice they’d sprung this on him. A smile grew on her face, she knew exactly how to cheer him up. The girl moved up so that she could press her forehead up against his own.

“I’ll make you breakfast tomorrow, how does that sound yunnie?” Her voice was sickly sweet as her breath fanned yunho’s own top lip. If he weren’t so tired this would have definitely gone elsewhere.

“Have you got collage tomorrow princess?”

“Not until 10 prince” She added playfully.

“Then breakfast is on me, you can have the morning in. I don’t have to leave for practice until like 8” Yunho wished he could do more for his girlfriend. He definitely felt bad when she’d go on about how often a couple she knew would walk to campus hand in hand or how adorable she thought they were in the pictures she’d be asked to take of them. He wanted to be there for her more often, set the living room up nice for a movie date, drive her to collage and make everyone jealous. He wanted to be as she referred to it “couple goals”.

“You’ve worked hard today so how about we make it together? It wouldn’t hurt me to be up a little early to get some revision in” The idea sounded perfect and quite frankly Y/N wasn’t sure if she could get back to sleep with the thought of making a delicious, steaming meal with her boyfriend the next morning.

He was helpless in the kitchen and ate all the ingredient before they even hit the pan but watching him enjoy himself and eat well was much more rewarding than an aesthetically pleasing plate.

“Can we make it just like the one we had at your parents’ last we stayed over?” Yunho asked, eyes wide as saucers as he remembered how amazing their 1st year anniversary in her home town was. They had been invited to stay over at her childhood home for a while it was an uncomfortable time, her cooking skills were pretty much put to shame.

“No way in hell am I as good at cooking as My parents are, so I can’t make any promises”

“I’m sure you can! And I’ll actually try this time”

“Mhmm. But now, you, need, sleep.” She giggled placing soft kisses on his lips between her each word, as her fingers ran through his soft deep brown hair tugging on it gently. The way the words rolled off her tongue effortlessly was taking a toll on her boyfriend as he shut his eyes.

“You know you drive me crazy right?” Yunho groaned bringing his hands to her waist.

“What ever do you mean yunnie?” She feigned innocence moving closer if that was even possible. He laughed at the attempt placing one last kiss to her lips, so gentle you would’ve thought she was made out of paper.

“Shall we meet in our dreams my love?”

#forgot to tag this the first time i posted it woops #jeong yunho #yunho #ateez yunho #ateez fluff #kpop fluff #boyfriend yunho #jeong yunho fluff #ateez fic

[dominantsylvester]

Where: Adam’s suite

When: Beginning of October (because Karen is bad at finishing things)

Who: @thatbeauadams

What: some talking but mostly sex

Text: I want you today, beautiful Text: do you have other orders? If not, you're under mine now. Until tomorrow.

Text: I don't, Sir. I'll come to your suite after classes? Text: Also, I'm pouting so hard - you only want me today?

Text: Yes, please. Bring anything you need to stay the night. ....maybe two nights. Text: No pouting, I want you every day, but I can't always order you to my room.

Text: Got it. Well I mean... yeah but it doesn't always have to be orders. Beau hiked his bag up onto his shoulders, inexplicably nervous. He thought he had gotten over his nervousness when it came to orders with Adam but it seemed recent events were making his wide insecurity streak run rampant. He knelt and knocked, offering the Dom a smile when he answered, though the expression didn't quite reach his eyes. "Hey there, Sir."

Adam opened the door to the familiar sight of Beau on his knees, and he smiled. He noted the way Beau looked a little tense, like he was forcing his smile. Adam wasn't entirely surprised. Beau had been like that a lot lately. Something had happened, and he couldn't tell Adam what, so Adam didn't know how to help. He just reached a hand down and drew Beau up to his feet and inside. He shut the door behind them, and then slid a hand into Beau's hair and pulled him into a kiss. "It's good to see you, beautiful. Go put your bag in my room. I've left out a jock strap on the bed for you. I want you to change it it, nothing else, and come back out to the living room."

The tension in his shoulders didn't completely go away, but it eased the moment that Adam pulled him into his arms and kissed him. They had been doing this for months now, but it still felt foreign, and surprising, whenever just something simple like that made him feel so much better. "Yes, Sir. You do know I love dressing just for you," he teased lightly, though his voice lacked the usual sass. Beau crossed into Adam's room, quickly changing into the jock and coming to kneel again in front of the couch. Fuck. How was this his life when these simple things could make him feel so much better? When had he turned into this sub?

Adam smiled at him and lightly slapped Beau's ass as he left, hoping to lift the mood, because he could feel the way Beau wasn't quite as relaxed as he usually was. Adam decided he wanted to help in a more concrete way, so he got a few things out of his spare room and brought them to the couch, where he found Beau already kneeling in the sheer black jock strap he'd left him. "You look amazing," Adam said as he sat on the couch in front of Beau and threaded fingers through  his hair.  "Regular rules for being in my room," he reminded Beau. "And one rule for tonight. I know you've got a lot going on in your head. I'm not going to make you talk about it. Tonight, at least. But if at any point you want to talk, about anything at all, I'll drop whatever we're doing and we'll talk. Or if you just want to be distracted, I am more than happy to occupy you. Understand?"

The things Adam brought with him were definitely intriguing, but he couldn't focus on them yet - not when Adam's fingers were in his hair like they were. Beau swallowed hard. God, did he want to talk about what was going on in his head. He wanted to confess. He wanted to be punished for being such a fucking idiot, he needed it more than he could even comprehend. But he couldn't talk about it without betraying Archer's trust. And now no one knew how stupid he had been, since Ryder couldn't remember. This was his burden to bear alone. "I think just... distraction, Sir. Please," he said, trying to keep the note of desperation out of his voice, because maybe if he stayed distracted enough, he could stop thinking about it for a while.

Adam's expression was serious as he watched Beau, trying to judge exactly where his head was at. He nodded, continuing to scratch Beau's scalp.  "Good boy. Thank you for telling me what you need," he praised quietly. Selfishly, he wanted this scene just as much. His desire to do the right thing for Beau was paramount, but that didn't erase his own wants and needs. It had been a while since he had really, fully dominanted Beau, and he wanted to remind the boy to whom he belonged. He picked up a thick leather collar from among the items he'd brought out. It was black and padded along the inside, with a D-ring in the front.  Adam nudged Beau's chin up and buckled the collar around his throat, checking carefully that it wasn't too tight. Then he attached to the ring a long, slender chain link leash. "You're mine," he said firmly, tugging lightly on the leash to emphasize his point.

He drank in the praise. He had never felt this kind of desperation to be in his subspace. To just not think about anything but obeying the beautiful Dominant in front of him. Beau swallowed hard when the collar went around his throat, a frisson of tension trickling down his spine, but he ignored it. He needed this. The tug of the leash made him shiver. "Yours... I'm yours, Sir," he agreed in a low whisper, his eyes dark and soft as he looked up at Adam. "Will you mark me, Sir? Before I leave? Please?"

"Oh, I plan to," Adam said with a small smile. The violence implied by his statement was offset by the tender way that he cupped the side of Beau's face and ran his thumb along his cheek bone. Only for a second, though, then he picked up the pair of leather cuffs that matched the collar. "Hands," he demanded, and attached the cuffs to Beau's wrists, then clipped them together, effectively binding Beau's wrists in front of him with about an inch between them. "Turn around, now," he instructed when he finished with the cuffs. "Face down, ass up."

The relief that washed over him was shocking. His eyes fluttered shut for a moment, savoring the touch, before his pulse picked up when the cuffs circled his wrists. "Assuming the position, Sir?" he said, trying to insert some of his usual sass into the scene as he turned. Beau leaned over, his legs spreading slightly as he propped himself up on his elbows, bound wrists under his chin and his bare ass perfectly on display.

"Exactly," Adam said with a smirk. He could tell the sass was forced, but he wasn't going to call Beau on it. He thought it would be better just to take it at face value. Once Beau was in place, Adam ran a hand over his ass and down his thighs. He slid one hand under to cup Beau's groin, the only part of him covered right now. His other hand moved up to rub his thumb over his hole, pressing lightly against the pucker. "First things first. A needy cockslut needs something in his poor empty hole, doesn't he?" Adam picked up the plug he'd brought out, black and slightly oddly shaped, as if was designed to rest against the prostate and push against it any time it was moved. He drizzled some lube on it and began to work it into Beau's hole. It wasn't as big as a cock, and he knew Beau would want to feel the stretch, so he didn't loosen him first, but rather trusted that the plug would open him up enough, as long as he didn't shove it in all at once.

He shivered under the slow, teasing touches over his ass and thighs. His cock twitched and he gently arched his hips, lightly pushing into Adam's warm touch. "Mm... yes, Sir, you know me so well," he murmured, hole flexing under the slide of his thumb. Beau couldn't help but groan happily when he felt a toy pushing into his ass. The stretch sent a lovely heat through him, exactly what he needed. "Do you have... more plans for my hole later Sir?" he asked curiously, looking over his shoulder, deliberately testing the order to remain face down.

"I have a variety of plans for many parts of your body," Adam said vaguely. "But I don't recall giving you permission to move. Maybe I should tie that leash to the coffee table." He slapped Beau's ass once, well aware that it wasn't a punishment, it wasn't nearly painful enough to be anything but arousing to Beau. Adam eased the plug in until it was fully seated, but continued to fiddle with it, pushing or twisting and watching for a response. He knew vaguely where Beau's prostate was, but it was slightly more difficult to get the plug into the right place than his own penis.

The slap to his ass just made him smile and shiver. "Maybe you should, Sir," he suggested in a flirty tone, though he moved his head back to where it had been before. Beau could feel himself beginning to sink, the sensation thrilling and wonderful. Having the plug move inside him felt good in general, but on a certain twist, he arched and moaned louder, the toy pressing perfectly against his prostate. "Oh holy fuck," he whispered, pressing his hips back, hungry for more pleasure.

Adam grinned when Beau reacted, and he pushed the plug once more and then left it where it was, so that it would brush Beau's prostate whenever he moved.  "Tease."  He slapped Beau's ass again, hard enough to leave a hand print.  "You'll stay where I put you because you want to please me, don't you, cumslut?"  He reached under Beau to squeeze his package, covered only by the thin fabric of the sheer jock strap.  "You need a reminder, don't you? Alright, come with me."  He stood and walked towards the spare room where they often scened, tugging lightly on the leash as he went.  He knew it would be a little more difficult for Beau to crawl after him, with his hands bound in front of him, but that was the point.

Beau could only whimper when the plug pushed against him again. The slap brought a yelp to his lips. Fuck. His head was spinning already, in the best way possible. “Yes, Sir,” he purred, moaning and pushing into the touch to his rigid cock. Beau bit his lip as he crawled, the plug in his ass teasing his prostate with each shift of his hips. But he made it into the spare room, his body thrumming in anticipation of the promised reminder.  Whatever Adam had in mind, he knew he would enjoy it.

"Up onto the bed," Adam said, tugging on the leash gently.  "Kneel up, sit back on your heels."  Once Beau was settled, he went to a drawer and came back with a pair of clamps he knew would fit over the piercings in Beau's nipples.  "You've been awfully sassy for such a dirty slut," he teased as he clipped on one, then the other.  "Whose pleasure is important right now?"

It was a bit of a struggle to climb up into the bed, but Beau managed, the damn plug pressing firmly against him once he was kneeling. His breathing was shaky, and only got shakier when the clamps came out. He bit his lip against a moan, fingers flexing above the cuffs. “Yours, Sir. But you and I both know the sass only adds to the pleasure you get in putting me in my place,” Beau breathed out.

Adam chuckled, shaking his head fondly as he tugged on the clamps just for the fun of watching Beau's reaction.  "Someone's not getting an orgasm tonight, huh?  And it sure as hell isn't me.  Speaking of which, get your head down here."  He tugged on the leash, pulling Beau forward onto all fours, and with his other hand he undid the fly of his jeans and eased out his cock, already half hard.  "This is about my pleasure, whore, get to work."

His full lips twitched against a smile, the expression easier now that he wasn't fully focusing on the shitstorm that was his life. "Well that's not up to me, Sir," he pointed out before falling onto his hands with a grunt. Beau licked his lips. "Happy to oblige, Sir..." Leaning forward, he took Adam into his mouth with a low moan, sucking languidly around the stiffening flesh.

Adam let out a breath, enjoying the warmth of Beau's skilled mouth.  He slid his fingers into Beau's hair but didn't control his movements, for now.  At the moment, he just wanted Beau to pleasure him.  He wanted Beau to work for it.  And of course, the sub rose to the occasion.  He was always so enthusiastic about giving head.  Adam let him go on for several minutes, just petting his hair slowly, until he pulled him back by the leash to stop him.  "Good slut.  That's enough for now."  He flicked the clamps on Beau's nipples, grinning at him, and then pushed him down onto the bed.  "Face down, ass up, boy."

He savored the opportunity to enjoy this, taking his time in sucking sloppily around the length thickening between his lips. Moans caught in his throat as he worked his cock, the soft stroking of Adam's fingers over his hair making everything better. A whine spilled from his lips when he was pulled back, his eyes dark as he looked up at Adam. "Yes - Sir!" The title came out as a surprised grunt when he toppled over, his ass pushing up to present himself to the Dominant without thinking. "I'm beginning to think you prefer my ass over my face, Sir," he teased, his voice slightly muffled.

Adam laughed softly as he ran a hand appreciatively over Beau's ass, admiring the hand print he'd left there five minutes ago.  "Considering that I'm going to use my paddle on you next, yes, I prefer your ass.  I like your face without a fractured jaw."  He patted Beau's ass and then moved to get the wooden paddle out of his closet.  It wasn't overly large, and it had holes drilled in it, to make it move and strike faster.  He returned to the side of the bed and started to tap Beau's ass with it, just lots of light little taps, letting him relax before the paddling really began.  After a moment, Adam pulled back and swatted Beau properly, though only maybe half as hard as he could have.  He wasn't aiming for heavy pain right away.  He was planning to build.  He swatted him again, making sure to get both cheeks evenly, and was pleased to see a pink outline of the paddle left on Beau's skin.

Beau just chuckled at that, though his skin tingled in anticipation of a paddling. Finally. The pain he'd been craving and needing, from the one he wanted it from most. He fought the urge to wriggle impatiently as Adam warmed his skin with the paddle, though he couldn't keep completely still - especially when the blows weren't nearly as hard as he was craving. "I know that's not all you got," he murmured, arching his hips and biting back a gasp.

Adam reached under Beau and grabbed his balls through the jock strap, squeezing harshly.  "Remind me who decides how hard your ass gets beaten?" His tone was much harder than the paddle had been. He waited for an answer before releasing Beau's balls. "Keep sassing me and I might decide not to fuck you after I'm done." He punctuated the threat with another swat to his ass. He kept the paddle going at an even speed, slightly harder than before but still not his full strength. He didn't pause or hesitate, though, just kept a steady rhythm of spanks as Beau's ass got progressively redder.

He gasped when fingers closed hard around his balls. Beau licked his lips, sucking in a breath before answering. "You do, Sir," he bit out, his legs spreading wider as if inviting more pain to his sensitive sac. He wanted to make another comment but getting Adam's gorgeous cock inside him was definitely more important than sassing him. His head swirled pleasantly as the force of the hits increased, pain washing through his body and forcing him down into that space he loved best.

"That's what I thought," Adam said with a smirk when Beau didn't snark back this time. He kept up the steady rhythm of blows to Beau's ass for a while, several minutes without pause, until Beau's ass was bright red.  Only when there were bruises forming on his sit spots did Adam finally stop. He set the paddle on the bed and ran a hand over Beau's ass, feeling the warmth emanating from them.  "How's that feel, slut? Better?"

The only thing he could do was moan with each new strike, trembles working over his skin as the pain bloomed brighter and brighter. Beau was panting by the time Adam paused, the gentle touch of his hand over his throbbing ass making him jump. "Yes.. yes, Sir, thank you," he breathed out shakily. His head lifted, eyes soft and wide, seeking out the Dom as he always did when he was pushed into his subspace.

Adam could see that Beau had dropped deep into subspace by the end of the spanking, and he smiled gently at the sub. "That's my good boy. Feeling better, huh? Roll over on your back for me." He helped Beau adjust so he was on his back with his bound hands above his head. Adam attached them to a rope already on his headboard, left there from last time he'd tied Beau to the bed. Then he leaned over and kissed Beau hard. He let it linger, and bit Beau's lower lip as he pulled away. His hands, meanwhile, moved down Beau's slim form, playing with the clamps that were still over his pierced nipples.

Without any thought, he obeyed, hissing a little as he landed on his abused bottom. Beau arched and let out a soft sigh, a happy sound once he was bound to the bed. Finally, he felt at ease, with Adam's collar and leash around his neck, with his hands tied exactly where he was wanted. He moaned into the Dom's mouth, the sound punctuated by whimpers when the clamps were teased. It occurred to him to beg for more, but it didn't feel right - if Adam wanted to give him more, he would. Whatever he wanted to give, Beau would take. "Yours, Sir, always yours," he whispered against his mouth.

Adam smiled against Beau's lips and kissed him again, sweetly this time.  It always felt good to hear Beau say he was Adam's, but especially unbidden like this.  "Good boy," he praised as he moved back.  He flicked the clamps over Beau's nipples as he moved down to the sub's hips, and started to pull down the sheer jockstrap.  He tossed it aside once it was off, then started to undress as well.  "I'm going to give you my cock, but you won't be allowed to come.  Understood?"  He grabbed some lube before pushing Beau's legs up, bending his knees, and climbing onto the bed between them.He arched a bit into the bite of pain when the clamps moved again, his eyes opening but still heavy as he looked up at Adam. Beau lifted his hips to let Adam peel off the skimpy jock, his cock swollen against his stomach. A thrill of anticipation tripped down his spine. "I understand, Sir, thank you," he breathed out, eagerly spreading his legs for the Dom to slide between them, his body craving him.

Adam trailed his fingers over Beau's cock, and then flicked his balls sharply, grinning as he watched Beau's reaction to the rough treatment.  "Good slut.  That hole is for me to use and play with, not for you."  He wiggled the plug inside Beau, which was hopefully still near enough to his prostate to push on it, then eased it out of him.  Adam rolled on a condom and drizzled some lube over his cock quickly, and the pushed into Beau without any kind of stretching.  His cock was wider than the plug, and definitely longer, but not so much that Beau would have trouble with it.  Adam knew Beau wanted the pain of the stretch.  He groaned as he slid in, rocking gently until he was fully seated

His thighs clenched lightly when his balls were flicked, a sharp gasp pushing from his throat. "Yes, Sir," he whispered. Beau arched slightly, his toes curling when the plug moved inside and then out of him. his pulse speeding up in anticipation of Adam inside him. Instinctively he pulled at the bonds tying him to the bed, his body adjusting to the thick length, the delicious stretch pushing through him. "Oh god... f-fuck, Sir," he mumbled, struggling to stay still.

Groaning softly at the heat and pressure of Beau's ass, Adam just rocked slowly for a minute, letting himself adjust to it as much as letting Beau do the same.  It wasn't long before he started moving faster, though.  He leaned over Beau, bracing himself with one hand on the bed and rolling his hips in long, lithe motions, his abs rippling.  His other hand was free to move over Beau's skin, playing with the clamps over his nipples.  His thrusts got faster, and he put his second hand onto the bed for support as well.

All Beau could do was lie back and take the perfection that was Adam’s cock inside of him. His mind whirled deliciously, sounds of pleasure spilling from his parted lips with each thrust of his hips. Whimpers spilled out when the clamps moved, and Beau arched his hips up as Adam really began to pound into him. “Fuck... please don’t stop, Sir, please,” he begged, fingers curled into fists above the binds holding him down.

Adam pushed harder and settled into a rhythm, slamming his hips into the backs of Beau's thighs.  He kept it going as the moment stretched into minutes, drinking in the whimpers and whines from the boy underneath him.  His punishing speed and force would surely leave bruises behind on Beau's thighs, not to mention that Adam's pelvis was slamming into the bruises he'd already left on Beau's ass with the paddle.  Any gasp or whimper or pained sound only drove Adam to go faster.  Finally, his back arched and he thrust into Beau hard, and with a loud groan he came inside him.

The haze of pain and pleasure he was lost in was perfect. Beaus eyes slid shut to savor the sensation, focusing on the thrust of his cock and the hard thud of his hips against his aching thighs. A shudder ripped down his spine at the hard thrust, his chest heaving as he fought for breath. And all he could do was gaze up at Adam, his eyes soft and warm, totally enamored with the Dom.

Adam pulled out after a while, and moved onto the bed next to Beau.  He found Beau's lips with his and kissed him hard.  Meanwhile, his hand slid down and brushed over the sub's engorged cock which had been ignored the whole time he'd used Beau's ass.  "Do you want to come?" he asked teasingly as his fingertips danced over it.  Beau, with his hands still tied above his head, couldn't do much as Adam kissed him and teased his cock.  He only kept it up for a minute, though, before actually wrapping his hand around Beau's dick and stroking it.  "You can come now, beautiful.  Go on."

Beau shifted as much as he could to press up against Adam, moaning helplessly into the kiss. A strangled sound slid from his throat at the teasing touch. All he could do was nod, squirming under the torture of his fingers and lips. But then came the permission, and it only took Beau a half dozen strokes before he was almost sobbing out his release, body taut as pleasure raced through him.

Adam stroked Beau through his release, kissing him all over, thoroughly enjoying the sight of him completely undone.  As Beau's orgasm faded, Adam's kisses turned soft and sweet, and his hand moved from Beau's cock to gently pet his flushed skin.  "My good boy," he murmured against Beau's lips.  "Look at you.  God, you look good.  You did so well for me, beautiful."  After a moment, he told Beau that he was going to remove the clamps, and then eased them off his nipples, then rubbed them gently to ease the pain and make sure circulation resumed.

The praise swirled through his mind, and he was still struck speechless, just  gazing adoringly up at the handsome Dom. He felt so amazing, so worn out but so, so good. A little whimper slipped from his throat when the clamps were removed, tingles of pain skimming through him, but the gentle touches eased the sting. “Thank you, Sir,” he finally whispered, his voice hoarse and soft.

Adam smiled sweetly at Beau when he was thanked.  "Of course, beautiful," he answered, kissing him again.  "You're my good boy.  I'm going to unhook your hands from the bed, but I'm going to leave them cuffed together.  You can bring them down in front of you, so you're comfortable."  He didn't want to undo Beau's bondage all at once, because he knew Beau was way down in subspace, and he wanted to let him stay there for a while.  He thought it would be best to leave him partially bound in a very comfortable way, with his wrists in cuffs in front of him, so he still had some sense of being under Adam's control.

He nodded and rolled into his side once he could, pressing his face into Adam’s neck. Nuzzling into the Dom, he let out a happy sigh, shifting his hands a little bit so he could press his palms against Adam’s chest. Here in this space, it was hard to keep his feelings inside, but he kept his lips closed, thinking something he’d only let himself realize when he was in this incredible headspace Adam put him in.

Adam sighed happily and wrapped his arms around Beau.  He pulled a sheet over them, heedless of the cooling fluids on both of their bodies.  He could clean them and the bedclothes later.  Right now he just wanted to hold his boy.  Beau was only ever like this when he was deep in subspace, and Adam frankly couldn't get enough of it.  He knew it was limited, and any separation between the two of them, even just long enough to get some tissues to wipe up Beau's cum, would bring Beau out of subspace faster, and Adam didn't want that.  Beau never let himself be so sweet and affectionate and submissive except in these moments.

It was odd because he loved this so much - and yet he fought it so hard. Beau had no cares in the world as he laid there in Adam’s arms, breathing him in. “Yours, yours, yours,” he whispered against the Dom’s throat. It was moments like this where he let himself think that maybe he could have this long term - maybe Adam would keep him. “Yours?” he whispered again, tilting his head back to look up at him, needing the reassurance.

Adam just held Beau close, with the fingers of one hand sliding into Beau's hair and petting him.  He didn't move until the tone of Beau's voice changed to a question.  Adam looked down at the sub, his expression solemn.  "You're my good boy," he confirmed.  "You're mine."  He kissed Beau's forehead gently, hoping to soothe him.

His lips spread in a serene smile, and he closed his eyes. This was where he wanted to linger - the thought of coming out of this space was not something he could fathom. So he curled into Adam and breathed him in, content to stay there in his arms until he absolutely had to move. It was getting easier and easier to stay in this space with the Dom.

#beau

[padnick]

Hi, my name is Steven Padnick, and I’m codependent.

Codependence is an addiction, but unlike an alcoholic or gambler, I don’t need liquor or risk. I need to be needed. I have a compulsive need to be seen as a good person, as kind, as reliable, as useful. 

If that doesn’t sound bad, understand the compulsive part is the problem. The most obvious symptom of codependency is an inability to set and maintain healthy boundaries with others. On the one hand, I will go to great lengths to please others, often compromising my body or moral values, because I do not, and cannot, express my reservations. Standing up for myself, expressing my needs, saying “no,” makes me feel bad. Very bad. Guilty. Like a failure. This allows people, wittingly and unwittingly, to take advantage of me. 

And on the other hand, I will intentionally put myself in positions where I can feel needed. I will seek out people that I think “need” my help, and then overwhelm them with care. I will mother them, give them everything I think they need. I will manage their environment, carefully moving pieces to make sure they are not made upset. And I will manipulate them, lie to them and use passive aggressive tactics to change their behavior to “improve” them. And of course, when all of my efforts go unappreciated, either because they weren’t asked for and weren’t wanted, or because I hid how much effort I took, I become resentful, angry, impulsive, and destructive.

In the end, my “need to be needed” isn’t about helping others at all, really. It’s about controlling how other perceive me. It’s about creating the illusion of intimacy without actually risking vulnerability.

At the heart of codependency, at the heart of my codependency, is low self-worth. I do not, on a fundamental level, believe I have much worth. I was raised to believe that I needed to earn love, care, and protection. Not that my parents didn’t love me, it’s just that their love seemed intimately tied to my academic success. They cared about my emotions, but my emotions needed to be controlled and constrained. And they did not protect me from my abusive older sister, either punishing us both when we fought, or leaving us to “work it out ourselves.” That left specific emotional scars, particularly that my problems literally weren’t worth burdening others with, that admitting to my failures would leave me open to rejection and abandonment, and that I could only keep people in my life by achieving great things and being useful to others.

This low self worth directly leads to an inability to process emotions, mine and others, in a healthy, adult way. By adult, I mean identifying my emotion and its immediate cause, and finding a way to express that emotion in a way that’s safe for me and respectful of other, and being able to be present when someone else does the same. Instead, strong emotions make me feel unsafe and insecure, so I resort to childish responses. I shut down, act as if I don’t feel anything. Or I need to be comforted and told it will be okay, which often ignores the actual emotion and its actual cause. Or I will explode in defensive anger. Or resort to manipulation, promising to do whatever I need to in order to soothe the other person. Or, and this is particularly pernicious, I will rely on “empathy,” assuming I am perceptive enough to deduce how the other person is feeling and why, and act on my deduction, without ever having to go through the hassle of actually talking about feelings. And I will assume that other people can deduce my feelings without me actively expressing them, and then become resentful when they fail to do so.

This inability to process emotions creates an absolutely delusional inner world. I assume I am physically, emotionally, and intellectually stronger than other people. That “I can take it.” I assume responsibility for the emotions and lives of others, assuming they can’t help themselves, and at the same time reject the idea that my actions might be making their lives worse. I don’t understand my emotions, and thus my motivations, in the moment, only realizing how I felt sometimes weeks later (or months, or years), often doing things that make me ask “why am I like this?” 

These delusions make it basically impossible to perform self-care. First off, I have trouble admitting that I have any needs or wants. I’m strong, I tell myself. I’m fine. It’s ok. Other people suffer, I help them. And when I can identify needs and wants, I have trouble valuing them enough to ask others for help, or putting my needs above the wants of others. And even when I can do that, I have trouble prioritizing my needs over my wants. I want to be liked, I want to invited to the cool parties, but I need sleep, food, emotional support, and time to work on my own art. 

And when I do find someone who gives me what I need, including and especially the feeling of being needed, without me having to make myself emotionally vulnerable and actually ask, I will do everything in my power to keep them in my life, which leads to a) they take advantage of me, and b) I manipulate and manage them until they feel like they cannot leave.

So, you see, it’s real bad.

Okay, so that’s me at my worst. What’s the treatment?

I’ve been in therapy for codependency for about a year now, and here’s what I’ve learned.

First, and this isn’t a surprise, I admitted I have a problem. Importantly, I admitted I have a problem that I cannot, cannot cannot, solve on my own. Since the core of codependency is a fear of asking for help, trying to fix myself by myself is a little like trying to put out a fire with gasoline. 

The second step is apologizing to those that I hurt. Those that I lied to, those that I betrayed or disappointed. I have to admit that I was wrong, and I need to try to make amends for it. That can be very hard, sometimes impossible, because some of the people I hurt, the ones I hurt the worst, don’t want to ever hear from me ever again. Even when they’re willing to listen, I can’t repay them the time and emotional anguish I caused. I can give them information, I can take responsibility for my actions, I can be open to hearing what they want and need and try to give them that, but honestly there are some wounds I caused that I can never make up for. That’s hard for me to accept, that I will never be forgiven, but accept it I will. 

And the third and final step is to fix myself with therapy, particularly group therapy and marriage counseling. As a codependent, I often feel alone, isolated. Therapy with others alleviates that feeling. Hearing other people that feel the way that I do, that suffer as I have and are also on a path of recovery, either where I was or where I want to be, makes me feel better about myself. And practicing expressing my own strong emotions and sitting with the strong emotions of others, with people I care about, in a safe and controlled environment, is good practice for learning to do that all the time.

And using therapy, my game plan is to work outside in. Start by setting boundaries. I say no if I don’t want to do something, even when, especially when, I feel guilty about doing so. It turns out there are surprisingly few things that I actually HAVE to do, as opposed to want to do. I practice allowing people to struggle with problems, even when I think I have the solution, unless they explicitly ask for help. More often than not, my “solution” is based on my personal experience and not useful to their particular situation. And I am ruthlessly honest about my limitations, be they physical, emotional, or moral. I am not Superman, and I have to admit that to myself and others.

Having set and maintained boundaries, I can work on taking care of myself. I know Self-Care is sometimes dismissed as “spa day,” but it’s literally taking care of myself the way I want to take care of a friend. That means identifying and attending to my basic needs and wants. As someone who has denied those needs for a lifetime, this can be hard, but fortunately I have Maslov to help me. It’s pretty easy to work my way up his hierarchy of needs. Food, sleep, health, companionship. Harder than identifying those needs is asking for help when those needs aren’t being met, but I can fake it till I make it, just bluntly asking for what I need, even when I feel like I’m being a burden. Again, I’m often surprised by how much people want to help me, want to give me what I need, they just didn’t know I needed anything.

Once I have a practice of setting boundaries and getting help for my needs, my inner world becomes clearer. Here, particularly, is where individual therapy, rather than a group, is very useful. Speaking to a therapist, giving voice to my doubts and fears, my beliefs and ideals, really helps me see the patterns, the learned coping mechanisms, where those mechanisms break down. Here I can talk about traumas, about feelings, and practice sitting with them, processing them, having a healthy assessment of myself and my own capabilities.

And from there I learn to value myself. I don’t need to earn my worth, I can just see myself as worthy. And if I can see myself as worthy, then I work back out. I am worthy, and my feelings are worth expressing and being addressed. And the feelings of others are no threat to my worth. Understanding emotions gives me an accurate understanding of the world and myself. An accurate understanding of myself and my needs means I know how to care for myself and ask for what I need. With my needs met, I can set and maintain healthy boundaries, help those who want my help, ask for help from those that can help me, and allow the adults in my life to be adults.

Make no mistake, this is not a solved issue, but rather a cycle of consistent self improvement. Better boundaries-> better self-care -> better self-assessment -> better emotional processing -> greater self worth -> better emotional processing -> better self-assessment -> better self-care -> better boundaries. And then repeat.

I will always be codependent. I will always want to be needed. And sometimes I will slip up, try to manage the lives of others, or lie to protect myself. But I don’t have to be controlled by my compulsions, and I can admit to my mistakes, and I can apologize and try to make up for them. 

I can admit that I am flawed, and can grow, and I will grow. I promise.

[ash-overthinking]

Where You’ve Been (13RW, Zach&Alex missing scene)

Fandom:

13 Reasons Why (TV show)

Characters/Pairing:

Zach Dempsey & Alex Standall (canon compliant/pre-slash)

Summary:

-"I wanna talk to Alex. Okay, look, I brought him something." -"What? 'Oh happy birthday Alex, here's a photo book of you in a coma'?" -"He told you about that?"

Sometime in the days before Alex's birthday party, Zach finds him struggling, a little book of graphic pictures in his lap.

Tags of Consequence: 

Missing scene; angst; references to canon suicide attempt and implied canon suicidality and depression; canon disabled character; pre-slash/gen.

Word Count:

2008

Read it on AO3

  Alex wasn’t entirely sure what he’d been thinking asking for the pictures. Maybe it was about trying to fill in the gaps, to see matter within the spaces of blurring and blankness. There was something about knowing his body had been put through so much shit, tests and operations and stitches and more than he could even begin to keep in his head, and totally without him, that left horror like a rock growing into his stomach and ribs. So, he wanted to know. Alex kept thinking if he learned enough, maybe he could recover the map to how his pieces were meant to fit. Maybe he could feel like he belonged here, in this body and mind and life.

  He hadn’t quite been glad Tyler took the pictures, really he didn’t care one way or the other, but- maybe he was kind of grateful?

  At least the other boy didn’t try to argue with Alex about seeing them, about what he was and wasn’t ready for. He didn’t even question or dispute when Alex asked if he could get them printed, taking Alex’s fumbled preface about screen-time and migraines at face value. Alex really fucking liked that about Tyler.

  Still. It probably wasn’t the healthiest choice?

  The pictures were in a little book now, one of those old-school photo albums with fake leather and vinyl, unlabeled and with a dozen empty pages. Alex could fill the latter of his own accord if he wanted to see his progress like Tyler had suggested, to watch the ghastly scars fade and disappear under his hair. Like a baby book, he could note the stupid little milestones he’d had to reach all over- waking up like being reborn; his first word post-coma; lifting his fucking head; taking a goddamn step. There were probably pictures of it all, but Alex would sooner burn or bury them than arrange them in some pseudo triumphant order.  

  The graphic journey back to his body imbued Alex with more heartbreak and revulsion than the pictures of him in the coma ever did. Memories he had but didn’t necessarily want, all an ode to his greatest failing.

  Most of the time he could try not to think about it. The moments of quiet devastation didn’t need talked about and there were even days he could appreciate things like second chances. If nothing else, he could distract himself with ways to be useful or at least become it. He gave himself wholly to that cause. If he was going to be here than he would damn well find a way to make the burden of his existence worth its while to all the people around him. Maybe eventually he could even believe himself that he was worth it.

  So, sure, ignorance was the opposite of bliss; but maybe there was a difference between abstract knowing and staring his own near-death in its face.

  All Alex knew was that the pictures drew him in, and in and in until he was locked inside a silence he couldn’t really breathe through, with all his senses disappearing.

  How could he do this to himself? Why couldn’t he have done it right?

  Hate surged like it always did, for this stupid fucking world with its stupid fucking people and its stupid fucking injustice and fucking him, Alex Standall, fuckup extraudinaire, at the boiling center. There were angry tears on his face and his bad hand curled around the photo album and his good hand in his hair, nails in his scalp just above the scar.

  He heard the creak of the door too late.

  “Hey- woah. Alex, what’s going on? What’s-” and Zach had cut himself off with a noise like nothing Alex had ever heard from him before as Alex’s stupid, broken grip tried to move to close the book and instead only managed to knock it from his lap so it landed, still open, inches from Zach’s feet.

  Frustration and humiliation reared, and Alex didn’t mean to yell; but he did anyway, curses exploding from that ugly place inside his chest.

  Zach didn’t respond, and the vitriol died about as quickly as it had come, even if the tears did not, still randomly tracking down his cheeks while he fought to focus on his friend. There would be time to dwell on all the ways he had ruined all the best things in his life later. For now, there was Zach.

  How one guy could look both so steady and so shaken, Alex would never know.

  “Alex, where the hell did you get this?” Zach asked finally.

  The quiet anger in his voice promptly put Alex right back on the defensive.

  “That’s not any any of your fucking business,” he heard himself snarl, the high pitch of a whine right beneath the words. Pathetic.

  Alex thought, barely there, that lately he made Hannah sound downright chill and self assured, and the inherent snipe at his once best friend brought him right back to earth, his stomach cramping and churning.

  How was it that someone like him had beaten the odds to live so many times in the last five months while someone like Hannah-

  No. He couldn’t keep going there.

  “Where the hell did you get these?” Zach asked roughly.

  Alex sighed and adjusted himself to sit back against his pillows, looking at his friend directly.

  “Can we not do this right now dude?”

  “Uh, no. We can’t… not do this right now. Dude.”

  Alex stared at him for a beat before succumbing to a tired snort of laughter. Zach huffed a little, the hint of a smile at the corner of one lip, but then it all faded away again. He bent to pick up the book with Alex watching carefully, his heart in his throat.

  Zach leafed through a few pages, then closed it with a sharp exhale. Alex thought he saw a shiver go through his friend and dropped his eyes to his sweatpants, guilt ebbing back to him, the rush of cold into his veins like saline through an IV.

  Zach paced for a minute then dropped restlessly onto the edge of Alex’s bed.

  “Who the fuck-,” he paused, took a breath, started again. “How did you get these?”

  “...I can’t tell you.”

  Zach turned to face him and Alex met his eyes. He could feel his hand tremor on his leg, all his muscles reacting to the continued distress. His body was always betraying him.

  “You really fucking can. Is this related to that target bullshit?”

  “No,” Alex reassured him, calming a little more with the opportunity to tell a helpful truth. “I swear.”

  “Yeah? How can you do that if you can’t tell me?”

  Alex groaned and sagged back against his bed but kept his eyes sideways on Zach.

  “If I do, you’ve got to be chill about it.”

  “Nah. Can’t promise that,” Zach retorted.

  Alex glared and Zach looked right back, determined, unaffected.

  “Okay, well, you have to promise you won’t go after the person.”

  Zach opened his mouth, very clearly to object, so Alex continued right along.

  “Seriously. I’m a big boy, Dempsey. I asked for the pictures. It’s my own fault.”

  Zach’s face twisted and smoothed back.

  “It was fucking Tyler, right?”

  Alex knew Zach well enough by now, if only just, to recognize the curl of his lip and tightening of his jaw. The darkness of his eyes. There was disgust, anger, frustration- and fear.

  The last softened Alex’s resolve.

  “He didn’t mean anything by it. I asked to see after he told me about taking them, man. I asked to see them, and I asked him to print them.”

  Zach nodded, but he was clearly unmoved.

  “I knew that creep was coming to the hospital so often for a reason. He’s not even your friend, Alex.”

  “He kind of is.”

  Zach snorted derisively and stood again, this time just standing over Alex in a way that made Alex want to roll his eyes, and also just stare up at him for awhile because holy shit, who gave him the right to look that much like a fucking tree?  

  “Alex, that creep is not your friend. A friend doesn’t take pictures of you when you’re inches from death. Especially without permission. And then, he just shows you? Gives you an album of prints?”

  “I asked to see them,” Alex protested again, his voice starting to crack. “I asked for the prints.”

  “And he gave them to you, man,” Zach said loudly. “The fact that he fucking took them in the first place…”

  “Photography is just what Tyler does,” Alex rationalized back to him, but it sounded dumb and half-hearted now.

  Zach stared at him, like he could hear in the words how Alex’s energy had fallen away, like he could see the whole heap of self-flagellation and emptiness Alex kept shoving back and throwing a blanket over as if to hide and disguise its shape. Alex wondered dimly how he could in turn almost see these things register with Zach, cut into him, and then disappear behind the wall he kept in his own mind.

  “Man, screw that. It’s fucked up. These first ones, Alex? They’re from just a few days after. You were still bleeding. We still had no idea if you were going to die. You had machines helping you breathe. Even if you didn’t fucking die, the doctors kept saying that you might never wake up.”

  “I know,” Alex told him lowly, eyes burning.

  Zach shot him a wounded look then shook his head and turned away.

  “And you’re still doing this to yourself? Alex, who does this help?”

  “I don’t know, me?” tossed out. Nothing words. Empty sarcasm.

  Zach’s scoff was like a weight on his chest. Alex wanted to scream, but he was so fucking drained already.

  “Nobody wants to talk really. And nobody wants to tell me things. It’s like I’m still barely a person to everyone.”

  Zach looked back at him, long and hard, and Alex’s good shoulder pulled up automatically, as though the defensive half-shrug could temper his words.

  “Alex…” Zach blew out a hard breath. “You’re a person, okay?”

  “I know.”

  “Did looking at the pictures help?”

  “I don't know,” Alex muttered. “Maybe.”

  “It didn’t look like it,” Zach countered, his voice more gentle now.

  “Yeah, well. That’s my own shit.”

  “Right,” Zach said, “Sure.” But when Alex looked at him, his jaw was tight and working. “Maybe you want to keep your distance from him, though?”

  Alex sighed.

  “I’m not ditching Tyler, Zach. He was there for me a lot, too. Anyways, it’s not like we see each other that much. He’s busy a lot with that guy, Cyrus or whatever. And between school and PT and Jess and you and my five thousand other appointments…”

  Zach smiled.

  “We do keep you pretty busy. Speaking of which, I’m totally in for your birthday party.”

  “Oh yeah? Those fuckheads you hang around are cool with that?”

  Zach ignored the jibe and laid down flat on his back across Alex’s bed, the weight of his head on Alex’s fucked up knee heavy and warm and welcome.

  “Don’t keep looking for things that will hurt you, okay?”

  “I’m not,” Alex tried to say, but he wasn’t sure either of them could believe it.

  “I mean it. You’re doing really great. You don’t want to screw over your progress for this shit that’s happening. Even if you think you do, the rest of us don’t, man. Just… take care of yourself.”

  “I would if I could. Broken dick, remember?”

   Zach laughed loudly.

  “Fuck you, Standall. You know what I meant.”

  “You know, that’s a good point,” Alex told him. “If I’m the one getting fucked, that’s actually still pretty doable.”

  Zach shook his head, but he was grinning.

  “You know, they said personality changes were to be expected after, but listen to you now. Same old Alex. Almost, anyway.”

  “I guess,” Alex agreed, the cold in his chest again. “Almost.”

#13RW #13rw fanfiction #13 reasons why #13 reasons season 2 #alex standall #zach dempsey #zalex #ash writes stuff #tw: suicidality #tw: depression #canon disabled character #angst #lunalitsol #canon compliant