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thisentertaining · 2 years

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Martin and Gerry Foster Brothers AU part 2

In which Gerry ages out, and Martin realizes some spiders AREN’T good for the local ecosystem.

Part 1 Part 3 Ao3

Also, ignore that the boys home didn’t exist since the 60s... I didn’t see that when I was prepping. This is taking place during canon Martin’s childhood years,

“Is there any way I could tell you to stop playing with that thing without getting a 20 minute lecture about the ecosystem?”

“Maybe. If you call her by her name.”

“Ughhhh. Fine. Martin, please put the soul devouring eight-legged monstrosity that you call Petunia away. You do know Spiders aren’t supposed to live 3 years, right?”

“I know that.” Martin said as he gently placed the arachnid onto the windowsill. “This is probably Petunia the 50th or something like that. Unless you think it’s one of the Smirke monsters from the books.”

“The monsters aren’t from the books, there are just monsters and books. And the books can be monsters.”

“Right, sorry.” In the years that they had been friends, Gerry had told Martin a lot about the ‘fear entities’ that his mom had served. Martin had come to the conclusion that Mary Keay was a very, very disturbed individual and it was a very good thing that Gerry had gotten away from her when he did. That would be true even if you did believe in these dread powers and eldritch horrors. Martin… wasn’t sure if he believed.

Gerry definitely did, told stories about how ‘no these aren’t from a cigarette, there was a Leitner that turned your freckles and imperfections to burns’ and ‘Yeah my mom broke my thumb but that was the only way to stop me from reading the book that would make me go blind’ and ‘I can hold my breath for over two minutes, I had to learn because the Atlas of the Sea Leitner made you feel like you’re drowning but we needed information from it’. It had scared Martin a lot, had sent him to a school counselor actually. The nice man had gently and kindly explained that sometimes kids who were abused from a young age had odd ways to process it, to protect themselves.

That seemed… reasonable, but the one time he had broached the subject with Gerry, the teen had spit something about not being a part of the Spiral’s domain, and he knew what he saw. Martin had never mentioned it again, and he wavered. Sometimes he thought that there was no way these things could be real. Other times he thought that there was no way Gerry could have such detailed explanations for something that he made up. “Regardless, I don’t think Petunia is one. She’s not even venomous.”

“This whole place is web Martin, woven so strong that even I can’t escape.”

“Do you want to go into the city then? Just get out of the place and the webs for a bit, stretch our legs one last time? I know that they’re still there,” That was Gerry’s common argument when he mentioned going into town, “But it’s gotta feel at least a bit less oppressive, right? And besides, it’s second Saturday.”

“Right, what is that one again?”

“Miss Bunson. We can get you a pastry for your birthday.” He said the words in a tempting sing-song, smiling through the tension that was running through him at the thought of his friend’s coming of age. Gerry scowled.

“Can’t. I have to pack.” He spat the words shortly, clearly just as unhappy as Martin. There was a moment of tense silence before the older teen-now young adult- sighed. “But you don’t need to help out. It’s not like I have much. Why don’t you go down and get something for us to split.”

“I’m not leaving you. Not today. Not when-“

“You’ll be back in plenty of time to send me off, it’s not even lunchtime yet and they always come in the afternoon. Besides, I’ll be back. Or, not back, but- I’m not leaving you Martin. As soon as I get a cell phone I’ll call you, and until then I’ll write. You’re not getting rid of me that easily.”

Martin swallowed, and it was like he was 11 again, in that hospital and walking away with the social worker with a sucker in his mouth. He still couldn’t stomach peach flavoring. “Are you sure?”

“Yes.” Gerry said firmly. “I promise, Martin. I’ll be there for you. You’re like my brother, my anchor.”

Martin nodded solemnly. He wasn’t sure what anchor meant but… “Brothers. We are the family we have left.”

“And family sticks together, real family.”

The younger teen let out a deep breath. “Fine. Okay, I’ll get you your pastry.”

“Something chocolate.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Not willing to risk it, Martin grabbed Gerry into a tight hug before rushing down the road. It probably was better for him to get out of the house, and the older teen knew it. He only really messed around with Petunia when he was stressed, when things were going outside of his control. Not that he ever had any control really, he tried to grasp it when he could, but it always seemed to slip from his fingers like his handholds were no more than spiderweb.

Oh, that was a good one, he should use it for his next poem. Maybe he could get beyond an honorable mention for once.

Arriving to town, Martin alternated between shy smiles and obtrusive head ducks as he wove through the buildings. After so many years, the village knew him well, and he knew who to avoid. He also knew who he could convince to do some bending of the rules if a sufficiently polite and shy abandoned child hinted to it. Miss Bunson was one of them.

She owned a small bakery in town, and had an agreement with her family to go on a blind date at least once a month. She was hopeful, but either she was extremely picky or her family were really bad at figuring out her type, because come the next day she was disappointed, bitter, and lonely. She felt bad about really ranting to her family though, but was more than willing to complain to a strange child who one day discovered that she would ply him with free desserts for as long as he looked earnest and made the right commiserating noises.

While it would look weird to any observer, it was a good deal for both. She got to vent out all of her anger to a neutral party, and he got the kind of treats that they rarely got at the boy’s home. Also, there was something nice about seeing that not all adults have their lives together. That even people with their own businesses and families and friends could sill feel… lonely sometimes. He also hoped for the day that she would actually come with good news, she really was a sweet person, it would be nice to see that loneliness end.

The bell on the door cheered just as happily as ever when Martin bounded through the door, though he had to duck when he accidentally hit a bit of a wreath that had been put up. He was going through a growth spurt and sometimes still struggled with realizing how tall he was. Mum had been fairly slight, but in his memories of his father, the man was towering. He had no clue how tall he would get, but he was already catching up to the 17- er- 18 year old Gerry. “Hi Miss Bunson! Hope you’re doing well! I just wanted to duck in to see if your date las night was better than the last one.”

“Ugh! Martin take a seat. You would not believe what they did. So, we went to that fancy place over on fifth, awesome great, but then-“

___

Martin stepped out of the bakery with a deep breath, finding the bracing cold and clean scent almost a relief after the oven-warmed bakery and the myriad of scents. It was kinda funny, the way stepping into the bakery had been such a welcome thing when he stepped in. Contrasts he supposed. He waved at the window as he left the homey spot behind, chuckling to himself. For as unfortunate as these dates ended up being, Ms.Bunson sure made them entertaining to hear about.

Martin brought his backpack around to put the pastries away- a chocolate peppermint tart that was overwhelmingly peppermint-y. The bakery was still very much experimenting with their holiday flavors and this was a bit strong. Gerry would probably like it though, he went through mint gum like mad.

A rough shoulder bumped into Martin and the teen had to scramble not to drop the treat. He looked up to see one of the bigger jerks at the home sneering at him as he swaggered away. Martin looked away timidly. Without Gerry he didn’t tend to pick fights with the meaner kids, and besides nothing at this boy’s home got worse than a few shoves and mean words anyway. He could ignore it, he was used to it.

The stranger thing was that the boy was in the village at all. He and the cronies around him tended to stay in the common room, hogging the telly and making the younger boys too nervous to enter. He almost never came into the village proper like this unless…

Fear shot through Martin and he sprinted off, stuffing the pastry into his pocket and ignoring his half-open backpack. The only time that they came into the village were those odd moments where everyone collectively left the building when someone was being aged out. It was a wordless understanding to give the now-homeless teen their privacy to leave, respected by even the biggest lowlifes of the home, but that meant-

Martin felt like he was fighting something as he ran to the house, like he was sludging through muck or being pulled back, but he kept his mind on his brother and carried forward, even as he panted through a familiar path that really shouldn’t be this much effort.

He arrived just as Gerry was led through the door, his eyes blown wide in fear even as he walked emotionlessly behind Mr.Fielding. The caretaker glared at Martin. “What are you doing here?” He sneered. “You’re supposed to be in the village.”

Martin struggled to breath through his reply. “I-I wasn’t going to let Gerry go without being here to see him off.”

Something was wrong. Something was very very wrong. Why wasn’t Gerry saying anything? Why wasn’t he moving? Why was he looking at him like that?

Raymond scowled, and Martin was preparing to beg, when something… odder happened. The man’s hair… parted strangly, moving in a way contrary to the wind, and Martin was almost certain he saw something-several somethings- shifting in it. Tension left the man’s body and he nodded almost absently. “You’ll come with us, then. He always wants more, after all.”

But I’m only 15. Martin wanted to say. Who is ‘he’ and what does he want? But he found himself unable to open his mouth. His body seemed to move without his permission, following dully behind Mr.Fielding. All at once, Martin understood Gerry’s odd behavior, and believed his stories without a doubt for the first time.

This… whatever this was, it was the work of monsters beyond the ‘coping mechanisms’ the counselor had gone on about. This was real and it was terrifying. He followed the two older men into a basement he’d never known existed, where he was surrounded by human-sized bundles of white and walked through spiderweb after spiderweb, despite following behind two people who should have broken them.

His legs shook with effort as he mentally tried with everything had to escape, despite his legs no longer seeming to be of his control. Gerry’s breathing was heavy and terrified, and Martin’s matched it’s cadence. It felt like he was struggling against bonds that moved him on, hooks and ropes moving him that he couldn’t control no matter how he fought.

From the ceiling, a- a beast descended. It looked like a spider, black and bulbous with a body bigger than Martin’s girth and Gerry’s height combined. The fangs themselves seemed to be the length of an ear of corn, dripping with noxious-looking venom. Martin shuddered from his place, fighting against invisible bonds without moving as Gerry took step to painful-looking step closer to the beast.

At his hand, he felt the familiar tickle of Petunia crawling on his hand, and for the first time ever wanted to brush her off. She, or whatever spider was crawling on him, avoided his fingertips as it scuttled back and forth along his hand and wrist. The back side of his brain, the hindbrain that was in extreme denial that any of this was happening at all, noted that she was avoiding his hands because of the peppermint. He’d read once that it was a insect deterrent.

Oh. Well. He was about to do something absolutely monumentally stupid, wasn’t he?

Martin stopped fighting against the bonds, stopped trying to run away. He instead moved towards the beast, quickly overtaking the still-struggling Gerry. It was like he’d been struggling against a rubber band the whole time, like it was so used to people pushing back, it wasn’t ready for someone to step forward, to come towards the spider. The beast itself seemed surprised, looking up at Martin in surprise as it opened it’s mouth to brandish fang and mandible at him.

Quickly, Martin pulled his wax paper bag out of his pocket, shoving the hopefully-poisonous tart down the creatures throat. Whether the peppermint was truly effective or if the creatures was just choking, it didn’t matter. It worked well enough to break both of them from their hold. Raymond roared in anger, a wholly foreign sound from a usually mild-mannered man. Gerry didn’t hesitate, flying at the man and decking him across the face. The man’s head crumbled like it was a puppet head, or a bundle of something-flimsy making up the shape of a man, and Spiders started swarming out. With a cry of fear, both teen’s ran to escape the basement, shoving the door closed behind them.

Gerry started running down the hill, but Martin turned towards the building. “What are you doing?” The older teen asked, terror still ringing through his eyes. “The’re going to get into the house!”

“They- They’ll just come after everyone else if we can’t- if we don’t- if-“

The goth jumped back and forth before his face set with resolve, as though he wasn’t sure he agreed, but he was determined to follow Martin regardless. They ran into the house. “What’s the plan?” Martin asked.

“What?” Gerry asked, incredulous. “This was your idea!”

“Well I don’t know how these things work! You’re the expert!”

“If I was the expert at killing these things, they’d already be dead! I’ve lived here for years.” The boy shook his head, trying to think. “Fire? I think fire usually works. Unless its one of the fire ones.”

“And this isn’t a fire one, right?”

“No! It’s a Spider one!”

“Well I just wanted to be sure, I don’t know!”

Martin ran to the kitchen, and the two boys ransacked through the draws, searching desperately for a book of matches. For a long moment, there were no sounds but the clattering of drawers and cutlery, and the ever-loudening sound of thousands of scuttling feet coming closer and closer.

Martin looked up and yelped, seeing the familiar sight of Agnes standing silently next to the stove and kettle with the same placid expression she always had when asking him for tea. Despite being around 20, she was still here. He had no clue how she had avoided the evil spiders. “Wait- w-what are you- I thought everyone- never mind it doesn’t matter. I don’t have time for tea, we need to find matches!”

The girl did not reply verbally, as was normal, and instead simply cocked her head in a curious expression. “W-w-we I- There are spider monsters in the basement! People have- there are bodies down there, they’re killing all the boys who aged out. We-we-“

“We’re stopping it.” Gerry interrupted Martin’s terrified blundering. “Everyone’s gone so we’re burning this place to the ground, keep it from happening to everyone else.”

Martin could count the number of times that he’s heard Agnes speak on one hand, and they’d ‘hung out’ for years. Still, he’d never heard her speak so much as she did then.

The girl smiled and spoke with a voice like an aged smoker, with a bit of puberty’s voice breaks cutting in, though on her they sounded like a crackle of flame. “That sounds like fun.”

Then she turned and, no match or lighter in sight, touched the cloth curtain over the nearest window. It burst into flames.

For a moment, neither Martin nor Gerry said anything. Then, Gerry swallowed. “That works.” And he sprinted out the door. Martin followed as the fire started spreading to the wall. He turned when he realized Agnes hadn’t moved. “Hurry!” He called. “Come on.”

She looked surprised, then smiled the soft-fond smile she gave back when he’d handed her the first cup of tea. “I’m fine.” She stepped into the growing flames. “I’ll be picked up soon, but I want to watch it burn. It’s beautiful.”

Martin swallowed, mouth dry from exertion, heat, and fear. Then, without another word, the fifteen year old ran for the exit, ignoring the pained whining of thousands of dying spiders behind him. Looking down the hill, Marin could see the village starting to stir as the burning building was first noticed by those below, but Gerry had gone the opposite direction, waiting for Martin by the woods. The younger teen joined his brother and they watched the orange flames lick higher and higher up the house.

No spiders tried to escape.

#TMA #the magnus archives #the magnus archives fanfiction #tma fanfic #tma fanfiction #gerry keay #gerard keay #martin blackwood #agnes montague #raymond fielding

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seradae · 1 year

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I have a hard time this time of year. I always have, for various reasons; Christmas to me has always been the prelude to New Years, which comes a day before my birthday. When I was young, I dreaded it because it cast attention on me. When I was a teen, I dreaded it because it meant another year stuck in hell. When I was a young adult, I hated it because I wasted another year.

That last one is the one that stuck around the most. I had a list of goals, and every year I could look at it and say "well, I got mildly closer on one, but that basically rounds to zero. I accomplished nothing this year." Then I started knocking stuff off my list, and over a span of 3 years, I had nothing left.

Since then, I haven't known how to feel. I cursed my kid with a birthday that falls right after Christmas, so I try to focus more on her than my own struggles, but this year it's hard.

For most people, I feel like New Years represents a time to hope: hope for a better self, hope for a prosperous year, hope for the world. So I try to emulate that and have hope, and usually I'm pretty damn good at it. But this year just feels different.

I'm having a really hard time finding things to be hopeful about. I keep thinking about the escalating war in Ukraine and how -- through a fairly short, predictable, and utterly mundane series of events -- 2023 could be a year with more deaths than births. Ever since that phrasing made it into my head, I can't help but dwell on it.

I know that's my anxiety speaking, but it got hold of a fucking megaphone and won't let go. So yet again, I go into a new year kicking and screaming, wishing to just make up new months so I don't have to face it. So I can breathe.

I know that in a few days it'll be over and I can stop these thought spirals, but if there's one thing I hate more than the precipitous drop, it's the slow climb to reach it.

#personal #mental illness

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niennandil-me-writes · 2 years

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walk beneath the stars

CN: anxiety, spiralling

[a little birthday writing for Noel (papp_n_paper on twitter). Tony belongs to them, November belongs to @constantlytiredghost. this takes place at the end of our Stormchaser run.]

Found my friends, I'm not dead, here we go again What's the time? How long has it been? Help me come alive, sail across the sky, take me further Can we last all night again?

Hayley Kiyoko - Found My Friends

„Well, who won?“ Tony’s voice was a whisper, but they made up for that by increasing the volume, so it carried down from the crow’s nest to the deck where Wilhelmina was standing.

“Uh…” Wilhelmina adjusted her glasses. “I couldn’t really tell,” she mumbled. “You were both pretty fast, so I think…” She trailed off.

“So it’s a tie,” Tony said. Wilhelmina could tell November was nodding even from the distance, because her big hat was bobbing along with it.

Wilhelmina exhaled in relief. She had almost expected them to be disappointed by the lack of a result, even angry at her for not paying closer attention. Which, at this point, was a stupid thing to think. If they wanted to find a fault in Wilhelmina, they had had so many chances, so why still wait? Wilhelmina had been forced to accept that Tony and November (and Kobalt, and maybe even the rest of the hired group and the crew but she did not want to think about that, she did not want to consider that) actually liked her. And still, she couldn’t shake that feeling, that dread of waiting for the other shoe to drop, like it so often did. In the end, she always expected to be excluded, and usually she made it easy for herself and everyone else by shutting them out, pushing them away, making herself hated before anyone else could hate her of their own volition. She couldn’t do that here, though. Not with these people. Not with people who made it so hard for her to hate them. Not with Tony, and not with November either.

“Hey, Wilhelmina!”

Tony’s call ripped her out of her thoughts and sent that little shock through her body that oh so often preceded an unconsciously called bubble of Darkness forming around her. But she could keep it together this time, though the shadows must be covering her entire face now. She realized she’d been spiralling again.

At least Tony and November didn’t seem to have noticed.

“Do you want to come up here as well?” November asked.

Or maybe they had simply ignored it.

Wilhelmina shook her head.

“Oh, are you scared of heights?” November asked, but Tony already shook her head. They had asked her the same question.

High places didn’t scare Wilhelmina, especially not after what had happened during the storm – what scared her was being up there in a close space with two people, and no polite way to leave if she didn’t know what to say or how to behave and what if she stepped on one of them while scrambling over the edge of the crow’s nest, what if she poked them with her horns accidentally, what if she was a general nuisance? No, she preferred to stay down here, at a safe distance, where nobody could take any issues with her.

She heard quiet whispering exchanged between Tony and November. Good. Let them have fun together without her. That was much more probable anyway.

Then Tony called again: “Wait a moment, Wilhelmina.”

She looked up and saw Tony had stood up. They stepped up to the rim, their wide dark cloak billowing in the wind. Their eyes gleamed a bit lighter, and then they put one foot forward into the air, where it found purchase. They stepped forward, and one foot in front of the other walked downwards like on an invisible staircase. The sight was mesmerizing in itself.

Finally, Tony came to a halt directly in front of Wilhelmina, levitating one foot off the planks of the ship. They smiled at her and held out a hand.

Wilhelmina instinctively took a small step back and then felt her face darken in embarrassment.

“Come on, it’ll be fun.” Tony’s smile didn’t waver, and they didn’t pull away their hand.

Wilhelmina bit her lip and then took Tony’s hand.

It felt like moonlight touching her skin. A feeling of lightness came over her as Tony pulled her up to them, like she wasn’t flying but rather submerged in a weightless space where she could float, like ink dripped in water. It felt like time had slowed and she was falling, but in slow motion. And then she wondered how many of those sensations came from Tony’s magic and how many from Tony grasping her hand and wrapping their other arm around her shoulder to pull her up into the air. Wilhelmina felt heat rise to her cheeks and for once she was happy for the involuntary magical shadows clouding her face.

“Everything alright?” Tony asked.

Wilhelmina nodded mechanically.

Tony took a step forward and upward. As she was pulled along, Wilhelmina reflexively moved her legs as well, even though logically she knew that there was no place to put her feet. She could feel her heart beating faster and hoped Tony didn’t notice. She wished she didn’t have to be so close, but –

“Don’t worry, I’ve got you.”

Wilhelmina looked up at Tony in surprise and only now noticed that she was holding their hand in a tight grasp. She felt the cold of the shadows join the heat on her cheeks.

“Sorry, I…” She trailed off. What was she supposed to say? That she was still kind of expecting them to let go at just the right moment for her to crash on the deck and break and never get up again? That that was what she was always secretly waiting for?

“You don’t have to apologize, Wilhelmina.” Tony’s voice sounded a bit hesitant now as well. “Sorry, I shouldn’t have talked you into this. Do you want to go back down?”

Her first instinct was to nod, but this time she shut that down. She considered it for a moment. Looked up to the crow’s nest that was already so close. November was leaning over the rim, waving her hands at them, smiling. Wilhelmina swallowed down her fear and shook her head, directed her gaze at to the side for distraction. From here, she could see over the railing of the ship, at the clouds below it, and beyond those the starry sky stretching to infinity.

Four more steps and they arrived at the crow’s nest. Tony set her down inside. As soon as they let go of her, Wilhelmina felt the weight return to her body and stumbled. November held out her arms to support her. When she had regained her balance, she sat down, back against the wooden planks, knees drawn up to her chest.

Tony floated down as well now, sitting closer to November. “That was a lot nicer than last time we both got up here, don’t you think?” they said to Wilhelmina.

She nodded her head. Last time had been the storm. She had felt just as weightless then, but in a frightening way. She had also held on to Tony just as tightly.

“It’s beautiful up here, isn’t it?” November said, her hand holding her hat as she raised her face up to the stars.

Wilhelmina nodded again and noticed that she was shaking.

November looked over to her “Are you cold?”

“I guess I am,” she lied. “I’m sorry, I left my coat in my room. Maybe I should head down again – “

Before she could even get up, Tony had undone the clasp of their cloak and thrown the wide fabric over everyone in the crow’s nest like a blanket.

“Better?” they asked.

Wilhelmina nodded, a bit perplexed.

“Oh, this is so comfortable,” November said. She edged closer to Wilhelmina, so the cloak was easier to share, and Tony did the same. An internal scream was building up inside her mind, and it was begging to be let out, directed at Tony and November, demanding to leave her alone, to keep their distance, to let her leave and go to her room and lock herself in, so she could… do what? Sit there, all alone, in a sleepless night, paging through the books that barely interested her? Would that really be that much better? Or would she just imagine what it could have been like if she had stayed? Worse, would she imagine November and Tony being happy without her? Would she imagine them doing what she didn’t dare to do?

She held the scream in. And tried to relax a bit. And only now noticed that neither of them were touching her, keeping a bit of distance, like they knew it could become overwhelming for her. Searching for a distraction, Wilhelmina looked up at the stars.

“You know the constellations, don’t you, Tony?” she said, trying to keep her voice steady.

Tony’s eyes gleamed in the darkness, like they were two stars themselves. “Yes, do you know about them as well?” There was that sound again in their voice, that genuine admiration, that was so strange to Wilhelmina. The thought of disappointing them scared her, but still, she shook her head.

“Barely. Astronomy was one of the few subjects my parents weren’t interested in. They said it’s better to keep your eyes on the things in front of you. But,” she said, a bit panicked now. “You could show them to us. If you want. I’d be interested.” And then she shut herself up.

“I’d like to know as well,” November said.

Now Tony seemed a bit flustered, but excited as well. “Well, if you’re interested, let me see, where to start… You see those two star clusters, kind of round?” they called out then excitedly and pointed up into the sky. “We call those Where Selûne Looks Back, though I think they have a different name that’s more commonly known.”

Wilhelmina followed their finger with her eyes and looked up at the oval constellations. “I think I’ve heard them called Eyes of the Watching Woman,” she said.

“Yes, that’s it.”

“Wait, where?” November asked.

Wilhelmina pointed up as well. “To the west, right next to that big star.”

November leaned in closer to better follow Wilhelmina’s pointing. Her shoulder bumped against her arm. She shivered, and not just because November’s skin was colder than hers, but she didn’t seem to notice.

“Oh, I see!”

Tony continued talking about the constellation, it’s meaning and significance in culture and navigation. Then they went on to the next star cluster, showing them Auroth the Ice Snake, the Centaur, the Sleepless Knights, and many more.

As they pointed out one after the other, the three people in the crow’s nest moved closer and closer under the cloak. November put her hand in Wilhelmina’s, and Tony wrapped their tail around hers, seemingly without noticing. And for once, Wilhelmina didn’t feel uncomfortable. She listened closely to their words and held on to both of them.

#my writing #oc writing #astony fogspire #november la morte #wilhelmina twist #stormchaser #blu babes #fluff #i care these three a lot

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drowsyiris · 2 years

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August has always been one of my least favourite months. It’s made worse by the fact that birthday falls during the first week or so. I’ve always wanted to have a fun birthday but that’s never really been something I could have.

This August has somehow been the worst one yet. I don’t know if it’s the heat or the way my body has stopped functioning properly that is making me feel this way, but I just feel so done.

I’m sick to death of spending all of my time alone indoors, but my body prevents me from leaving. I consider myself to have friends. It doesn’t matter that they’re all on tumblr and that I don’t know their names. They’re my friends. Anytime I see a notification from one of them something in me lights up.

Sometimes I deliberately post or reblog things in hopes that they see it, just so that I can get that same feeling.

But still. It aches to not be able to touch or hug someone. I think it’s been seven years since I last had a hug. Unless my dog counts? Although even she has stopped cuddling me lately. She’s taken to hiding in other parts of the house. I wish I knew why but maybe it’s just because she’s old now.

This August isn’t even over but I’m dreading September. I was at one point incredibly excited about this coming September. Despite being in my twenties I was meant to be attending college this September to study things that I’ve always been incredibly excited about. I busted my ass of last year to get the grades I needed so that I could apply and in February, despite the already present daily pain and discomfort I attended my interview and was accepted on the spot.

Just three weeks ago I had to email and drop out. My body has only grown weaker and weaker and I don’t know why. Doctors keep telling me it’s all in my head. That I’m not feeling this much pain and all of my other symptoms don’t exist. It’s all in my head they say. It’s because I’m depressed, isolated and lonely. Why don’t I try and leave the house? And put myself out there and do things?

Right. Because someone who cries as they try and sit up in bed in the morning is capable of leaving the house and joining a group and making friends.

August is still going and whilst I hate the summer I’m scared of the winter. How much more isolated can I possibly get? Will I end up harming myself this winter? Breaking my many days of sobriety?

I don’t know how much more my body can take.

I was somehow able to write so many fics these past few weeks. I don’t know how I did it but the words kept flowing. Now I feel as dry as the grass outside of my house. I don’t want to force myself to write. But sometimes I wonder if half of my issues are because I don’t force myself. What if my illness is all just psychosomatic and I’m just letting myself waste away? But how am I supposed to force myself to do things? Besides what will I do? Do I have any hobbies or interests? Who am I?

Why do I always end up spiralling like this? Why can’t I ever be happy? Why am I always feeling so down? Why can’t I just be normal?

I don’t know how long I’ve been crying but I can’t really see the screen anymore, my throat hurts but I just want to scream. Why can’t I stop feeling like this? Why do I have to be me?

#teddy rants and gets emo on the timeline #might delete later #just needed to yell into the void #im just exhausted #and low-key wishing I was dead #None of this makes sense #It’s just a big brain dump of whatever garbage is floating around in my head

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warmau · 3 years

Text

a sinking feeling has you rooted to the floor. staring at the lock of your front door as someone knocks politely over and over again.

“what are you doing?”

your mother’s voice gusts past you like a breeze, she leans over your frozen figure and turns the knob.

you step back to avoid being hit by the door and dread the light that washes over your mothers face

“doyoung! come in!”

he steps through and all you catch is a bit of side profile, hidden behind the gigantic plant he’s holding

“oh! that’s the orchid your mother was just up in a fit about? come here sweetie, place it on the kitchen table -”

his footsteps echo and you shrink a little, he didn’t even look at me.

you’re thankful for your mothers insolent obsession with being a good host and trudge your way back to your room

doyoung is in your house.

which is weird, the first time he was in your house - you knew, obviously, but he was uninvited. your mother didn’t welcome him through the door.

now - for the past month - after both his mother and yours had come to a unbreakable bond over their indoor houseplants

doyoung has very much been a presence, an invited presence, a presence everyone but you seemed to be delighted about

“he’s such a nice boy, he’s spending his summers tutoring younger kids and i see him biking all around town.”

your mother gushes almost every time at dinner after doyoung leaves - delivering whatever ailing plant his mother has sent to yours to fix and play botanist with

you pick at your food

yeah, he’s a nice boy. that’s what makes this all so much worse.

now - you’re laying on your sheets with your hand on your stomach and staring up at the wall thinking very much the same thought.

he’s so nice, and so perfect, and everything anyone ever dreams of. why am i such an idiot for not wanting that?

you drum your fingers and again spiral back into the memory that keeps itself wedged between you and him like a piece of food that’s stuck so sternly between teeth, no pushing at it with your tongue helps.

summer starts in ten days, officially you know - by the university calendar. you’re supposed to be focusing on a final paper for some elective politics class you took, but you’re not. you’re staring at the back of doyoung’s neck. he sits in front of you for most lectures.

“hey, do you know anything about this military-first politics and nuclear armament essay prompt the professor gave us?”

doyoung turns slowly, blinking at you from behind his thin-wired classes, “yeah - it’s been the topic of discussion and reading for like a week.”

you know you sound kind of stupid to even ask - but you will admit, politics isn’t your thing and it seems to really be doyoungs - so you smile, with a please pity me kind of look in your eye. doyoung sighs, but he gets up and slides into the seat beside you - opening up the half blank word document on your laptop.

that’s it. that’s all it was going to be. doyoung helping you skid by, so that your summer isn’t ruined by a shitty grade.

but that’s not what happens. at all.

doyoung instead spends a lot of time helping you write a good enough paper to pull through a B-.

that means a lot of alone time in the library, in study hall, in the empty halls of the school buildings where classes have ended and no one is around.

it’s a lot of being shoulder to shoulder with him, realizing how nice he always smells - how long his fingers are when they type - how he doesn’t have a significant other because no one except his friends ever end up interrupting you.

it’s the day after you get your grades for the semester, something about getting the paper back sparks a fire in you

you scope doyoung out at the coffeeshop and exclaim that you and him did it!

a couple of heads whip around, did it?, you quickly add some mumbling about the paper.

doyoung laughs, it’s the first time you’ve heard the genuine sound, because most of the time he just makes a half-sided smirk or chuckle.

you buy him an iced latte as repayment and somehow end up walking out of there with side by side.

doyoung asks if you live near by if you don’t dorm, you say you do. he does too. that’s weird - you’ve never seen him around the neighborhood.

after that you pretend it’s a blur. because truth be told it isn’t.

you and doyoung are going to be taking the same train anyway, why not take it together. you and doyoung are going to know the same little places around town, why not talk about them.

why not? why not? why not?

why not invite him inside when you’re back in your hometown, why not lead him up to your room just so he can see it and why not kiss him when he leans over you.

people your age do it all the time, they hookup. that’s the only answer to that stupid hanging ‘why not?’

so when you felt doyoung’s fingers graze down your side and he’d clumsily gotten his glasses off just in time for you to pull his shirt up over his head

you were convinced it meant nothing. you were convinced he thought the same.

then it all happens and you can’t take it back.

especially not the part where you’re laying on your bed, just like you are now, waiting for doyoung to start gathering his things and instead a hand loops around your sweaty waist.

“aren’t you going to leave?”

the words blurt out of your mouth before you even think about it.

the tension that stalled in the room had been so horrible you swore you’d felt it seep into every pore, damn near trickling itself down the walls.

doyoung had darkened, pulled himself away from you, and disappeared before you could string together your next thought.

part of you had been relieved, the other part felt like the biggest asshole on the planet.

you were just grateful the rest of the summer could easily be passed by keeping away from each other - until your mother had found her new best friend.

downstairs you can hear doyoung shuffling around with your mothers plants, you can’t make out what they’re saying, but you’re sure your mother is inviting him to stay and eat with you. asking doyoung about his amazing future plans to become a lawyer. enthralled by everything he is as a child and that you, most likely, are not.

when he finally leaves and the commotions die down you can’t get up

this is the most confusing moment.

not the whole ignoring each other when he pops over, not the whole reliving the past from just a glimpse.

it’s why - when it happened, you had been so content with it just staying nothing - you had been the one to make that decision for the both of you

yet

why does it seem like you’re wallowing in it, clinging to it, imaging it all over

every time he comes over

because you didn’t just want a hook-up. you wanted doyoung and were playing it off because having a crush on him isn’t worth it right?

your mind coils itself through a storm

you thought he only wanted to sleep with you too, because the thought of someone as good as doyoung liking you just doesn’t make sense?

despite the summer heat, you feel cold

you’re not good enough to actually be liked, to be the person doyoung chooses for something more than just your-

your phone rings and you sit up so fast it gives you a headache, you feel around and bring it to your ear without checking the number

“hello?”

“our mothers are trying to set us up on a date.”

you want to be anywhere in the world, but here.

doyoung’s blank expression doesn’t let you know if he feels the same, but the way he won’t get in at least eight feet of you is telling enough.

you’re in his backyard, well technically you’re in his neighbors backyard, because he doesn’t want to be visible behind the hedges

rather be caught dead than be next to me, right?

you shrill at yourself and try to bury the wince you make internally

“i think you should just tell them you have another boyfriend.”

“i can’t lie to my mother.”

you start and doyoung watches you chew on your lower lip and retreat defensively a step back

“why not?”

“she’s noisy - she’ll find out. she’ll insist until i die to meet this ‘other boyfriend’. plus i’m not a good liar.”

“really? could have fooled me.”

doyoung straightens himself as he says that, eyes unblinking behind the frames of his glasses

i probably deserve that. well actually-

“doyoung, i never promised you anything when we-”

the words wilt and doyoung suddenly looks over his shoulder.

“you’re right, you never promised me anything. im the one who was a fool for ever thinking it was something.”

you look at the grass.

you wonder, if you had not said that one sentence - aren’t you going to leave - would this summer be different?

would you and doyoung be spending every second together, holding each other at the beach? kissing under the fireworks? sharing ice-cream and diving into pools filled of water and your laughter?

the thought blooms something in your chest

i wish - i wish it was that.

“you say i should lie, but you’re pretty good at it too doyoung.”

“excuse me?”

“it’s not like you - it’s not like you really wanted it to be anything more than it was.”

you think the grass is going to burst into flames with how hard you’re concentrating on it.

“what, you’re telling me-” you swallow “you’re telling me you actually wanted to be with me after? our mothers are trying to get us to go on a date and you called me out here just to avoid that.”

he leans forward

“if you are trying to make me the only guilty party here-”

he’s closer and you feel your voice shake a little, but you try to push to the end of your thought.

“im not, you never made any effort to make it seem like you had any genuine emotion so am i so wrong for just assuming it was just se-”

his hands, large and gentle, manage to find your shoulders and doyoung presses his lips to yours

you stiffen from the external shock, but then relax under the light grip

his breath smells sweet, like he’s been chewing bubblegum, he’s wearing the same cologne he does at university

“i don’t just sleep with people.”

he whispers against your mouth

“nothing against it, but i don’t think there’s a point to sharing something intimate with someone who i don’t want in every possible way.”

when you and doyoung agree to go on a date - both your mothers lose it. they’re convinced you’re soulmates.

although you and doyoung both agree they’re thinking way too far ahead in the future - it doesn’t mask the fact that the attraction that ends up forming between you two is undeniable

doyoung is so determined and intently goal orientated that you would think there isn’t the capacity to have fun in one bone in his body, but that’s not true

when he’s comfortable, he’s charming and full of humor - he makes you double over with laughter more than you could have imagined

and you aren’t as spacey and shy as doyoung might have assumed either, you have a competitive streak and you make doyoung feel like this is the summer of his life

the summer of his life that someone could probably make a decent coming of age film out of

he brings it up after you two exit a movie that was just about the same topic and you look down at your hands intertwined and shake your head

“no they’d never cast the right people to play us.”

doyoung sees the reflection of the milky way in your eyes, but he doesn’t say it

“no one on this planet is like you.”

he returns this sentiment with a small kiss that bumps this glasses against the bridge of your nose.

you get nervous sometimes when you think about how the summer started, it’s not like you’re living in the middle ages where intimacy is a sin before eternal commitment or anything

no you just get nervous because the reason you ever even made that situation as bad as it was, was because of your insecurity

does doyoung actually like me? did two weeks of being together at school make him realize something about me is worth it?

you can’t ask him that - even though sometimes you want to, so you can explain why you hadn’t just rolled over and nuzzled yourself into the dip of his chest

much like you do now - you fit so perfectly right between his arms

instead it sometimes gnaws at you until doyoung is cleaning his glasses over your sink and you’re sitting in the bathtub looking at him

your parents are ironically over at doyoungs for some wine party or whatever and although your mothers are in awe about you two being “a cute lil couple”

they see that - cute, part of it makes you snort. you and doyoung sometimes act more mature than they do.

“i always knew you were staring at me in lecture.” he starts and a little smirk pulls at his long lips

you flick some of the water at him and he leans against the counter

he doesn’t like baths, he prefers showers, but he still stays in the room with you when you take them

“i wasn’t staring at you.”

“you were staring at the back of my neck.”

you look away because fair, not like he spends a lot of time looking away from the professor.

“so i knew you liked me, or something about me. that’s why it hurt.”

“when we-”

“yes and i like being logical, so not having a real answer for why that all happened like it did still haunts me.”

he tilts his head and you see the line of his thin collarbones through his shirt

“i thought you’d say it first.”

he blinks

“i thought you’d say something like, that was cool. ill see you at uni come fall. and then leave. so i mean, i didn’t even say go leave - i asked, aren’t you going to leave?”

doyoung is smart so he gets what you’re saying in the most roundabout way possible

he walks over and squats down, leans over the ridge of the bath to kiss you and doesn’t complain when you bring your soapy hands up to cradle his neck

“im sorry i did leave, i should have just said what i felt right there.”

he mutters and you nod. you should have said it too.

when you and doyoung graduate and he goes on to law school and you start working, you almost break up - twice - because of the stress

but somehow neither of you can ever ask the other one

aren’t you going to leave?

because neither of you ever really wants to.

so you don’t, you stay through all the hardships, through every argument and bump in the road.

you stay, you choose to stay and so does he and you might not even fall asleep next to each other on some days but the heat of the person you love is always there.

and then doyoung gets his first big promotion at his job, runs all the way home with the news and ends up breathing hard and talking nonsense to you in your shared kitchen

“you need a shower.”

you say, wiping the sweat from his forehead as he shakes his head, no. he needs a bath.

you lean back against his chest, stronger and broader as he’s aged.

he looks down at you and even the eyebags that have gotten darker with all that work he does don’t do anything to make him less attractive

you peck his chin, because it’s what you can reach.

“if we sit here any longer we’re going to prune.”

“are you going to be the first one to leave?”

he asks and you shake your head.

you’ll sit here forever if that’s what it takes.

on the counter of the bathroom, there’s one of the houseplants your mothers keeps shipping to you.

you don’t notice that it’s the same orchid that doyoung carried into your house all those years ago, when you thought he hadn’t even looked at you when your mother opened the door.

he curls a strand of your wet hair around his finger.

he had looked at you, quickly, but he had done it.

even half covered by orchid leaves, you’d made his mouth dry.

“no seriously though - we will prune.”

“i’ll get up if you get up?”

i’ll never leave, the only way i’ll leave is if it means im taking you with me.

#im late..........dont look at me #happy late bday king #doyoung au #doyoung scenarios #doyoung imagines #nct au #nct scenarios #nct imagines #nct #doyoung #nct 127 #nct u #nct 127 imagines #nct 127 au #nct 127 scenarios #member: doyoung #kim doyoung au #nostolgic au #suggestive/

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hhjs · 3 years

Text

forget me not.

♡ based on — "During times of war. I want to say: I only love you, And I cling you, Like the peel clings to a pomegranate, Like the tear clings to the eye, Like the knife clings to the wound." and the song nightlife by daydream masi.

♡ summary — Hyunjin's unsure of the tingle in his gut, why it's happening. But he thinks, just for a second, it feels a little like hope.

wherein, putting your heart on the line for the sake of doing favours isn’t a frequent component in your schedule. But what happens when this favour is asked for by the boy you may or may not have fancied for far too long?

You accept it.

For a very embarrassing reason, really, which is — you think Hwang Hyunjin needs you.

♡ pairing— hwang hyunjin x reader

♡ word count— 8.8k whoopsies

♡ genre and alternate universe — angst, fluff + hanahaki au.

♡ author's note— this was supposed to be a drabble and then i sort of lost my fucking mind ehe...also this is easily the worst thing i have ever written im so sorry aaa but this is a lil present from my end hahaha

♡ warnings— suggestive content, vomiting, mention of blood. allusions to depression and heartbreak.

Amongst other things, you're extremely bad at saying 'no'. You don't mean the word per se...but the underlying connotation of this very monosyllable which may come at the expense of letting another person down.

It's sort of stupid, you understand, your friends have constantly voiced their worries for your extremely complacent nature more often than you'd think actually. But it all goes over your head. See — old habits really do die hard.

When you're eight, this very defect takes you to dreadful saxophone lessons your mum spoke so highly of. When you're 15, it gets you called to the principal's office for flashing Jeongin trigonometric functions in Mister Choi's pop quiz, when you're older, things are definitely no different.

The passenger seat is occupied, Hyunjin's holding a tangled muffler to his suede jacket clad chest. At 21, he's become someone you used to know. A friend of a friend, Felix's to be very specific. But the man in question, who was supposed to be his ride, passes off this duty for kegstands and you just happen to be the designated driver for the night, shuffling Jisung beside Changbin and Chan, who claims to be 'sober' even though he's half asleep.

Hyunjin is uncharacteristically quiet.

There's a polite smile on rendered your way as your eyes meet. A small curvature along his plump bottom lip, tighter around the edges. Still this simple formality is so beautiful that you feel something inside you come alive.

When Jisung starts snoring, you flip on the radio and Pink Floyd's Wish You Were Here comes on.

Your fingers feel numb when they come to tap out a rhythm to the track. It's nice. Tingling guitar riffs swelling, David Gilmour's gruffy voice pours in from faulty speakers. The more the song progresses, the more you find yourself attempting to think about anything that will distract you from the boy beside you, in the flesh no less.

So late at night, the main road is eerily silent. Cobblestones reflecting the sound of tires thumping against its layout, streetlights blinking at you from their drooping heads. Across the street, a baker is tucking away leftover bread and buskers are packing up their beat up guitars, a man in his late 50's pulling his blanket to his nose as he rests a head full of gray hair on the cold pavement.

You glance at Hyunjin from the corner of your eye and find that his staggering smile has completely disappeared. Now there's a distant glaze in his eyes. It's like he's here, in this moment, with you, but at the same time, he's somewhere else.

Under the impression you've done something wrong, you immediately begin to panic. But the thing is, you don't actually know if you should ask. Would it constitute as crossing a line if you had anyway?

Hyunjin covers his mouth with a sleeve, muffled retching building beyond fabric.

The reasonable assumption is obvious. It's not abnormal to be nauseous when you've got one too many drinks in you. He motions for you to pull over, incoherent sentences practically melding together, words forming and dissipating between choking fits.

You scramble to dig out a bottle of mineral water you habitually deposit in the glove compartment, offering him the tissue first. Ears perking up in satisfaction when a garbled thanks escapes his parted lips. But then... something weird happens.

As your eyes flicker to unintentionally glance at the contents discarded on the pitch grey sidewalk, you freeze in your seat.

You were never a big believer of superstition, not someone who buys into myths only meant for the fiction genre. Sure, you can be gullible sometimes...but what's happening falls no way under the realistic category.

The lethal Hanahaki disease, only inherited by some unlucky descendants, every moment in your head prior to this one, was something that's obviously non existent.

Yet... there's so much blood, too much blood attesting to your blatant ignorance. The petals are of a white rose, smudging together in swirls of grotesque crimson in mimicry of a sheen of red sticking to the inner corners of his lips. It has happened before, you can tell, from just how unsurprised he looks.

Hyunjin's stare flits to commit every detail of your to memory, in what only seems a quick study of gauging your forthcoming reaction, though even before you can produce a coherent thought, he says,

"You can't tell anyone." His voice drops a few octaves as though he's afraid your snoring friends in the back might've noticed. "Please."

Hyunjin's face softens by the slightest, contrary to his firm demand, there lies a desperation you couldn't overlook.

In retrospect, what you're about to tell is ultimately a promise that'd come back to bite you in due time. However, see now, you're extremely bad at saying no. Somehow you're even worse when it comes to Hyunjin. So you blink, turn the radio off and say,

"Okay."

—

The pool is preheated. For that you're most thankful.

Frankly, you couldn't imagine what it'd be like being pushed into a chilly body of water mid winter. Not that it's pleasant otherwise, you can't swim.

Well at 15, you hadn't quite learned to. The other kids have scurried inside to hog freshly baked Snowman biscuits Seungmin's mum is renowned for.

Then and you think you'll never quite forget it, Hyunjin's wearing an orange power ranger t shirt, it's darker now that it's wet, his glasses are marked with uneven splatters. His face scrunches up at the sudden splash of wetness engulfing his body. He wasn't planning to get in the water.

"Hold on tight." He says, wounding your arms around his neck, your calves tighter to his sides to support your shivering body. Back then Hyunjin's hair was black, cropped short and swept to the side, he smells like fabric softener and skittles. A water donut is discarded in the middle of the pool.

Everybody you know and don't know, from the birth of superheroes stuck in comic books to valiant protagonists behind fuzzy television screens, has this inherent desire to be saved. From the world, from themselves. No, no, it doesn't have to be a grand gesture, swooping them off of their feet from the grasp of surly men in dark alleys, sometimes it's really just simple. Sometimes people save you in the most ordinary way there is.

The weight of your form on his bright pink water donut while he stood on his toes to merely rest his elbows so the item wouldn't flip, a small act, certified this very claim, had not the nimble touch of his cold fingers, brushing away wet hair from your face, to anxiously ask if you're okay met the purpose. He talks to you like the sound of his voice has the power to injure you.

You nod slowly. Like this, it feels like you're going to be.

Hyunjin pouts, looking perfectly unconvinced. He paddles the pair of you to steel stairs spiraling into the pool, so he can stand without just his nose peeking out of the water, he looks at you once again, a wrinkle between his dark, arched eyebrows and says solemnly, "Jisung's such an idiot sometimes, isn’t he?"

But isn't he your friend? You want to ask. Something stops you though —his tone tells you you aren't the only one to fall victim to Jisung's practical jokes. Not that they were offensive or anything. Han Jisung, the same person who twiddles his thumbs when he wants the last chicken nugget and cries every time you watch Howl's Moving Castle together, genuinely doesn't mean any harm. It's just that...when he's comfortable with people, who aren't many, he tends to do a lot of dumb things. Dumb, endearing things that Minho will kill him for someday.

"A little bit," You mumble under your breath. Heat rising to your face at the possibility of Hyunjin being concerned for you. He sounds almost angry. "Thanks by the way."

It's rather pitiful to remember. Because with time, Hyunjin's world becomes so big that your interaction stands to be too insignificant to not forget. Before you know it, he's the shooting guard of your school's basketball team, just a handsome face who dates better girls, makes better friends. It's superficial and a little sad.

No, no, a little sad is an understatement actually.

To see someone you understood intimately, a boy who always described details too much just to stray from the main story, a boy with too many emotions bubbling to an awfully animated surface; someone who was passionate, sensitive and so nauseatingly big hearted...change into a man who is indubitably untouchable...is tragic. At least.

Yet funnily enough — you can't quite imagine a world without Hwang Hyunjin. His ringing laughter rippling through loud ambiences, his distant humming of Christmas carols whilst he absently skimmed through spines of children's novels and his eyes glimmering in adoration whenever he spoke of something he loved — Without him, you imagine, there would be a massive deficiency in your world, in the world. Like if birthday cakes came with the biggest slice carved out.

Hyunjin grins, a big sort of candid grin that turns his eyes into upturned crescents. His previous temperament long forgotten. Suddenly, this utterly atrocious happening seems to not be so bad. Suddenly you don't mind that Jisung is an idiot sometimes.

"Of course."

—

Hyunjin is not perfect. Hyunjin is no prince charming.

People don't know this. They don't understand this.

He ends up paying for dinner when he's out with a big crowd even though they were supposed to split the bill, he ends up crying when he gets angry and he is an abysmal liar, in every sense of the phrase. Hardly ever succeeding to hide his emotions when he should. When he was a kid his parents reminded him that it's a good thing to be unapologetically himself, that being honest is a good thing.

But as your eyes meet from across an ocean of people quagmired by crunchy leaves, sticky remnants of rain and his ex girlfriend who he now claims to be okay with being friends with, on her toes to poke his cheek whilst Chan's arm wraps around her waist, the soft white roses ornamented on a bow she loves wearing all the time, he thinks it's far from an agreeable trait to have.

Actually whilst you balance a newspaper under your arm and bring your coffee to your lips, it's like you're looking through him, past his skin, his flesh, something secret inscribed on his bones, embedded into his soul. You know everything, you know everything, you know everything.

The thought itself... surprisingly enough, doesn't appal him.

Hyunjin raises his palm in the air, feeling the autumn prickling against his skin. He waves at you.

—

Working at a library can be taxing. But it sure has its perks.

You can just about turn the place upside down and put it all back together without getting in trouble. Albeit another reason, besides your profession could be that Minho owns the place. Frankly, he may or may not have been the only cause behind your employment. It's hard to tell now that your co-workers really do recognise you've a knack for arranging things.

But to you, your job is very personal. A precious thing which relieves you from various worldly tensions. Velvety spines under your roughened fingertips, the burst of minted pages hitting your face every time you walk in, your love for reading, for a world of stories is so immense that you think you wouldn't have traded it even if your life depended on it.

For a disease that's not very well known, it's ironic how an entire section of mythology is dedicated to it. Past closing hours, amongst many novels mounted on your desk, you fixate on the one that made most sense. There's a few things you've picked up in common from all of them though — the hanahaki disease is extremely rare, it doesn't affect all those who suffer from the qualms of unrequited love.

Possible remedy according to findings entail

growths can be surgically removed, if the patient consents to eradication of memories of their loved ones.

Clanking of keys alerts incoming and you pause your tapping pen to look up.

"Burning the midnight oil, are we?"

Minho leans against the doorframe, he's half yawning, half talking and fully concerned for you.

"Yeah, looks like I'm gonna be a while." Your monotonous tone provides that you are not paying a lot of attention. You blurt without looking up. "Are you leaving?"

"No, still haven't finished archiving for that Pfizer project...But I'm going to get a bite to eat..." His inky eyes remain on you as his tone falters, "You want anything?"

"I'm fine. Thanks."

"Wow you're like...really uh invested." He tilts his head in thought, "You seeing someone again?"

You know Minho long enough to know he has a teasing side to him, from diaper days to play dates ending in pillow fights because he kept offering you his last Pringle just to pop it into his stupid smirking mouth — but you have no idea where he's going with this.

So you look up, finally. Furrowing your brows.

"No. What does that have to do with anything?"

He shrugs, "I haven't seen you concentrate so hard since you dumped Jeongin."

Your right eye twitches. Because you know exactly what he's referring to, and simultaneously, for the sake of your well-being, you much prefer being in denial. "What?"

"C'mon. Remember how you always ended up doing his homework?" He reminds you. "It's like when you like someone, you go out of your way to do charitable stuff for them. But...this? Too much. Even for you."

You ignore Minho's comment. To the world, Hwang Hyunjin's place in your life is not significant. After all this is the most natural undulation in the vicissitudes of life — for someone who once was your friend to eventually drift apart, to become a has been. It's too hard to explain why you care. After all this time.

"I was just being nice." You narrow your eyes, unimpressed. "Clearly this concept is lost on some people."

"Sure you are, bud. If being 'nice' is synonymous with whipped." Of course, there's a smug grin gracing his pouted lips that tempts you to fling something at him. Not that you can though. Seeing as Minho breaks out into a full fledged sprint, his singsongy voice a thinning echo bouncing off of shelves and windows and doors.

Still somehow his footsteps manage to travel through walls, permeating into your office with such great amplitude that you could be bamboozled into thinking he hasn't left at all. Or maybe you've stopped paying attention, your eyes zoom in on any other helpful detail you can put to use in wrapping your head around what you have witnessed firsthand.

At the same time, you can't really ignore how hungry you're feeling just from the mention of a bite to eat. So when Minho's shadow forms again on the page you've been 'reading' for the last few seconds you sense a gigantic wave of relief washing over you.

"You know what I changed my—" slamming the book shut, you blink against scanty provision of light, with raise your head and a bleary vision, recognise him in an instant. Except...it isn't Minho. "mind..."

The only source of brightness is a small emerald lamp perched on the corner of your desk, light green catches onto one of the ornamented corners and speckles of golden caress his supple skin gently. You hadn't realised how cold it might've been outside until you see how heavily dressed Hyunjin was, a long overcoat worn over woollen sweater, a Santa hat and muffler pulled to his chin. It's no one other than your boss himself who has given him directions to your office, you know this, Hyunjin has never been inside before.

So when he marvels absently, you sense yourself feeling a little self conscious about not cleaning up. All around you, a comforter and love seat pushed against the window, cigarette butts discarded in ashtray and then...the books strewn before you tell him you practically live here.

For some reason, Hyunjin only seems to loosen up at the spectacle.

"Hi." He says finally.

"Hi..." you arrange the reading materials quickly to one side so you can rest your elbows. A small (successful) attempt made to hide your research. "Something up?" You say, but what you really mean is, what are you doing here?!

Did he suspect you were going to tell on him? Right that's it, that must be it, you tell yourself, believing, knowing, of all the years Hwang Hyunjin has known of you he has never been one to care about your whereabouts.

"I just...um," He starts, forwarding his mitten clad hands. It's the back of a crumpled coffee cup on which straight handwriting reads a bucket list...of sorts. You immediately understand that his coming is an act of impulse. Urgency of living every moment like it's slipping through it's fingers, that he just needed to tell the only person who knows, be it by accident.

Hyunjin clears his throat. "I wanna do all this before I die."

In lieu of giving an instant response, baffled, you gawp at him. Despite knowing, hearing Hyunjin say it out loud somehow makes everything...too real.

It's as though someone's reached inside your throat, pulled your heart out and crushed it with their bare hands. Hyunjin, the boy who smelled like fabric softener and skittles and wore power ranger shirts, the boy with the fantastic smile and cold fingers, is dying. You won't let him. You can't let him.

You thumb along the numbers scribbled in hasty penmanship, look up and blink rapidly, "Okay," you say, a small whisper, barely there words. "That's okay."

Even with the hat covering tips of ears, you could tell the same faint blush coating his cheeks had rushed to that particular area. His eyes drift off to the sight of pens discarded inside a wooden holder because he can feel your gaze on him. "and I...I need your help."

"Alright."

Hyunjin's eyes widen to a great degree, he sits straighter, as if he hadn't expected you to comply so quickly.

And honestly? Neither had you.

It's quiet. Awkward.

"You know it's not like I haven't thought about dying. I just figured I'd get to grow old first, settle down, have kids and all that," A wry laugh escapes his parted lips. "Everything's happening too fast."

You hesitate, thinking he's making a mistake. Frankly he shouldn't feel obligated to give you an explanation.

"You...you don't have to tell me."

"No—I mean...can I?" He gives you a sheepish look, disliking his own whimsical tone, somehow endearing still. You find yourself wondering how long he had to keep his burdens to himself, not just pertaining to his illness, but everything. His dreams, his hopes, his fears. Anything which requires a certain amount of depth. And you almost ask him, the question sitting at the tip of your tongue, yet the realisation rather simple, stops you. Maybe you've mistranslated 21 year old Hyunjin all along — moulding himself into someone who's convenient around people who only liked him for who he appeared to be, maybe even with all that popularity, parties and glamour, he's just...lonely.

You push your reading glasses into your hair, press your knuckles under your chin and hum in consent.

He shifts in his seat, "Have you ever... been in love?"

You release an amused huff. Let your eyes linger on him for a long minute.

"Once."

Hyunjin half expects you to laugh. Poke fun at him for his melodramatic backstory. That's the sole reason why he doesn't tell his friends (funny, for people he considers close, they seem to know not much about him or care to know, that is. ). But you... you look at him with something in your eyes that tells him the rubbish reasons he posited makes all the sense in the world. Hyunjin's unsure of the tingle in his gut, why it's happening. But he thinks, just for a second, it feels a little like hope.

—

Midnight rendezvous.

As someone who has lived a fairly extraordinary life, Hwang Hyunjin's bucket list is bafflingly ordinary. He's more of a finding joy in small things kind of a person, punctilious at best.

Things change. People notice. They hesitate, whisper about you and last night while you were out on last minute cheap wine run, the grocerer, a girl who looks around sixteen asks you if you're dating Hyunjin. Underneath the thinly veiled curiousity, there's something like anger dripping from her words.

You furrow your eyebrows in simple insinuation that it's weird for a stranger to take interest in your life. Maybe it was written on your face, the fact that you're a dying man's beck and call is for reasons far more complicated than it looks.

You go to his parties. Greet him as a friend would and not just for the sake of maintaining formalities. He comes to the library more times than he does, waits for you to get off work so you can check something off the list at least. People notice. People understand. Hyunjin's different around you. He's bright, talkative when he forgets to contain himself. You sense your heart swelling with pride just at the understanding that he can be himself around you.

You drive to the beach, sit in your trunk and drink straight out of the bottle.

Hyunjin laughs a little. Suspends his feet in the air. With time, he's gotten paler, exhausted. "Rough day?"

You hum.

"Very. Our children's collection is usually low in stock around the weekends."

Hyunjin crosses his arms over his chest. Curious.

"And?"

"And if I say I got yelled at by a toddler would you believe me?"

Hyunjin feigns contemplation, even with the realisation that his body is becoming less and less cooperative, he manages to remain perfectly cheerful.

"I can actually," he grins, "At that age, I was a real pain in the ass."

"Were?"

Your smile is just a slight curl against the bottle's mouth as he grumbles under his breath about your 'insensitive' remark.

You think of your life after Hyunjin, think of his absence like a gaping hole you'll never be able to fill out. It makes you sick to your stomach.

—

Bake something from scratch.

Hyunjin's face twists in apparent thought, eyebrows rising. A pink tongue poked against his cheek, whilst he chews carefully, trying really hard not to flash an accidental reaction whilst you clasp your butter and oat flour soiled hands together, some of the batter on your cheek, neck to anticipate his answer like your will to live depends on it.

You ask yourself how it got to this. Why you didn't care that you were awake so early on a Sunday morning with flour powdering every kitchen appliance in sight in spite of being awfully restrictive about who you let into your kitchen. But it doesn't matter, it doesn't matter because it's nice like this.

Hyunjin has his hair pulled away from his bare face, a mole under his eye, a small birthmark on the back of his ear.

When you first met, you thought he was a kind of handsome that couldn't be real. Something formidable about it. Only destined to exist behind fuzzy television screens and flashy magazines.

But in retrospect, you realise, that that's not true at all.

If you look close enough, if you really pay attention, there's a softness underneath, something goofy, something warm, the sharp jut of his nose circling into a soft button, his eyes are big, black and his mouth jutted out into a natural pout, he looks innocent, like he doesn't quite realise the extent of his charms.

"It's..." His soft voice pulls you out of your reverie, and you look up to find his eyes glimmering jovially. Every time it surprises you, the lack of regret in them and the abundance of nonchalance. You wonder what it means to love someone like that, to love someone to the point of martyrdom. It shouldn't be like this. "perfect,"

"This is like, the only batch we didn't burn, right?"

You snort, "Yeah." Fully turn to him, "You know what they say, fifth time's the charm."

Hyunjin's laugh, you think, is so contagious that it makes it an imperative to smile in return. In shaky compartments the sound comes, like being 8, laying wide-eyed in a paddling pool and staring up at a crayon blue sky, raindrop rippling beyond all that noiseless water. His eyes curve to upturned crescents, an unconscious hand covering up the seams of his lips whilst he shakes his head. You don't even notice when he starts speaking again.

"Huh?"

"I said you got a little...something..."

You almost lose a fraction of your sanity when his nimble fingers come to wrap around your wrist while you hold onto the spatula employed into the whole snickerdoodle batter mixing business, a liberated hand coming up to gently wipe your cheek. It means everything to you. And nothing to him.

Later, when you're alone at night, really alone, you put your palm to your chest and feel the unsteady beat of your heart. A warning, a reminder. I can't. I can't. I can't.

—

You hold Hyunjin's hair up. His hands resting on the cold toilet seat, he's whimpering and bleeding. It happens every time he sees Haseul, or something which reminds him of her. Like the song.

This time she's drunk. And it's because she impulsively rises to her toes and presses a tender kiss to Chan's lips.

Hyunjin's just a feet away, across students and solo cups and streaks of neon falling irregularly through his line of sight.

He can never confess, not to her. The last thing Hyunjin wants is for her to feel bad for him. To say she feels the same as an act of service. He tells you. You understand. Somehow... you always understand.

They met in college, Hyunjin and she. And Chan was an upperclassman who seemed to be good at...well everything. At first, he couldn't figure out why it never occured to him before, the fact they were getting together maybe before, after or during the length of their relationship.

Though the answer is simple.

Hyunjin thinks the pillar to good relationships is trust. Call him a sappy romantic or whatever but he had seen true love manifest from it through generations before him and his parents and their parents. To think a different fate was woven for him...used to be unimaginable.

How ironic is that?

Hyunjin presses his cheek against your chest because he doesn't want you to look at him when he cries.

Then for the first time....he tells you he's scared. He's scared of what will happen to him. Of what is happening to him.

He's falling apart.

You cradle him, press him closer to your body like you're trying to put him together. People can't fix each other. Not really. But sometimes... they're worth the try.

"Hey...hey...it's alright," You shush him, run your fingers through his hair. Your voice almost breaking, faltering. Still this, this you mean it with every fibre of your being. "It's okay to be scared."

—

Self bleach hair.

It's Christmas and you're late for a late night dinner he's putting together. (As reluctant as he was about getting along with Hyunjin, he seems all too eager to make invite him whenever a get together takes effect.)

His apartment smells like floor cleaner. There's a queen sized bed pushed against an electric blue wall, a Fleetwood Mac poster taped to his door, small reading desk where Canon EOS New Kiss rests, polaroids of things checked off the list littered all its wooden surface.

You pick up the only photo he hasn't labelled, it reminds you that your friendship isn't just based off a pursuit. This is natural. Pizza box discarded between you two, on your roof top. It's a little too dark, you're holding a cigarette between your fingers, you're laughing and Hyunjin looks like he's going to complain the minute he's done taking the picture. (And he does.)

You smile, pressing your fingers against it like the touch could transport you to a simpler time.

"Ready to go?"

Hyunjin rakes a tentative hand through his newly dyed hair, grey (a suitable colour he says.). You can tell he's put a lot of effort into cleaning up, his usual hoodies and sweats alternated with a red satin shirt tucked into dark dress pants and a coat of the same colour. Hyunjin is beautiful. Perhaps even more like this. In fact, the extent of this quality is so Goliath-like that it obliges dolled up attendees to marvel up in awe. While you fully agree with their unsaid ponderings, you really do, you find yourself missing a less sophisticated version of him.

"Yeah, but first..." you fish out a wrapped squarish material from the depths of your pocket. Hyunjin's eyes widen, two bunny-like teeth showing for the extent of his grin.

"You got me a present!" He all but rips it out of your hand, shaking the material eagerly. He’s a Christmas person, a supreme holiday enthusiast if you will. The sheer excitement in him projects itself in every physical aspect possible. Slight jumping on the balls of his feet. "It's a cassette...?"

You speak too much, nervous he doesn't like it. "It’s a Christmas mix. I thought...since you like carols. I know it's a little old school, I'm sorry if that’s not what you were hoping for—"

Hyunjin pulls you into a big hug, wrapping his entire body it feels like; his arms around your waist, he squeezes you tighter against him, "Thank you." He whispers into your hair, it's not just about the cassette, you can tell.

There's a small light bulb dangling from his ceiling, he hasn't fixed it since the first time you pointed it out. You can tell with your eyes closed, you've begun to know more intimately than your own home. It's safe here. A place that deludes you into thinking that he's not running out of time, that even in his absence in the world, whenever you should walk into this room, it would be an imperative to find Hyunjin lazying about in its confines. Familiarity can be quite tricky, can't it?

His gratitude is not unknown to you. It's in the guilty smile that threatens to show every now and then, it's in this and it's in that. In many ways, it is not something you're a stranger to.

And yet the words manage to tears your heart at the seams. Just a little.

—

Make a snow angel.

From above, he imagines, he may appear to look like a chunk of cookie dough in an ice cream pint.

The snow is not as comfortable as it appears, its frigid temperature seeps into Hyunjin's clothes (and what feels like his internal organs, if that's even possible). He waves his hands and legs inward, outward.

Your head tilts towards him. Face twisted in annoyance. "You're getting on my wing!" You say. "Have you no respect for personal space?!"

Hyunjin narrows his eyes jovially. And people tell him he's the one with a penchant for theatrics. He leans closer in rebuttal, waving his leg around your design with more purpose. You give up. Sit on your knees, fumble with the snow. He’s still in the same position. Smug as ever...

"This is what happens when you disrespect your elders." He fake-warns. "Oka—"

What he doesn't anticipate, however, is the snowball you launch on his stupid grinning face. Now it's your turn to laugh. You clutch your stomach and point at him whilst he glares at you having barely managed to blow the snow off of his mouth.

"Oh, you're gonna get it now!"

You let out an animalistic screech, Hyunjin’s already trapped you under his weight, his thighs wound around your waist, hamstringing your plan to escape, now you're merely squirming. His fingers come down to attack your sides, digging into the flesh so mercilessly to the point you’re not sure if you’re laughing or crying. It's like there's a wildfire inside your lungs.

For a moment you forget, you let yourself forget what's to come.

“Alright, alright I’m sorry!” you press your palms against his chest in an attempt to push him off, Hyunjin has a dumb smile on his face that seems to give the impression of a hanger stuck inside his mouth. But... there's something behind his entertainment as the sound of his laugh dies down, chest heaving with exercise. His smile drops.

You can count each lash, each freckle and line on his face. The dark in his eyes. The pink of his lips. Your sweater's ridden to your ribs. And the warmth of his fingers shifting against your bare skin hits you with an earthshattering force.

Hyunjin kisses you. For a fleeting second, you freeze. Rigid with shock. Then it passes as soon as it comes.

You let out a noise of content,indubitably grateful that your neighbours forgot to put on their porch light for the night. See it’s like this, the act of kissing is not as special as is the person himself, you muse, you can kiss anyone, you can touch and be touched by anyone. But none of that truly compares to this. Not when they aren't him.

You’d be lying if you said you never thought about it. Just like you’ve thought about a lot of things. But just the realisation that the boy you’ve harboured in your heart for more complicated reasons than you disclose, to yourself even, touches you with so, so much care...it’s tearing you apart.

It’s too good to be real.

You suddenly push him away. The tugging and pulling at your heart too much to handle. For the fact remains — Hyunjin doesn't love you. He doesn't even like you. You never expected him to. Actually, you've never felt what you feel with that condition in mind either.

See when the feeling of having everything you could ever want is cradled between your palms...it ought to be hard to let go. (Maybe he’s just doing this because he feels bad for you, the little voice in your head says. You listen.)

Hyunjin speaks up first.

“I love Haseul.” he tells you, but it sounds more like he’s telling himself. “That’s why...that’s why, all this...I love her.” Not you.

You swallow, “I know.” Your hands come up to dust your pants. Hyunjin’s still on his knees, as if the answer to his conflicts are deposited under all the snow. “It’s okay.”

“No, it’s not, it’s not okay. I shouldn’t have, I shouldn’t have done—”

Now you hear it, the hint of pity in his voice. You don’t mean to sound as bitter as you do. Seeing as you’re usually very good at keeping calm , breaking that very reputed front frustrates you even more.

“Look just forget about it, okay? We don’t have to talk about this.”

Hyunjin looks like he didn’t expect this side of you to exist. At least, you think, at least it got him to stop talking.

—

Learn to skate.

"If I fall, I'm taking you with me."

"You say it like I have a choice."

Hyunjin shoots you a warning glare even though you can't see. His choppy skidding steps supported by the vice grip he has on your arms. You haven't skated since you were in highschool. But when you're pretty good at it still, the smooth blade of your beaten skates gliding through ice with much dexterity, it's like floating, freeing, the wind hitting your faces, snow catching in your lashes. It's peaceful, you try not to think about the warmth of Hyunjin's arm circling around body, the vague rhythm of his heartbeat against your back. His laboured breaths on your neck. It's torturous. But spending so much time with him has taught you to hide your feelings better.

The park welcomes a large crowd around holiday season, children with toothless grins, tugging onto their mum's coats, small chin resting onto a parents' head, teenagers moving in together in school uniforms. It's the happiest time of the year. When you move past an elderly couple, they smile and tell you make a wonderful couple.

You're just about to make a correction. This puts you in an awkward position... doesn't it?

But then Hyunjin grins toothily and says, Thank you, like it's the most amusing thing in the world. You ignore the wrenching inside your chest.

Hyunjin leans forward, his plump lips brushing against your ear. "Where did you learn to skate so well?!" There's something like excitement in his kiddish laugh aside from admiration. It's not much of a question as it is an exclamation.

"I am pretty good, aren't I?"

He laughs, doesn't let you go. "Yes, yes...really good."

Out of breath, you slow down, move your feet steadily, careful not to lose balance.

"Oh my God! It is you!"

You raise your head, blink against flakes hindering your vision. Jeongin's voice used to be thinner before. As far as you remember. Now it has a weight to it.

You let out a nervous laugh.

"And it's you..."

Jeongin's eyes travel to the arms around your waist, to the stiffened figure behind you and you immediately liberate yourself. Moving to let Hyunjin use your arm as purchase, you don't fail to notice the pinch in his forehead, a frown on his mouth.

"This is my friend Hyunjin. Hyunjin, this is Jeongin—"

"We used to go out." Jeongin smiles, forwarding his hand, which is returned with an unenthused shake and a demure reply. Hyunjin never speaks to anyone this way, not even people he claims to hate.

The former male looks to you again, "I was, uh... wondering if you'd like to go out for a cup of coffee sometime."

Things between you and him ended amicably at the event of his departure for further studies, which deprives you of awkward tension which is expected when exes meet.

Besides, a cup of coffee never hurt anyone.

Right?

Without thinking, you nod slowly, "Yeah that sounds good,"

"Text me anytime."

"Sure."

“I'll be out of your hair then," he beams. "It was very nice meeting you too, Hyunjin."

"Right."

Hyunjin, you realise, has released your arm. He leans on barricades fencing along the skating area, smiling briefly. You know it’s wrong...yet you sense that you almost need him to be upset.

Then he tilts his head back towards you, "He seems like a really nice guy," he whispers, genuinely meaning every word. Your heart sinks. "I see the appeal." Underneath the lurid glare of fairy lights brandished overhead, Hyunjin's ash hair glints like it's threaded out of silver. You wonder what he's thinking.

—

Watch every Disney movie ever made.

You never end up texting Jeongin back. Just stalling for when you're ready, you tell yourself. Even though that's not true at all.

"This brings back so many memories. My parents used to belt out A Whole New World with me, like every time we watched Aladdin."

Hyunjin wipes his face with the back of his hand, technically you’re not very sure what he’s saying exactly because he’s mumbling into a paper napkin you've passed over for the umpteenth time. You find yourself picturing a small but happy family of three, of Hyunjin in Scooby Doo pajamas and gap between his teeth. (Contrary to your previous convictions, he hasn't changed all at much, save for the teeth bit. ) It's cute.

He looks to you expectantly. Can't be the only one telling embarrassing stories.

You shrug, "I had a thing for Simba. Let's just say my mum and dad were nice enough to indulge me."

Hyunjin reaches for the remote and pauses the ending credits of Lady and the Tramp. He turns to you fully now, gives you a judgemental stare. "Simba...?" He says, "Like the...lion?"

"What? It's normal to crush on fictional characters, okay?!"

"Okay,sure," Hyunjin snorts, putting a pillow between you and him so you can't kill him. "furry."

A part of you is tempted, obviously. But the much bigger part is more invested in how he looks happier, healthier. You want to think that means something.

—

Hyunjin invites you over for movie night. It's getting colder and you keep poking him with your cold feet. There's an extra set of blankets in his cupboard, he informs you, he isn't sharing his with you — and that's when you see it.

The deflated pink donut folded to the side, his and yours sharpie inscribed initials on one side.

"Found it yet?"

You don't even notice when he comes to stand behind you. So the question effectively makes you jump out of your skin. Hyunjin has a bowl of popcorn pressed to his chest, there's a pink hair band holding his hair away from his forehead. For the lack of a answer he takes it on himself to find the source of your silence. As if you've been caught red handed.

You think this is where he'll ask you to leave, that or he'll least scold you or something. You prepare for the worst.

Hyunjin just smiles, it's a big smile that succeeds in bringing out the small dimple indented on the side of his cheek. You've never noticed before. It's kinda weird. Because when it comes to him, your attention hardly ever falters.

"You probably don't remember. That’s from Seungmin's 15th birthday,"

You want to scoff under your breath. All this time you had told yourself that you were the only one to be affected by your estranged friendship growing up. Now...the same logic colours you every bit of ridiculous.

You blink away, swallowing. Voice solemn.

"I remember." Hyunjin's gaze is heavy on your shoulders. An emotion you can't quite put a finger on crosses his delicate features. It's something between surprise and relief... something else too. You don’t understand it.

—

It's disconcerting that he can’t remember the last time he got sick. Not the usual discomfort inside his chest, not the blood, not the thorns or petals. Hyunjin's just gotten so used to it, you know? What if he gets his hopes up for no good reason? What if it just comes back?

There's no possible explanation, he explains over a hasty 3 A.M message he had to leave on your answering machine because he's freaking out.

Then Haseul texts Hyunjin, tells him she misses him. Everything's adding up. Everything's falling into place. This is what he wanted, isn't it? She loves him, she finally loves him back. That must be it. He doesn't know what to say.

But he tells you, and when he does, it sounds a lot like an apology.

—

Kiss underneath a mistletoe.

“Chan and I broke up.” She says it like it’s something he should be happy about. So when he remains quiet, it only prompts her to speak more, fill up the big mighty silences.

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

“Look Jinnie, I know I made a mistake, but...can’t you give a second chance? Just this once?”

Hyunjin has thought about this particular moment a lot. Kissing her instead of producing a response, pulling her off of her feet and mumbling of course, of course, of course. Back then, there were little doubts in his head pertaining to her, back then he believed that she was the only one for him. The love of his life at the wrong time, in the wrong place.

Now...something doesn’t feel right.

The thing about wounds, sometimes, of the heart in particular, is when they close up, it’s hard to make head or tails of the kind of person you become in their wake. Hard to adjust. Like when he suddenly shot up 7 inches in ninth grade, a late bloomer at that, and the weight of his new sneakers felt..odd.

He glances at her and also understands what it’s like to be lonely, the constant need to compensate for it by grasping at the last straw. He used to be in her shoes too. This isn’t any different. Albeit, he isn’t exactly taken by her presence. Just that he doesn’t know if what he’s doing is right. He looks over your table a few feet away from where he’s standing. Having gone out to take a call. You notice his absence and then from your seat, do your best to locate him. (he thinks of kissing you on a bed of snow, thinks of the sizzle of your skates against ice, thinks of his list on a coffee cup and his pink water donut and it’s okay to be scared. Why did it have to be you of all people, through everything? It’s not really a work of coincidence. Not at all actually.

Maybe he just wanted it to be you.)

When your eyes do lock...seeing him with his hands in his pockets, her standing beyond the barrier as she tries to say something, you smile, even if it’s a little sad. Hyunjin thinks to the conversation some nights before. Thinks of you reminding him that there's nothing to lose at this point, that he should do what his heart tells him. That it’ll be alright, if he just takes a leap of faith. Hyunjin smiles back. Through the glassy exterior and mini water fountains running down its slanted form. The realisation is not as dramatic as he thought. It’s just late.

He tears off the false mistletoe decoration glued along the periphery of an arch.

And like always.

He takes your advice.

—

Cohorts of guests pour into the colossal hotel, heads turning in quiet admiration for bejeweled arches breaking out against buttery white architecture, the roof is impossibly naked, translucent glass baring a starlit sky to your watchful eyes. Showing little mercy to a frail chute held over your head,costumed characters wade through oceans of gossamer, twinkling silver and swaying movements to slow jazz. You prop a heeled foot up on the bar platform, which strangely resembles a pedestal, in a futile attempt to catch your breath, with clammy digits settled atop the risky surface of a marbled counter. A soft voice speaks over the ambience, uttering your name with much care. You lift your head. And there he is.

Jisung is scouring through the Spotify playlist you’ve put together for New Year’s Eve. He’s complaining about the lack of Beyoncé while your friends go around the buffet table. When he calls you, you’re sipping your drink, laughing at something Changbin is saying, his eyes brighten just at the sound of your laugh. Hyunjin isn’t surprised to see his friend taking a liking of you even though he hardly knows you. That’s just the effect you have on people.

Excusing yourself, you allow him to walk you to a less densely populated area where a stone pillar faces expensive paintings of nameless painters. With the effect of alcohol settling in and your inhibitions effectively lowered, your steps sway a little. You lean against the massive build rising from tiled floor. “So what’s up?” you murmur, the lump in your throat thickening just at the thought of him speaking the good news into existence. “I take it went well?”

Hyunjin doesn't answer. He looks distracted for a bit. Then in an instant he snaps out of his daze. “What did you mean when you said ‘once’?”

Your brows come together in inquiry.

“What?”

"When I asked you if you have ever been in love, you said ‘once’." He persists, his fingers come up to your shoulder, grazing slightly as if they’re trying to carve out words against the skin. "You weren’t talking about Jeongin.”

He knows. He’s always known. Hyunjin can’t believe he’s been so stupid.

“Took you long enough.” You let out a sardonic laugh.“Well, it doesn’t matter now, does it?”

"It matters to me..." Hyunjin sounds offended, you gather, but he manages to quell his temper for the sake of coaxing your confession. Is he purposely embarrassing you? "I don’t think...I love Haseul anymore...I didn’t realise...I haven’t for a long time."

A big chandelier beams over withering plants pushed against the ceiling, in this poor supply of light, you can tell exactly how he looks, eyes glimmering adoringly, you've spent something-teen years of your life wondering what it's supposed to mean. And it still manages to confuse you.

"Why are you telling me this?" you ask, albeit you already know. Because funnily enough, before he got his braces removed and dyed his hair a scandalous blonde, before bucket lists and heartbreak, he was just the boy who told you he liked your stupid reindeer sweater even though it had officially made you the 7th grade laughing stock. You remember being fifteen and in love with Hyunjin. And you've never actually stopped. You need to hear it to believe it.

It drives you crazy. The way Hyunjin brushes his fingers against your cheek, shifting strands away from your eyes. But you can't help it, you've always wanted this. You lean into the caress, peering up at him as his large hand cups your jaw, thumb traversing from your tilted chin to your glossy lips like he's trying to smooth out all the creases. His voice is small, a whisper.

"Because I need you to know I think I’m falling in love with you.” he says. His palm opens and there’s a plastic mistletoe nestled between his fingers. You’re smiling and sniffling whilst his forehead comes to press against yours. Hyunjin grins. “And there’s still one last item on my list.”

“Are you seriously asking me to land one on you now?”

“Oh hell yeah.”

—

"Move."

You press your fingers against the slick, sweaty skin.

In rebuttal, Hyunjin grumbles under his breath. Only half awake, half aware that he was mumbling in his sleep. His naked chest seems to be, if it’s even possible, glued to your bare front as he sprawls out like a starfish over your body, using his gangly arms to accommodate the strange position.

Though and you know he knows it too — it’s anything but uncomfortable.

See by now, you aren't exactly a stranger to Hyunjin's sleeping habits. Or really, any habits of his.

All the windows are cracked open, moonlight percolating through a thin sheet of curtains in rendering evidence that it’s still night time. You can make out the faint sound of honking in the distance, a few stray dogs here and there, probably producing strings of complaints about the blatantly unbearable heat.

The strong stench of sweat and an aftermath of what happened before is a quick reminder of where you are, what you’re doing and that your arm’s going cold for a lack of circulation under his weight. Beads of sweat collected against his skin and trickle down the side of your face, the crook of your neck, which only prompts you to apply more force to the pads of your index and pointer — albeit it did nothing to move him, "Gross." You groan. "You're sweating like a pig!"

This comment, of all the things you've tried to get him to sleep on his side, succeeds in making Hyunjin raise his head, his grey hair matted down, a few rogue strands pushed out to fall over the unamused look in his eyes.

In an unprecedented minute of absolute clarity, something inside your stomach started to churn at the shocking sight. You’re impossibly, absolutely and nauseatingly in love with Hwang Hyunjin and the funny thing is, you don’t have to think twice to know he is too.

"Gross?" Hyunjin lowers his face to brush his pouted lips along your jaw, grinning when you let out a shaky but involuntary breath and as if he is looking to make a point with his digits traversing from your bare stomach, just along the hem of your underwear, "After all that?"

"I hate you." You say — but more like, stutter. The sound of his giggles eliciting a strange sensation in you, reverberating against your chest, knocking against his ribs and your skin, like it’s trying to reach out to you, like your bodies insist on melding into one.

"I don’t think you’re being honest, baby." He laughs, squeezing your side, coming up to plant a warm palm to your butt to repeat the action, which in turn, drew a mewl from you. “Because you looove me.” Hyunjin smirks, his finger thumbing along your throat to your chin. You think this is what all those great poets meant in endless litanies of lovers torn apart by time and war woven together in a simple caress, like a longing, like a secret. Guarded from prying eyes, greedy hands, and you keep it, you keep it. For him. With him.

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thepeakygurl · 3 years

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Well I'm here. I wanted to tell you what a sucker I'm for some good fluff Tommy Shelby fluff..

I had this idea at the back of my mind where the Tommy married the reader as a formality because Polly had been constantly nagging him to get Charles a mother.(Like after Grace dies). Now he makes it clear that he cannot give her "love" and she should not expect it but she should be a dutiful wife (I know, patriarchy) and take care of Charlie. Reader decides to give the marriage a try.. and thinks it's not always love that builds marriage. As long as Tommy keeps her safe, it's fine.. It's only when the reader gets pregnant with Tommy's kid, the way her body starts changing, Tommy's heart starts changing as well and he starts falling in love with her as her pregnancy progresses..

I'm sorry if this is too much. 🙊🥺

A/N: I’m so in love with this one, I really, really hope you like it!🥺 thank you for requesting this amazing piece✨ honestly this one gave me so much life that I could wrote a whole series out of it!

Another Day

Thomas Shelby x Fem!Reader

Word count: 1,834

When Grace died, Thomas knew that a part of himself went with her. Part of his heart and his capacity of loving followed the woman who owned that same heart into the abyss of death. And he was fine with it, the only reasonable thing to do was to let his heart rest next to his beloved wife, that was alright with him.

Everyday that went by Thomas felt as his life were slowly drowning into a whirlwind of inconsolable sorrow. Nevertheless, he was trying his best for Charlie and he was darned proud of how such a sweet boy he happened to become. So mannered and so caring that sometimes he almost failed to believe he was his son, this was his only spiral of joy. Every time Ada would come around with Karl, Charlie wouldn’t help, but ask about his mommy and why him and daddy were always alone. And he was right, Thomas and Charlie were always going to be alone in a way, that thought was so dreadful and achingly painful that one morning he did what he had to do. Polly spent the last few weeks begging him to meet the daughter of this friends of hers, single and behaved, What more could you ask for? Polly would always end up saying. A question he would have promptly answer with Grace.

The first time he laid eyes on you, he couldn’t help but think how pretty you were. He was a man with pride, but he also had eyes and he would never say something that he doesn’t mean so he said it “You are a very beautiful woman” in a tone so cold and unemotional that made you laugh, clearly he was forced into this meeting as well. Marriage was the last thing in your list: Travel and study the art of painting that was your dream and see it being crushed by the economical need of your family almost crushed you a well. Being the respectful and obedient wife of Thomas Shelby was never part of your plan, but you weren’t selfish enough to say no and let your family sink in debt. And while Polly was taking your mom’s arm and pulling her aways from you two for some intimacy, you look at time a stare that he didn’t give back and said “Next time be more convincing.”

The wedding came soon enough, everyone on your side of the family was happy, excited and hopeful for the future that this union would bring. The Shelby’s on the other side, they weren’t allowed to celebrate as this wasn’t a marriage of love, but need. A small wedding, no reception. You never really thought about marriage, but somehow it made you sad how so careless this man was. How cruel he was to care so little about something that for you could have a meaning.

On the night of your wedding Thomas didn’t talking much, if anything at all. Some candles were lit on the side of the bed, they smelled nice you remember, but nothing could ease up the tension in that room. You in your night gown standing in front of him as he close the door behind him while he enters the room. His eyes locked in yours but it’s hard to tell whether he wants this or it’s just a duty. A step after another he finally was in front of you, so close that he could easily hear your heart racing on your chest. His hand slowly reached your cheek and he smiled a small imperceptible smile “Love is a tricky thing. From this night on I will respect you, protect you, but love...” he eyes were now somewhere else, they were still looking at you, but you could tell they were elsewhere. That was enough for you, or so you thought.

Time passed and the only thing that made those miserable day bearable was Charlie. You saw in him a lot of Thomas, but there was also a side of him that you didn’t quite get, probably from his mom. Grace a woman that was still an important presence in the house, in their life. Charlie would sometimes stare at the paint of him, Thomas and Grace and would point and her, asking where she is. You would then proceed to sit next to his and point at his chest close to where his heart his “She is here. She’s in here everyday, even if you don’t see her” you would say smiling at him. She was beautiful, so beautiful and so much loved that you would pity yourself, a resentment that caused you to be sickened by yourself, at some point in time you realised that you started to compete with the death and that feeling brought so much shame that you decided it was time to get back at your art. So you did, painting and looking after Charlie. When the Sun would disappear in order for the Moon to gloriously take its place, Thomas would come home, sometimes even later than that. He would kiss Charlie on the forehead, then he would smile at you. After all expectations, Thomas had no problem in engaging in a conversation with you, however he never talked to you as his wife, more like a newfound acquaintance and that again was alright with you.

Then one day you found out you were pregnant. You had all the signs, morning sickness, late period, body changing, but a part of you didn’t want it to be true. You were so afraid of bring to Earth a creature that was not made out of love that you took quite enough time to tell Thomas, the enough time it took you to start showing and made it impossible for you to hide it longer. Your heart was racing as fast as the horses that Thomas so much loved, when one night he grabbed you by your hand and pulled you closer to him, not a moment of love, but a need. And while a hand slowly caressed your arms, the other was finding his way under your night gown but stopped as soon as he felt your stomach. Surprised as it was he went from looking at your body to staring at your face, while you were nervously biting your lips “I’m pregnant” you said in a whisper. His hand fell down as soon as those words left your mouth and he quickly stepped back. He didn’t want another child, not like this, but he was not going to say it. In fact he didn’t say anything and went to bed.

Weeks after that Thomas didn’t touch you, or talked to you. He even barely looked at you. He felt as if he was betraying Grace, as this baby could bring an end to the connection he had with her. He wasn’t ready for any of that, but neither were you and so the hostility between you two grew. Charlie however was super excited to have a little brother or sister. Seeing his son so excited about the news made him think that maybe that was such a bad news, after all that’s what he wanted for the both of them, not being alone.

And the baby was growing, strong as ever. Polly and Ada started to come visit more and you liked that, that made you feel less alone.

“Don’t worry he will come along someday” Polly would always say to you and you would always smile repeating yourself that you didn’t need his love, that this was a marriage without love, but now with this baby inside you, you couldn’t help but thinking if he was ever going to love your baby.

Thomas was now at home more often “I do not have so many employees for nothing now eh?” He would say every time you would wake up in the morning and see him already on his feet preparing Charlie for the day. The truth was that Thomas knew you had trouble sleeping since the baby, he woke up sometimes during the night to see you walking around the room while moaning in pain. He knew how stressful it could be to not having enough sleep, carrying a baby and providing for another one, so he decided to stick around for a while. Seeing your daily routine, how you would play with Charlie, sit in front of the painting of hi late mom, telling him those kind word and seeing you meticulously give time to your own passion, that did something to him. Perhaps it was just time what he needed, perhaps love was something that he could feel again, because now every time he looked at you, he felt alive again.

“What now? Are you going to do the laundry as well?” You jokingly said while you were having breakfast.

He looked and you and chuckled “No, I pay other people to do that. But you are more than welcome to do it yourself, it’s money that I can save” and as he saw you rolling your eyes in response he smiled “I got you something” he said talking a little bag under the table and placing it in front of you.

You almost gasped in surprise, Thomas Shelby caring to waste a bit of his time to buy you something? Not even your birthday made him turn around like that. You were almost scolding yourself out loud for how much you were smiling at that gesture. You carefully opening the bag to reveal a pair of white baby shoes, the most precious thing he could ever get you. Thomas looked at you with the same big smile that was on your lips and he hold your hand, he didn’t say much after, but your hand on his meant something for the both of you.

You gave birth to the most beautiful and precious baby girl. Polly and Ada were at tears when they first saw her and you could tell to have seen even Arthur shredding some tears and being scolded by John. You even shredded some tears. The love that you thought you couldn’t get and that you were never going to experience, it was all there in this tiny little girl. Charlie was absolutely in love with her, so much that it was hard to convince him that he was to big to sleep in the crib with her. You were looking at your baby girl, sleeping peacefully and there it was, the most beautiful piece of art you ever made. While this thought slid through your mind, Thomas wrapped his arms around your waste in a hug from behind, resting his chin on your shoulder and he smiled looking at his daughter “So darned beautiful” he whispered while looking at her, he was completely astonished and happy, so darned happy. “You both are” he then said holding you a bit tighter than before and this time, you believed him.

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theoraeken · 3 years

Text

Just Add Water

For: @steodiscord's Steo Spooktober - Underwater

Rating: Mature

Category: M/M

Fandom: Teen Wolf (TV)

Relationship: Theo Raeken/Stiles Stilinski

Tags: Background Scott McCall (Teen Wolf), Background Lydia Martin, Background Sheriff Stilinski, Mildly Dubious Consent, Dubious Consent, Oral Sex, Hot Tub Sex

AO3

There’s something really very wrong with Theo Raeken.

The chimera had come clean to Stiles letting him know the pack was in danger and how he had been the victim of the Dread Doctors as a child. Stiles thought that after they defeated the doctors that this suspicious feeling he had about Theo would go away. Yet, every time he looks at the chimera he loses his breath. On the surface Theo is all smiles at Stiles all the time, but there’s something hidden behind those eyes.

Stiles arrives at Lydia’s house a little late because he stops to drop off some lunch at the sheriff’s office before his dad can make up an excuse to order take out. He walks up the front walkway and then takes the trail that detours towards the back of Lydia’s house. He is expecting a chill get together around the pool at Lydia’s house, just the pack. What he walks into is definitely not that. It isn’t as packed as Lydia’s birthday party Sophomore year, but...

Stiles is pretty sure their pack hasn’t grown this much.

All of a sudden Stile feels a little underdressed and berates himself for walking in shirtless. He is about to make his way to look for Lydia when he is pulled up against someone in a backwards baseball cap. This person definitely works out and – who is this guy and why does he think he can just pull him along. Initially he doesn’t recognize the muscular teen, but when he turns to look at him he is surprised.

“Theo.” Stiles says

“Stiles.” Theo responds

Theo grins at him and then begins tugging him along again. Stiles can’t believe he is just allowing himself to be dragged along, but the feeling of being pulled tight to Theo’s body is muddling his brain. The possessive grip he has on Stiles’ waist feels too good. Stiles doesn’t let himself think too much about it, he is probably just grabbing him like that because Theo isn’t quite tall enough to hang his arm off his shoulders. That moment of reality or what Lydia calls negativity breaks the spell enough for Stiles to speak.

“Where are you taking me?” Stiles asks.

“Afraid I’m gonna kidnap you?” Theo counters.

Before Stiles can reply they arrive at the gazebo that is functioning as a VIP only area because the entire pack is there. There are quick greetings and then Theo starts pulling him along again. They get to the hot tub at the end of the trail where Lydia and Scott are already waiting. Theo releases Stiles, his hand drags along his back as he walks around to get into the hot tub facing Stiles directly.

Scott is all smiles and Stiles greets his best friend with a “Hey, Scotty” and then he bends down to place a light kiss on Lydia’s cheek. He lowers himself into the hot tube and lets the warm jets work the tension out of his back. The warmth completely distracts him from Theo and he just lets himself drift.

Stiles inhales deeply at the feel of hands exploring his chest and fingers tweaking his nipples. He looks up to see the look of self satisfaction on Theo’s face

“Where did Scott and Lydia go?” Stiles mutters.

“Brett got here, I’m sure they just went to greet them. You know, Alpha to Alpha.” Theo replies.

Stiles feels a little vulnerable all alone with the chimera.

Sure, Theo had abandoned the Dread Doctors for him. He said he’d come back for him. But safety wasn’t a feeling he really associated with Theo, there was always the edge of danger.

Stiles starts to lift himself out of the water.

“Well then I should be there –

And Stiles feels some powerful hands grab at his waist before they emerge from the waterline and firmly hold him down to his seat.

“What did you do?” Stiles accuses.

Theo has the gall to look offended before his dark grin appears.

“I haven’t done anything.” Theo mocks.

“Then how are you controlling the water?” Stiles pushes.

“Oh, is the water doing something Stiles? Please, tell me about it.”

“You did something and –

“I’m part kelpie, just one of the perks of being me.”

Stiles immediately has so many questions but that train of thought is cut off by the feeling of lips pressing up against the head of his cock and a tongue softly swirling around the head. Stiles feels the sensation of a tongue sliding around his dick like a spiral and he tries to focus his eyes up at the moon. He can’t give in. He refuses to let that cocky chimera win.

Fuck.

Stiles is immediately broken out of the haze when the feeling of the most wonderful blow job turns into a fist grabbing his dick really fucking hard. He shoots a look at Theo and – oh – he looks very unhappy..

“Don’t look away from me, don’t you dare hide a fucking thing.” Theo says with a glare that has never been pointed at Stiles before.

“Dude, what the fuck?” Stiles sputters.

“You heard me, all of this is mine!” Stiles knows he means business because his dick feels the invisible fist squeeze his dick tight to deliver Theo’s point. He gasps for air, that’s the moment when he becomes aware that he has been holding his breath. His labored breathing continues and Theo’s smirk grows wider as Stiles begins to feel the sensation of being swallowed down to the hilt. He is already so hot in the water and then there is the feeling of an ice tongue driving him over the edge.

How the fuck– I’m coming!

The combination of hot and cold milks him as rope after rope of cum shoots inside his swim suit.

Theo stands up and positions himself between Stiles’ outstretched legs. Stiles’ eyes focus on his pronounced bulge and then up his light treasure trail and past his massive pecs to his face. Theo definitely looks the part of an angel, but Stiles can see underneath his pretty looks, he is pure devil. Theo lowers himself a bit, lips lightly grazing his ear.

“If I could do this with my mind, imagine what else I can do.”

Theo slowly stands back up, the son of a bitch adjusts his package with a grin and then steps out of the hot tub. He tries not to look, but Stiles’ eyes are glued to Theo’s ass. The full globes bouncing with each step and half visible because of the weight of his wet trunks lowering the waistband.

Looks like Theo isn’t done killing, because Stiles is definitely going to die tonight, half submerged underwater.

#Steo #Stiles Stilinski #Theo Raeken #Teen Wolf #TWedit #TeenWolfEdit #steo spooktober #steospooktober #steospooktober vol.3

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himaboroshi736 · 3 years

Text

IronDad fic recs

Here. I’m a french reader, but I’ve read A LOT (like...a lot) of IronDad, so, eventually, here my fic rec. (I tried to class it by categories, but well...) (it’s gonna be very long, guys)

Peter Parker has anxiety

Don’t let me get me, by hopeless_hope

He picks up his phone and sends a quick text. "hey, happy! i’m not feeling too hot today, so i think i’m gonna have to cancel. tell mr. stark i’m sorry!"

He stares at his phone, waiting for a response. It never comes, and Peter sighs sadly. There was a part of him, a small part, that really hoped he was wrong. His insides burn, and he curls up tighter into a ball and turns off his phone.

(No one’s going to try to contact him anyway.)

Anxiety has a way of convincing Peter that everyone hates him. Tony has a way of proving him wrong.

Midnight Oil, by @jolinarjackson

After everything that has happened to Peter over the last year - or five, really - he shouldn’t be worried about something as mundane as the ACT. When he fails it, though it sends him into a spiral of self-doubt, which only gets worse when Peter realizes that he doesn’t seem to be able to fix whatever is broken.

Tony Stark has anxiety

do you even remember what the world looks like ?, by @iron--spider

Tony’s heart has been working on overdrive since this whole thing started. Friday has a countdown clock plastered on the heads up display, but it feels like hieroglyphics to him at this point, like some ancient language he could never master.

Because when Peter Parker is missing, things start losing their meaning real quick.

“Should be around here,” Rhodey says on the com. May is still on the other line, listening in, because once a certain amount of time goes by without word from Peter, things move into Extremely Worried Aunt territory. They’re already in Tony Is Panicking territory, and when both of those territories overlap it’s never a good time for anybody.

Time? What the hell is time? His mind is blanking numbers out entirely. Minutes are seconds are hours are years.

not like megatron, by @iron--spider

“Hi! This is Peter Parker, I can’t get to the phone right now, so leave a message and I’ll call you back later! Hopefully not too much later, but don’t get your hopes up!”

Tony knows that message by heart. He’s heard it hundreds of times, in a greyer world, and it sends shivers down his spine as he climbs into the car.

He doesn’t think about that place. That half-world. No way, that’s done, that’s over, that’s history.

“Hey, kid, don’t you know it’s bad etiquette to go and disappear on your birthday? Not allowed, really, really bad vibes from the universe. What’s going on with your suit? I wasn’t watching. Nope. Just got an alert. What’s going on? Uh, call me back.” He clears his throat and hangs up like a moron, driving out into the street.

Hypothermia trope (i really like it so if you have any suggestions...)

i knock the ice from my bones, by hopeless_hope

Peter tries to move his legs through the water, dread filling him when they don’t move, and he just hangs there, doing anything and everything he can not to focus on the feeling of ice clinging to his bones. He feels sluggish, the world blurring around him, and he rests his head on the ice, not even registering the cold anymore.

He’s just so damn tired.

“PETER!” he hears someone yell, but it’s all muffled, and he lazily drags his eyes up to see a figure descending towards him.

Somewhere, in the back of his mind, he thinks, This is not how my vacation was supposed to go.

While on what's supposed to be a relaxing vacation with the Starks, things for Peter quickly go south, and he finds himself on thin ice. Literally.

Ice Ice Baby, by @wolfypuppypiles

If Tony, Bucky or pretty much anybody that knew Peter had seen him that morning they would have smacked him upside the head. Helping people was great, everyone should give it a go, but when helping people puts you in danger it’s not so smart anymore.

AKA Peter can't get from Avenger tower to the subway without giving his winter clothes to homeless people and ends up with a severe case of hypothermia

Candle in the Window, by @madasthesea

Finals are over and Peter just wants to go home. The weather has other ideas.

Burn This Out, by @ephemeralstark

It's summer and Peter is free to be Spider-Man all day which is great, but it's summer and Peter is out as Spider-Man on the hottest day of the year which is not great.

Or, Peter gets heat stroke because he can't thermoregulate and things could not go worse for him.

(yeah, it’s not an hypothermia, but it’s linked to the fact that Peter can’t actually thermoregulate)

Post-Endgame (really like this trope too lmao)

the first birthday after, by iron_spider

(Endgame spoilers. But The Thing doesn't happen.)

The rain falls harder and Tony turns, his neck creaking and cracking, and he sees Peter asleep over by the window. He’s holding a small, flat box, and he’s slowly slipping to the right side of the easy chair he’s in.

Tony thinks about letting him sleep, but he finds himself speaking anyway. “Pete,” he says, his voice rough and raspy.

Peter immediately startles awake. “Happy Birthday,” he says, almost like he’d fallen asleep practicing it, planning to say it as soon as he woke up. He blinks at Tony, shivering a little bit, and then he smiles. “Happy Birthday. Happy Birthday.”

Tony snorts, smiling back. “Thanks, bud,” he says.

Second Best, by Rowan_M

Tony had adjusted to parenthood quickly when Morgan came along, and was always conscious of making sure Peter isn't left out ... Almost always. When Peter gets hurt while taking care of Morgan, Tony obsess over his daughter and takes his anger out on Peter, without even checking to see if he was okay. Steve finds Peter later that night in serious pain and in need of immediate medical attention.

Or, Peter gets hurt while taking care of Morgan and Tony basically ignores him.

when you’re feeling empty keep me in your memory, by JkWriter

after everything with thanos he forgets it's his birthday. he just assumed everyone else did too.

All For You, by @ironxprince

Three weeks after the snap that saved the world, Peter learns he was the reason behind it. He learns that Tony risked death, and now has to live with the ramifications, both physical and mental, all because of him.

This doesn't sit right with him.

you save everybody, but who saves you ?, by @iron--spider

Tony doesn’t sleep, because he can’t, because too many things are plaguing him, most of all where Peter is and what he’s doing. Tony has a good view of the hallway through the windows to his room, and he stares and stares until his eyes cross, until he hallucinates, until he knows he’s going insane.

He sees Peter sneaking into the med bay at about four in the morning.

The kid’s mask is off and he’s got two short, harsh slashes across his cheek, and he’s bleeding from a slice across his neck. His suit is ripped in a few places and he’s holding onto his middle, and Tony can see his hands are shaking.

It’s like something splinters in Tony’s already broken brain, like his world narrows and there are hazy edges, both weakness and strength entwining in his veins when he sees Peter struggle up onto one of the beds in the main atrium, starting to tend his wounds without calling anybody to help.

BAMF Peter Parker

Pizza, a Movie, and... an Attempted Kidnapping ?, by Pogokitten

“Tony. We’ll be fine,” Peter tells the man for what must be the tenth time in the last half hour.

Peter’s sitting on the couch of his and May’s apartment and building Legos with Morgan as they both watch their father’s methodical, yet anxious, pacing. He’s dressed to impress, as is Pepper who is watching the scene slightly exasperated.

“Are you sure? We can ditch the gala, kid. Just say the word,” Tony offers, halting in front of his kids.

Or: Tony and Pepper leave Peter in charge of Morgan while they go to their first gala since the third snap. Peter is expecting a calm night in with his adopted sister, but some thugs throw a wrench in his plans.

he’s good like that, by @iron--spider

“Get the hell outta here, boy,” the man says. “Or you’re gonna watch your boss die in front of you.” Then he grabs Tony by the shoulders hard, and shoves him down to his knees. The gun is louder now, like it’s filled with words that are eager to be shouted, and Tony winces when he feels the barrel press against the back of his neck. His knees weren’t ready to hit the ground that hard, and he tries to keep the pain from reaching his face.

He must fail, because Peter looks pissed.

“You’re not gonna shoot him, mister,” Peter says, somehow still trying to maintain a respectful tone, despite the clear anger written all over him.

stark robotics and technology conference, by @iron--spider

Peter leans against the wall while Tony chooses their floor, and the doors close. “Do you, uh, want me to do some interning stuff? Like go and get you coffee? Make sure the, uh—programs are all ready? Make sure the paintings are straight in the ballroom? Make sure the chairs are—”

Tony snorts. “Kid, I just thought you’d enjoy this. May told me about when it came through Queens but you two couldn’t make it because she was working and didn’t want you to go alone, and I thought, after all the shit you’ve been through lately, that you deserved something fun. No interning for you. That’s just an excuse.”

Peter remembers that. It was six months after Ben died, and he wasn’t gonna bother May too much about the conference. He didn’t know how much tickets cost anyways, or if kids his age could even go.

He really hung onto the idea of Iron Man after Ben died. Peter held him closer than ever.

Peter and Tony fighting

dinner and a jailbreak, by killerqueenwrites

“I’m not your kid!” Peter shouts.

“Don’t walk away from me, I’m not done–“

“You’re not my dad!”

Peter fitting in after the Blip isn't as easy as Tony hoped it would be. He wants his kid back, but they can't seem to stop fighting.

and then Peter goes missing.

my old man, by parkrstark

"I just want to help you. I want to help you understand what's wrong here and how to stop it. I used to be the same way until my father showed me how to be a man." He glanced back at Peter to sneer. "He's old enough to know better by now, but it's not your fault you didn't know how to teach him." "Teach him what?" Tony asked even though he didn't want to know the answer.

"Discipline, of course," Junior said with a wink.

Tony takes Peter on a weekend trip to try and change his mind about college and things go wrong. Then, they go even more wrong.

Between how it is and how it should be, by @frostysunflowers

''Doesn’t Captain Rogers ever…wonder,'' Peter winced as he fumbled for the right word, ''where you are?''

Bucky smirked. ''Steve’s a regular mother hen. Used to be me that worried about him.'' He gave Peter a pointed look. ''Better question is, isn’t Stark wondering where you are?''

Soulmates trope

presumed dead, by killerqueenwrites

Tony gets his first soulmark when he’s fifteen, his second when he's thirty. He's forty-six when his third appears, and forty-eight when it fades to grey.

did you see the flares in the sky ?, by justt-ppeachy

‘hi’

One simple word was displayed proudly on the inside of his right wrist. Tony wasn’t sure when this word showed up or how long it had been there.

A line formed underneath the word and Tony could almost feel the pressure on his arm from the marker his soulmate was using to push one phrase from their skin into his.

‘i loev yu’

The letters were written slowly and messily as they showed up upon his wrist while he watched in disbelief. Not sure if he was hallucinating or just going insane, Tony rubbed at the writing, wondering if they would disappear once he looked again.

The words were barely recognizable, but they were still the best thing Tony had ever seen.

IronDad Fluff (yeah)

peter wearing tony’s hoodie, by killerqueenwrites

Tony’s used to his clothes going missing. His MIT hoodie doesn’t often leave his closet, though, which is why he notices its absence straight away. There’s a lifetime of safety and comfort in this old hoodie, for both of them, and that’s all Tony could ever wish to give Peter.

Career Day, by @superhusbands4ever

“Hey, sorry I’m late,” Peter’s enhanced senses picked up the familiar voice from outside the door. “I had a meeting this morning and then I got lost looking for the class… anyway, I’m here for Peter? Peter Parker?”

He frowned at hearing his name, still unsure what exactly was going on. He watched as his teacher continued to stand and stare out the door for a minute before seemingly remembering herself and taking a step back.

“Of course! If you could just go sit next to him until your turn, he’s in the back on the right side.”

The man stepped through the door and Peter gaped with the rest of the class as Tony Stark, in his signature suit and goatee, sporting a pair of red sunglasses and carrying a suitcase walked through the door.

Kryptonite, by forensicleaf

The kid is acting weird.

Tony tries to figure it out.

father’s day, by @iron--spider

It’s Father’s Day, and Tony never really had a father. Not in the real sense of the word, not in the way that counts.

Peter Parker doesn’t have a father, either. Not anymore, anyway, not since he was little, and the amount of years that have passed since then outweigh the amount of time he got with Richard Parker.

Tony wouldn’t call himself Peter’s dad. He wouldn’t, he doesn’t, he doesn’t think of himself that way, no way, no way.

He stares at himself in the mirror. He pulls down on his cheeks, makes his eyes water. He runs his hands over the roughness of his jaw and sorta hates everything about himself right now, because he’s acting like a goddamn idiot. It’s Father’s Day and he’s not a father. He doesn’t know why the hell he’s pining for something that isn’t his, shouldn’t be his, can never be his. He isn’t a father, he isn’t Peter’s father, so there’s no reason on God’s green earth for Peter and him to do something for Father’s Day.

ain’t no valley low enough, by @iron--spider (yes, again, ‘cuz she’s the best)

Peter snorts. “You know I didn’t apply anywhere in Florida.”

“Please, kid, you know all you have to do is write a beautiful essay with my recommendation attached to it and you’re in. You’ve got the scores.”

Peter has a list. Of all the places he applied to, all the places he got into. A lot of it was encouraged by the adult role models in his life, some of it by Ned daydreaming about places like California and Colorado. Mostly, Peter just applied everywhere he could think of, because he’s known for a long time that Tony was gonna help May pay for it, and he didn’t wanna limit his options. Thinking about college has been strange for him, strange to the extent that he had a full blown panic attack about it in the middle of Avengers taco night last month. He can’t really understand it, doesn’t get why it feels like the end of the world—because he’s experienced the end of the world, and it’s not which campus has a bowling alley and which school has circus classes. But he nearly blacked out all the same, sobbed in Tony’s arms on the balcony until Tony proposed this. The road trip.

and when it’s hard, i’ll place your head into my hands, by hopeless_hope

“Tony,” Pepper sing-songs to get his attention. “Your mother hen is showing.”

“What?” he snaps indignantly. “I am not a mother hen. This is just... concern. Of the average kind. Perfectly normal.”

“Of course,” Pepper humors him, and he shoots her a dirty look as he types out a quick text to Peter.

It's been five days since Tony's heard from Peter, who's away at college, and Tony is not coping well. (Neither is Peter.)

Peter likes cuddles (and Tony too, but he always denies it... until he can’t)

my arms will hold you (keep you safe and warm), by parkrstark

“So, you’re telling me your body...is going through Oxytocin withdrawals?” Tony asked slowly.

“Cuddle withdrawals,” Peter corrected him. “Mr. Stark cuddles.”

TW : Rape/non-cons

make me strong, by parkrstark

It all started when Tony introduced Peter to Skip Westcott. He just didn't know until it was too late.

(There is a lot more, but I can’t find it rn ;-;)

5+1

5 times peter clung to tony, by parkrstark

... and the one time tony clung to him.

You are my Dad, you’re my dad, boogiewoogiewoogie, by Hittinmiss

“Peter? What’s going on kid?” Tony asked, him popping up on the phone’s screen.

“Hey da-” Peter started automatically before immediately noticing his mistake, the look on Ned’s face proved that yes, he almost called Tony Stark dad. He needed to try recover quickly because the look on Tony’s face seemed confused, especially with his slight pause. “-aaaaaamn Mr. Stark I really like your shirt. Where’d you get it?”

Smooth.

---

5 times Peter called Tony Dad and the 1 time Tony called himself Dad

5 Times Tony Took Care of Peter..., by As_Clear_As_Crystal

“Think if I coded a sign into your suit that says ‘Baby on Board,’ maybe criminals wouldn’t be so enthusiastic about murdering you?” Tony asks airily, poking at the bottom of Peter’s foot.

Peter halfheartedly kicks at Tony with his toe. (“That’s offensive, Mr. Stark.” )

- - -

aka: Five times Tony took care of Peter, and one time Peter took care of Tony.

5 times Peter is stuck with Tony, by @iron--spider

(...and one time he’s stuck alone.)

“I wonder if Pepper’s reported me missing yet,” Tony says, with an exaggerated sigh. “I wonder if this is some kind of scheme to kidnap me or something.”

“I think the ride’s just broken,” Peter says.

“Today of all goddamn days,” Tony says, exasperation clear in his voice and in his eyes. “Ruining our trip—”

“It’s not ruined,” Peter says. “Look, we’re hanging out."

“Real quality time,” Tony huffs. “Us, a few other trapped members of the general public, and a handful of animatronic pirates. Drunk pirates. Repeating themselves.”

5 times tony forgot peter was just a kid, by @parkrstark

...and the 1 time he didn't.

Or the one where it was hard for Tony to remember that the kid fighting next to him was still just a kid.

can i get a good night’s sleep ? can i PLEASE get a good night’s sleep ?, by peterstank

The doors open and there’s Peter, perched on a gurney with his shirt gone and a whole lot of blood staining his side. He’s bent awkwardly, clearly trying to feel his way around whatever wound he’s got.

“Um,” Tony says, approaching, “What.”

Peter looks up and—yeah, he’s lost a lot more blood than Tony had originally thought. His face is completely fucking drained. “Hey,” he says, offering a jaunty wave before returning his attention to his side. “I got shot.”

“Oh!” Tony nods. “Oh, okay. What the fuck, kiddo?”

or: five times peter doesn’t sleep + the one time he does

Five Times Peter and Tony Had Each Other’s Back, by Sahiya

... and One Time They Needed Help.

Peter is Tony’s Biological Child

I Had the Dream Again, by Skeeter_110

Peter calls Tony in the middle of the night crying.

Congratulations, it’s a Boy, by capiocapi

"Sir, I have the results.”

“Okay, Jarvis. Hit me.”

“It’s a match. 99.9% chance that he is your biological son, which is the percentage needed to be recognized by law as a biological parent.”

Tony’s stomach did a funny swooping dance. “Great. Congratulations to me then, eh? It’s a boy.”

You Are My Sunshine, by @iamconstantine

Tony Stark had always been a man of science and he always would be. It was his personal and fundamental belief that everything had an explanation. His eventual encounters with Norse gods, alien life, and sorcerers did kind of quake this a little bit, but still.

One thing that had always confounded him as the one thing that had no scientific explanation was fate. Murphy’s law, Finagle’s law, the butterfly effect, the domino effect, the snowball effect, and the wisest of all: “Shit happens.”

So how peculiar was it that one of the greatest things to ever happen to him began with a tray of champagne?

Serie i love you more than anything, by @iron--spider

The highs and lows of Tony unexpectedly becoming a single dad at 31– from Peter’s early baby years, all the way past the defeat of Thanos

May’s abusive boyfriend trope

A Peter Parker Problem, by @spagbol99

Peter Parker was back from the dead. At least that is what everybody told him. He'd been snapped out of existence until some sort of time travel and an active death wish by his mentor had saved him and the universe. Just your average sort of life for a 16 year old from Queens.

Peter comes back to find May has a husband and a kid. A new family he has to fit into. But he has done it before, he can do it again.

The only thing that feels solid is Tony: the Blip and fatherhood have mellowed him and Peter loves the bond they have now. He knows Tony would be there for him through anything. But Tony needs to focus on his own recovery - not small time Peter Parker problems. When things at home take a turn for the worse, Peter decides that he'll handle it himself. He is Spider-man. He's been to space and fought aliens. He can get through anything. After all, if May is happy, he is happy, right? Right?

(again, I’ve read a lot more but can’t find it...)

Peter Parker Whump (everyone’s favorite trope)

Danger Pizza, by alice_in_ink

The window was pushed open, and Iron Man’s head popped into his bedroom. “Here’s where I’m confused—why lock the front door but leave the fire-escape-accessible windows unlocked?” He clambered through said window. “Seems like a safety hazard.”

Peter eyed the metal suit as it straightened to a standing position. “Did you break into my window to kill me?”

The face plate lifted, and Tony’s eyes quickly looked over the teen. “Christ, kid. It looks like you’re halfway there.”

...

A wild night on patrol leaves Peter with a broken back, and boy, does he want to be able to move without dying. (So he calls Anthony Stark, obviously.)

If You Can’t Catch A Breath (You Can Take The Oxygen Straight Out Of My Own Chest), by @losingmymindtonight

"And I would hurry. Little Peter is about to be under quite a lot of pressure, and it might get a little hard to breathe.”

I’ve Got You, by @thedumbestavenger

Peter runs into a Copycat Vulture out on patrol, from there, everything escalates.

Meetings and Migraines, by AllThingsGeeky

Peter has another migraine at an unfortunate time and despite his best efforts he can’t ignore it forever.

The Most Important Thing In The World, by S0lstice

Peter’s door creaked and began to bend under the force of the crowbar and for the first time since regaining consciousness, fear began to press into him. Something very bad was happening and it was happening fast - too fast for his sluggish mind to keep up.

He went with his instincts instead, the first one always being, Help Mr. Stark.

Friendly Fire, by @jolinarjackson

Finding a careful truce with the government, the “rogue Avengers” are allowed to return to the Compound where they are put under house arrest. Peter coming to spend one week at the Compound during his summer break couldn’t have come at a more inconvenient time as the opportunity to bond a little more with his mentor is overshadowed by a conflict he doesn’t quite understand. When he starts to develop a mysterious medical condition, however, the former team is forced to work together – not just to protect Peter’s identity from the DODC, but also to find the cause for his illness before it’s too late.

“He’s my kid,” Tony said, his voice hoarse. “He’s my kid and I failed him.” He covered his eyes and took a few deep, shuddering breaths. “All I ever do is fail him.” Natasha knelt down in front of him and cupped his face in her hands, waiting for him to meet her eyes before she said, “Right now, he doesn’t need you to fix this. He doesn’t need you down here. He needs you over there, in the medbay, by his side.” She thumbed tears from the corners of his eyes and ignored the ones running down her own face. “You haven’t failed him yet.”

alarm bells and panic levels, by @iron--spider

Tony lands heavy on the dock, the wood splintering hard under the metal suit. He’s having trouble breathing, his nose is bleeding, he most definitely has more than the recommended amount of broken ribs. But none of that fucking matters. The sky is clear, the assholes are down, but there’s one thing missing.

He looks over his shoulder when Rhodey lands too. His suit is dented in a few places but other than that he looks alright. His face mask flips up and Tony lets his mask retract.

“Where’s Peter?” Tony asks, his voice rough with the amount of yelling he’s been doing. Fuck these stupid assholes. They were supposed to go mini-golfing today. The kid had been looking forward to it for weeks.

Rhodey looks around, breathing hard through his mouth. “I thought you knew.”

there’s something wrong, by @iron--spider

“I’m sorry, Pete,” Tony whispers. “We should have checked you for something like this when we were resetting your arm and checking on the concussion. Goddamnit. We didn’t think.”

“He poisoned us both?” Peter asks, trying to open one eye to look at him.

“Yeah,” Tony says, brushing Peter’s hair back from his forehead. “He’s dying. He got the brunt of it, a nice fucking cocktail of bullshit, including mercury and a bunch of other toxic shit—”

“Am I dying?” Peter whispers, voice breaking.

Fitting In (Tiny Spaces), by aloneintherain

Peter's trapped beneath a collapsed building during a mission, hurt and unable to move. Luckily, his comm still works. Unluckily, the Avengers don’t realise how bad of a state Peter is in, and Peter isn’t inclined to tell them.

“Spidey, they’ve got reinforcements. We’ve hit a bit of a snag here, and I don’t think anyone will be able to help you for a while. Think you can sit tight while we deal with this?”

The pressure on his lower back and legs was becoming too much. Peter swallowed thickly, fighting down panic. He could handle this.

“Yeah,” Peter said. “I can do that.”

Collections/Series (’cause I could make an inventory of all @iron--spider stories, you know, but you have to read all of her work, if you haven’t yet) (God she doesn’t even know who I am)

iron dad bingo, by @iron--spider

stay at home, by @iron--spider

whumptober, by @iron--spider

Whumptober 2019, by @marvelous-writer

Day in the life of the Iron Family, by @marvelous-writer

The Tumblr Archives, by @losingmymindtonight

Everything comes back to you, by @losingmymindtonight

Nice work, kid, by @madasthesea

Irondad Bingo 2019, by sahiya

The Adventures of Spidy-son and Iron-dad, by eva7673

Tony adopts Peter (why everyone kills May, btw ?)

Accepting the Tides, by @emma--anacortes

Tony had dragged Peter from the depths of despair after May's death. It was normal that he'd grown to care a little about him, right?

Yeah, okay. He freaking loved the kid.

So naturally he would feel a little weird when Richard Parker randomly shows up in Peter's life. Naturally he'd feel protective, nervous, and confused because where has Richard been all this time? And why does Tony feel sick every time he sees him around Peter?

All he knows is if Richard hurts his kid, Tony's gonna give him hell.

Series Out of Darkness, by @starryknight09

“Is this Peter Parker?”

“Yes…”

“This is Dr. Nguyen. I’m sorry but your aunt’s been in an accident and we’re going to need you to come to Queens Memorial as soon as you can.”

Peter's life shatters with a phone call. The last person he expects helps him pick up the pieces.

#irondad #irondad spiderson #irondad fic #fic recs

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mymoonagedaydream · 3 years

Note

Hey girl 💞it’s my birthday next week Wednesday and I have no friends 🙃so I’m hoping if you have any time/ and if you want to could you write a fluffy birthday for Reader and Bucky where he is being all nice and shit. I recognise how tragic this sounds lol but it is what it is 😂 hope you have a good week and keep up the amazing stories 💞

103 Candles

Summary: You wouldn’t have minded your birthday quietly slipping by without anyone noticing, but apparently that wasn’t allowed on Bucky’s watch.

Pairing: Bucky x y/n

Word Count: 1.8k

Warnings: Language, much floof as requested

Author’s Note: Happy Birthday for Wednesday anon! I know things seem to be relentlessly shitty at the moment but I really hope you have a lovely day despite all that. And don’t be saying you got no friends cause I’ve just written a whole bloody story for you, cheeky thing. (I moved this one up the queue a little but hey, can’t miss a birthday.)

---

‘Mail call.’

Bucky was already standing inside your room, knocking on the door after he’d opened it. Apparently privacy wasn’t a word in his vocabulary, he’d caught you half-dressed more times than you could count but obviously still hadn’t learned his lesson.

He grinned and held a handful of envelopes out to you.

‘Thanks Buck. Glad to see you’re finally making yourself useful.’

‘Don’t get used to it, cupcake.’

He flopped down onto your bed, lying back with his hands folded under his head. Your gaze unconsciously wandered down to where his t-shirt was riding up slightly, your face starting to heat up before you caught what you were doing and quickly looked away.

In the couple of months you’d been at the compound, no-one had made you feel more welcome than Bucky. He was the first to offer help whenever you needed it and he always made an effort to speak to you when your paths crossed.

Plus neither of you really had friends outside of work, so you spent most evenings alone with him in the living room, doing your very best to educate him on some of the best films of the last fifty years while he fought tooth and nail to stay stuck in his outdated ways.

He still thought Charlie Chaplin was the height of cinema, bless him.

You’d really become attached, but you knew pursuing anything romantic meant risking the loss of your best friend, so you just buried that feeling alongside your weird fascination with bigfoot and your inexplicable attraction to Donny Osmond.

He propped himself up on his elbows. ‘Anything exciting?’

You lazily flicked through the letters, stopping when you came across a bright red envelope, sporting what you instantly recognised to be your sister’s handwriting.

Dropping the rest of the pile, you held it up to Buck. ‘Looks like a birthday card.’

‘Your birthday’s coming up?’

‘Yeah, Wednesday.’

‘For real?’ He excitedly jumped back onto his feet. ‘What are we doing for it? Party?’

‘God no, I can’t think of anything worse.’

His arms folded across his chest as he gave a loud huff, narrowing his eyes at you in suspicion. ‘Is this one of those lady things where you say you don’t want something but actually do?’

‘Definitely not. Could we just keep this between us? Please?’

The smirk that spread across his face sent a bolt of dread coursing through your veins. It was obvious that he was plotting something, but before you could probe any deeper he had his hands up in surrender and was backing out of the room.

‘Whatever you say, weirdo.’

---

Wednesday came around and, as you’d hoped, it felt like just another normal day. You woke up late, shuffled to the kitchen to assemble something resembling a breakfast and encountered no unwelcome surprises on your way.

Your optimism about getting through this day without drawing the attention of your colleagues was steadily growing but, just as you’d finished cooking and were about to escape back to your bedroom, Bucky strolled in looking very fucking pleased with himself.

He was wearing his winter coat, immediately rousing your suspicion because the crazy powerful compound heating made the place like a sauna, and holding something behind his back.

‘Hey! Happy b-’

You shoved your hand over his mouth. ‘I thought we had an agreement.’

He made a face and mumbled something into your palm, making you roll your eyes and reluctantly let go of his face.

‘Yeah, we agreed to keep it between us. I haven’t told anyone else.’ With a proud grin, he pulled a terribly wrapped gift from behind his back. ‘But you never said I couldn’t celebrate.’

You tried your best to look a little peeved, but you really struggled to smother your growing smile.

You just hoped that this was all he had planned.

Taking the present from him, you tried to tear it open, quickly realising that he’d used an ungodly amount of tape to hold the shambles together. You ended up having to ferret out the kitchen scissors just to get into the bloody thing.

Finally cracking it open, you grabbed your gift and held it up, becoming instantly confused.

‘You got me a Christmas sweater?’

‘Yeah. When you have a birthday in December, you gotta accept that you’ll get festive gifts.’ He excitedly reached for the zipper on his coat. ‘You haven’t even seen the best part.’

You couldn’t believe your eyes.

Under his coat, he was wearing a matching sweater.

The only issue was that they obviously didn’t make them in his size, cause it was the tightest piece of clothing you’d ever seen anyone wear, including Nat. He looked like a size two sausage stuffed into a size one casing.

You started laughing so hard you could barely stay standing, his confused frown just sending you further into your spiral.

‘What? What’s so funny?’

You just about managed to form words through your breathless howling. ‘You look like a sex offender.’

‘Is that right?’ He gave you a roguish smirk and pulled your sweater out of your hands. ‘Well let’s see how you look in yours.’

‘I think I should save it for Christmas.’

‘I think you should be more polite about the gift I spent ages picking out for you.’

You quickly spun round, taking off towards the door. You knew you couldn’t outrun him, but you hoped you could at least get back to your bedroom before he caught up, locking him out along with the sweater.

It didn’t work.

You didn’t even make it out of the room before he’d grabbed you and pulled the sweater down over your shoulders, trapping your arms by your sides.

With a reluctant sigh, you adjusted so you were wearing it properly, wincing at the itchy material rubbing against your neck. This thing would definitely give you a rash if you wore it for too long.

‘Ah, you were right.’ Bucky looked you up and down with a smirk before strolling out of the room. ‘They do look terrible.’

You quickly pulled it off before shouting after him. ‘At least mine fits.’

---

The evening came around and you sequestered yourself to your bedroom, hoping to ride out the rest of the day in peace. There’d been no big surprise party and no more weird gifts, so you were feeling pretty good about your chances, when a series of loud thuds sounded against your door.

You reluctantly shuffled over and pulled it open, a little shocked to see Bucky standing there holding two huge pizza boxes. This was the first time he’d ever knocked before entering.

Eh, he probably just couldn’t reach the doorknob with his hands full.

‘What is this?’

‘Birthday dinner.’ He strolled past you with a grin, jumping onto your bed and flinging open the top box. ‘I didn’t get anything for my birthday back in March either, so we can call this a joint party.’

Alright, if the only “party” you had to endure this year was pizza in bed with Bucky, you’d figured you’d gotten off pretty lightly. You might even enjoy it, just as long as he had nothing else hidden behind his back.

Crawling on next to him, you grabbed a slice and started stuffing your face, deciding for some reason to attempt conversation in between mouthfuls.

‘How old are you, anyway?’

‘If you count my time in deepfreeze I’m 103.’

You audibly gasped and inhaled a bit of cheese, immediately choking and coughing your guts up like a fucking idiot. Bucky just chuckled and whacked you hard on the back.

It didn’t help at all, but you appreciated the gesture.

‘I can see why we skipped it,’ you wheezed, ‘you’d need a fucking big cake for 103 candles.’

‘And an even bigger one for 104. I’m looking forward to seeing what you come up with.’

The two of you finished off the pizzas, Bucky wouldn’t admit it but he ate at least one and a half of them, and you threw the empty boxes onto the floor. Slumping back onto your pillows, you quickly had to dive sideways to dodge Bucky’s huge metal shoulder as he flopped next to you, obviously underestimating his own width.

You flicked on the TV. ‘What d’you want to watch?’

‘I’ll let you pick, since it’s your birthday.’

‘For real?’ This was unprecedented, the two of you had never managed to watch a movie without at least thirty minutes of arguing beforehand. ‘Can everyday be my birthday?’

‘Maybe. If you play your cards right.’

You gave him a wide smile and let your head fall onto his shoulder, adjusting yourself a little when his arm came up to circle your shoulders. This had become your usual lazy evening position, but it felt a little different in bed than it did on the couch in the communal living area. More intimate.

It felt a lot different when his arm fell to your waist and pulled you in closer to him, that’d never happened before.

But you definitely weren’t complaining.

You shifted onto your side slightly, slotting your head into the curve of his neck, smiling to yourself at how neatly it fit there. Your knee automatically folded up to rest on his thigh, a bolt of electricity shooting up your spine when Bucky’s free hand moved to start caressing it lightly.

He must’ve felt you twitching, because he let out a gruff chuckle and pressed his lips into your forehead, lingering there for a few seconds before shifting to rub cheek across your temple.

It was rough and stubbly, scratching against your skin like the sweater, but this sensation was different. It felt satisfying and strangely familiar, immediately sending you in to a deep, warm relaxation.

Eventually managing to pluck up some courage, you tilted your head back slightly so you were face-to-face with him.

His gaze was already zeroed in on you.

As soon as your eyes met, he lifted his hand from your knee to cup your face, brushing his thumb gently across your lips.

‘Good birthday?’

‘Yeah. Better than expected.’

He gave a slight smile and leaned towards you, your eyes fluttering closed as his lips pressed softly against yours. Your whole body tensed slightly, you pulled in a sharp, stuttering breath through your nose as your stomach tied itself in a knot.

It took a few seconds, but you eventually managed to compose yourself, relaxing and letting him lead the kiss while you just felt yourself begin to melt under his touch.

Your arms slid around his neck as his wrapped around your waist, the two of you steadily pulling each other closer until you were both on lying your sides with your bodies pressed together, limbs tangled up like electrical cables.

He pulled away slightly, whispering while his forehead was still pressed firmly against yours. ‘I was lying earlier, you looked great in that sweater.’

‘I’m still not gonna wear it.’

‘Fair enough.’

---

#bucky #bucky x reader #bucky x you #bucky x y/n #bucky imagine #bucky fanfic #bucky fic #bucky fanfiction #bucky fluff #Bucky Barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes fluff

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irondadfics · 4 years

Note

I’m looking for fanfics where Peter is Tony’s biological child and he goes missing/gets kidnapped as a young child. He is raised by someone else and doesn’t know he’s Tony’s son. I’ve already read Lost Boy and Things I Almost Remember on archive of our own and I wanted to find stories with a similar plot.

WHEW! It’s kind of a long list, but we did our best finding several fics that feature both BioDad!Tony and Peter being kidnapped at a very young age. ENJOY!!

PETER IS TONY’S SON BUT THEY WERE SEPARATED WHEN PETER WAS A CHILD REC LIST

Lost Boy by winterda

Isaac Stark disappeared from a crowded park a few months shy of his third birthday. There were never any signs of him, and no arrest were ever made in connection to the case. It was as if the toddler had simply vanished off the face of the earth. Twelve years later, Peter Parker has a really bad day, which only get worse when his prints are put through the system.

Things I Almost Remember by IcedAquarius @icedaquarius31

Peter's past is not as it appears. It all starts one day with a genetics project and slowly spirals into something Peter never could have imagined.

hydra's not a home by tempestaurora @tempestaurora

At 6 years old, the son of Tony and Pepper Stark, Peter, is kidnapped, never to be seen again. Or, so they thought. Ten years later, while raiding a HYDRA base, the Avengers come across a new, enhanced individual, working for the enemy: in black spandex, with a tendency to stick to walls and shoot webs from his wrists, the Black Spider is a pain in the ass in more ways than one.

If They Knew All About You by MsHermia

Tony Stark had lost his son when he was only 2 years old, stolen away in broad daylight with nobody the wiser of what exactly happened. Years later, Tony has just made it through the disaster with Ultron. He is trying to keep himself and the team together but relationships are strained and tempers are running high. Then a random turn of events leads to his path crossing with that of a particular vigilante. They are strangers to each other, or so they think.

Peter Parker is on top of the world. After a few shitty years, losing his parents and then losing his Uncle, things are finally looking up. Sure he lives in a crappy little apartment with his Aunt but he might have just found his mission in life.

------

This is an AU story obvious by some of the tags. I'm starting out a few weeks after Age of Ultron took place. Civil War will be a thing. Other than that I'm not too concerned about sticking to every canon detail and storyline.

Finding Their Way Home by ElliahRose

Peter Benjamin-Edward Stark went missing on a Tuesday. For months the entirety of the New York police department, as well as anyone else the Starks could convince to join, searched for the tot. He was only three when he was taken and for four months, two weeks, and four days, Tony Stark and Pepper Stark (nee Potts) worried and fretted over their beloved child.

Peter Benjamin-Edward Stark was murdered on a Friday. A ransom call gone wrong spelt the end of the child’s life. The world grieved as the kidnappers gleefully told the devastated parents they’d find his body in the morning.

They never did.

Twelve years passed and the family was still grieving, and Tony Stark worked tirelessly to find his only child’s killer and gain justice for his son.

Meanwhile Peter Parker was having literally the worst day ever. He just wanted to help make the world a better place, but instead he got stabbed. That's just his luck, isn't it?

missing, presumed dead by hailingstars @hailing-stars

They hadn’t had a funeral for Peter.

There hadn’t been a casket or a service inside a church.

There had been, before Tony decided in his heart that Peter was gone, candlelight vigils and pleas on the media for whoever had taken him to bring him home. Neither of those did any good. Neither of those brought Peter home.

Tony Stark's son gets kidnapped when he's two. Twelve years later he comes back.

I told you to be better (and you became the best) by HaruK

Tony was blessed with a healthy baby boy, and for once in his life, was actually happy. Until everything derailed and he had to send his son away to keep him safe, because those related to the Stark family, one of the worlds biggest and most targeted families in the black market, always end up hurt. With a new name and identity that Tony himself doesn't know, the young baby was wiped off the map, his existence erased, never to be heard of again. . Years later, Anti-hero Iron Man meets a local superhero vigilante and Tony becomes surprisingly close with young Peter Parker.

The Curly-Haired Boy In The Paper by Svn_f1ower @svn-f1ower

When Tony sees the blurry, grey scale photograph of someone he thought he had lost years ago, he follows the trail to a newspaper company, to a hospital, to an adoption agency, to the police station and finally to May Parker's house.

hold him tight & don’t let go by jessicagoddamnjones @farremoved

Peter Stark went missing when he was four years old.

Eleven years later, he’s found.

Only now he’s Peter Parker by day, Spider-Man by night, and he doesn’t like the idea that his entire life is a lie.

Rise from the Ashes; Just to See You Again by Mintstream @iwritedumbshit

Tony Stark didn't expect Mary Fitzpatrick, or the news she delivered. He didn't expect that he would become a father, or that he would actually enjoy it. He didn't expect Penny to love him just as fiercely as he did her.

He didn't expect to lose her so soon.

In the wake of the loss of his daughter he tried--tried to do right by her. He became Iron Man, he was an Avenger, he protected his world because he couldn't protect his daughter, but through it all, he hoped to be reunited with his daughter.

He didn't expect to be alive when he was.

AKA the biological daughter kidnapping AU no one asked for. Hope you read, and hope you enjoy.

Updates on Saturdays.

Coming Home by inkinmyheartandonthepage

AU – Peter Stark was kidnapped when he was just three years old. Tony and Pepper never stopped looking for their boy. Years later, Peter finds his way back home.

A Change In What We Knew by Imissyoutoo @imissyoutoo

Tony scoured the floor behind Steve as though his one-year-old son had somehow crawled to him, before finally, he looked up. The realisation dawned on him like an eclipse; the decaying darkness hiding the sun. Hiding his son. Because his boy wasn't there.

”Where is he? Steve? Where's my son Rogers?!” At only a year old, Tony Stark’s son is taken, leaving him shattered. Little does he know, his journey to find what is lost only begins twelve years later. In the most unlikely of places, and all because of two words.

”Hey kid.”

I Found You by honestchick

Tony had a son; he raised him for two years until someone kidnapped him. Tony was devastated and heartbroken. And who would have thought in Starks Expo, he’d be able to see his son once again?

move back home forever by chasingflower @evahmohns

The results say he’s not actually Peter Parker.

They say he’s Peter Stark. You know, the one who’s been missing for 10 years.

Yeah. He knows.

Soon You'll Get Better by lostinmorewaysthan1

Peter Stark was kidnapped. That was all anyone knew. He vanished into thin air, no traces left behind, when he was eight years old.

Six years later, on one of the final raids on the HYDRA bases, they find an enhanced assassin, with super strength and the ability to climb walls. No one imagined that it would be Peter. Least of all Tony.

With no memory and brainwashed by HYDRA, Peter Stark goes home and tries to recover.

Let This Road Be Mine by CommunicationFlail

Ten years ago, five year old Peter Stark disappeared. When the trail went cold, the case was closed. Now new evidence has been brought to light and Tony will stop at nothing to get his son back. No matter how many fakes he has to meet. His son is out there, and he will find him.

Return to me, the one I love so endlessly by SuperHeroTiger @superherotiger

James Edwin Stark was born on the 10th of August 2001, and for the first time in his life, Tony Stark cried tears of joy.

All the fears, all the dread that had once consumed his soul washed away with a single look at the baby’s gentle features, so familiar and yet so distinctly unique at the same time. Tony made many promises that day. Promises to love his son, to protect him, to always be there for him.

On the 10th of August 2002, James Edwin Stark was stolen in the middle of the night, and his father’s world came crashing down. Shattered and alone, Tony whispered the same promise he’d made to his son the day that he was born.

‘…My love for you is endless…’

Fourteen years later, hidden away from the world in a forest of pine, Peter Beck would dream of a day he might get to see the towering city of New York. And when a wounded stranger stumbles onto their property a week out from his birthday claiming to be a famous billionaire from New York, his dream might just come true.

Once Lost Now Found by FreckledAvenger11

Peter Parker was just trying to get used to life without his uncle. He wasn't expecting to find a familiar face in an article about Tony Stark's missing son. Follow Peter on his journey to discover just who he is. Is he Peter Parker? Is he Spider-Man? Or is he someone else entirely? Just who is he and what secrets died along with his parents in that plane crash?

So He Walks The World Alone by Miola014

This is a story 'bout a broken boy With his headphones in just to block out the noise Of everyone around him telling him the way to go So he walks the world alone Wondering if it gets better Or if he's always gonna feel empty forever So he gets lost tryna find another way back home As he walks the world alone

The Kidnapped Peter Stark AU that I promised y'all!

#fic rec list #tony is peter's biological dad #kidnapping

417 notes · View notes

c-watches-too-many-shows · 3 years

Text

‘The One’ - Mat Barzal (Part Two)

It’s finally here! Sorry it took me so long to write it, uni is killing me. Like and reblogs are always appreciated!

Hope you like it!

PS: I didn’t proofread it so almost sure there are some errors sorry!

Part 1

Masterlist

Word count: 4.1k

Warnings: implicit mention of sex (?)

Tonight was Mat’s night, he was scoring goal after goal and he knew the reason. Every time he had the puke he advanced with one thing in mind: you. Knowing that he could look up and find you there in your old spot between the wags, smiling and cheering for him was all the fuel he needed to play what was probably his best game of the season so far.

You had missed it so much. The mere feeling of being there surrounded by everyone, the atmosphere of the place, it was electrifying. However what you had missed the most definitely was the way his head would instinctively shoot up after each goal, each assistance; his eyes meeting with yours and being able to express to him how proud and happy you were with just one look.

Before you knew it the game was over, the boys rushed to the locker room and you stayed with the girls waiting for them. That’s when the nerves started kicking in. There was only one thing left for the night and you still weren’t sure what to expect.

Ever since your encounter earlier that week you haven’t been able to stop thinking about it. Nevertheless no matter how much you thought about it you never seem to find an answer to all your doubts. You were still clueless as to how the night could turn out. Were you going to get back together? Or just talk until you came to the conclusion that there was no solution?

Part of you wanted everything to go back to how it was a year ago, get back together and forget you even thought you could live without each other. But another part, the more rational one, kept reminding you that even a year later you still had the same problems you did then, nothing had or could change really. So was it worth trying again just to stumble over the same stone and having to go over the same painful process of walking away from him?

Your thoughts were interrupted when the locker room opened and Mat was the first out.

“Hey superstar!” You walked up to him. His face lit up when he saw you there. This was surely another thing he had missed, having you there to celebrate the triumphs and comfort him after the defeats. He didn’t hesitate and pulled you into his chest, arms holding you tight against him. His smile only grew when he felt you hug him back.

“That was amazing. Really. I haven’t seen you play like that since…” you started to say as you pulled away but words died in your mouth when you realized where the sentence was going.

“I know.” he replied.

“What about me? Wasn't I amazing?” a familiar voice added from behind you and soon you felt an arm around your shoulders.

"Yes you were amazing as well Tito" you said turning to the blonde next to you.

"Thank you." he said before tightening his grip on you, giving you a side hug. Mat observed the interaction happily, trying to hide the grin on his face. "Come on, first round is on me."

"Not today man." Mat mumbled between his teeth, brows raising trying to signal to his best friend this was not the moment. It took Tito second to realize where he was screwing up. Once he did he mouthed a ‘sorry’ to his friend, lips pursed into an awkward grin.

"We can go if you want. I don't mind-" you started to say but he was quick to cut you off.

"I don't want to." he stopped you, sounding a bit rough. You looked at him confused, you knew Mat loved celebrating with the guys after a win, especially after a big one like the one they had today.

"I mean I obviously enjoy going to celebrate after a win, but tonight all I want is to be just us and, you know, talk." he clarified after seeing the muddled look on your face, reassuring you he was okay with missing out tonight, he had something way more important to do.

"Ok.” you agreed with him, knowing that there was a certain conversation that needed to happen. “Let me say goodbye to the rest and then we can go." you told him before turning around and walking away.

He watched you as you hugged his teammates and their partners, loving how you just fitted between them, like you were always meant to be part of this group that had become his chosen family. It was clear to him that you were what was missing from his life, he already knew it but seeing you back in it only confirmed it. In that moment he understood he was willing to do anything to have you back.

"Sorry man I forgot." Tito brought him back to reality. He just titled his neck brushing it off. "So how are you? Nervous?"

"Very." he replied as he kept on shifting his weight from side to side.

"What do you think she'll say?"

"I honestly don't know. I just hope she takes me back. If she says no I-I don't know-" He started getting anxious at the mere thought of you rejecting him. Tito could perceive this and tried to calm him down.

"She's gonna say yes Mat. You two are meant to be, known it since the day you presented her to us."

"I really hope you're right." he replied but you were back before he could start spiraling again.

"Ready?" he asked as you stood next to him. You nodded and went to give Tito a final hug.

“Listen to him. Please.” he murmured into your ear, low enough so Mat wouldn’t hear him. Your heart shrinked, it sounded almost like a pleade.

"Goodbye Beau.” You pulled away with a smile. “Take a shot for me."

"Oh I will."

With that you both turned around and started making your way to the parking lot side to side. Your left hand accidentally brushed his right one and it sent a shock down your spine. Mat obviously noticed your reaction which made you look away, embarrassed of how much effect he still had on you with such little things. You were surprised when you felt his hand slowly slip into yours.

He knew he was taking a risk, not sure what your response would be. However you didn’t pull away, you even gave his hand a slight squeeze. He beamed down at you and a guilty feeling started growing on you. Maybe you shouldn’t have done that. You didn’t want to give him false hopes, especially when you still didn’t know how you wanted the night to go.

It was going to be a simple night, no fancy outing or anything, just dinner at his place and then eventually the so equally dreaded and anticipated talk.

Once you were at his place you were surprised to see everything was pretty much the same. Everything was exactly where it used to be, even the portraits with pictures of the two of you and the small basket with blankets he had bought after you had told him how cold his apartment would get some nights. He never understood that until one night, meryl days after your break up when he found himself alone watching the tv unable to sleep shivering, and the only comfort he could get were those blankets. But not necessarily because they kept him warm, only because they still had your essence.

“I obviously didn’t cook.” he informed you as he placed his bag near the door and made his way to the kitchen.

“Obviously.” you teased following him closely.

“We can order whatever you want and .. I bought this” He turned around with a bottle of your favourite wine in his hands. You smiled at the sweet gesture, he still remembered.

As he turned back to grab the corkscrew and open the bottle, you went to the cupboards to grab two glasses. Then passed them to him and took a seat on the counter next to him as he poured the drink. He gave you one glass and proceeded to lean against the kitchen island in front of you.

The whole scene felt so familiar, it had happened countless times when you were together, casual evenings drinking wine in his kitchen as you told him about your day or talked about his last game.

He watched you take a sip of your glass as your eyes wandered through the kitchen and a thought sneaked into his mind, a dirty one. It wasn’t exactly a thought, it was more of a memory. His cheeks went red and he tried pushing it away but he couldn’t.

“Do you remember…” he started to say, not sure if he should bring it up or not.

“Ander’s birthday last year?” you finished his sentence. The same thought had taken over your mind the second you sat on the counter and rested your head against the cupboard.

“Yes!” he let out with a chuckle, letting his head fall back with relief.

“We were wasted.” you pointed out as you remembered that night.

You had both drank a little too much at Anders birthday and after somehow making it back home in one piece you didn’t make it past the kitchen. Your breath hitched as you recalled his strong arms lifting you and placing you on the counter, your hands tangled in his hair, his lips on your neck, your legs around his waist.

“Still some of the best sex I’ve ever had tho.” he pointed out.

“Oh for sure. I still have a small scar in the back of my head as proof.” you added causing both of you to crack up. At some point that night you had hit yourself with the cupboard behind you, but you were so drunk you only realized the morning after.

“We had some good times, didn’t we?” you said reminiscently once the laughter had died.

“We can still have more.” he corrected you.

“Mat...” The gloomy tone on your voice warned him.

“Let’s wait until after dinner to talk about everything, ok?” he suggested and you nodded, not wanting to ruin the nice moment you were just having. There would be time later to have that serious conversation, even if you didn’t want that time to come. He could tell how you were starting to drift away in your thoughts, certainly not good ones, so he rapidly changed the topic. “What do you want to eat then?”

“Maybe pizza? I’m not in a fancy mood.”

“Pizza it is.”

The pizza arrived in a matter of minutes, you insisted on paying since he had bought the wine, and he had to hold back the casual comment of how he’d be paying the next time, because he didn’t know if there would be a next one but he did know pushing you would only lower his chances of ending the night on a good note.

You decided to move the dinner to the living room where you’d be more comfortable. Both of you sat on the large couch, glass of wine in one hand slice of pizza in the other.

An hour later the pizza was long gone, so was the wine. You had talked about practically every topic, both of you too scared to touch the one you were there to talk about in the first place.

The room went silent and you knew it was time.

“So …”

“It’s time, isn’t it?” He placed down his glass on the small table, getting ready for what was about to come.

“Didn’t you want to have this conversation?” you chirped him up a little to take the tension off.

“I did- I do! Doesn’t change the fact I’m nervous as hell.” He ran his hand through his hair, something he’d do when he was on edge.

“Don’t be, it's same old me Mat.” you told him trying to calm him down, but also trying to calm yourself, reminding you it was Mat after all. No matter how things turned out tonight, it was Mat, nothing bad could happen.

He took a deep breath, mentally going over everything he needed to say. He had even practiced it with Tito, something his best friend would tease him about for the rest of their lives. He wanted to have the right words to express how he felt, scared one wrong move could blow his last chance with you.

“I missed you so much Y/N. I still can't believe I ever let you go. I replay that night in my head over and over again and I don’t understand how I just let you leave. We were having a fight because I was gone all the time and when I wasn’t gone you were working, and I was mad because there was nothing I could do about it and you were mad too. I don’t even remember who proposed it-”

“It was me. I was the one who said maybe breaking up was the better option.” you cut him off. Flashbacks of that night started rushing to your head as he spoke and you certainly remembered things differently.

“It wasn’t just a fight Mat, it was the same fight over and over again. I know that sometimes we forget about the bad things and just keep the nice memories, that’s what we were doing days ago in the coffee, but the bad moments still existed Mat, it wasn’t all sunshine and rainbows. Towards the end we’d fight almost weekly and it was always the same, we fought until we were exhausted and then we’d just push it away and pretend everything was fine because we both knew there was no solution for our problems.”

You told yourself you’d have an open mind, not discard the idea of getting back together immediately because you knew part of you wanted that. Nevertheless ignoring the problem you had would not solve anything. You needed Mat to accept things weren’t good, recognize you had problems. If not things were destined to fail once again.

“I know. I know we had problems, I remember the fights, but we can learn from them. It doesn’t have to be like that this time.” he was quick to add. It sounded childish but he had thought of good comebacks, almost as if he was preparing for an exam, the hardest and most important of his life.

However you had good arguments too. You wanted to believe him, you wanted to believe this time would be different but how could it be if everything was still the same?

"Nothing has changed Mat. You still have to travel and train and even if you could somehow spend less time away it would be selfish from me to ask you to. It's your dream Mat I'm not gonna do that. Plus I'm putting my job first too so it would be hypocritical of me to ask you not to do the same."

He knew what you were doing, he knew you too well not to. You were closing the door before it was even open because you were scared. Still he understood why it was like that, you were right up to a certain point, but he wasn't about to give up, not when he finally had the chance to say everything he had been wanting to ever since that horrible night.

“You’re just thinking about the bad things. Remember all the good times we had Y/N, don’t you think it’s worth it? Because I sure think it is.”

In a leap of faith he scooted closer to you and grabbed your hands that were resting in your laps. He needed the contact, he needed you to feel how honest he was being, how much he wanted this.

“We still have it, I know we do, I felt it in the coffee shop days ago, tonight at the game, on the drive here, as we were having dinner. I know we have it, I know we can make it.”

That all too familiar knot started forming in your throat and your vision went blurry with tears that threatened to fall any second. He was tearing down your barrier, but behind it all you could show were the wounds from the past.

"I don't want to go through it again Mat. It hurt-” you started to say but your voice broke mid sentence, you couldn't hold it anymore. “The fighting, the impotence, the break up, trying to move on. It all hurt too much I can't do all of that again." you cried out, too busy feeling all the emotions you had bottled up to feel embarrassed for the scene you were causing.

Mat was heartbrokened. He hated that he was the reason for those tears rolling down your cheeks. For a moment he considered giving up, he couldn't see you like that anymore, he couldn't bear the thought of him being what caused you so much hurt.

But he didn't. ‘One last time’ he told himself. One last time and if you said no then he’d accept it. It would kill him yes, but he would accept it because you were all that mattered to him and if letting you go was the right thing for you he'd do it. He'd do anything for you.

With that in mind, knowing it would be his last attempt, he started getting anxious. He could feel you slowly slipping away from him. Nerves got the worst of him, it was evident when he started talking again.

"But we don't have to. We won't Y/N. You're it for me, I promise if we try again I won't let you go this time. Well I mean you can break up with me if we get back together obviously, I won't force you or anything- what I mean is I won't break up with you- Not that I ever wanted! But I-" he started stumbling on his words and you couldn't help but giggle. He felt pathetic but at least he was able to make you somehow feel better throughout the tears, that was a bit gratifying.

However he still needed to get it together, so he took a final deep breath trying to gather his thoughts. Already knowing what his next words were going to be he moved closer and gently placed a hand on your face, making sure you were looking at him when he said it because he needed you to see how much he meant it.

"I love you Y/N. I still do and I dont think I'll ever stop loving you.” Your eyes went wide at his words, deep down you knew it, but hearing it was different. You never thought you'd hear those words from Mat’s lips again, yet he was right in front of you saying it, looking at you with all the love in the world, and something started building inside of you.

“These past few months showed me what a life without you is like and I don't ever want to go through that again.” he continued, now more confident after seeing your reaction. “I want to wake up next to you. I want you to tell me about what weird dream you had while I make us breakfast. I want to pick you up from work every afternoon. I want you to wear my jersey and take you to all my games. I want silly fights about which movie we should watch. I want to come home to find you asleep on the couch and pick you up and tug you to sleep. I want to show you off to everyone. I want to make up after every fight. I want to start and end every single day with you. I want to get married and have kids and grow old.”

With every sentence your smile only grew bigger, you tried to contain it but you couldn’t hide it anymore. Mat noticed this and got so excited he kept on going to the point he even forgot where he was going so he took a pause before finishing his confession.

“What I’m trying to say is: I love you Y/N. I love you so much and I know we can make it work. Please give us a second chance”

You looked at his eyes one final time. They were full of hope, something you lacked but you were sure he had enough for both of you. All the reasons why this wasn’t going to work didn’t matter anymore, not when you had the love of your life in front of you telling you he still loved you, fighting for you, reassuring you you’d make it this time. You couldn’t say no to him, most importantly you didn’t want to. You wanted him as much as he did, you missed him as much as he did and you loved him as much as he loved you.

You leaned forward, resting your forehead against his, needing the extra touch as encouragement to say something you’d been holding in for too long.

“I love you.” you whispered, lips less than an inch apart from his, noses touching. Your eyes were closed but you could feel his smile. He let out a deep breath, the weight he had been carrying for so long finally being lifted off his shoulders. He couldn’t count how many nights he dreamed of you saying those words to him, it was surreal.

“I love you” he replied before shortening the distance between your lips and finally kissing you.

It was all he had imagined and more. He already knew your lips, but this time it was different, his heart fluttered the second your his lips were on yours.

It started as a gentle kiss. You’d smile against each other, giggles escaping from both of you because you couldn’t contain your happiness. Whispering ‘I love you’s between kisses. It was a mess of a kiss, but a beautiful one.

Then your hands sneaked to the back of his neck, pulling him closer till there was no space between your bodies. You leaned back on the couch with Mat on top of you. It was slow and soft, bodies melting into each other. One of his hands stayed on your face, thumb caressing your cheek, while the other went to your waist. Your hands started roaming over his body; his neck, his shoulder, his back, his hair. He yearned for your touch.

It soon turned into an openmouthed kiss, almost sexual. It was fiery, full of passion, almost like your bodies missed each other for so long and now that they were back together you couldn’t pull away, but you also didn’t want to. At some point he turned you around, making you lay on top of him. Now his hands were the ones wandering over your body.

The kiss was long and it only ended when you had run out of breath, if not it could have gone on forever.

“I missed that.” he breathed out, unable to breath. Your forehead still gently placed against his.

“Me too.” you replied with a hoarse voice trying to catch your breath.

“I missed you.” he added, accentuating the ‘you’. You lift your head to look at him.

“I miss you too Mat.” you murmured placing a final kiss on his lips before nestling in his chest. He hummed in content, leaving one hand in your lowback and the other going to tenderly stroke your hair.

“I honestly was expecting you to try and extort me with a puppy.” you said out of the blue making him laugh, feeling his chest vibrate against your cheek with every laugh.

“Oh Tito suggested it and I thought about it, but you’re too smart, wouldn’t have fallen for it.”

“I don’t know, maybe it would have saved us all this trouble.” you joked, placing your chin on his chest to see his face.

“Excuse me?” He looked down at you with furrowed brows and an offended expression. “I just opened my heart for you and you call it ‘trouble’?” You were the one laughing now and he soon joined.

“God I missed this.” he said, pressing you impossibly closer to his body.

“I love you.” you told him once again, stretching your neck to place a kiss under his jaw. He’d never get tired of hearing those words coming from you.

“I love you too.” he replied, placing one on the top of your head.

With your heart beating against his, for the first time in months, he felt at home. That piece that had been missing was finally back, he was complet.

294 notes · View notes

corvus--rex · 3 years

Text

Semi-abandoned soulmate au. I actually started this one before The Sound of Color, although this is vastly different from that one. This particular au also doesn't have the requirement that soulmates are always romantic (ie Pidge and their soulmate). It jumps around a little, and those sections are marked with dividers. Soulmate strangers-to-lovers. . .

~*~*~*~

Soulmarks. Everyone had one. An indelible mark that bound two people together. Age 13 was when it would start. The mark “waking up” as some called it, and reaching out for its companion mark. Most soulmates were within a few years of each other, so the lingering tingle of a mark searching for its mate usually didn’t last long.

Lance was lucky that way. His mark sprang to life on his thirteenth birthday and quieted three months later. There was no way to know who or where his soulmate was at that point, but he knew they were three months younger than him. He had been getting ready for school that day when the constant tingle in his mark faded.

He’d always liked the quarter note-shaped mark on the inside of his left wrist. What confused him were the numbers that circled it. No two marks were the same, and Lance knew that his soulmate would have something different. But those numbers confused him. 1030211933. Trying to figure it out was a favorite pastime throughout middle and high school, but he never could get there. He hadn’t met his soulmate yet, but he hoped that it would make sense when he did.

Once two marks found each other, the secondary connection opened. The marks on the soul allowed for marks on the body. Words, doodles, full-blown artwork. Drawing or writing on skin would appear on a connected soulmate. Once Lance’s mark had connected, the first thing he did was ask his soulmate about the numbers. They didn’t know either. But he did find out that his soulmate’s mark sat on their right hip, it was a feather, and they didn’t have those numbers but they did have a series of roman numerals along the feather’s shaft that read:

X X X X X X I X I X X X X I I I

They continued to talk for years, learning about each other. They had decided not to share identifying information like names or location, but Lance knew that his soulmate had a twin and that their parents had adopted their cousin when their cousin’s parents died in an accident. They didn’t know anything about the accident because they’d been too young at the time and no one had explained it since. Lance told them that he had three siblings, that he was a twin, too, and that his older sister connected with her soulmate the same day he had.

He lay in his bed in the dorm he shared with his best friend Hunk, rereading the last message his soulmate had sent him about how college sucked and how they already had an in-class performance a month into the semester. He’d responded with a note about how trying to balance classes with rehearsals as the lead in his school’s fall musical was kicking his ass. Lance already knew that his soulmate was studying music at a college close to where they grew up. And they knew that he was majoring in theatre at a college a three-hour drive from home.

Hunk trudged into their dorm room and threw himself onto his bed. “Remind me again why I decided this was a good idea?” he groaned.

“Which part?” Lance asked in return.

“The part where I decided to be a pastry chef and subject myself to the hell that is the one professor I can’t get away from?”

“Because you love baking and always have and one asshole can’t make you hate doing what you love.”

“I swear she just likes to terrorize us. There’s that guy I told you about – Sal, the one I had a class with freshman year and he transferred to general culinary and now he’s back – she hates him. And I don’t know why. But then, she hates me, too. Pretty sure it’s that bun. It’s so tight she doesn’t need a face lift. But I’m also convinced that Chef Dayak is just evil.”

“Hey, at least you have Shay there with you. Not everyone gets to have their soulmate in class with them all day,” Lance pointed out.

“How’s it with yours?” Hunk asked.

“We’re working our way up to talking about meeting. I know I wanted to wait until after graduation, but I’m getting impatient, y’know? It’s been eight years and I don’t want to wait anymore. But I get that they do. So…yeah. Anyway,” he said, shaking himself out of that particular spiral, “You going to the Halloween party this year?”

“Dude! It’s a month away!”

Lance sat up, turning to his best friend, one eyebrow arched. “Seriously? You say this like there’s such a thing as too early. And no, it’s only three weeks. We need to start now.”

Hunk groaned again, this time in only partial exasperation, and sat up. “Fine. The fuck are you planning this year?”

Lance just laughed. Hunk threw a pillow at him, collapsing in his own fit of giggling when a startled Lance took the pillow directly to the face. Lance’s alarm sounded, loud and annoying. He groaned, throwing Hunk’s pillow back, and fumbled for his phone to turn the blaring sound off.

“Fuck me. I have to get to rehearsal.”

In an apartment just off campus, Keith stopped playing and pulled the pencil out of his hair, making yet another correction to his scribbled sheet music. He started over, again, ignoring the key in the door and his roommate coming back in. He ignored their slight form dropping their overpacked backpack on the floor and throwing themselves onto the other end of the couch with their laptop and notebook. Keith was too focused on his music to pay much attention to Pidge.

Except that Pidge wanted his attention right then. “Hey. Asshole,” they said, throwing a ball of notebook paper at him.

“Yes, hellspawn?” he asked casually, setting his guitar on its stand by the couch, “What the fuck do you want?”

“I’m on the committee for the party. You’re coming,” they said while typing away on their laptop.

“No. I’m not. I don’t go to parties, and you know it. Why the fuck are you so determined for me to go?”

Pidge looked up, fixing him with their stare. “Because I said so. And because Matt’s going to be there. His girlfriend’s going too. You actually like Neve. So you’re going.”

“Including you, that’s three people I’d be willing to talk to. Why should I bother?” he stopped, a dreaded thought sparking as to why they were so hellbent on his going to the party. “It’s because it’s a week after my birthday, isn’t it?”

“What? You mean that thing you ignore every year except for the proliferation of doodles from your soulmate? Why would that have anything to do with it?”

“I'm still not going,” Keith insisted.

“We’ll see about that,” Pidge answered cryptically. They went back to their laptop, typing furiously. They stayed that way, ignoring Keith’s death glare until he gave up and went back to his music.

Eventually, Keith decided that the music portion of his brain was fried and gave up for the night. Pidge was buried in their laptop, writing a paper for their robotics class at top speed. Ignoring them for the moment, Keith opened his own laptop, going back to the English assignment he still hadn’t finished. It was due by the next class, which was two days away, but he’d been putting it off for longer than that. He typed lazily at it for a while before a horrible thought hit him and he realized that his previous assessment had been wrong. He glared up at Pidge over his screen.

“She’s going, isn’t she?” he asked.

“Who?” Pidge asked back, pretending they didn’t know what he meant.

“You know who.”

“If you’re referring to your sister, then yes, she is.”

Keith sighed. “Just because she knows who her soulmate is now, that doesn’t mean that you’re right. Mine could be literally anyone.”

Pidge closed their laptop. “And you’re in denial. I can not believe that your twin sister happens to have a soulmate who has a younger brother who is also a twin and his soulmate has a twin. The odds of that happening are so small as to be inconceivable! Not to mention the part where Acxa’s soulmate and her brother both connected with theirs on the same day.”

“Ok, I’ll give you that it’s weird. But you don’t know anything about Acxa’s soulmate’s siblings, and neither does she. And not everyone’s met theirs yet. You haven’t! All you know is their handle on Steam!”

“So? I also know that Beezer’s on the other side of the country. I know that we won’t get to meet in person until after graduation. All I'm saying is that this is a little too weird to be a coincidence.”

“And I’m not going to let you harass my sister’s soulmate about her siblings on the day they’re meeting face to face for the first time. Leave it alone, Pidge.”

“Fine,” they said, going back to their paper.

Keith knew full well that Pidge would not leave it alone, but there was only so much he could do to stop them.

A few days later, Lance dragged his twin sister, Hunk, and Shay to the nearest Halloween pop-up costume store. None of them had found anything they liked, and Lance was getting bored. Shay had wandered off to the decoration part of the store, and Hunk was making sure the twins didn’t get into trouble. But Hunk had gotten briefly distracted and lost them.

“Jules no.” Ah, there was Lance.

“Jules yes.” And his sister.

“Are you two still arguing?” Hunk asked as he approached the twins.

“Hunk,” Lance said, putting his hands on Hunk’s shoulders, “She wants us to be the Wonder Twins again. I absolutely refuse. We did that once when we were like nine.” He felt something hit his back and whipped around to find his sister holding a Wonder Twins costume. “Ana Julieta Alameda-McClain, get that fucking thing away from me.”

“Oh, fine. You’re no fun,” Jules pouted. She put it back, then turned around, spotting something else. “Ooh! Quicksilver and Scarlet Witch?”

“What the fuck – no! I’m never going Halloween shopping with you again. You’re on your own,” Lance said, wandering off and taking Hunk with him.

Hunk was laughing. “Why do you keep letting her do this, dude?”

“I don’t know. Anyway, I say we go over to The Costume Company. I think I’m done with mass-produced crap.”

“Sounds like a plan. I’ll go find Shay and meet up with you two at the car,” Hunk agreed, heading in the direction he’d last seen Shay.

Lance reluctantly went back to his sister. “We’re going to The Costume Company,” he said without getting her attention.

“Hm? Ok,” Jules answered, not paying attention to her twin.

“Bye, then.” He started to leave without her, getting halfway down the aisle of the Halloween pop-up before she realized what he’d said.

“Lance! Get back here, you ass!” she yelled after him.

He ignored her as payback for her insistence on twin costumes and kept going. She chased him all the way to his car, where Hunk and Shay were already waiting. Lance finally lost his composure, cracking up when he reached his waiting friends.

“Leandro. Alejandro. Alameda. McClain. I am going to kill you,” Jules growled while out of breath from chasing him.

“No you won’t,” he said, “Mamá would kill you in return.”

Shay saw her opportunity and took it. “Shotgun!” she announced, hopping into the passenger seat.

“Shay, I love you,” Hunk said, getting in behind Lance, effectively separating the twins.

~*~*~*~*~*~

“Acxa, just promise me you won’t give in to Pidge. They’re being totally insufferable with this,” Keith said. He lay on his bed, earbuds connected to the call he was on with his twin.

“You know me better than that. Gremlin won’t get shit out of me. And she’s not getting anywhere near V at the party."

~*~*~*~

Links to the rest of the series:

1 | 2 | 3* | 4 | 5* | 6* | 7 | 8 | 9* | 10 | 11 | 12* | 13 | 14 | 15* | 16 | 17 | 18 | 19*

#my writing #abandoned wips #keith kogane #lance mcclain #klance #keith x lance #vld #voltron #voltron legendary defender

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the-darklings · 3 years

Text

coa one year later & self-reflection

(*drags out a creaky metal chair and plops down on it heavily*)

Hi. It’s me, ya boi skinny--

Wait, wrong one. Do over.

Hi, it’s me, Kat, and I’m not dead. Clearly. Today being one year anniversary of COA has kinda put me in a reflective mood, so I guess I decided to sit down and just...talk about some things, thoughts and feelings I’ve been bottling inside for a hot sec. Especially given how radio silent I have gone on here and people deserve a bit of perspective.

And before anyone starts worrying, it’s all good, and I’m still around and currently in good health for the most part.

So, let’s take it back to the start. Regardless of how dramatic it may sound, we need to go back a year for that.

By technicality alone, COA actually turned one year old on October 12th. That’s when the first part was posted. However, the reason I’m treating today as the aforementioned birthday is simple: I had no intention of this story ever being more than a short two-parter. I told this to the discord gang already but COA was only going to have two parts. V was going to die in Tokyo and the rest of the story follows glimpses of John throughout the movies and it’s her ghost that haunts him. Skipping ahead, it was going to have a bittersweet ending of John eventually dying, having completed his task, only to be greeted by V, Daisy and Helen in the afterlife. A peace of sorts. Then, I realised that, well, no. I have more to say on this world and intrigue about this placeholder character V kept growing.

November 1st happened and I made a very last minute call to continue COA but with the added pressure of doing it during NaNoWriMo 2019. And boy did I. Most of the story was figured out during that very intense month. I posted Part 2 on this day a year ago because I was so eager to share it. Perhaps, in retrospect, a bit too eager.

For those of you who may not know this, I work as a writer full time for my actual every day job. I’m the main writer for an original webcomic called In the Bleak Midwinter on Webtoon.com and have been for almost two years now. Getting what is essentially your dream job is amazing. I’m very lucky on that front but it also taught me stark realities of having your job and only hobby overlap. It’s a dangerous creative mix. Especially because I was not used to being constraint in what I create or the feeling like I have to please anyone else. Writing as a job is a whole other avenue of creative exhaustion. I love my job a lot and am very, very lucky to have it but it doesn’t change the fact that those initial stages made me fall back on COA a lot for creative freedom that I craved so desperately. To an unhealthy degree looking back on it now.

But going back to November last year. NaNo time. I did it. Finished on the 24/25th I believe. A juicy final count of 52k+. All while maintaining a weekly update schedule for a fic that usually hit around 10k per update, if not more, even during those early days. Add writing an original story on top of that. Writing every day for hours on end (we are talking 10-12hr days) without any time for other hobbies or time for myself in general. I kept pushing and pushing and pushing. Losing weight and sleep in the process. I think the thing that convinced me that I should continue doing so is the fact that the outpour of support for COA ended up surpassing anything I ever expected or even dared to hope for. I’m not a huge numbers person but the outpour of love and just sheer investment in the story and characters blew me away. John Wick fandom is on the smaller side and has been going through downtime when I posted COA so my expectations were...well, small tbh. I like keeping expectations low to avoid any disappointments in general. But I’ve also always had an issue of being a massive 0 or 100 kind of person. If I love something, it consumes me. In this case, it brought me as much joy and freedom as much as it was steadily pushing me towards the ultimate crash.

That being said, I can’t thank you all enough for every comment, like, reblog and message and fanart. You’re the reason I got this far. With your support. It brightened some really dark days for me.

But.

To be frank, it’s never been about you guys. I never wrote or pushed because I felt like I had to appease anyone. That creative mindset is pure poison and I long since learned to let go of it. I kept pushing and kept working myself to the bone because I liked it. I liked how reading peoples’ responses made me feel. I liked the addictive nature of reading all the comments and theories after an update. I loved the idea of brightening peoples’ days and giving them something to cheer them up after what might have been a shitty day. Even if that was at expense of my own time/well being. But for a long time, it wasn’t. I love writing a lot but facts remain facts.

It was beyond unhealthy and burnout wasn’t a question of if but when and that when was approaching at neck-breaking speed.

So we come to the end of November. Part 4 has just come out. People were invested and I was invested alongside them. I was just finishing up Part 5 which (back then) was the biggest single chapter I’ve ever written and god I still recall my sheer dread because that was the beginning of Santino being established as a LI. Looking back on that now, it’s downright hilarious how worried I was about the reception of him and V together after John.

So honestly, I hit burnout at around Part 8. Because that’s the first time I recall struggling with writing a chapter. Part 8 came out on December 28th. I had a brief break for holidays. But my mistake was not taking longer back then. Because I continued writing with a barely healed burnout. Followed by almost a year of struggling and continuously creating through that state. It wasn’t like I eased off the pressure, either. Oh, no. The chapters grew in size, the world and the characters with it. AUs amassed quickly and while I adore every single one - again, I didn’t know how to pace myself well enough.

I’m spiteful though. The more the chapters struggled the more I pushed against the burnout. By the time Chicago arrived, however, I knew I was in trouble. I ended up writing 43k+ in a span of 2 months, I believe. And while to some it may not seem like a lot given the time frame, it’s a lot when you’re burnout to a crisp & writing an original story for work + deadlines. Which I was burned out and then some. Chicago was something I was looking forward to writing for months. I have built it up since Part 4. It was a long time coming. So while I’m still proud of it, I would be lying if I said that some scenes were not sacrificed for the sake of keeping to my invisible schedule that no one but me actually cared about. You guys have always been patient. I never felt pushed into anything. It’s always only ever been me doing the harm.

Chicago was the downwards spiral for me mentally. I felt like I was failing to live up to my own expectations. That people were drifting away from it. I was plagued by the thought that the story I poured so much into was falling apart and growing weaker. Which this has always been an issue with me: I am my own harshest critic. Always have been. In fact, I’m a downright mean little fucker when it comes to just tearing at myself. I know writing is for fun - and it is - but I still like the idea of being proud of my work which only made everything worse despite the love each update received.

This takes us to the beginning of June. Specifically, June the 2nd. Or, as I like to call it: Kat Makes Another Impulsive Decision but This One Actually Works Out For the Better. On this day, I created the COA Discord server. And damn, I’m not sure what exactly I was expecting when I did ngl. I did it for fun and as an escape more so than anything. But somehow it ended up being the best decision I made in a long while. I know some of you are reading this. So love you lots, dorks. It’s such a privilege to be able to call so many of you my friends even outside of COA now. That little community has given me some of the best memories from this year and helped me to crawl out of my own metaphorical pit I was stuck in. Mentally, I’m doing much better than I did beginning of this summer. Which could be summed up as a constant self-hatred cycle and a feeling of inadequacy.

That, however, does not mean my burnout magically disappeared. If anything Chapter 17 just put a nail in the coffin so to speak. 2020 has been a shitty year just across the board for obvious reasons I don’t need to go into here but that can only partially be attributed to my mental state. Chapter 17 was...exhaustive. To say the least. But I was determined to stick with my vision and not split it up. I was also starting to be a bit more forgiving towards myself in terms of how long I may take to write it thanks to guys on discord though the feeling of failure and worry never quite faded fully. I’m proud of Part 17. Truly. But that was also when I hit rock bottom creatively on COA. It drained me completely.

I tried writing Part 18 for weeks after, day in and day out, not getting past the first scene and hating every word I wrote. So I took a deep breath and stopped. Figured I let it marinate and wait instead of trying to piece one of the most crucial chapters in this story like some Frankenstein monster two sentences at the time.

So my solution was simple: give myself some distance from it and write other things. Get my spark back. Of course that’s always a good idea. Having multiple creative escapes is the best thing you can do for yourself creatively. There was just one tiny little problem.

I was still burned out. Still am. The problem went deeper than just being burned out over COA. I was burned out over writing itself.

Which is an issue for a person who only has writing as a creative outlet.

I don’t have any other way to express myself. So I was stuck in a runt, trying to write because it’s the only thing that makes me genuinely happy even when I really shouldn’t have. And let me tell you. It’s a shitty fucking feeling. My burnout worsened. I had a thousand ideas but every time I tried to get them down it felt forced, fragmented, and weak. Repetitive and dry. Now, this is also in part because English isn’t my native language, so my vocab is limited as a result, but I hit that sweet rock bottom in that regard, too.

So, I worked on V (but in her OC form Clara), Lucien and The Elites. All those characters have grown so much since you last read about them. I have multiple original projects planned down the line that will feature all of them existing in their own world, with their own stories and no longer constrained by JW canon.

Which, finally, takes us to the end of October and beginning of November 2020.

I was convinced that the best course of action was to do NaNo again but with an original story this time (involving V). Suffice to say, it took a grand total of maybe 5-6 days and hating every second of writing it while also feeling like this project I’m so passionate and excited to write (still am) is just...going down the toilet to be blunt, to realise I may have made the wrong call.

Still, the stubborn ass that I am, I pushed through. Convinced I can get into it if I just keep going. The realizations that I am sharing with you right now won’t have been possible if it hadn’t been for a rather curious turn of events about a week and a half ago.

I recently bought a gaming laptop, all in preparation for Cyberpunk 2077 dropping ofc. But, in the meantime, I kept recommending a game to a friend on the COA server. That game? Far Cry 5. (It’s a blast to play btw, just a side note.) And playing it brought back all the feelings of nostalgia from the days when I used to write for that fandom. So I revisited some old work. Checked the stuff I never published and that has been sitting ducks in my docs for months and hoo boy. Let me tell you it was a vibe check of the worst kind.

The stark difference in the prose and the ease with which it flowed was...startling. It made me remember why I love writing so much and how proud I used to be of what I wrote back in the day. Which is not to say I’m not proud now, but it was just such a sharp dip in quality it was impossible to ignore.

So I didn’t.

I paused NaNo, moving it to another month. I paused writing for everything but work, which with our season coming to an end I will also get a rest from soon, too. I kinda paused in general. For the first time in a while, I finally forced myself to switch off. Rest.

The reason why I haven’t been on here is simple: guilt and not having energy to be on here. I like making my blog a safe space for everyone. Similar to escape it has become for me. I couldn’t pretend I was fine when I wasn’t. I felt obliged to perform and being here became exhausting. I haven’t been checking my inbox. Haven’t done much of anything except occasionally dropping by and reblogging a random post so people know I’m alive.

And that’s that, folks. That’s where I am currently. Resting. Completely exhausted mentally but resting. Getting my energy back.

So where does that leave us, huh? If you read this far, dunno what to tell you. Thanks, I suppose. It’s still odd to think people actually care about my existence sometimes.

I know what you’re likely thinking, too. So does this mean COA is never gonna be finished? What is gonna happen to it? Are you abandoning it?

The answer: no. 17 out of 25 chapters and 250k+ in, I’m too far in not to give it a proper conclusion. Not because I owe it to anyone other than myself. I want this story to be a stepping stone for my future as a writer. I want to prove to myself that I can get this done and finish it. As of right now (as you can no doubt tell with how long it’s been since last update) it’s on a soft hiatus while I rest. This rest? Not sure how long it may last. Right now, my plan is till mid December at which point I will reevaluate. Ideally, I finish the year with an update. But my New Year’s resolution is to finish COA. That timeline has become a little more murky now but, again, ideally it’s within the first quarter of 2021. Will that happen? I don’t know. And I don’t want to make false promises, either.

All I’m saying is that it will be done. I’m just no longer sure how long, exactly, it may take me to reach that Epilogue. I don’t expect many people to stick around for however long it may take me, but if you do, thank you. Truly. I really and deeply mean that.

So what’s on the cards for this blog in the meantime? Well, CP77 is coming out in under a month (if it doesn’t get moved again lmao rip) and I expect that to be my soft return to posting my writing on here again. We will see where the muse takes me, if at all. Regardless though, I’m excited.

One doctorate thesis later, here we are at the end of this really long rambling session. I hope that this has given you some perspective on things going on behind the scenes. I spared you some of the gorier details but I think this post has been long overdue. I suppose I, myself, was just too unwilling to face these things despite knowing about them deep down for a while now. I’m too self-critical not to notice but acting on correcting this behavior has been a whole other matter clearly.

Thank you for reading this post, my writing in general, and supporting me. I’m not going anywhere. I’m still around. More is on the way in the future. I’ll be seeing you all real soon. And all my love to all of you.

Love,

- Kat.

#kat speaks #blog psa #i suppose

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