#//But it happens when she's angry or hysterical too. There's just less of a chance of her snapping out of it when she's in tears

[kamyru]

I - I'd have a steamy angsty idea for Tsugaru but I'm not sure if it could or should be written when we're nowhere close yet 😂 They could also stop because its not romantic enough for Tsugaru that already got his first kiss ruined.

Anyways how about Tsugaru is on a mission and gets kidnapped when he's overwhelmed. Momo and Mc rescue him like in that one cg where he's drenched. And MC is mad with him risking his life freely when they get home. So angry it turns passionate to make him clear just how important he is keke

It's okay if it's not authentic enough to write i just wanted to share my thoughts haha

Hi, @sterkeyra and thank you for waiting so long till I write this. I love this idea so much, especially because I wait for Voltage to finally give MC and Tsugaru some steamy scenes. However, I'm the worst at writing hot fics. So, it won't be a surprise if the result is a disappointment. But I hope I met at least half of your expectations. Enjoy! ❤️

"Don't ever let go of me" (Takaomi Tsugaru x MC) (Slightly NSFW Scenario)

Content warning: Heavy make-out session

Summary: Not a single case was worth of losing Tsugaru - MC was sure. And Little Hare had to make sure to show him this and make him remember.

Words counting: 1732

Tsugaru was shaking underneath the warm blanket Little Hare gave him. No droplets of water ran down his face like a few hours ago, nothing to announce his presence at the back of Momose's car. Still, MC didn't want to look at him, afraid to start hysterically crying, a step away from an entire mental breakdown. Not a word was said by the girl, all the discussions were held between the two former childhood friends. Momose had to check on her to make sure that she was responsive. When he stopped at Tsugaru and MC's flat, the Lieutenant pushed his colleague's shoulder hard enough to wake her from her trance but gentler than usual. Without any words, the couple left.

The Lieutenant watched how Tsugaru opened the door for MC. He waited to see whose lights would turn on. After less than two minutes, the windows on the last floor lightened up. However, the man was far from leaving. All that had happened in the last 36 hours flashed in front of his eyes. Momose bit his lip and let his head fall backward. He was exhausted and wanted nothing more than to be home in his girlfriend's arms. Yes, he had to call his girlfriend and ask her to come and drive him home. Otherwise, there'd be a big chance he would end up in an accident, too exhausted to see for more than five meters in front of him.

Between Momose's call and his girlfriend's appearance, were less than twenty minutes. Though, it was enough for all the flashbacks to run in front of him: MC's shaken voice, telling him that Tsugaru didn't answer his phone even if they were supposed to meet two hours ago; the pieces of evidence they had to put together to understand what had happened; Tsugaru's coded message he sent six hours ago; the sight of Momose's best friend bitten up and shaking; MC's straight face while they waited at the hospital for Tsugaru's check-up.

A knock on the window announced to Momose that his girlfriend had arrived. He opened the door and hugged her from the middle. In response, the girl's fingers found their place in his unruly hair.

"I can't sit on the driver's seat if you stay like this, silly," she whispered in a voice that unlocked the Lieutenant's tears and transformed him into a simple man. The girl looked up with a content smile on her face. She knew that she would cry too if she looked at her lover. So, her eyes concentrated on the lights from the last floor of the flat.

Meanwhile, MC looked at how the hot water filled Tsugaru's bathtub. She didn't even understand that tears hotter than the water in front of her were running down her cheeks. Suddenly, everything stopped.

"I didn't know hares like wet habitats," a voice echoed at the back of MC's mind.

A scowl appeared on Little Hare's face. She turned to face her boyfriend, and her fists hit Tsugaru's chest. The hits were soft and short.

"How could you do it to yourself?" MC started. "You went through hell and more, but why did you go alone?"

Tsugaru looked at MC's clenched fists that were rhythmically hitting his chest.

"It was too dangerous for anyone else. You could have died," the man said with a grin on his face, a grin that disappeared when his sentence ended.

"YOU COULD HAVE DIED TOO!"

Tsugaru heard it, and he hated it - the crack in MC's voice. The dam had broken.

"Can't you understand that you are loved and awaited at home? Do that people worry for you? That you mean more for others than you mean for yourself? You have no idea how shaken were Momose and Chief Shirogane during this whole time. We thought you died! Idiot, imbecile, empty-head, dumbass."

Tsugaru thought about stopping her from hitting him and cupping her face. However, the fat tears and barely audible voice made him change his mind. His fingers started to caress Little Hare's cheeks, wiping away salty hot droplets. The girl shut up and, for the first time that night, looked at her lover's face. Tsugaru pressed his forehead against hers.

"I don't know how to live anymore without you. There's no way I would let you go through anything dangerous," the man whispered against his lover's lips.

MC's eyes closed. Tsugaru couldn't bear it anymore to see crystals on her eyelashes. So, he closed his eyes, letting his lips meet her. The fists on his chest clenched his shirt. But he was too busy to feel it. All his senses concentrated on Little Hare's soft lips. Have they always been so velvety and inviting, or was it only the aftermath of Tsugaru's experience to nearly lose them? The tears that didn't stop running down MC's cheeks felt salty on her lover's lips.

"Your hands are cold," Little Hare said to end the kiss. Now, Tsugaru understood that her fists had left his chest. Instead, they were above his palms, cupping her cheeks.

The temperature on her fingertips contrasted with the one on his body. However, her lips were even hotter. MC kissed the bruises on Tsugaru's palms, closing her eyes every time. The kisses were long, soft, and curing. When there weren't bruises left unkissed, MC looked her lover in the eyes and intertwined their fingers while the other hand stopped at the first button on his shirt. Her warm hand touched the wound on his neck. If Tsugaru thought it was making his heart skip a beat, he had to wait five more seconds to feel her lips on the same spot. A pleasurable pain ran down his spine when Little Hare bit with her lips on his skin. Tsugaru put a hand on the wall to steady himself. He trapped MC in a kabedon, but she didn't care, continuing to unbutton his shirt.

A cold breeze tickled Tsugaru's naked front. However, MC's hot breath was there to equilibrate the temperature. The doctor told the team that their Captain didn't have any broken ribs. However, Tsugaru could spare a broken bone to feel as blissfully as now. It wasn't his six-pack that caught MC's attention, no. She looked at him in the worst state and felt like kissing every centimeter of his skin. When her lips touched the left side of his waist, where an enormous reddish-blue bruise appeared, Tsugaru had to bite his cheek and let his head fall back. He opened his eyes only after Little Hare's fingers slipped out of his hand. His unsteady breath didn't let him protest. So, MC had enough time to show him that she didn't finish yet. It was just too hard to unbuckle his belt with one hand.

Near Tsugaru's bruises on his thighs appeared red spots - made by MC's kisses and soft bites. Little Hare rested her forehead just above his scraped knee, which was visible even when his pants were still on. Her fingertips ran around the wound, careful enough not to touch the affected skin.

"Why did you let this happen to you?" Little Hare asked and looked up at her lover.

There were many things Tsugaru wanted to say to the girl in front of him. He wanted to explain to her how important she was to him, how he couldn't sort his personal and professional lives and send her on a dangerous mission, how everything was worth it due to what she did just now, how he wasn't afraid of dying, how…

However, instead of this, he knelt on his healthy knee. Damn, Tsugaru wished he had a diamond ring in his hands. There was no way he would let MC slip through his fingers. His now warmer hands took his girlfriend closer to him. One found its place on her waist, traveling underneath her clothes, and the other brought her nape closer to him. However, the movement didn't last for too long. It was easier and comfier to lean backward. Tsugaru didn't care that he put half his weight on his unhealed knee. He just needed it to be between MC's legs. He captured both her wrists in his hands. But it wasn't fair for her soft skin to be ignored. In a poor attempt to return the favor, he kissed the inside of her wrist. Little by little, Tsugaru's lips moved higher. When he stopped at Little Hare's neck, both lovers knew that they would have couple hickeys, but none of them cared enough to stop it.

Tsugaru's lips weren't soft, velvety, or warm, but MC didn't mind. His mouth was so inviting, so real, so close - he was there, safe and alive. She would sleep in his strong arms, not on her desk while trying to find him. Their fingers intertwined again when their tongues met. It wasn't a war of dominance. It wasn't a war at all. It was a date full of comfort and love. But it wasn't fair for the rest of their bodies. So, reluctantly, Tsugaru let go of one of Little Hare's hands and did what she had done minutes ago. Once in two buttons, the position of their heads changed. The need to get rid of the shirt didn't let them glue to each other. However, it changed when the clothing fell on both MC's sides.

MC felt her lover's weight on her. It wasn't the same as when he relaxed his head on top of hers, or when he leaned on her to annoy the young detective. It was a wanted proximity, needed for both of them. She felt how coldness was traveling from her waist to her chest. Fingers ran underneath her bra, and she put a hand on his back to get closer than physically possible.

Then, Tsugaru's hands left her other wrist and her chest. Little Hare knew what he was going to do because she did the same thing.

"The water is going to get cold," MC whispered and closed her eyes, letting the two shiny tears run on the tiles.

Tsugaru took a deep breath. He pressed his forehead on Little Hare's and stood up. Maybe it wasn't the best idea to die for someone. Maybe it was better to live for someone if it meant having this in his life.

"Don't ever let go of me."

#her love in the force #takaomi tsugaru #voltage inc #asks

[oceanxveiined]

She’d be the kind of person to be screaming something like ‘I’m a fucking GOD’ while simultaneously having a moderate to severe emotional breakdown tbh

#hc #//God complex + severe repressed issues is fun #;mun has spoken #//Acts like she owns her shit; that she's too damn strong to be brought down by 'some little childhod trauma' #//Is practically (1) failure away from having a complete and utter emotional detonation at all times #//Usually that manifests at sheer rage or hysteric laughter; sometimes a heaping mix of both; depending on what exactly triggered it #//Tbh; she's safest to approach when she's in a rage. Bc laughing can lower guards and gets HELLA moodswings that make it worse #//The shift from her laughing and over-performing lightheartedness is so startling; even to those who've seen it time and again #//Especially when watching her face contort back to rage right before she flings the nearest thing or her power makes a pipe or smth explode #//At least if she's outright enraged; you KNOW she's gonna throw/break shit and riot. Plus she IS a lileasier to talk out of it/appease then #//Either way; she'll still be looking to IMMEDIATELY wreck whatever set her off; be it a failed project or even a person #//It's Not Good. And it's notably worse when it's a person she 'loses to'; especially considering her upbringing #//You know it's BAD if she ends up sobbing/just crying at some point through. Bc she just LOATHES showing vulnerability like that #//And so she's GOT to regain some sense of control. Destroying anything and everything that broke her composure is her best bet; she feels #//Which ofc end up making things WORSE if she doesn't succeed; for her emotional state and anybody who comes across her then #//Bc she WILL take out her emotional issues on them and claim that as her 'win' to calm down; whether they were even involved or not #//She won't care; she'll just be so desperate and do whatever it takes to seek a scapegoat to erase her failure from her mind #//I guess it's not even exclusive to that time tbh. Her picking and choosing a scapegoat definitely at its worst when she cries #//But it happens when she's angry or hysterical too. There's just less of a chance of her snapping out of it when she's in tears #//And there's more of a chance of her doing someone REAL irreversible if she's in tears. It's like she needs to ERASE anyone and everyone #who's seen her cry. She will not stop at just beating them down or wounding. She WILL be out for blood for real #//Idk; watched Azula's breakdown and it Resonated enough to prompt a hc #//Only got to explore this aspect of her character once awhile back with a friend #//She doesn't actually feel remorse for what she does during a breakdown; no matter who she's hurt. Even if she's TOLD what she did #//'They were just taking a chance at an open shot at me while I was VULNERABLE; weren't they? Serves them fucking right for trying' #//She'll never be convinced otherwise; even if the person was genuinely trying to help. She can never trust that would ever be true #//Definitely owes all this to her mother. Can't have a healthy coping much less a sense of morality when the most influential person didn't #//And she's too damn proud to even START to change. Someone's gotta have a real BIG impact on her to get her to even CONSIDER it #//Mostly notable in her descendants/bnha aus. And those are verses where she's with like-minded folks; so there's ENABLING too #//But ye. Patience is key with her. Also reassurance that failure isn't the end for her. Bc that's the mainreason why she explodes like this

[live-the-fangirl-life]

Stolen Stamps

Aelin Galathynius x Rowan Whitethorn - Stolen Passport Oneshot

“You took me on a trip just to break up with me so I stole your passport” - Prompt from @dailyau

I don't know where this came from, it just kinda happened, enjoy! Minor Chaolaena, Rowaelin endgame

Masterlist | Read on Ao3

Warnings: Language

2494 words

*******

The faint hum of the air condition filled the meticulously organized room in the back of the post office.

“Ms. Galathynius,” A deep, accented voice addressed her.

Her gaze on the tall bookshelf in the corner jerked back to the man sitting across from her behind his desk. His hands were crossed, and the sleeves of his shirt were rolled up to his elbows, exposing part of a tattoo that wrapped around his muscular arm. She tried not to watch as the muscles shifted as he leaned forward when he spoke to her.

“Can you please explain to me why you were trying to mail a very,” He paused, glancing at the messily-wrapped bundle on the center of his desk, “suspicious-looking package to the Adarlan embassy in Antica?”

Aelin opened her mouth to try to explain, but no words came out.

He raised a silver eyebrow and waited.

She sighed, “I swear, it’s not what it looks like.”

***

The cab ride to the airport was a blur. So was the flight, and the ride to her hotel. It wasn’t until Aelin locked the door of her hotel room and set down her bags, that the events of the day finally hit her.

Whether it was adrenaline or shock or relief, she couldn’t be sure. Aelin fell back onto the bed and rubbed her face, groaning. She thought back to that morning when everything had been fine.

Fine, not great, just fine. That’s how things always felt with Chaol, just fine.

Her brain was still working through what happened when she jolted up from the bed, eyes wide.

“Shit. What did I do?”

Aelin scrambled towards her purse and rummaged through it. She couldn’t find it; maybe she didn't take it. She turned the bag upside down over the bed and watched as her things fell out. She pushed aside her little paperback mystery novel, her lipstick, her boarding pass, she moved aside a wrinkled coupon and froze.

“Fuck.”

***

After wearing a track into the carpet with her pacing, Aelin decided to call Lysandra. It was going about as well as she expected.

“Lysandra, I did a bad thing.”

Aelin chewed her fingernail between her teeth, a bad habit she couldn’t kick when she was stressed, as she tried to tell her best friend what just happened. She was standing on the small balcony of her hotel hoping the fresh air would help clear her mind. So far, it wasn't doing a great job.

“Aelin,” Lysandra’s voice sounded amused through her phone, “This is you were talking about, you’re going to have to be a bit more specific.”

Rolling her eyes, Aelin ran a hand through her hair. “I did a petty, horrible, impulsive, really bad thing.”

There was a long pause as Lysandra seemed to realize how serious Aelin sounded.

“Okay. Now I’m getting worried.” Then a sharp gasp, “Was it illegal? Have you been arrested? Are you calling me from a foreign prison?”

“Lys—” Aelin tried cutting in, she wanted to stop the hysterics before her friend’s imagination got out of hand.

“When you told me you were going on a trip with Chaol I thought you’d be spending time on the beach, not using me as your one phone call from a dirty jail cell hundreds of miles away!”

“Lysandra!”

“And where’s Chaol? Is he there with you?”

“Lysandra, stop! I haven’t been arrested, I’m not in prison, I’m fine. Actually, I’m great.” Aelin closed her eyes and sighed, trying to scrounge up some guilt but failing. “Actually, it's because I’m feeling great that makes what I did so much worse, because I don’t really feel bad about it.”

“Don’t scare me like that.” Her friend's voice echoed in her ear. “If you’re fine, then tell me what happened and tell me why you’re calling me at,” she paused and groaned, “six in the morning.”

“Sorry,” Aelin winced, “I’m still on a different time frame.”

“Still? Where are you now? Are you not in Antica anymore?”

“Slow down, Lys.” Aelin loosed a breath and ran a hand through her hair, “I’m back in Terrasen.”

“What? When did you get back?” Lysandra sounded confused, and Aelin couldn't blame her, after all, she was supposed to be in Antica for four more days.

“Today. Less than an hour ago. I’m at a hotel, I just needed to clear my head.”

After a moment of silence, Lysandra asked again, “Where’s Chaol? Have you talked to him about whatever this is? Not that he’d help much “Lysandra muttered the last part, but Aelin still heard.

Here we go, Aelin thought, “No. We broke up.”

“What?” Lysandra was definitely awake now. “Really? Oh, honey, I’m sorry if you’re hurting, but good for you, I never really liked him.”

“Yeah, I know.” Aelin barked a wry laugh, “He dumped me, actually.”

“He dumped you?”

Aelin barked another laugh, getting angry as she told Lysandra the rest, “Get this, that bastard invited me on this trip specifically to break up with me”

“What the actual fuck?”

“Yeah, and honestly?” Aelin took a deep breath, feeling a mess of emotions as she explained. “I can’t blame him.” She amended herself quickly at Lysandra's sound of protest, “I don’t mean about taking me on a trip to do it, because that’s fucked up, but I mean the actual breaking up part. I knew it was going to happen sooner or later, it was more about who would pull the trigger first. Come on, Lys, you knew I was more excited to spend a week on the beach than to spend a week with him.”

Lysandra snorted, “Yeah, Ace, I knew that. I was hoping you realized that, too.”

“Well, I did. So, I left. I’m back in Terrasen, there was no way I was staying there with him any longer, that would’ve been too weird.”

Aelin could hear Lysandra’s coffee machine buzz to life through the phone and suddenly wished she had a cup of coffee. Once she figured this mess out, she’d go find a cafe.

“Right. Okay,” The brunette’s voice rang out, “let me get this straight, Chaol took you on a trip solely to break up with you, and now you’re back in Terrasen while he’s still on the Southern Continent. I’m still not seeing what exactly you did that’s making you freak out.”

At that, Aelin flopped back onto the bed and flung an arm over her face, groaning.

“I know breaking up with Chaol is for the best, Hellas, I feel relieved. But at that moment, I was so angry. I was furious that he’d take me on this trip instead of just doing it at home like a normal-fucking-person—I mean, who takes a break-up vacation? Anyways, when I was packing my things to leave, I, kinda, sorta, took something of his.”

“Aelin…what did you do?”

Aelin looked at the foot of the bed where the remains of her purse were strewn over the blanket. Her eyes caught on two matching little booklets with gold seals on them.

“I stole his passport.”

***

“Ms. Galathynius—”

“Aelin, please.” She cut off the silver-haired man behind the desk.

The only change in his stoic demeanor was a small twitch of his lips. “Aelin. Can you explain what exactly you’re trying to mail, that looks like that—”

‘That’ being the layers of spare newspaper she found tucked away in her hotel room haphazardly wrapped and tied with the thread from the complimentary sewing kit, also from her hotel room. She hadn’t been able to find any tape. Aelin thought if she brought it to the post office then she could re-package it with actual materials, but she’d chosen not to unwrap it before getting there. An obvious mistake.

“—to an official, protected, government Embassy?” His voice was stern and his green eyes steady.

This looked bad. Aelin could easily admit that this looked really bad.

She placed her hands on his desk and watched as his eyes tracked the movement. “I can explain. It's definitely not as bad as I’m sure you think it is.”

He remained silent, watching her expectantly.

She caught sight of the nameplate on the side of his desk. “Mr. Whitethorn—”

“Rowan, please.”

Did he sound amused?

Taking confidence from that, she sat up a little straighter and said, “Rowan,”

His mouth quirked a little higher as she said his name.

Clearing her throat, she started again, “Rowan, you can open the package, I assure you it's nothing bad. It’s just a passport.”

One of his eyebrows rose skeptically, “A passport?” He asked doubtfully.

“Yes, a passport. That’s why I was trying to send it to the embassy. It belongs to my b—ex.” She stumbled over the last word, still unused to Chaol’s new title.

He—Rowan—looked even more intrigued.

“You’re mailing your ex their passport, but decided to wrap it in the most suspicious, threatening way possible?”

Aelin winced. “I didn’t have many options.” She chuckled, remembering trying to tie the string together in the hotel bathroom’s fluorescent lights. “I thought I could fix it once I got here, but I didn’t even have a chance to ask for materials before being escorted in here.” She waved a hand vaguely and looked around his office.

Rowan was fully smirking now. He leaned back in his chair and watched her for a long moment. “It is my job to confiscate suspect packages. Especially when those packages are being sent to, say, a government building.”

Leaning forward slightly she smiled and told him, “Well, you seem to be very good at your job.”

Gods, was she flirting? She and Chaol literally just broke up. But she couldn’t deny she was attracted to Rowan. Not with the way his pine-green eyes lit up with amusement or the way the muscles in his arms flexed when he shifted in his chair. Not to mention that tattoo; she was a sucker for tattoos—and she’d never told him this, but it always disappointed Aelin that Chaol never even considered getting any ink.

Good gods, she was flirting. And not very well.

Still smirking, Rowan leaned forward and asked, “Care to tell me why you’re sending your ex their passport?”

Was it her imagination or did he say ‘ex’ like it was the most interesting word in his question.

She couldn't stop the small smile twisting her lips. “I don't see how the ‘why’ of it is any of your business.”

Rowan surveyed her and Aelin tried not to blush under his gaze. She couldn't stop herself from comparing him to Chaol, he never made her feel this flustered with just a stare. Rowan's eyes tracked her face, tracked the way her cheeks heated, and she tried with all her might to fight the blush.

She wasn’t a teenager with a crush, she was a woman who knew how good she looked and was very attracted to the man whose eyes had not stopped roaming over her. She fought down the blush and flipped her hair over her shoulder, smiling charmingly at him.

He seemed to like it and his grin widened before putting on a faux stern face.

“I try to be as thorough as possible, Aelin,” Gods, the way he said her name made her toes curl. “It would make things easier if you explained why. I could finish my paperwork quicker, get this thing sent off, and we’d both be free of this passport and your ex.”

Wow, he wasn't beating around the bush. She liked it.

He sent her a slow grin, “I’d be able to take my break at nine, and go for a cup of coffee.”

The way he said the last part left no room for guessing what he meant. He wanted to take her out for coffee.

A small part of her hesitated, she had just broken up with Chaol. But on the other hand, he took her on a fucking breakup vacation, so screw him and she could do whatever the hell she wanted. And she wanted Rowan. She wanted to go get coffee with Rowan.

So she smiled, winked at him, and said, “I’m mailing it back to him because I stole it from him.”

Rowan’s smile faltered and he blinked.

“You what?”

“I stole it from him.”

He stared at her another moment before a chuckle escaped his lips and he was shaking his head but smirking.

“You stole his passport.” He sounded very amused as he wrote a note down, most likely for the report he’d have to file.

“Yup,” Aelin’s grin turned feline, “He took me on vacation to break up with me, so I stole his passport and left him there.”

Rowan stopped writing and looked at her with raised eyebrows, “He’s still there? You have his passport, and now he’s stuck,” Rowan glanced at his notes, “in Antica?”

Aelin laughed; a loud, cheerful, sound that filled the office and pulled a small grin onto Rowan’s lips.

“Okay, I’m sure you think I’m a bit crazy,” Her grin didn't falter, “but it was impulsive and as soon as I realized what I actually did, you know, kinda leaving him stranded there, I tried to send it back to him. I couldn't remember what the hotel was, so I figured the embassy would be a good choice given it's a passport, and he is from Adarlan.”

“He’s from Adarlan, you’re not?” Rowan asked.

Aelin smirked, “That’s what you got from what I said?”

He matched her smirk, “That's what I want to know.”

“No,” Aelin shook her head and glanced out the window in his office, “I’m from here, Terrasen is in my blood.”

It seemed like that was the answer Rowan was looking for. He smiled, wrote down a final note, and looked back at her.

“I think that’s all I need right now, Aelin,” Again, the way he said her name sent butterflies flitting around her stomach.

He stood up and she did the same, pulling her purse back over her shoulder. He walked around his desk and opened the door for her.

“Aelin,” Rowan’s voice made her pause as she stood in the open doorway.

“Yes, Rowan?” she looked up at him expectantly with a small smile.

“I take my break in half an hour, there's a coffee shop just down the block, if you want to hang around or come back then, I'd like to take you out for coffee.”

Aelin smiled brightly at him and nodded, “I’d like that. I’ll come back in half an hour.”

He grinned and held her gaze another moment before she turned to leave.

“Oh, and Rowan?” She turned back to look at him but saw he already—or still—had his eyes on her.

“Yeah?”

“You don't have to use express shipping on that, it's fine if it takes a couple days.”

The sound of Rowan’s deep laughter followed her through the doors.

*****

Taglist:

@acourtofsnakes @allthebooksunderthemoon @astra-ad-mare @becarefuloflove @bisexual-genderfluid-loki @booklover41802 @charlizeed @cookiemonsterwholovesbooks @danibutterr @doubt-less @emily-gsh @enormousbooklover @foughtconquered @fromthelibraryofemilyj @hakunamatatazz @i-have-but-one-brain-cell @in-love-with-caramel-macchiato @jorjy-jo @lemonade-coolattas @mariamuses @mayhemories @midsizewitch @miserablesmusings @morganofthewildfire @nehemikkele @rowaelinismyotp @rowansfirebringer @sayosdreams @sheharahu @sleeping-and-books @stardelia @story-scribbler @superspiritfestival @surielandiareendgame @swankii-art-teacher @tomtenadia @westofmoon @whimsicallyreading @ladygabrielli1997 @moodymelanist @realbookloverproblems @gracie-rosee @julemmaes @yesdreamblog

#rowaelin #aelin #rowan #aelin galathynius #rowan whitethorn #aelin x rowan #rowan x aelin #aelin and rowan #rowan and aelin #rowaelin fluff #rowaelin fic #rowaelin fanfiction #au #fanfic #travel #passport #dailyau #lysandra #chaol #throne of glass #tog #oneshot

[dilucslittleangel]

𝐀 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧𝐞𝐝 𝐩𝐚𝐬𝐭 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐈𝐥 𝐃𝐨𝐭𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐞

Hello!! Usually I wanted to write this same thing with Scaramouche until unfortunately his canon past came out and I had to delete the whole thing- so now, while Dottore will sure take some time to appear in the game, I'm taking my chance to write how I think his past maybe looked like.

Some sentences towards the end have been taken off his artifact!

Word count: 1584

I'd like to say this may or may not fit into canon!! (however I wouldn't mind if this became canon)

So. Where to we begin?

I like to think Dottore had a golden child syndrome from a young age.

Most parents want to see their children thrive and flourish. In fact, the desire to see your child succeed is a normal desire of parenting. Moreover, even good parents sometimes have unrealistic expectations for their children.

But good child syndrome can happen when a child consistently reinforces their parent’s desires for them. These children don’t just want to satisfy their parents- they feel obligated and responsible for doing so. It becomes a significant part of their identity, meaning it affects their overall development. Either one or two of the parent role, are naracisstic.

A healthy child usually wants to succeed and make their parents proud. Golden children take it up a few notches. They may present as anxious children early in life. Similarly, they experience immense anxiety and guilt when they fail to meet certain expectations.

Despite how a golden child syndrome usually develops in a child, it was a little different in this case.

Dottore's father did not give him lots of attention at all. Just like the insane, crazy doctor / scientist he is himself now, so was his father. His father was a mad man, a man who's experiments are more important to him than his own family.

The young boy often watched his father, watching experiments a young boy like him should not see. All his father's attention went to the experiments, did he have to do the same?

The young lad did various of things, but they all were helpless. Nothing made his father even look at him, heck not even at the dinner table they talked. However he didn't want to stop trying. He had to keep on going, so he thought.

His mother? Dottore was just 7 years old when his mother started to feel worse and worse everyday. So worse even she had no other choice but to rest in bed, having a doctor visit every week as her husband was no doctor, just a scientist who couldn't care less. Why did they even marry?

Dottore brought his mother meals every day - at least whenever a helpful aunt came over. Dottore pretty much looked up to the doctor that came over every week. Did he also become so clever and brilliant to maybe help his mother? He sure thought so.

Day and night the young boy spend hours of looking into medical books, learning anything he possibly could. Often would he fall asleep on the ground, all exhausted from studying. He wanted to help his mother.

Besides studying medical stuff and trying to do anything that would make his father give any attention, he'd also spend other day and nights to get the best of grades, always did he bring good ones home. Never would you see anything below 95 points. Dottore didn't even think about having friends, they only were in his way and annoying. He had no time for friends, he only had himself.

Everytime he brought good grades home, he would bring the paper to his mother. She was more than proud of him. „One day you'll be such a handsome man, helping out so many people.. You make your mother really proud..”the sweet voice spoke. He couldn't let his mothers expactions down now could he?

More and more years have passed. Years of studying, years of writing good grades, years of wanting his father to also be proud of him. Dottore was under a pressure of making his parents be nothing, he didn't want to be a good-for-nothing, - a pressure he put himself under. He just wanted to mean something to both of his parents. He wanted to be worth living. Something cracked in the mind of his.

One day, the boy came home in the cold times of the years but he had great news, he scored the best once more in a big test, wanting to share the great news to his mother. He hadn't seen his mother since yesterday, he was happy to see his mother again. „Mother! Mother! Look!”he said proudly as he ran upstairs, he didn't even put his backpack down. „..Mother?”he asked as he entered the room. He walked over to the bed and looked at his mother. Her eyes were closed, chest not rising nor sleeping. „...?” he gently shook his mother, having his hand on the mother's arm, he felt the coldness. The heater was on, how could she get so cold? It got him worried.

„Mother??”he asked loudly, keeping on shaking her till he heard it knock on the door. He put his test paper on the bed and walked downstairs. He opened the door, looking at who was knocking. It was the doctor, wanting to check on the mother as always. „Uhm Doctor.. I don't think mother is feeling well.... She's quiet and so cold..” he spoke. The doctor looked at him. „..?..”the doctor quickly walked upstairs, of course did the boy walk after him. Dottore stood at the door frame, watching the man.

The doctor stood there silently for a few seconds, shrugging a bit together as he suddenly left the room, walking downstairs. „Where's your father kid??” he asked. „I..don't know. He was suddenly gone one day 2 years ago or so..”he answered. „..what?? Then where's your aunt, let me call her, boy.”

Dottore didn't quite understand what was going on but he knew nothing good happen. He looked back at his mother. He walked up to her, climbing onto the bed and hugging his beloved mother. He brushed away the long dark blue hair. Silently, he sank his head on the mothers chest, closing those pure red eyes. He widened his eyes a little as he heard no heartbeat. „...Mother..”. What a shame, he was just supposed to turn 14 in a few days.

Many many more years have passed. While he grew up along his aunt, Dottore had not given up what he did before. Now he had to make his aunt all proud, now that he's the oh so poor failure that couldn't save his mother hm? At least he thought that way, again.

Now being proud 20 years, living on his own in a old lab, doing various of experiments no one would like to recall. He'd just become the madman his father once was. The word "failure" does not exist for him. He cannot be a failure once more, after all.. He's such a big genius. How could a hardworking child with a great smile go to a madman with a short temper who's plans cannot go wrong?

So judgemental the god of his homeland Fontaine, so the people. Fontaine's people were disgusted of the man, afraid of him, they wanted him gone.

Chased away with pitchforks, clubs and angry words, he took fled to the all famous Sumeru Academia where he continued his crazy studies and experiments. He had so many logical theories, yet no one wanted to hear them. One would not even like to look at him. He truly was sick of everyone, of everything.

Years later again, once more the man took fled. Next day awoken, the social reject's legs have given up. Falling into the sand, with a little lake aside, he took a look at his reflection. Half of his face had gotten burn scars, had the man's charm left his side too? Hand covering half the man's face, he remembered it all.

A night of a harmless experiment with potions and fire had kept the man awake. Yet, the man had been tired. Sitting at the table, where he rest his head on his palm, the man closed his eyes. Dottore silently listened to the liquid heating up under the hottest flames. Maybe him closing his eyes was a terrible mistake which he soon got to suffer for.

The liquid had been heated up too much, the man should've turned off the fire by now but he soon was about to reach the beautiful dream realm. Glass exploding and hot liquid splashing against half his face awoke the man. Quickly the man stood up and pressed the towel against his face, sharp breaths escaping, silent cries filling the room, free hand turning off the fire.

How foolish of him, hm?

The man shook his head and closed his eyes. A grip on his shoulder made the man turn around. „..Fatui?”

"Merely an enhanced human? If your great nation can furnish me with sufficient resources and ample time, I could even manufacture that which you would call a god. What say you?"

True indeed. First of the fatui has tracked him down. In the desert that shone bright like liquid gold, he inquired of the Snezhnayan diplomat:

"Will you treat me like the Academia did? Will you call me a monster, a madman?"

"Or will you treat me as my hometown did, and chase me away with pitchforks and clubs...?"

...

"Good. Then, we are now in partnership."

"As for the matter of your title — what do you say to this..."

Taken completely by surprise by the sheer irony of the title he was given, the young man burst into hysterical laughter.

If you'd know ask the man about his theories and experiments, shall you see a sparkle of excitement...

...

(Drawing of Dottore in the age of four. From right to left -> "Daddy" "That's me!" "Mommy")

#genshin impact #genshin impact il dottore #dottore genshin #genshin il dottore #dottore #il dottore #theory #genshin theory #this is just a theory #please let this get any attention #golden child syndrome #he may be a social reject but I can fix him guys!! 🤪🤪 #i hope this makes sense #will anyone even read this #bye #will anyone care?

[robinofgothamcity]

♡ prompt: "falling in love with her wasn't apart of my plan but I'm not mad if it happens."

♡ pairing: leo valdez x latina, fem! reader

♡ note: not checked for grammar or spelling mistakes / my schedule is going to become more sporadic starting this week :/ but also, writing for Leo is my ultimate favorite thing to do bc I'M MEXICAN AND SO IS HE AND I JUST GET TO UNLEASH ALL MY MEXICANESS INTO ONE FANFIC.

being the daughter of Nemesis, it wasn't unusual to see you messing with the Hermes cabin....a lot. your partners in crime were the Stoll brothers. all the meanwhile, everyone who saw the three of you together knew to book it. it usually meant that all of you pulled a prank and they were terrified to know which cabin it was that got shit end of the stick.

it was usually ended up being the Demeter kids considering they were so easy to prank. you swore that Demeter was going to bite you in the ass one day for how much you messed with her kids but you couldn't lie, they were so easily prankable that it was hard not to do it.

"I'M GOING TO HURT YOU!" you heard someone scream as you and the Stoll brothers ran away from the cabin. the three of you booked it until you saw them stop and ultimately give up, "NO YOU WON'T!" you yelled back jokingly before you accidentally ran into someone.

you heard the chuckles of Travis and Connor as you looked up, "sorry Leo, didn't see you there," you murmured. he gave you his hand, helping you up as Travis and Connor started mocking you, "it's okay but be careful! wouldn't want your beautiful face to get all messed up," your eyes widened, right alongside's Travis who started going into hysterics.

"thanks Leo, at least someone knows how to treat a woman," you poked back to Travis who immediately stood quiet. Leo laughed, "no problem but here, you got some grease on your cheek," he said, seeing the slash of it on your face. he pulled his sleeve out a bit and tried wiping it off, "uh, you kinda made it worse," Connor inquired.

Travis smacked his brother, sensing that this was not the time to make a joke. he quickly dragged himself along with Connor away as you got left with Leo, "I still think you look pretty," he tried to rationalize. he knew the story behind you and knew if you managed to take what he did the wrong way, he would be at the receiving end of a prank and no one ever wanted to be involved in a prank that had your name attached with Travis and Connor.

"have a mirror in your bunker? don't really feel like walking all the way to my cabin to clean it off," you admitted. Leo nodded excitedly, practically grabbing your hand and dragging you away, "course I do. gotta see this perfect face somehow," you giggled at his comment making Leo proud that he wasn't scaring you off yet.

the bunker from where you were originally wasn't too far but when you stepped in, you couldn't help but stand at the doorway, stunned at the organized mess he had inside. "you build a lot, don't you?" you asked. Leo saw the way stared mesmerized at the unfinished project, "yeah, half of these aren't done yet and I haven't even started on those yet but that's what happen when you're the son of Hephaestus," he groaned.

you saw the mirror that was on the wall and wiped it away with a clean rag. as you finished up, you heard music playing lowly throughout the bunker.

"is that....Banda MS?" you asked, whipping your head around to get a clear answer. Leo and you both stared at each other in complete shock, "NO WAY!" you both screamed. you immediately felt a tug at Leo, getting some sense of familiarity from him, "my dad used to blast this song all the time as a kid!" you exclaimed happily.

Leo didn't respond as he was still too much in shock to process what was going on. he hadn't met anyone who ever recognized the music he listened to when he worked. it's one of the memories he had with his mom was that she blared this music when they used to work on things together, "my mom did too," he replied. you found the tiny remote and turned it up as you sat in shock.

"sorry but I really haven't heard this music play in years, it brings back so many memories of my dad," you confessed, "holy Hera I might start crying," you laughed, trying not to cry in the process.

"Me gustas, te gusto, pa qué nos hacemos? te llevo la banda y nos amanecemos. seré detallista, me encantas la neta, te lleno de rosas mis dos camionetas. no es por presumir, pero soy buena opción, bonita pareja haríamos tú y yo, Piénsalo."

you sang out the lyrics right alongside Leo as the two of you immediately felt in your own little world. Jason, who was passing by Bunker Nine with Piper, poked his head in when he heard Leo's singing voice.

"no way," he whispered to Piper who managed to jump over her boyfriend to poke her head inside, "a girl is in his bunker? holy Hera," she murmured to him as Jason stared at his best friend in pride. Jason knew if anyone deserved a girlfriend, it was Leo. despite the front Leo put up constantly, he knew Leo craved love from a significant other so to see you inside of the bunker, not only singing to music in Spanish but to actually understand Leo from a side no one else could made Jason proud of him.

"I have a bunch of music on my iPod I always play in my cabin since Damien is hardly inside, it doesn't really bother anyone," you mentioned as you took it out. Leo quickly put the iPod on the adapter and played the first song which happened to be 'Se Amerita' by Junior H, "I usually played it around Jason and the others but they didn't really understand so it didn't really bother them."

you heard your name being yelled by Travis from across the camp making you sigh. Leo felt himself deflate, realizing that you were leaving, "talk to ya later? I'm pretty sure one of those got caught in a prank and are going to use me as an escape tactic," you murmured, jumping off of the stool.

"bye Amor!" you turned around, not expecting the nickname so suddenly, "goodbye Valdez," you replied, giving him a wink.

you walked out of his bunker, not noticing Jason or Piper who were hiding on the side as you sped off to Travis. Jason and Piper walked in, giving Leo the biggest shit eating grin they had ever had on their faces, "well, well, well, what was that?" Piper asked, "flirting it up with the daughter of Nemesis are we?" Jason added on.

"shut up, it wasn't even-," Leo looked to Jason who immediately told him to cut the shit, "falling in love with her wasn't apart of my plan but I'm not mad if it happens," he confessed, slamming the tool on the table and running his hands through his brown hair.

Piper couldn't believe her ears. Leo had said he had fallen in love multiple times over multiple women he had met but this one felt real. it felt almost raw.

"you didn't tell her that, did you?" Jason asked, now in a kind of panic. Leo shook his head no, "okay good but honestly, it's really surprising. everyone in the camp kind of assume her and Travis had a thing considering how much time they spend with each other," Piper said out loud.

bingo.

that was the thing that was throwing Leo off. he saw the way you acted around Travis. it wasn't the way you were around Connor. you seemed really close to Travis. the two of you were secretive with each other. just know, he heard Travis calling for you and although you were reluctant to go, he felt some kind of competition with the older Stoll brother.

"no, I don't think they see each other that way, they have more of a sibling relationship if I have to be honest," thank you Jason for being the voice of reason, Leo thought. he stood up and stretched himself, "well, if the Gods want us together then so be it but if they don't...I'm going to make em," he joked.

the following morning was thankfully a Saturday. no training was mandatory and it gave everyone a chance to sleep in. Leo tended to be a late sleeper on these days but as he was getting up to go to the mess hall, he heard your laughs from the campfire area. you were sitting with Travis, looking at a notebook with something written inside it as Travis let out another laugh.

Leo felt himself getting slightly jealous as he went for his late morning snack. you had given a bright smile, one that made him melt on the inside, and a wave before going back to talking to Travis. he hadn't seen Connor around so he figured that it was just the two of you which didn't make his jealousy dim down any less.

you had ditched the plans of pranking the Ares cabin with Travis as he wiggled his eyebrows, joking that you were replacing him with Leo.

"hey Leo, what're you up to?" you asked, scaring him a bit. he shrugged, showing you the snacks in his hands, "late sleeper, huh?" you asked. you could sense the slightly different mood Leo was in, in comparison to yesterday, "well, if you need any help with anything, I'll be free all day," you mentioned, hoping he'd invite you to maybe help him in some kind of project.

Leo nodded, not saying anything back before heading back to his bunker. he didn't know if it was just his heart playing with him but the way you were around Travis made him irrationally angry. it was as if only he could be that way around you. Leo knew one of his downsides as a person was being extremely clingy and having a bit too much faith in someone but he was hoping that if he placed all his marbles into a bowl that maybe you'd reciprocate the feelings he got for you just as quickly as he did.

"what're you doing in here trapped?" Jason asked, a little later in the day. Leo continued working on his useless project as he didn't respond, "dude, are you listening? I would think you'd be with ( your name ), trying to ask her out and all," Jason reiterated.

Leo slammed his nail gun down on the table, frightening Jason.

"I saw her with Travis earlier, giggling and laughing with him so I figured that maybe Piper was right and that they like each other," he admitted, frustration evident in his voice, "gods you're in idiot," Jason screamed to Leo as it was Leo's turn to be left in confusion.

Jason sat down on the wooden chair in annoyance.

"( your name ) is currently by herself by lake and you're in here moping around because of a scenario you made in your head?" he practically yelled. Leo was about to speak up when Jason cut him off again, "I told you already, she is like Travis' sister! what're you not getting? I heard what she told you this morning and now she's alone when she could be in here with you!" he yelled, shaking Leo's shoulders.

Leo took a step back, letting what Jason was telling him sink in. once it finally processed, he put his tool down and took his belt off, "think she'll be down for me to join her?" Leo asked him. Jason nodded yes, "go to her you idiot! it's about time you found your soulmate and you're about to ruin it!"

Jason remained in the cabin as Leo quickly walked out. he went to the place where Jason had told him you were currently at and thankfully, you were still there. you were poking the water with a stick before chucking a large rock inside of it. something Percy probably would've yelled at you for.

"what're you doing here alone?" he asked, walking up behind you. you instantly perked up, "I'm bored and didn't really have anything to do today so I usually go to the lake to throw rocks," you replied as Leo got comfortable next to you, "I thought you'd be working on some project right now."

Leo shook his head, "figured you'd probably want to help me start a new project. I don't know how great the daughters of Nemesis are at building things but I can imagine someone as gorgeous and smart as you can be of help," he flirted as he noticed the flustered reaction.

"me vas a matar estupido," you joked, pushing him playfully. Leo shook his head, "how can I kill me reina? it would be really stupid of me." you didn't bother to reply as you let out a flustered laugh.

Leo took in the situation as you grew quiet. the slight Long Island breeze made your hair get pushed back as Leo thanked his lucky stars. Leo knew he went through hell and back. literally. and maybe it was finally time he got what he deserved in return.

never did he think he would be at the receiving end of good karma. his life until recently had put him through trials and tribulations that he didn't think he'd make it out of but thankfully, he did and when he did, he figured that's when the God's placed you in his life. the gorgeous daughter of Nemesis.

"well, let's get crackin' partner," you said getting up. Leo nodded, grabbing your wrist and practically dragging you away to his bunker, "whatever you say reina," he replied, finding comfort in the nickname he gave you.

#percy jackon and the olympians #heroes of olympus fic #heroes of olympus imagine #heroes of olympus #hoo imagine #pjo imagine #pjo x reader #leo valdez #leo valdez imagine #leo valdez x reader #leo valdez x you

[weirdochick56]

The Bodyguard 2- Bucky Barnes AU

Bodyguard!Bucky Barnes x Princess!Reader

Warnings: Explicit language, insults, snark, and sassy!Buckster sexy times (ok, so maybe only slightly sexy)

Disclaimers: I don’t own any MCU plots or Characters mentioned

Word Count: 5, 173 words

Summary: The Reader and Bucky’s hate for eachother is at an all time high; she can’t seem to rid herself of him and he, well he can’t seem to get her to cooperate with him. But as their frustrations grow, a late-night outing might just be what they both need to see other parts of eachother. 

A/n: This has been a long time in the making, but I finally felt inspired enough to continue the story. Hope you enjoy it!

~The Bodyguard 1~

***

“You can stop following me now,” you grumble with thorny irritation, rolling your eyes at the tall persistent shadow staying hot on your tail. 

It was in vain to ask him to leave, you knew. Agent Brainless was ridiculously adamant about following you around the moment you stepped foot outside of the palace and he was -infuriatingly so- a stubborn man.

How he knew that you were leaving even when you had concocted what you considered a genius plan to evade those infuriatingly pretty grey irises was beyond you.

He sighs at your words, and you can see the annoyance bubbling to the surface of his cold professional exterior, though he tries his hardest to keep a straight face. 

“Your highness, I think we both know I won’t do that,” he responds simply. “Now if you would please stop being so stubborn and simply do as I ask and come with me to the car so that this is easier for us both...” 

You can tell his patience is wearing thin because, in the past few weeks of having him follow you everywhere you went, you had made it a point to figure out his exact breaking point. 

And as you continue making your escape to town like he isn’t even there, you know that so is yours. If there’s anything that can give you that deep burning satisfaction you sought with everything you did, it was pissing Agent Barnes off.

He had patiently asked you to retreat back the way you came so he could “safely” transport you in a castle-owned car, but you refused redundantly because your friend was already waiting for you, but maybe also because you loved the little twitch of his eye every time you refused to listen to his directions.

If you were being completely honest, he really should’ve been asking you to come back to the castle and not go to a club in town at all- as per your father’s orders. But you weren’t fond of said orders and you definitely didn’t want some dark and mysterious shadow following you around during a night of fun with friends. 

“No,” is all you say because in the few minutes you’ve spent talking to him you’ve noticed he’s the most infuriated when your responses are curt and nonchalant. 

You want to see him snap oh so bad...seeing those steely grays lose their cool? Gold. 

“Princess...” he growls in warning, daring you to cut that little thread of control he had left in him with your sharp tongue. 

You don’t look back at him even once enjoying the thrill that travels up your spine at his low-timbre words and the way his voice travels straight to your core, tugging at your short black dress lightly. 

You wanted to see what he would do should he be pushed over the edge. It was fun.

“I already told you, I’m not listening to you. My friend is already waiting for me. And I’m sorry if you have an issue with- Ahh!” Your words choke back into your throat and morph into a shocked yelp when big rough hands grip your hips, spinning you around and without much of a warning, lifting you with incredible ease.

Before you know it, you’re being carelessly thrown over a broad, strong shoulder.

You let out a small ‘oomph’ when the wind gets knocked out of you and all you see is a firm ass, the blood rushing to your head. 

“What the hell do your think you’re doing you absolute buffoon?!” You screech hysterically, wriggling aggressively against his hold on your thighs. 

He barely flinches, only wrapping his muscular arm tighter around your legs and adjusting you on his shoulder like it was a mere midnight stroll for him and you weighed no more than what a feather did. 

“I’m taking you to the car,” he informs as if it’s obvious, voice full with obnoxious satisfaction. 

“Get your filthy hands off me this instant you utter and complete idiot!” You growl, twisting harshly but he doesn’t let go so you start pounding on his firm back with your fists, fighting to free yourself of him. “WHO DO YOU THINK YOU ARE?!”

He just laughs at what seems to be your weak attempts to break away. He laughs.

You gasp at the absolute and complete audacity he has of laughing when he’s treating you, the single heir to the Androvian throne, like a sack of potatoes. 

“You ass!” You wriggle around some more, tugging at his hands to try to pry them off your legs but all he does is smack them away as if they were mere pesky flies. 

“I may be,” he chokes back a small snort but only barely. “But at least I’m the only ass trying to keep your reckless self in check, princess.”

Indignation, humiliation, and utter vexation all burn deep inside you like a thrumming fire ready to ravage everything in its way when it got the chance to escape your body as you slowly fall limp against him. 

Resignation comes hand in hand with the deep desire for revenge and you fist your hands in deep ache to somehow exercise it. 

He carries you all the way to the garage of cars in the back part of the castle, walks over to a black SUV out of all the expensive cars to choose from, opens it and all but throws you into the back leather seats like you’re not a fucking human, much less the princess of the land he’s currently stepping in. 

You land flat on your back in the smooth leather interior of the luxury SUV with a small thud and instantly sit up to glare at him heatedly. “Do you have any idea who I am? Be gentle, you brute!” 

Annoyingly enough, he simply ignores you and leans over your body. His heat floods through your bare skin and feels good for a second and you subtly inhale his musky scent as he tugs on the seatbelt, roughly pulling it over you. 

You forget about your hatred for him for a split second and that only makes you angrier when it comes back full force. 

You fucking idiot, Y/n. 

In a last and desperate attempt of defiance, you try to push his hands away to which he responds by firmly pressing you back by your shoulder into your seat and staring you dead in the eye with blazing grey eyes. 

The fire that swirls in them is...something. Not necessarily scary, but intimidating and...something else.

Something that makes your skin flush and your nerves throb to life. 

You stare right back, tilting your chin up to show him you weren’t backing down or scared of him and his brute force. He got too under your skin and you knew you got under his which only offered you only a limited amount of comfort. 

He clenches his jaw as he clicks the seatbelt into place, never looking away from your challenging gaze. As if to stick another dagger into your burning insides. As if to reassert his power here. 

Your labored breaths are all that can be heard for miles to come in the calm night air and he leans close for a second, your heaving chests gently brushing.

Not meaning for it to happen, you feel your nipples harden beneath the flimsy fabric of your black party dress and you wonder if you imagine his hands clenching around your shoulder -his fingers digging into your flesh with suppression- or the sly flick of his eyes from your eyes to your lips. 

You wonder if you imagine the look of heat that passes over his eyes when your breaths mix the second time seems to stop and an overwhelming emotion washes over you. 

But then it’s gone as soon as it came and hatred burns deep in your belly once more. So deep that it hurts and brings painful tears to your eyes, your nose burning so hard you can’t focus through your blurry vision.

You lean in closer, so close your nose is brushing just barely against his and pause for a second. A second of torture for him, a second of uncertainty, a second where his breath catches and his pupils dilate. 

Then you speak, voice trembling with overwhelming anger. 

“I have never,” you whisper, licking your lips. “Been treated with such disrespect.” You swallow hard, cheeks red with humiliation. 

You see a flash of guilt in his eyes but it’s quickly replaced by his usual look of cool professionalism- not even anger anymore. Not even that.

And he leans right back into you, a wave of heat passing over both of you. “Then learn to listen next time. It’s for your safety.” 

And just like that he’s drawing back, slamming the passenger door closed and climbing into the driver’s seat- leaving you cold and angry beyond reason.

A moment of tense silence passes before he releases a tiny sigh and breaks it by turning on the ignition. 

“Where are we going?”

*

BUCKY’S POV

I watch her laugh at something one of her friends says from a dark corner of the club and it’s hard not to stare for reasons other than my duty being just that...to look after her. 

The club was a luxurious one, with high ceilings, intricate designs and a VIP section where we were immediately escorted to.

Her Highness’s friends, a blonde guy and girl who had nodded at me in polite acknowledgment were already waiting for her there and I assumed that the few seconds when she had stopped her sulking and taken out her phone from her clutch were the seconds she was texting her friends to meet her there instead. 

I would never admit it, but I enjoyed watching her cave. It was like taming a wild horse, even if momentarily. 

Princess Y/n was a brat, plain and simple. Selfish, childish, and feisty as hell, I had never met anyone as completely and utterly vexing as her and to say these past few weeks had been hell would be an understatement. 

If I wasn’t so good at my job, I would’ve lost her already. She threw me for a loop any chance she got, cutting corners and doing everything she could to avoid my protection. 

As I stared at her with that pretty ass smile on her annoyingly beautiful face, it’s hard to imagine that that was the same person pushing every single one of my buttons just a few minutes before. 

She actually looked relaxed and...nice?

God, she infuriated me in ways I had no idea I could be infuriated, discovered buttons I didn’t know I had and pushed them to the point I had to throw her over my damn shoulder like a sack of flour.

I was a professional, for God’s sake. Had always been one with every single one of the cases I was assigned, so why was she the one to get under my skin?

...And why did I enjoy having her perfectly round ass so close to my face? Why did I keep thinking about the defiance in those stupidly big eyes over and over like I....craved it?

I wondered to myself as I watched her take down a shot by the bar. She glanced at me over her shoulder, still smiling, but it quickly melted away when our gazes clashed and my own mood soured instantly. 

I grimaced when she looked away as if I had burnt her with my eyes and quickly pulled my head out of the gutter. 

The fact that she was utterly gorgeous didn’t change how annoying she was. Not to mention I was here on a job. 

One I fully intended to complete, no matter how fucking difficult the client was.

*

The night moves on at a slow pace for me. The princess parties and I watch her like a hawk, making sure not to let her get too wild. 

So far I had pried off five guys who were trying their luck with her. From what I’d read on her file and the extensive research I’d done online, her face wasn’t really well known. 

She was always kept  secret and would be until she was crowned queen of Androvia- some weird old belief or something- so not many people knew what she looked like. 

Meaning, these guys probably didn’t know who they were trying to get all handsy with on the dance floor and would only assume was some rich daddy’s girl once my towering form appeared and nicely escorted them away. 

For the most part nicely, anyway. Some I had to get a little rougher with. 

I make sure to keep my eyes glued on her form, ignoring the way she moved her hips in that tiny black dress. It hugged her alluring curves like a glove and I swallowed hard as she grinded on her female friend, head thrown back and a free smile on her face. 

“She is...beautiful, isn’t she?” 

I calmly turn towards the voice as it hums out from beside me, turning to see the guy she came with. He takes a sip of his drink, smirking as his eyes remain on the way the princess waves her hands in the air to the beat of the song, sensually shaking her hips as if she was one with the sexy R&B song I had no idea the name of. 

I clear my throat, remaining stock still in my bodyguard pose. “Sir, I”m only here to protect her Highness. I really don’t-”

“Oh don’t even try to hide it. She’s easily the most beautiful woman in this whole club.”

He takes my silence as confirmation, it seems, because he proceeds to speak on as if I’ve agreed.

“But it’s not just her physical appearance is it? It’s something else. Something...inside,” he whispers. 

When I don’t respond, he continues bitterly. “I’m warning you; don’t fall for her. It’ll only bring you a world of pain, trust me.”

I catch the pain in his voice and stiffen. “I would never fall for one of my subjects, sir,” I assure him.

He laughs sourly. “Sure bud. You keep telling yourself that.”

“I don’t know what you mean,” I insist, swallowing thickly as she laughs, beautiful smile wide and her laughter too melodious to be coming out of such a wretched little urchin. 

“Well,” he coughs suddenly, clapping me in the shoulder. “I think I need another drink. Want one?”

I eye his hand which he slowly pries off and shake my head with a slightly clenched jaw.

“I’m on the job, sir,” I remain calm and professional despite the fact that all I wanted to do was break that hand for putting stupid thoughts in my head. 

Because for a second there, as the bright club lights shun down on her, I could see what he talked about when he said there was something inside. In that smile, those eyes, that laugh...

But then she made eye contact with me and the feeling turned bitter so quick it’s a miracle I didn’t get whiplash. 

She was a brat. Nothing more.

*

YOUR POV

Sometime late into the night, you had found myself fairly buzzed. Not enough to fall on your face, but enough that walking- well, stumbling over to Agent Asshole only seemed more and more attractive an action.

He glances at you with those eyes and you can’t help the anger the bubbles within you. “Do you plan on staring me down the entire night?”

“It’s my job,” is all he says. 

You scowl fiercely at him. “I hate you,” you seethe.

He raises a dark brow but otherwise keeps that stoic expression on his face. “Do you want to leave, your Highness?”

His neutral tone and complete lack of reaction only angers you more and you shake your head furiously. “No, I don’t want to leave. I want you to leave though.”

He presses his lips firmly together. “I’m sorry-“

“No, you’re not.”

“Huh?” He cocks his side slightly to the side and you lean closer to him, craning your neck to look him in the eye.

“I said; you’re not sorry. If you were sorry, you WOULD LEAVE ME THE FUCK ALONE!” You feel your drunken emotions deep in your chest and without much effort, your voice quickly escalates.

He sighs heavily. “Okay, your highness, I think it’s time I take you back to the castle. C’mon,” he waves a hand toward the door.

You laugh at him coldly, shaking your head. “Who do you think you are, ordering me around? Know your place asshole, you are below me- never forget,” you growl snarkily, leaning right into his face.

You feel his breathing quicken against your cheeks the longer you defiantly smirk up at him, his calm eyes darkening.

You realized you enjoyed pushing him to the edge, that you craved this look on his face...

He smirks mockingly down at you, staring you down. “You can come willingly, your highness, or I can throw you over my shoulder like last time.” He leans straight into your ear, whispering hotly. “I’m sure you would rather not go through the embarrassment.”

You swallow thickly, your heart hammering against your chest and you’re not sure it’s from anger anymore. With disgust, you jerk away from him, glaring holes into his head.

“Let’s go.”

*

“You can go, Agent Obnoxious,” you mumble drunkenly, waving a dismissive hand at him as you stumble into your warm room, practically ripping off your heels.

You throw them somewhere in the corner of the large room, sighing with relief when you feel your bare feet touching the soft carpeted floor. 

Your knees shake slightly and buckle and you end up tripping forward.

You land on the ground with a soft grunt and for some reason, laughter bubbles deep in your chest.

“Your Highness!”

A few seconds later, you feel strong warm hands wrapping around your body to heave you up. You place your hands on his strong arms for support and look up at Agent Barnes.

The laughter immediately dies on your lips when you see a beautiful concerned frown of engraved deep in his face. It looks so sincere and his arms are so strong...

Before you know what you’re doing, a small mumble is leaving your lips. “You...” you cut yourself off abruptly when his eyes meet yours.

His hands now rest lightly on your waist, and you’re so close you can smell him. His scent is deep and rich and manly, so unlike the scent of those rich assholes you were forced to mingle with on a daily basis.

And his hands, are strong and resilient. The callouses on them tells you that he’s worked his entire life. Those hands, the ones holding you right now, They’ve probably handled a gun, they’ve probably saved so many lives...

You bite your lip, thinking about the way those hands felt on the skin of your arm and how heavenly it would feel if it traveled all over.

Goosebumps rise on your skin as you crane up your neck to stare up at him.

He stares down at you, and even when your room is dark, the light of the moonlight that filters in from the huge window highlights the heavy tension in his gaze.

You’re both unmoving and you wonder if he enjoys touching you as much as you enjoy his touch.

He inhaled deeply, his eyes flickering to your lips and eyes and then back.

You want to ask him what he’s thinking. You want to tell him to just do it -to just kiss you because you wouldn’t dare push him away- not in this state, not when the alcohol and his scent and eyes were clogging every single sense and reason you had, but you’re afraid to break the spell of whatever this was. 

So instead, you wait on abated breath, feeling like you’re both on the verge of something utterly earth-shattering, for him to move.

Finally, he speaks a few seconds later and it’s a quiet murmur. “Let’s get you to bed, princess.”

You ignore the sharp sting of his rejection when you were so clearly begging him to kiss you and step away from his touch as if he’s burnt you.

You turn around so he can’t see the hurt in your eyes. “You can go now Agent Brainless,” you say coldly over your shoulder, but you know it’s a lot softer than the other time.

Another second passes. “Princess..” he whispers.

You ignore his barely audible whisper and angrily begin undressing, tugging at the straps of your dress.

“What in the world do you think you’re doing?” He growls lowly as you begin to pull your dress down to your waist.

With a sarcastic smile, your turn towards him, your top half completely naked aside from your black lacy bra.

His gaze immediately falls on your half-naked chest, but aside from the small flicker in his eyes and gulp he takes, he gives no other indication of shock.

You raise a brow. “Are you going to watch me undress now too, Agent Barnes?” You ask mockingly.

His eyes find yours again and they’re darker than you’ve ever seen them. They send shivers through your whole body and you almost give into the urge to look away, but the anger and frustration within you don’t allow your gaze to waver.

“I’m not leaving until you’re safely in bed,” he husks, clearly trying his best to remain professional and cold as his icy stare bores into your eyes- purposefully looking away from your naked form.

You tilt your head up at him innocently, slowly sauntering closer to him. “Oh? Well in that case, do you mind helping me with the zipper of my dress? It’s stuck.”

You turn your back on him and a smirk blossoms in your face as you hear his breathing strain, your ass slightly brushing against his crotch area. 

He blows out a shaky exhale and it blows against your naked back, all hot and angry. 

When he makes no move to help you, you look at him over your shoulder. “Well?” 

His grave expression doesn’t budge. “I can’t do that,” he says lowly. 

But even as he resentfully spits this, he doesn’t budge and his eyes are still tracing over your body, their electric desire leaving goosebumps over wherever they ran over.

You roll your eyes at him. “Then turn around, you idiot.” 

He growls, fisting his hands and clenching his jaw tightly but doesn’t try to fight you on it and turns his broad back to you.

You’re intoxicated, so it’s probably because you’re not thinking straight, but as you quickly slip on a silk night gown and stare at his back, you can’t help the deep heavy sadness that sinks into your chest. 

Why hadn’t he kissed you just now? You could’ve sworn he wanted to and you sure as hell did...it was there, the moment, the split second when you were willing to risk it all, to overlook any and all boundaries, cross all imposing lines- but you lost it. 

Pushing your hair to the side, you convince yourself it was for the best. 

“I’m done,” you say softly, climbing into bed. 

Agent Barnes nods at you stiffly, turning on his heels to leave as you get under the covers. Blaming this on your intoxication, you suddenly find yourself exclaiming. 

“Wait!” 

He pauses right before his foot moves outside the doorframe and turns toward you, eyebrows raised. “You need something, Your Highness?”

You stare at him seriously, pressing your head against your pillow. “Don’t...leave, please,” you whisper softly, curling into a ball at the tenderness of your voice.

“I don’t want to be alone,” you admit quietly. 

He freezes, staring at you as if he’d never seen you before and you avert your gaze, afraid maybe you let on too much. 

“Sorry,” you quickly apologize, but that only flusters you more. “I-I mean not sorry, you asshole. Just- whatever. I’m in bed now, you can go.” 

Feeling embarrassed, you quickly flip over and turn your back to him.  

Seconds later, you hear the door click close and then nothing. A heavy sigh escapes you and you try to suppress the feeling of disappointment that envelops your whole body. 

You didn’t know if it was the drinks or the cold distant dinners you’d been having with your family...but you had never felt more alone. All the clubbing and trying to escape your destiny by trying to pave a life of your own couldn’t fill in that emptiness you couldn’t get rid of no matter how hard you tried.  

You didn’t want to feel like that anymore. Not tonight. 

So even if it was your bodyguard who you hated with everything in you, you needed someone just to be there. Even if it was just to sit in silence with.  

Suddenly, you hear a gentle swish noise and gasp lightly, flipping over. Agent Barnes has thrown his jacket over the chair beside your bed and is loosening his tie and he stares at you. His beautiful gaze sucks you in as you blink up at him in surprise. 

He shrugs. “I can’t just....leave you here alone.” 

Your chest clenches painfully and warmth travels all over your body like warm gooey honey. The feeling of having someone there for you when you need them most is almost overwhelmingly strong. 

“Thank you,” you whisper so quietly, you’re shocked he even hears it. 

He tilts his head at you, frowning with that handsome face of his. “For what? It’s my job.” 

There he goes detaching himself. With a gentle shrug, you nod and curl into a ball under your covers, trying to covet sleep. 

You try this for a few minutes and you’re tired, but you can’t help thinking about Agent Barnes sitting in a hard chair all night. After a while of tossing and turning, you sit up. 

“Oh for fuck’s sake,” you breathe with irritation. 

“What? What happened?” he sits up instantly, and though you could tell he was on the verge of dozing off, his sharp senses are impressive as he reaches for the gun on his ankle frantically. 

You sigh, hating the way your cheeks grow hot and you look away timidly. “Just get into bed,” you say roughly. 

“What?”

You bite your lip, looking at him in the eyes. “I said; get into bed with me. That chair is uncomfortable.” 

He laughs lightly. “Princess, I was trained by the world’s best assassins. I was taught to sleep on a cold concrete ground if need be.” He gives the chair a firm pat. “This chair is a luxury for a guy like me.”

You stare at him for a few seconds more, wondering more about his past before lightly shaking your head. 

“I don’t care. I still feel bad that I made you sleep here on a chair. Just get in already, will you?” You growl at his stubbornness. “The bed is huge, there’ll be enough space for the both of us, if that’s what you’re concerned about,” you add on, softly. 

After a few seconds of intense eye contact, he finally relents with a small sigh. “Fine.” 

Hesitantly, he cuffs his sleeves and perches himself on the edge of the bed- all stiff and tight. “Good?” He asks, glancing at you with raised brows.

You frown. “You’re kidding.”

“What?”

“You’re not actually planning to sleep like that are you?” You snort. 

“I told you-”

“That you were trained by dangerous assassins, yeah yeah. But you’re still a human and a ridiculous one at that,” you scoff before suddenly smirking.  “You’re not afraid of lil old me, are you? I’m tiny- I couldn’t possibly hurt you...too much,” you offer him a faux innocent smile, batting your lashes. 

He stares at you, a small smirk tugging at his lips. “Oh trust me, I’ve met girls like you before. You definitely don’t bite.” 

You raise a brow amusedly. “Girls like me?”

His sexy smirk widens. “Yeah. You’re all bark but no bite,” he replies vaguely.

Feeling partially indignant and partially curious, you decide to probe him for answers. “Oh yeah?”

He can’t resist your subtle challenge and continue speaking. “You’re always in power, constantly being chased after because you’re beautiful and rich and you act like it’s what you want in a guy, but it isn’t, is it?”

Deeply intrigued by his generally accurate analysis, you can’t help but laugh. “Oh?”

“No.” He stares deeply into your eyes and the smile slips off your lips as he says his next words with the intensity of a thousand suns. “You bark out orders and you take on responsibilities like a boss, but what you really want is a man. Not a pushover boy that’ll listen to your every command and constantly try to please you, fall at your feet...But a man that’ll choke slam you on the bed, that’ll make you his, that’ll torture you with the deepest pits of hellish pleasure until he ruins every other man for you. You want to be controlled, brought over the edge so far you won’t ever be able to go there by yourself and then at the last moment get that taken away from you. You want to be used.” 

You openly gape at him but he ignores you and slightly scoots closer, still at a safe distance, but close enough where you can feel his body heat radiating off of him.

“Sleep, Princess,” he whispers. “I’ll keep an eye out for you.”

At first, you’re too shocked to react. Your heart is positively hammering against your ribcage and your cheeks are uncharacteristically red. You were flushed. How had he managed to...’you know what?’ You think. ‘No.’ 

You breathe in deeply. ‘ I’m not going to think about it anymore.’

Because doing so would mean letting him win. And also, never mind the fact that he’s in your bed right now...

Decidedly, you squeeze your eyes shut, begging sleep to come amidst all your stupid, surely drunken thoughts about your stupid bodyguard and kissing him, or simply straddling him right now...

Despite how much you disliked him, you felt safe and protected, like you could let your guard down. And yet...not enough. 

Soon, lulled by the steady beating of his heart and the warmth of his body, you curl into a ball and slowly let your heavy lids close, relaxing completely.

“Oh, and Agent Brainless?” you murmur, on the very verge of sleep. 

“Yes, princess?” He looks at you. 

You manage to send him one last cold smirk before answering.  

“Don’t misinterpret this, right now. I’m merely asking you to do your job.” 

And then darkness takes over.

Before fully giving into the softness of the darkness of slumber, though, you think you hear him laugh softly and say something like “wouldn’t dream of it, brat.” 

****

They’re honestly growing on me. Should I continue?

ALSO YALL SEE TFATWS????  SEBASTIAN LOOKS SO DARN GOOD PLEASEEEEEE

A special thanks to:

@lilypalmer1987

@jessikared97

@sammykb1994

@mogaruke

@mo-onstarrs

@loveofmychips @juliesland​

#Bucky Barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky #bucky barnes masterlist #james bucky barnes #marvel #avengers #Winter Soldier #winter soldier x reader #Bodyguard!Bucky #bodyguard!bucky x reader #James Buchanan Barnes #Steve Rogers #steve rogers x reader #captain america x reader #captain america

[tg-headcanons]

Touka Was Done So Dirty So I Must Analyze It

I have a lot to say about how poorly Tokyo Ghoul turned out. There was so much wasted potential, so much meaningless angst, so many straight relationships crammed where they didn’t need to be, and so many sudden, anticlimactic plot points. But of all of the mishandling and poor choices, I think that Touka’s treatment is the worst.

Touka was a complex and interesting character. She was raised by loving parents, one of whom died early, the other lived a little longer while doing everything he could to impart lessons to keep her and her brother alive. When he died she was suddenly forced to become her brother’s guardian and rush out into a world that is so much less forgiving than her father was. They got taken in by her uncle and his friends, housed and fed, and she even got the opportunity to pursue an education which is a monumental luxury to ghouls. Despite resenting humans for the way her family was massacred and she is forced to live, she became close to a human, looking past her trauma for a friendship she cherishes. Her brother reacted badly to the idea of her being around such a dangerous person who could have them killed like their parents were, and ran off to join Aogiri, leaving her and her uncle as the last remnants of their family.

Touka is angry, and id say rightfully so. Her parents murder, being forced to grow up far too fast, being forced to live in this war she was drafted into at birth, any one thing would be enough to fuck someone up. She has all that going on, so understandable, she’s going to be pissed at the world. If it ended there it would be perfect, a great starting point for a character to delve deep into the concepts of society shaping identity, but then the worst happened

Touka is an archetype I like to call ”Angry Teen Girl”

Before we talk about the archetype, let’s talk about teen girls in real life, specifically how they’re treated by society. The teen girl in the public eye is simultaneously the epitome of beauty who is seductive and manipulative and lustful, as well as airheaded and shallow and naive and pure. The way that changes has to do with the convenience of the adult male onlooker. She’s A tactical mastermind when she doesn’t want to fuck you and she’s an airhead when she has opinions. She’s a prude when she doesn’t respond to advances and a whore when she wears a t-shirt. Most importantly, she’s a silly stupid baby when she demands independence and respect, and a grown woman who should know better when she acts her age

Teen girls don’t have the same understanding that boys their age do. When a teen boy messes up its “oh he’s 15 he’s still learning.” When a teen girl messes up its “shes 15 shes practically an adult she should know better by now.” Because adult men have decided the teen girl is desirable, she’s forced to grow up faster to save them the shame of acknowledging that she is a literal child. And after being treated like stupid children and sexy mature adults, teen girls are rightfully angry. This is so universal, so all encompassing, that almost every teen girl has this undercurrent of anger and grief at how they’d been socialized. Because of that, it too is brushed off as “stupid teen girls and their silly little feelings.”

This is where the Angry Teen Girl trope comes in. There is so much history behind women’s treatment, so many valid reasons for a teenage girl to be pissed, but this character is almost always played off as a joke. Either a joke or something to fix.

Back to Touka, let’s run through this again, this time through her eyes. Her family was perfect until it was taken violently away, she had to become violent against her dead fathers wishes to protect her little brother, that little brother who she was forced to sacrifice her bloodless life for left her for having a single friend, she lived her whole life knowing that no matter who she is or what she does the world hates her and she’s going to be murdered by the state. She has to deal with all of this, and then she meets Kaneki, who tells her to her face that he’s better than her because he was human, not realizing that not eating people is a privilege from birth that she never had. Touka is angry, and Touka is a child. A traumatized child who isn’t in the right for her violent reaction, but isn’t an adult with a peaceful world who knows better

Now if people just hated her for that then fine, but there is a huge overlap of the people who hate Touka for her aggressive personality, and people who love ayato. For every “she’s a bitch who’s so mean and super violent and shouldn’t be killing investigators when she doesn’t need to and deserves getting hurt” there’s a “he’s a sweet boy who’s trying his best and he killed all those people because he’s traumatized.” More and more, it’s clear that the same sympathy given to ayato, the much more violent and aggressive sibling, is not given to his sister. Right off the bat, she’s easy for many to dismiss because the misogynistic tropes that made her are fully reinforced

She is established as a complex person who simultaneously resents humanity for how ghouls are treated and doesn’t want them dead. She’s aggressive to her loved ones as a way to protect them and kills investigators so they don’t have the chance to threaten them. She’s angry because of how she spent her whole life just barely avoiding death at the hands of a genocidal government, she’s angry that she has to live this way, she’s even angry that she had to become violent at all and couldn’t live the peaceful life she could have had

But because she is an Angry Teen Girl, nothing matters except “But She’s such a bitch”

Now Touka at this point is still a great character, but things go south fast. The focus shifts from the world and complex relationships to Kaneki. Out of nowhere, Touka is pining after him. Out of nowhere, she has feelings for him. It was more convenient to just Insert Romance instead of developing them. Even if it stopped here Touka would still be a great character, but it didn’t.

After she fled anteiku, her character died. Not only was she completely cast aside during Ken’s Plot Convenience And Honestly Lazy Amnesia arc, but everything behind her character was stripped to its bare bones

You see, the Angry Teen Girl is only a teen for so long, and she can become one of two things: Hysterical sad evil woman or Calm Momwife. It’s a problem a lot of male authors have of only seeing a woman’s anger as a character flaw. In order to keep her as a hero, her anger needs to be “fixed,” and even that isn’t done well.

Suddenly, her drive is gone. Her love of Yoriko is completely abandoned, as is her reason to care for average humans. Her ambitions of collage and success are cast aside. Her complicated feeling towards her brother become “oh I get it it’s all cool I love him and just want him safe no hard feelings haha.” By the time we see her in Re:, she is no longer Touka. She is just the Momwife personality she got crammed into because Ishida just couldn’t think of a use for this previously complex character than “Wife And Mom.”

I’m not saying that she should have stayed angry and aggressive, but she should have stayed consistent, she should have changed over time and for coherent reasons. Such pivotal parts of her character are unceremoniously thrown out, we don’t even get a good explanation for why she turned out that way. Yes, she could rebuild her family with her brother, but it should have been built up to. Yes, she could leave Yoriko behind, but it should have any reason for it at all. Hell, I’m a die hard Hidekane fan, but I’d say she could have had a great romance with Kaneki if it didn’t come out of nowhere

She was “calmed” by having her dreams stripped from her after losing anteiku. She was given her “happy ending” by getting knocked up from desperate and uncomfortable pity sex. She was a girl who wanted to go to collage and protect her loved ones, she had queer undertones of being in love with her human fried, she had reasonable aggression as a self defense mechanism. Any one of these things could spring into an arc of their own.

But all that was thrown out in favor of being the most convenient straight love interest for Kaneki, though her personality was so incompatible with him that it had to be stripped bare to even pretend it works

If she had been given the same treatment as her brother and had her anger treated as a byproduct of the way she’s forced to survive rather than a self caused character flaw, she could have been perfect. If she’d been kept in the focus and not shoved aside for so much of Re:, she would have been good. If any part of her character at all stayed in tact, she would have been fine. But instead she’s reduced to either a Bitchy Child or Momwife. She was so interesting, and I wish her character didn’t get gutted for the sake of her male family and rushed love interest

#tokyo ghoul #rant #touka kirishima #ayato kirishima #tokyo ghoul meta #tokyo ghoul criticism

[robininthelabyrinth]

Tedious Joys - Chapter 7 -

- Ao3 link -

“You could have mentioned that your father likes to kiss his saber,” Lan Qiren hissed at Nie Mingjue, who flailed helplessly as both of them tried to whisper outside of Lao Nie’s hearing – a task only rendered possible from the fact that he was currently scrubbing his hair extremely vigorously to get rid of all the dirt and grime, Lan Qiren’s extended hand firmly on his back. The jade pendant was back to hanging at his waist, since hasty experimentation had revealed that the physical contact with Lan Qiren was the key aspect, although the jade pendant seemed key as well - removing it appeared to make the contact less effective.

“He didn’t, did he? Are you all right?” Nie Mingjue asked, and he looked so serious and earnest about it, like he was going to march up to his father right then and there and challenge him over Lan Qiren’s honor or something if Lan Qiren implied that he should, that Lan Qiren’s irritation faded away at once.

“Only on the hand,” Lan Qiren assured him. “He didn’t take any liberties.”

That last part was more of a joke than anything else – however intimate Lao Nie was with her, Jiwei was still a saber – but Nie Mingjue looked alarmed. “You’ll say something if he does anything you’re uncomfortable with, right?” he asked anxiously, and Lan Qiren stared at him.

“Nie Mingjue,” he said stiffly, attempting to quell a little bit of possibly hysterical and definitely inappropriate laughter. “Is there something you need to tell me about you and Baxia…?”

“Tell you – oh! No, no, nothing like that,” Nie Mingjue said, turning bright red. “That’s not what I meant, Teacher Lan! Really, I swear!”

Lao Nie poked his head out of the water briefly to look at them both suspiciously, but accepted it when Lan Qiren shook his head at him and turned back away.

Nie Mingjue waited until his father was distracted to continue whispering. “I just meant – our sabers may be our partners, but it’s not…it’s not an equal distribution of authority, you know? In the end, they’re the weapons and we’re the masters.”

Lan Qiren frowned, finally understanding the nature of Nie Mingjue’s concern, and it was much more astute than he’d initially thought. “I see. So if Baxia refused to cultivate with you…?”

Nie Mingjue shifted uncomfortably from side to side. “Well, I mean, I wouldn’t, personally,” he said. “She’s my friend. But A-die’s always saying I’m too soft on her, that I need to take her more firmly in hand, so…I don’t know. It’d definitely be a few days before he forces the issue – uh, that is – I mean – not that he’d ever –”

“It won’t come to that,” Lan Qiren assured him. “A few days will give us enough time to come up with a plan, and at any rate I would not allow him to mistreat me.”

Nie Mingjue looked relieved, which was a flattering if perhaps not entirely accurate reflection of how strong he believed Lan Qiren to be.

“A good night’s rest will help more than anything,” Lan Qiren continued. “For him, and for you. I suggest you take advantage of it at once – actual sleep, not meditation.”

Nie Mingjue nodded again. “But he’s going to be all right?” he asked, anxious. “Eventually?”

Lan Qiren glanced at his friend, happily humming some bawdy song and appearing likely about to break out into actual singing at any moment, and felt a pain in his chest at the thought of what might be necessary.

“I don’t know,” he admitted. “I really don’t know. We’ll do everything we can for him.”

Nie Mingjue accepted that, taking a deep breath and centering himself, then striding away – he would probably go and do some work before he actually retired, rather than actually go straight to sleep, but Lan Qiren did not call him out on it. There was still a chance that Nie Mingjue would end up as sect leader, and then he wouldn’t have a choice in it at all.

After being tormented briefly by some rather off-key singing and extremely dubious lyrical choices, Lan Qiren found himself bundled off to Lao Nie’s quarters and into his bed, with Lao Nie curling up quite happily against his back.

“There are rules about judging other people,” Lan Qiren mumbled, staring at the wall and ignoring the feeling of Lao Nie’s chin on his shoulder. It was pointy, and they didn’t quite fit – Lan Qiren was the just barely taller of the two, although Lao Nie was broader, and his arms were heavy around him – and all in all Lan Qiren was not especially enjoying the experience of sharing a bed any more than he had any of the previous times it had been forced upon him by necessity, luckily small in number. “I am currently breaking it. I will need to think of a suitable punishment for myself later.”

“Judging me, sweetheart?” Lao Nie said into his ear, sounding amused. “What did I do?”

“Sleep in the same bed as an extremely sharp and angry blade, apparently.”

“Only when you’re angry at me,” Lao Nie said, completely shameless. Lan Qiren really didn’t know why he’d been expecting anything different, really. “You know, it’s much easier to hold you in my arms when you’re like this, all soft, even if your hips are a bit knobby. I like it.”

Lan Qiren sighed.

The next morning, Lan Qiren woke at the prescribed time and performed his morning ablutions in the time before Lao Nie woke, settling himself down beside the bed to play calming music and think about what could be behind Lao Nie’s current fixation on believing that he was Jiwei.

He thought it must have something to do with the jade pendant he had cultivated on Lao Nie’s behalf. Indeed, now that he thought about it, that might in fact be the problem – he had cultivated the pendant, not Lao Nie, and he had done it using Jiwei’s spiritual energy. A Nie saber had only one master, but he had apparently won enough of Jiwei’s respect for her to allow him access to some part of her; just as Lao Nie had intertwined himself with his saber, so to had Lan Qiren, albeit unknowingly and at a distance. There was certainly no overly intimate sharing of qi between them, but they had an undeniable connection. That might explain it.

There was also the ongoing mystery of why the pendant burned so fiercely. It had always been reactive to Jiwei’s anger, full of her spiritual energy and spillover rage as it was, but Jiwei was gone – shattered. Whose energy was powering it now? And how could it maintain such a high level of energy, so hot as to damage someone like Lan Qiren, who while not martially inclined was still a powerful cultivator in his own right?

He had more questions than answers.

Unfortunately, he did not have a great deal of time to find answers. If Lao Nie’s condition persisted – he hoped that it wouldn’t, that his friend would wake knowing who Lan Qiren was and not in a horrible rage, but he wasn’t optimistic – they would need to find a solution, and fast. Lao Nie was the unquestioned master of his sect and even he’d only managed to leave it behind for a month and a half before his duties forced him to return; Lan Qiren was a substitute for his brother, a pale and inferior custodian put in place solely to fill the time between the generations, and his sect elders would never let him forget it. There was no way he would be able to stay away so long.

And if he left…

“Jiwei,” Lao Nie murmured in his sleep, which had become restless. His face had gone from a neutral expression to a frown, twisted in anger and pain, and when he opened his eyes, they were once again red. The music was not helping. “My saber – Jiwei…where is my saber?” Lao Nie struggled to sit up. “Where is it? Give her to me!”

Lan Qiren stopped playing and reached out his hand, interlocking his fingers with Lao Nie’s as if they were back once again to all those years ago when he had been a slow, stuttering child and Lao Nie a kind young adult, taking him in hand to show him the basics of night-hunting without worrying about him falling over his own feet.

He watched as the red slowly faded out of Lao Nie’s eyes – not gone entirely, still there, a thin pink film that seemed as though it could be blinked out of existence.

He sighed.

“My friend,” he said. “I am going to need your help with this.”

“Anything,” Lao Nie said, then paused and amended to, “Anything that won’t cause undue harm.”

“It involves research.”

“…one could argue that that would be undue harm to my ability to enjoy my free time.”

Lan Qiren shook his hand lightly. “You are in need of healing. Do you understand what I am saying?”

The humor slowly faded out of Lao Nie’s face.

“You had a qi deviation,” Lan Qiren said bluntly. “The one you’ve been afraid of, the one you always knew was coming – it happened. You went mad, years before your time. But you did not die, and so there is still hope…but I will need your help. I will need you to try to get better. I cannot do this without you.”

Lao Nie looked at him, lips pressed together tightly.

Lan Qiren waited, patient. Whatever the reason for it, Lao Nie regained much of his clarity when they were in contact – and if he could think, he could be an ally in this. He would have to be.

“The strangers weren’t strangers, were they,” Lao Nie said abruptly, and it wasn’t a question. Lan Qiren looked at him. “A-Jue…I was the one who did that to him, wasn’t I? I was the one that hurt him. That’s why you wouldn’t tell me about it yesterday.”

Lan Qiren nodded.

Lao Nie looked away, angry – real anger, this time, and entirely self-directed – but it was only a few moments before he collected himself and looked back, his eyes bright with tears but fiercely determined. “What can I do to help?”

“For now, answer my questions, no matter how unusual,” Lan Qiren instructed, and Lao Nie nodded. “First question: who am I?”

“…Jiwei.”

They were still there, then, although Lao Nie sounded much less sure about it than he had the night before. Lan Qiren fumbled for the pendant at his waist. “Can you sense the spiritual energy in this? Whose is it?”

Lao Nie reached for the pendant and focused. “Also Jiwei.” This time, he sounded more confident.

“The energy in the pendant exceeds what I previously put in there,” Lan Qiren said. “Do you know why?”

Lao Nie frowned down at the pendant. “I’m not sure,” he said. “Have you cultivated with it recently?”

Lan Qiren arched his eyebrows, think that that would be rather difficult without Jiwei around to transfer energy from. “No, I haven’t. Why?”

“There’s something strange about it, that’s all.” He shook the pendant lightly. “Familiar. Same as you, but not; same as me, but not. It wants to fly.”

Lan Qiren stared at him blankly.

Lao Nie shrugged and scratched at his beard. “What did A-Jue say about it?”

“…Mingjue?” Lan Qiren asked blankly. “Say? About what?”

Lao Nie blinked at him. “Well, he’s the only other one with a similar pendant, right?”

Actually, Lan Qiren had made one for little Nie Huaisang, too – he used it as the base of his fan tassel, transferred from one fan to another – but it wasn’t really relevant to him yet, weak cultivator that he was. But that was a good point: in his fear for Nie Mingjue’s health, his worry for his safety, he had forgotten that Nie Mingjue was the closest thing they had to another perspective on the connection between pendant and saber.

Lan Qiren frowned at his oversight. “I’ll ask Mingjue to join us.”

Nie Mingjue looked better already, even if Lan Qiren’s heart hurt at how cautious he was around his father, at how Lao Nie could barely stand to look at the colorful bruises littering his son’s face. “What can I do?”

“Take this pendant,” Lao Nie said, holding it out.

Nie Mingjue extended his hand in return and Lao Nie dropped the pendant into it before Lan Qiren could intervene and point out why it was a terrible idea to just hand it over to someone who was both unprepared and little more than a child, however talented a genius he might be. The second it touched Nie Mingjue’s palm, he yelped and nearly dropped it, Lan Qiren snatching it away from him with his free hand before it could fall to the floor.

“It hurts!” he exclaimed, as Lan Qiren might have expected.

What he did not expect, however, was that Baxia abruptly drew herself, hurtling out of her sheath to hang in midair, emanating the distinct sensation of rage that was the characteristic of a Nie saber.

The pendant abruptly flared up, the heat in it rising as if in response to Baxia’s challenge, and Lan Qiren had to temporarily free himself from Lao Nie to quickly loop a guqin string through the pendant, letting it dangle away from his flesh, and then returned his hand to his friend before the red got too far into his eyes.

“What in the world is going on?” he demanded. “Lao Nie – explain.”

“I have no idea,” Lao Nie said, rubbing his eyes as if he realized something had happened to him in the brief interlude where they were separated. “They’re…fighting. I think? How can they be fighting? Why would a saber start a fight with a piece of jade?”

“Can you ask Baxia?” Lan Qiren asked Nie Mingjue, who was still clutching at his hand and looking blankly at them both. “I know it doesn’t exactly work as cleanly as all that, but your father always said you had an unusually strong connection…”

Nie Mingjue reached out and caught Baxia by the hilt, brow creased in a frown. “It really doesn’t work that way, Teacher Lan. All I can tell is that she’s angry.” He hesitated. “She feels betrayed.”

“Betrayed?” Lan Qiren asked, surprised. “But – how can she be betrayed? That would imply an initial association, familiarity, that something changed…”

“Jiwei,” Lao Nie suddenly said. He was staring at the pendant swinging in Lan Qiren’s hand. “Jiwei’s in the pendant.”

Nie Mingjue glanced at Lan Qiren, clearly concerned that his father had simply started seeing Jiwei in everything, but Lan Qiren bit his lip, thinking it over seriously.

He had initially thought that the reason for Lao Nie’s mistaken impression of him was because he had cultivated with the pendant using Jiwei’s energy, acting in Lao Nie’s place, and thereby he had been imprinted with the qi of the saber, that it had been that shadow upon him that Lao Nie had recognized.

But what if he had thought about it backwards?

“Is it possible,” he said slowly, wishing he knew more about the saber spirits, wishing that he’d had more time, wishing even that his Xinfei could speak as clearly as a saber could, “Mingjue, is it possible that Jiwei’s spirit is in the pendant? The saber spirit itself, I mean, as opposed to the physical saber?”

Nie Mingjue goggled at him. “In the pendant, Teacher Lan? A saber? But how?”

“I tied the two together using resonance,” Lan Qiren explained. Poor tone-deaf Nie Mingjue had never really understood what he was doing with his music, which Lan Qiren couldn’t blame him for – it was esoteric even by musical cultivation standards. He’d more or less made the entire thing up over the past few years. “Adjusting the internal music of the jade to match Jiwei, so that the two recognized each other – and, once recognized, forged a connection between them. That’s what allowed me to continue to draw out Jiwei’s anger even from a distance.”

Both Nie nodded, listening intently. Good students, both of them, for all their occasional faults; if only he had three dozen like them. As a teacher, it was the highest compliment he knew to speak.

“The unusual heat started, as far as we can tell, when the saber shattered,” he continued, now thinking out loud. “If Jiwei’s anger can transfer from one container to the other through the pathway forged by the resonance, why couldn’t the rest of her spirit do the same? Why couldn’t she come to possess the jade if she so wished?”

He wasn’t sure what to do with that idea, in all fairness – he might speak of questioning the sabers, might have reluctantly accepted them as having some form of sentience, but the idea of an entire spirit transferring from one body to another within the same lifetime in a method not unlike possession was rather disturbing. But at the same time he couldn’t imagine any other reason for Baxia to try to challenge a jade pendant to a duel.

Proud, strong Baxia, the only match to Nie Mingjue’s matchless talent, so fearsome that even other saber spirits yielded before her…

“But –” Nie Mingjue glanced sidelong at his father. “Teacher Lan, he also thinks you’re Jiwei.”

“Because I cultivated the pendant,” Lan Qiren said, because it made a certain amount of sense. “There are two types of spiritual energy in there: Jiwei’s and my own. Perhaps when I offered him the pendant, he recognized Jiwei in there, and also me, and thereby conflated the two…”

“I’m right here, you know,” Lao Nie interjected. “Being talked about as if I’m not.”

Lan Qiren leveled a quelling look at him.

Lao Nie gave him an arch look in return. “Just reminding you that I understand spoken speech, in the event you’ve forgotten.”

“Very well,” Lan Qiren said tetchily. “In that case, who I am again?”

Lao Nie paused, eyes traveling between Lan Qiren, the pendant dangling from his hand, and Nie Mingjue.

“You feel like Jiwei,” he said hesitantly. “But – the strangers felt like strangers, and weren’t. So you’re – not Jiwei. You’re…” He glanced at Nie Mingjue again, seeking external confirmation that his senses were misleading him; Nie Mingjue nodded eagerly. His gaze slide back to Lan Qiren. “Qiren?”

“Well done,” Lan Qiren said, full of relief. “Full marks, passing grade. Would it be possible for you to stop calling me ‘sweetheart’ and ‘darling’ now?”

Lao Nie – despite being the shameless scoundrel that he was – abruptly flushed bright red, while Nie Mingjue covered his face with his hands.

“I understand, of course,” Lan Qiren assured him. “What passes between a man and his spiritual weapon is very private, and –”

“Stop talking,” Lao Nie growled. “Just – stop talking.”

#mdzs #lan qiren #sect leader nie #nie mingjue #my fic #my fics #tedious joys

[karlnapity]

we spent two years together, i thought in made her better.

(tws: death, violence, panic attacks)

jack manifold loses his last life on december sixteenth, and he crawls out of hell on the same day.

he has never stood down. he’s a stubborn bastard and he knows that, and he knows that standing against fucking technoblade is a bad idea, and he doesn’t care, because he won’t let him destroy his home.

technoblade looks him in the eye, laughs in his face, and drives an axe down the center of his skull.

>

he doesn’t quite register dying, doesn’t quite register the feeling of falling to the ground. 

he does register pain. he does register overwhelming panic. he comes to laying on the ground, blood stuck to his scalp and in his eyes, rubble scratching his back. 

he keens in pain, sits up slowly. he rubs his eyes, resting his head in his hands. he thinks, dimly, that everything seems dulled. explosions and screams in the background, the feeling of his hands on his face, the chill in the air. he can hardly feel any of it. he edges himself behind a large piece of rubble, safe from the conflict for now.

panic courses through his veins. what happened? 

he grasps at his arms, curling in on himself. everything feels wrong. everything feels wrong.

his breath quickens as he grows hysterical. tears start to fall as he hiccups, and as they trickle down his face he can barely even feel them.

and then it stops.

his hand flies to his throat. he tries to start breathing again, but as the seconds pass he finds he doesn’t even need it.

oh god, he’s dead. he’s really fucking dead. is he a ghost?

“oh god,” he chokes, curling in even further into himself. 

“hello?” someone else’s voice calls. he doesn’t bother sitting up.

“jack?” the voice continues, then, “oh fuck, jack!”

someone touches his arm, and he craves the contact. he can still hardly feel it, but he leans into it, arms wrapping around him and holding him so tight it would probably hurt, before.

“i’m so glad you’re ok,” they whisper. who is it? whose voice is that?

“niki.” his voice sounds raspy, contaminated from smoke and tnt and death.

“yes, yes, i’m here,” she chokes, and he can tell, faintly, that she’s crying. “you’re ok.”

he nods into her shoulder. he wants it to be true, but it can’t be. he can barely hear her over the ringing in his ears.

“i thought you were dead, i’ve been looking for you. how long have you been back here? didn’t you hear me calling for you?”

he almost snorts. what can he say? 

her hand moves from his shoulders, cupping around the back of his head. she massages a thumb over the nape of his neck where she used to when he got upset. her thumb brushes over dried blood and he can feel it flake off. 

her hand stills. “jack, you’re so cold. are you ok?”

he coughs. “i’m sorry, niki.”

he pulls back, looks her in the face. her eyes are sad. 

“jack, please tell me what happened. what’s going on?”

“i died,” he breathes. a shiver runs through him as the realization hits him like a ton of bricks. oh god, he fucking died. he grasps for purchase on her arms, grounding himself as best he can. she grips him back.

a combination of confusion and horror fills her face. “you didn’t have any lives left, how…”

he shakes his head. a hysterical laugh bubbles from his chest. “i don’t fucking know, niki, i don’t fucking know.”

she cups his face then pulls him into a tight hug. “you’re gonna be ok, jack. we’re gonna be ok.”

>

it’s a hard thing, adjusting to death.

for one, he’s constantly cold. not only his temperature, but also his skin. it’s cold, clammy like a corpse. niki says it feels weird, but he can’t exactly tell. he piles on layers, spends as much time as he can in front of the fire and trying to warm the constant chill in his core, but it doesn’t work. 

he doesn’t breathe anymore. occasionally he’ll hiccup or gasp, as if his brain is trying to kickstart his body again, and he’ll sit in silence for a few minutes while nothing but pure panic floods his brain, telling him something is deeply wrong. the first time it happens, tubbo slams on his back thinking he’d choked, and jack devolves into a vicious panic attack before tubbo even has a chance to realize.

he doesn’t need to eat, and he physically can’t sleep. he didn’t realize how much people slept, before, and now he finds himself sitting on the snowchester porch in the early morning and realizing how lonely the world is.

he can hardly feel much of anything, and he can hear even less. his vision’s gone a bit fuzzy, too. it feels like his senses have started closing in on himself, and it’s terrifying.

the others have adapted, and he’s thankful. if niki comes up behind him, she’ll grab his arm hard, and tubbo will usually pinch him or slap the back of his head so he knows he’s there.

he’s decided not to tell tubbo. the kid doesn’t deserve that. he doesn’t need to know, long as jack doesn’t start falling apart like some sort of zombie. he’s pretty sure tubbo just thinks he’s traumatized, or that he’s lost some of his hearing from explosions like tubbo has.

and, well, he’s not exactly wrong.

>

it’s niki who starts it. they’re sitting around the fireplace, jack as close as he can get to try to get rid of the chill, and she says,

“you know, when you think about it, it’s all kind of tommy’s fault.”

resentment has been festering since tommy killed him, so he’s not exactly shocked, just curious. “what d’you mean?”

“he’s caused so much trouble on the server, and now he’s just gotten away with it.” niki sounds angry, and when she sounds angry it’s never good, so he turns to look her in the eye. she’s practically shaking. “he needs to suffer for it like we did.”

when he was alive, he woke up from nightmares almost every night of drowning in lava, of burning while tommy laughed and sneered and laughed, and now it only solidifies. he hates him. 

it’s tommy’s fault he’s dead. if tommy hadn’t killed him, he wouldn’t be dead now. 

niki stumbles to her feet and falls to her knees in front of him, pulling him into a desperate hug. 

he’s not sure if he can cry anymore, but the feeling’s there all the time as he clings to niki, grasping tightly to her shirt, and she pulls his head to her shoulder, curls around him protectively.

they stay there for a long time. every once in a while, niki will murmur an assurance. after long enough the words mutate, transform into something nasty, slimy. 

“he’ll pay for this.”

>

the nukes are divisive. jack doesn’t want tubbo to get hurt. niki doesn’t want jack to get hurt. they both want tommy to get hurt.

he’s not sure when it changed into “kill him.” he’s not sure when it turned from a want to yell, to hit, to wanting to destroy him with nukes, but the anger is fire deep in his chest, the only thing he can feel, and he wants it to continue burning.

niki says she doesn’t want jack to get hurt. 

“it’s not like i can get more dead,” he sneers. he doesn’t want to hurt her. he wants to hurt everyone.

>

tubbo can tell there’s something wrong. he can tell it in the way he rests his hand on jack’s back, even when he can’t feel it, in the way he stays up late and gets up early to spend time with him.

he comes up behind him, early one morning, and wraps his arms around jack’s chest. he buries his head in jack’s back and squeezes him tight. jack jumps at first, but soon relaxes into the content.

he can’t hear tubbo’s sobs, as quiet as they are, but he can almost feel the shaking of his shoulders.

“what’s wrong?” he asks, hesitant in case he’s reading it wrong. tubbo could be laughing, for all his addled senses can tell, but he deep down he knows. he can barely hear tubbo’s reply.

“i’m worried something is going to happen to you.”

something has already happened, he wants to yell. you just missed it.

he knows, faintly, that it’s not tubbo’s fault. tubbo doesn’t know, because he’s never told him, but he wants someone to focus on him, for once. he wants someone to realize, without him telling them. he wants someone to pay attention.

tubbo’s not that person. tubbo has friends, and a nation or two, and a history that extends beyond ‘stay alive.’ 

he pulls away, gently, promises something or other about him being fine, and goes back to planning destruction. 

>

their plan doesn’t work. tommy shows up only thirty seconds late, while the crater is still smoking. 

jack can’t help but feel like the universe is working against him.

niki is fuming. she’s shaking in anger, standing at the edge of the crater and staring at it, and jack goes to put his hand on her shoulder. she pulls away.

>

niki comes to join him on the porch that night. he doesn’t know she’s there until she says,

“why do you spend so much time out here?”

he doesn’t know how to explain that it’s comforting, being out in the cold, alone when he knows everyone is safe inside. he’s become a sentry almost accidentally, taking care of the only two people in the world he still cares about. he doesn’t know how to explain how comforting and devastating it is, and he doesn’t know how to explain that the cold calms him, so he just shrugs. she always understands him, anyways, or so he hopes.

she doesn’t stay outside for long. 

>

he wonders, sometimes, if he’s doing something wrong. tommy and tubbo are still friends, somehow, even after everything. jack doesn’t know how to ask if tommy’s ever apologized. tubbo’s always had a heart too painfully big, so he kind of doubts it. 

tommy’s never apologized to him. he’s not sure if he’d ever accept it.

he watches puffy and niki get pulled apart, and cringes a bit more each time niki comes home crying. he doesn’t know how to ask her if she still thinks they’re in the right. 

he can tell she’s not sure either. maybe none of them are.

>

puffy approaches him one day. it’s her first time visiting snowchester, and her white first gleams in the sunlight reflecting off the snow. he’s at his usual post, and he gives her a half-hearted wave as he sees her.

she returns it, but her face is grim. she comes to stand beside him.

“i know what you’re trying to do,” she says, quietly, and he has to strain to hear her. he pretends he didn’t all the same. 

“sorry. hearing loss.”

she gives him a look, but raises her voice all the same. “niki says it’s a bit more than that.”

he balks, stumbles back a few feet on the wood of the porch and almost his balance. puffy reaches out and steadies him. “pardon?”

“i’m sorry about what happened to you, jack,” she starts. he can’t tell what emotions he’s feeling, but it’s overwhelming. he tries to think of something to say, but she continues before he can force the words out.

her hand on his wrist twists, and he tries to pull it away when he realizes she’s searching for his pulse. she holds on, then her face tightens and she yanks him into a hug.

they’ve had hardly more than two conversations, but he feels safe in her embrace. he holds on tight, and she runs a hand through his short-shaven hair.

“i know you’re hurting,” she says, and he knows he’s made a mistake.

>

jack finds tommy back near l’manburg. it took him a couple more weeks to even gather up the courage, but eventually he spoke to niki. 

he tries not to think about the conversation.

tommy seems surprised to see him, but they settle at the edge of the crater. 

tommy looks better than the last time he saw him. he tries not to be jealous.

“i think i owe you an apology,” he says. tommy balks.

“what? i owe you an apology,” he comes back with. “i fucking killed you!”

“i tried to kill you too,” he starts, but tommy cuts him off.

“it was kinda deserved. can we just agree not to anymore?” he sticks out his hand.

jack smiles. 

snowchester seems warmer, that night.

#personal #dsmp #dream smp #jack manifold #niki nihachu #tommyinnit #tubbo #captain puffy #mcyt #l'manburg #l'manberg #l'manhole #lmanburg #lmanberg #manburg #manberg

[danny-chase]

Big Brother instinct, Dick and either Cass, Gar, Danny Chase, Steph, Kara, Rose, or anyone else u want

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Batman (Comics), Nightwing (Comics), Batgirl (Comics) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Dick Grayson & Cassandra Cain, Dick Grayson & Bruce Wayne Characters: Dick Grayson, Cassandra Cain, Bruce Wayne Additional Tags: Dick grayson centric, Fire, Burns, hair styling, Ice Cream, Hurt/Comfort, Late Nights, Fluff and Angst, Batfamily (DCU), Batfamily (DCU) Feels, Batfamily Dynamics (DCU), Missions Gone Wrong, Good Sibling Dick Grayson, Cassandra Cain is bad at feelings, Bruce Wayne is Bad at Feelings Series: Part 11 of Bad Things Happen Bingo Summary:

Dick talks with Cass after a mission doesn't go as planned.

Fic under cut

“Argh!” Dick snaps back to attention as Bruce’s angry grunt rattles through the cave. The few bats still in for the night stir, their wings rustling in the distance. An avalanche of papers fly off of Bruce’s desk, and his grizzled form slumps forward, hands firmly planted on the table. His shoulders sag under some unknown strain; as if he’s carrying the weight of the sky.

“Hmm.” Dick blinks back another wave of exhaustion, he’s not working on a case – but Bruce is – and company always makes working more fun. Besides, Bruce is on a time limit and Alfred can’t stop him from escaping his room. So. Here he is. He took an oath - it’s his job to help.

Dick’s eleven and Bruce’s a pillar of reassurance – a precariously stacked pile of rocks constantly on the verge of crumbling. He has no idea how to pick up the pieces. No idea how to seal the cracks. “Bruce?” He mumbles, swinging his legs off his spinny chair. Bruce doesn’t look up, his mouth drawn in a tight line. The ghost of tears well in his eyes. Not good.

Dick scoots off the chair, lightheaded for a moment. He shakes the stars out of his eyes, nodding back and forth, up and down, like Bruce does when he’s sleepy. It’s late. He has school tomorrow. Not that it matters. Bruce will let him skip if he asks the right way. He jogs in place for a few seconds, readying himself, warming up his muscles.

There’s not much he can do to help, but he can at least put on a little show. He runs forward launching into a cartwheel, picking up the papers as he goes – Bruce likes his tricks, sometimes they even make him laugh, sometimes –

Bruce snags his ankle out of the air, his quick reflexes saving Dick from crashing into the edge of a counter. He finds himself hanging, the world stuck upside down as his hands dangle inches from the floor. “Thanks.” He looks up at Bruce’s weary face.

A yawn escapes his lips, and the corners of Bruce’s mouth twitch. “I’m going to have to child-proof the cave at this rate.” He tries for humor but it falls flat, his hearts not in it all.

He stares up, sticking his tongue out. Bruce’s frown doesn’t fade. “Are you okay?” He asks. Bruce’s hands fumble, and Dick swings dangerously low to the floor before he’s recovered. Not willing to take the chance again, he curls up, grabbing Bruce’s forearms and pulls himself up through his arms, settling himself on sturdy shoulders.

Bruce drops his feet. “I’m fine. Why would ask that?” He sounds almost hurt and Dick’s too tired to figure out why.

He slides down easily, Bruce gently deposits him on the floor. “You looked sad.” A yawn leaves his mouth without permission, he stumbles slightly, and a hand clamps down on his shoulder. He reaches back up, and Bruce throws him up against his shoulder, wrapping him in a hug.

Dick yawns contently, his eyelids fluttering without his permission, as Bruce starts walking towards the stairs. “I’m sorry…” The arm around his back pulls him a bit tighter. “I’m just not enough.” A shaking hand combs through his hair and Dick squeezes back because he doesn’t know what to say.

Bruce grunts as he takes a step up the stairs. “Sleep on it?” Dick suggests, resting his eyes for just a moment.

“Mmhmm. It’s bedtime.” Dick’s half asleep by the time they reach the top. He’s not sure he hears Bruce whisper, “You’re a great kid, chum.”

It took Dick years before he really understood the feeling. And even more years before he made the connection that that was how Bruce had felt on late nights spent scouring for clues that just didn’t seem to exist, having worked for days straight on three hours of sleep, and watching Gotham send all of it up in flames setting you back months on an investigation.

He’s learned there’s nights it’s impossible to save everyone – hell, he’s seen Clark get his ass kicked, and Clark’s damn near close to god. Dick would know – the Titans have fought their namesake. But the Titans have fought humans and lost despite half their members being godlike, and besides that most days now he’s alone. It doesn’t matter how hard he tries, how much he plans, how prepared he is; sometimes things just go to hell and a handbasket and there’s nothing he can physically do to prevent it.

Most of the time, he’s fine with that. It’s fine he has limits. Logically, he knows he can’t be expected to everything. Logically, he knows it’s a waste of time to worry about it. Logically, he knows it’s okay to take a night off, watch a nature documentary, invite a friend over, stay in and spend the night simply existing.

But it feels like he could be doing more – should be doing more. He feels that restlessness overtake him, and springs to his feet “Bruce I-”

Bruce gives him his patented bat-glare from where he’s sitting, looking up from a familiar pile of papers. Once it would have intimidated him into sitting back down. Now he just returns it with a patented one of his own. “-I think I’ll suit up and head out for the night, Tim could probably use some back up with-”

“Dick.” There’s this exasperated tone that Bruce can only ever seem to muster when saying his name. He pauses for a just a second, his eyes flickering down to Bruce’s clenched fists and tight shoulders. “Let me handle it.” It comes out as an order, but reading between the lines, it’s a plea.

Bruce would never admit it out loud, worry practically bleeds out of the man. Guilt gnaws on the inside of his chest, though, he’s not sure what it’s even from; the guilt of making Bruce worry or the guilt of being a useless sack of broken and bruised ribs while people need Nightwing’s help. Being benched sucks, but he knows enough to compromise. “Let me run the comms? Babs could use a night off.” She sleeps less than him and Bruce knows it.

The gray streaks in Bruce’s hair stand out all the more as he lets out a bone deep sigh. Dick rolls his eyes – he doesn’t get to do this right now. “You literally let me go out last night I don’t understand why-”

“Last night was an emergency. I didn’t have a choice.” His frown widens, his face etched in an eternal look of pain, mixed with disproval. “Two nights ago… you almost…” His mouth seals itself shut, unspoken words hanging in the air between them. It’s Bruce that breaks the gaze first. “Run the comms, don’t overexert yourself. It should be a quiet night…” He stands, hesitates before walking off “And get to bed early.”

Dick bites back a laugh, Bruce hasn’t talked to him like that since he was thirteen. “Alright.” He resists the urge to poke fun, and follows Bruce through the passage behind the grandfather clock.

“So Ives was talking about the Pirates of the Caribbean movie with me the other day, and we might go see it this weekend if I have the time. Gee- I can’t remember the last time I saw movie in theaters or even really hung out with him.” Tim’s endless chatter helps him stay awake in the dimly lit cave. His throbbing ribs help too, maybe he shouldn’t have tried doing push-ups. “Dad and Dana want to drop me off, but Ives has a car now, though dad’s still worried cuz of the time some wacko tried to stop us at a traffic light.”

Dick hums, a smile creeping its way up his face. “I can drop you off if it’s an issue.”

“Really?! That’d be awesome, you could stay for the movie if you wanted to, but I don’t know if you’d like it, I mean are pirates really your thing? I always figured you’d be more into Vikings or probably aliens actually, or something like-” A red light flashes on the screen, and Dick snaps to attention.

“Hold that thought.” Tim’s chatter ceases immediately as Dick furiously types on the terminal. He punches into the main line. “Batgirl how fast can you get to the corner of 16th and Murphy’s Ave, there’s a building on fire and you’re the only one anywhere near the Upper East Side.” A 911 operator calms down a hysterical woman in his left ear, Cass asking direction in the right.

He pulls up a map. “I-I can’t find a way out!” The woman shrieks. “I don’t know what happened, I was sleeping and-” she breaks off into raspy hacks.

“Go straight, turn right after three blocks down.” Dick winces, as the lady continues chocking on smoke. “C’mon Cass. Get there.” He mutters off the line. He eyes his cycle sitting idly in the bay – he’s twenty minutes out; Cass needs backup. He opens up another line. “Batman I need you to follow Batgirl, what’s your eta?”

Bruce grunts back, he hears thudding over the line. “Fifteen minutes.” The woman screams in his other ear, he yanks the earbud out as a massive bang nearly blows out his eardrum. Picking it back up, he can’t hear the woman anymore, only the roar of flames and falling debris.

“Shit.” He pulls up video from a street camera. “Shit.” The building’s collapsing in on itself. “Permission to call the league?” He clicks through to their line of communications, his finger hovering over the button.

“Here.” Cass scrambles into view, bursting through a window. Shit.

Bruce learned his limits long ago. Dick’s finally settling into his. Cass? They simply don’t register on her radar. The buildings coming down in mere minutes; she’s going to get killed.

“What’s the situation?” Bruce yells in his ear.

“Batgirl get out of there!” He screams at Cass. She’s going to die – the building’s not stable, and he’s the one that sent her there. “Make it five minutes – the building’s coming down.” He yells to Bruce. “Batgirl!” He watches a few windows blow out. A firetruck careens down the street.

“Permission granted.” Bruce huffs and Dick can’t click the button fast enough.

A couple more windows blow out, and the building seems to lean to the side. Finally he sees Cass climb back out a window, holding a couple kids in her arms as she leaps to the ground. “BATGIRL GET THEM CLEAR!” His heart pounds in his throat as she runs forwards, the building groaning behind her, crumbling to the side. Chaos erupts, chunks of flaming debris cascading from the top of the building, as the second floor merges with the first.

Dick blinks, his mouth dry. “There’s more people-” he can’t hear Cass over the ensuing cacophony as he watches the building topple to the ground. “NO!” He faintly hears her scream as the screen erupts in static.

Dick slams his fists on the desk. His chest constricts painfully. “Nightwing. Report.” Bruce’s steady voice reminds him to breathe. His chest spasms. Shit. “Nightwing!” Bruce demands as he tries to catch his breath.

“Building collapsed.” He manages to get out. “One sec.” He takes a few deep breaths, leaning back in the chair for support. “Batgirl report.” He’s greeted with silence. “Batgirl, please, if you’re there I need you to respond.”

“I…” Cass trials off. Dick sighs in relief. “I’m sorry.” The line cuts off. Well. Shit.

“Nightwing! I’m headed to the location.” Bruce squawks. Dick sighs.

“It’s going to be a long night. Search and rescue, I’ll call in backup.” Shit. So much for an early bedtime.

“Hey.” Someone shakes his shoulder. He makes a grab for their wrist and misses, his mind processing where the hell he is. He blinks a few times.

“Cass?” Her hair’s plastered to the side of her head and she’s covered in soot. Nicks, rips, and tears decorate her costume. Dick wipes his eyes as the ashy smell of smoke overwhelms his senses. Cass takes a few steps back, heading towards the locker room. “Wait.” He had something to say to her, his mind racing to catch up.

She hops up onto a counter. His mind shuffles through the events earlier in the night. “Bruce sent you back?” Cass nods glumly. The rescue efforts weren’t going well when he dozed off. The JLA sent in everyone they could spare; there’s nothing they can do anymore. Not that Bruce won’t try.

Cass’s lips are sealed. There’s a haunting expression in her eyes, her shoulders slump forward, her hands firmly plant themselves on the counter for support.

And his friends think he’s too much like Bruce.

“Hey.” He starts. She gives him a weary look, tears welling in her eyes. Well, maybe not exactly like Bruce. “Look, I’m sorry I put you in that position.” Cass shakes her head. “Sometimes things like this happen. I should have-”

“Stop.” Cass pulls her feet up on the counter, getting dust everywhere. “I should have been faster.” She swallows, refusing to let the tears spill over. “My fault.”

Dick watches as she glides off the counter, yanking off her gloves and dropping them on the floor. Burn marks dot her hands and the edges of her hair are singed. “You did everything you could.” She hesitates, before taking a step towards the showers.

“Not enough.” She mutters before storming off, leaving a trail of soot in her wake.

He stands up. “Cass.” The lock snaps shut with a click as she slips into the bathroom. Leaving Dick in an empty cave once more.

By the time he returns downstairs, Cass is already out of the shower, looking displeased. “You took my clothes.” She notes unhappily, a pale pink towel tucked tightly around her shoulders.

Dick watches water drip down from her hair, pattering on the floor. The trail leading back to the bathroom is now mixed with water and soot. Alfred’s going to be pissed. “I took your costume.” He clarifies. “And I brought you clothes.” He gestures towards the open door.

Cass scowls, planting her feet defiantly. “I’m going out.” She reaches out a hand. Dick shrugs – there’s no way she can find where he hid her filthy suit before they get a chance to wash it.

It’s all too familiar, reading the lines across her brow, watching her shoulders slump when she stills, and scanning red rimmed eyes. “What are you going to do like that?” He points out, Cass angrily storming towards him. “You’re tired, you’ll just end up being in the way.” He dodges left as a fist flies past his face. “You would have hit if I wasn’t right.” She’s faster than him on his best days.

She glares at him with pursed lips, staring before turning on her heel and storming off towards the bathroom. The door slams behind her, triggering the rustling of far away wings.

Dick sighs – he hopes he wasn’t this temperamental when he lived with Bruce. “Come up to the kitchen when you’re done, I need your help with something.” The lie rolls easily off his tongue, though he feels a twinge of guilt as Cass groans behind closed doors.

Cass’s eyes widen as she enters the room. Dick offers a smile as she edges closer to the table. He tosses a spoon, she snags it out of the air. “Dig in.” There’s a carton of chocolate ice cream – double chocolate chunk brownie sundae with hot fudge and chocolate sprinkles to be precise – and tons of candy. It’s not stuff Bruce keeps around, but Dick’s has a stash at Tim’s house reserved for movie nights. He’ll restock later.

Cass vigorously stabs the ice cream with her spoon, a smile dancing across her face as she takes a few bites. She pauses, sticking the spoon back in the cartoon, looking up with a confused expression. “Why?” She’s wearing fluffy pajama bottoms, fuzzy socks, and an old worn college sweatshirt that’s frayed at the hems. Dick can almost pretend he’s back, talking to Donna after she broke up with Roy their sophomore year of high school.

She’s watching Dick carefully. He hums casually. “You had a rough night.” This is what the Titans always did. She shrugs.

“Things happen.” She shovels a few more bites into her mouth. “I want to go out.” It’s hard for Dick to find her tough and grizzled when she’s guzzling gummi worms, kicking her feet back and forth on the stool.

“Consider this a reason to stay in.” She gives him a sideways glance. “You did as much as you can, that’s enough.” Cass looks pointedly at her ice cream, not hesitating before diving back into it.

“Spar with me?” She licks a skittle before sticking it in her mouth.

Dick snorts. “If I don’t have a heart attack, I think Bruce would.” She snaps up to attention, grabbing his wrist and quickly finding his pulse point. “I’m fine, Cass.” Her hands are freezing. He places one of his on top of hers. “If you weren’t there I wouldn’t have been.” He says quietly, catching her eye. “Thank you.” She pulls back as if burned, quickly busying herself with the candy. He waits a moment before adding, “I think those kids you saved are grateful too.”

Cass throws a bag of M&M’s at him, he’s a second too slow and it pelts him in the face. “Noted.” He grins. “Uh, also, I’m going to have to do something with your hair.”

“What.”

“Cass, hold still.” She immediately stops squirming under his hands. “Thanks.” She hums back, tucked under an old blanket that never seems to leave the back of the couch. Bruce still isn’t here, but Tim checked in after his stakeout, and headed home a half an hour ago. He snips away another lock of burnt hair, tossing it into a trash can next to him.

He rests his forearms on the back of the sofa, contemplating which section of her hair to start with next. “You find one you like yet?” He asks, peeking over her shoulder at the images of hairstyles.

“Uhh.” She scrolls a bit more. “I don’t care.” She tosses the phone up to the top of the couch.

“Mmm.” He didn’t expect much else. Donna texted him a picture earlier to copy – something easy to pull back but still stylish. He attacks the next section, carefully brushing out the tangles, starting bottom to the top. He’s oddly grateful for all those times he did Donna and Kory’s hair.

‘Practice for when Bruce finally adopts a girl.’ They used to tease. ‘You’ll have a real sister, and if his track record holds she’ll have black hair and blue eyes.’ He’s never lived the irony down. Though, Cass’s eyes are a beautiful warm brown, so Donna and Kory can take that.

“You know.” He keeps his tone light. “Most hairdressers and their clients talk.” Cass remains set in stony silence. “Though I guess most people go to a salon to get their hair cut.” He just visits Joey. “Some people say it’s like free therapy.”

“You talk a lot.” Cass notes. He pulls up doodle jump on his phone and passes it back to her. She plays a couple rounds before the phone’s placed back beside him.

“Do you want to talk about it?” He already knows the answer, but still asks all the same.

“No.” Bruce never wanted to either. Barbara used to talk to him… before he left for the Titans and took years to look back. Though he likes to dream otherwise, he knows there’ll come a day when Tim won’t want to talk to him anymore either.

It doesn’t get any easier being shut out. “That’s alright. If you change your mind I’m here.” He grabs the shears, snipping away another dead end.

“Thanks.”

“Dick.” A hiss awakes him, light following soon after. He squints, turning away to bury his face in a cushion. “Where’s Cassandra?”

He turns, eyes snapping open as he quickly scans the sofa. The blanket hangs off the edge, Cass nowhere to be seen. One of her custom batarangs sticks out of his armchair’s armrest, a few inches from his hand. “She must have found her costume.” He notes, glancing towards the pajamas crumpled in the doorway. His eyes meet Bruce’s as he lets out a tired sigh.

His hair’s dripping, fresh from a shower, and it’s singed at the edges. Dick nods towards the sheers on the coffee table. “Tomorrow.” Bruce decides, crossing the room, picking up the blanket as he goes. Dick pushes down the footrest, slowly rising to his feet. His ribs twinge at every move, in hindsight, falling asleep hanging off the side of an armchair wasn’t his best idea. Bruce hovers closer than normal, watching carefully, worry lines set in concern. “Bed.”

Dick’s too tired to argue. “Bed.” He agrees. And though Bruce doesn’t carry him, he accompanies him up the stairs.

#bad things happen bingo #dick grayson #cassandra cain #batfam #batfamily #nightwing #batgirl #my writing #sorry i've had this request for like 2 months but you know what we made it eventually 💀😅 #thanks for the request anon! #i couldn't resist doing Cass but shout out to you remembering Danny Chase exists like dang iconic

[joaquinwhorres]

shots (Diego Hargreeves x Reader)

SUMMARY ››››› Dating is hard. But it's even harder when you know you're dating the wrong people. The right guy just isn't interested.

REQUEST ››››› ANNA HI HELLO FRIEND. okay, you're taking requests? i'm gonna SCREAM but okay could you do number 45 and diego, please? also i'm gonna look at the thing you sent me last night right now (45. Rubbing the back of their hand with a thumb.) 

WORD COUNT ››››› 3,016

WARNINGS ››››› takes place partially at a shooting range

A/N ››››› I wrote this as a continuation of alone together, but it can really be read as a standalone. I just loved the reader + Diego's dynamic, so here's more.

You've been into Diego Hargreeves since your police academy days, which is to say, a nearly obscene amount of time. It's hard to pinpoint exactly how long it's been, though, because as with most things, falling for him was a rather fluid process. One minute you were reveling in the fact that you were suddenly single for the first time in three and a half years. The next, you were hanging off every word in his tirade about saving teargas for bad guys rather than protestors. And yet, it also felt so sudden. As if he had come out of nowhere and clotheslined you the way he did one of the instructors in restraint training.

And while it's hard to say when you fell for him, why is entirely too easy. You liked him because he wasn't afraid. He was stupid and brash, but he was bold and honest when it mattered. But more than that, you liked how he cared so deeply and passionately about doing the right thing rather than doing things the right way. Even when it cost him. 

Also, his forearms.

You’re watching them now, muscles rippling under his tight long sleeved shirt as he raises the gun, his gaze intensely focused on the target. You hope he doesn’t see you staring in his periphery because it’s pretty obvious you’re not just checking his form. There's a breath and then he fires five rounds into the piece of paper, every shot precise and lethal. 

“That’s how it’s done, baby,” he grins, laying the gun down as he steps back to direct his excitement at you. As if he'd ever done anything less than absolutely perfect at the range. Still, you can’t help but smile back even as you roll your eyes. You love it when he calls you baby. Even though he only ever says it to tease you, it still feels like it's your nickname that he has for you. 

Yeah. You’ve got it bad. 

Which is unfortunate because he simply doesn't. He's never so much as shown a single bit of interest besides the first day he met you, and let his eyes linger on your body a little too long. But after that? Nothing. It soon became clear that he only had eyes for Eudora, and while it was tempting to be jealous it was all too understandable. She was gorgeous and smart and kind and obviously going to make a damn good cop. But even after that imploded, he never seemed interested. You'd come to the conclusion that you were simply too close, which was unfortunate but also fine.

It would be fine.

You just need to follow your friends’ advice and find someone new to focus on. And not just flings. You've tried the "get over by getting under" method and it just doesn't work. You need romance, a good personality, someone you want to see again outside of the bedroom. What you need is a boyfriend. Instead you've gotten:

Ghosted more times than you can count

Four no-shows for dates

One catfish

Five break up texts

Seven dick pics

Six angry men calling you a whore

Three dates that were meant for other people

The most recent of the “oops I texted the wrong girl” dates had been a week ago, and you suspect it's also the reason Diego dragged you out to the shooting range today. Diego doesn't talk about feelings--you learned that real quick--but he is more empathetic than he looks. He just doesn't know how to translate that into words. Thus, shooting range. It's sweet. 

Except for the fact that he's an insufferable show off. That makes it a bit less sweet.

“Yeah, yeah, cheater,” you huff, moving forward to take his spot at the firing line. Obviously you can't tell if he cheated, but his arms had looked a bit too low for one of those shots to be as perfect as it was. You pick up the gun, waiting for his instructions, eyeing the target. 

"Head right 7, body right 9, body bullseye, head bottom 9, body bottom 8," he decides. Of course he gave you more body than head shots. 

It's tempting to insist that he keeps up the pretense that this is an even and fair competition and give you another head shot. But your time is running out, and who are you kidding--you'd like the win. So, you nod to confirm his choices before lifting the gun up and taking a breath in to clear your head of all else, the constant rejection, the unrequited crush, the stress at work, so you can focus. And then, you breathe out.

Your shots aren’t as pretty as Diego’s, but they all hit their marks. 

“Not bad,” he says as you place down the gun and then spin around to grin at him. 

“Not bad?” you echo back, gesturing to the target. “That’s the best all day.”

“That's the best you got all day,” he corrects, smugly. “Not the best.”

The smile vanishes from your face, replaced with narrowed eyes. "You're a dick."

He laughs then as you double check the chamber to make sure the gun's unloaded and ready to be packed up. "A huge dick," you clarify, placing the firearm in its case and turning to follow him out.

"Better than a small one," he shoots back, removing his headphones once the two of you enter the lobby.

If it weren't for range safety and all that, you'd kick him in the back of the knees. Instead, you settle on glaring at the back of his head as he checks the two of you out, stuffing your safety glasses and headphones into your bag.

"I really hate you, you know that right?" you ask as the two of you push through the door and out into the parking lot. 

"Not sure I'd say that if I was the person who needs a ride home," Diego smirks at you over his shoulder as the two of you reach his car. 

"Like there's even going to be room for me in the car anymore now that your head's so big," you say, reaching over to flick him on the side of the head. Before he has a chance to respond you speed walk to the passenger's seat and get in before he can lock you out.

"You're lucky I like you," Diego says, pointing a finger at you before he climbs in, sticks the keys in the ignition and shifts into reverse. You take your cell phone out of your pocket as he pulls out of the parking spot, hand resting on the back of your chair so he can look over his shoulder. You feel your cheeks grow hot and are thankful that his eyes are on the road and yours are on your phone screen. 

There are approximately 16 unread messages.

None of them are good.

In fact, you're feeling pretty crushed as you scroll through them. It doesn't help when Diego withdraws his arm to shift the car into drive. He pulls out of the parking lot and onto the main road, and you try to pull yourself together but end up just wilting into your seat. It's not your friends' fault. Yesenia's babysitter fell through. Galilea was caught up with more work than she anticipated. Lilly probably really did need the extra time to study for her actuarial exam. These were all reasonable excuses. But it still sucked.

"What's up?" Diego asks as you slow to a stop at the red light. 

"Nothing," you say absent mindedly, texting out a message to the group. Life happens 🙃How about next Saturday?? 

Diego's eyes dart to you before going back to the road as the light turns green. "Y/N," he prompts.

You turn off your screen and cast a look at him. "It's really nothing; my friends just cancelled on me tonight." He remains quiet and you try to push out the growing frustration that you've been planning this for a solid week and it's only now, hours before, that all of these conflicts pop up. "We were supposed to go out," you sigh. "You know, do drinks and dancing."

He's silent again, only the sound of the turn signal clicking echoing throughout the car.  "Alright, so what time tonight?" Diego finally asks, pulling you from your thoughts. 

It takes longer than it should to piece together what he's offering, but the thought of Diego taking you dancing is just too much on so many levels. The most immediate level being how absolutely hilarious it would be to see Diego dance. The thought alone elicits a surprised laugh.

"What's so funny?" Diego asks, his brow furrowing. It's clear he wants to glare at you but the car ahead moves, and he takes his chance to make the left turn. 

"You want to go dancing?" You ask, through giggles.

"And?" He sounds offended, but you're still trying to picture Diego on the dance floor and every resulting image is sending you into further hysterics. He catches on, eventually. "You don't think I can dance!"

"Mm-mm," you hum, shaking your head, and there's literally tears coming down from your eyes as you picture Diego doing the Hitch dance at the club. God, he always knew how to pull you out of your spirals. 

His face screws up into a frown, and you can vaguely tell he's annoyed. Unfortunately, you don't care. "I'm a great dancer!" he protests, turning onto your street. 

"Ok, ok," you say, finally calming down enough to stop laughing and wipe away the tears from your eyes. "Meet here at 9 and we'll decide on a place?" you ask as he pulls into a spot near your building.

He nods, still clearly annoyed, but he's a good friend, better than most, and doesn't rescind his offer. In return you give him a beaming smile as you climb out the door. Almost immediately you turn around and tap on the window. He raises an eyebrow and rolls it down. 

"Yes?"

"You know you're not allowed to wear that, right?" You check, pointing at his black on black tactical uniform. He looks as if he's a real life Batman. Right now he's giving you the Batman glower. "I'm serious, Diego. Go shopping if you have to." 

"Bye, Y/N," he says, pulling away from you without even bothering to roll the window up. You smile to yourself and walk to your building's front door. You cannot wait for tonight.

  Diego knocks on your door a few minutes after nine. It's tempting to give him a hard time about being late, to tell him that you thought yet another friend had abandoned you in your hour of need, but seeing as he had to rearrange whatever plans he had in order to take you out dancing, you decide to let him off the hook. 

You're kind of glad that you didn't come up with a witty line for when you opened the door because holy shit, he’s handsome.

In a way, he's stuck to the usual uniform. It's black on black, and he clearly has put no effort into his hair or shaving the stubble lining his jaw, but he's missing the usual tactical harness, armguards, and gloves. Instead, his arms are on full display, and while you're able to admire his muscles under his usual tight black shirt, it's nothing compared to what that short sleeved button up is doing for him. He looks broader, fuller, and more human than you've ever seen him.

"Look at you, all cleaned up," you say, allowing your eyes to run over his body under the pretense that you're teasing him. "Do a twirl for me," you demand, spinning your finger. He rolls his eyes, but slowly spins in a circle so you can admire each angle. "It'll do," you say, allowing him into the apartment.

"Glad I meet the standard," he says, coming in further. You're still staring at him and are able to see the exact moment his eyes land on the two shot glasses and bottle of tequila that you've placed out on your kitchen island. His eyes light up and naturally, he makes a bee line for the booze. Even more naturally, you follow him.

"We're gonna have a good time, then?" he asks, eyeing the tequila.

"Oh yeah," you confirm, grabbing the shaker of salt from the table on your way into the kitchen. Diego pours out a shot for each of you, sloshing a bit on the counter as you salt your hand. When you pass the salt over to him, your fingers brush causing a warm and tingling sensation to stir in your stomach. You probably shouldn't have already taken a couple of sips from the bottle. Maybe if you hadn't, you wouldn't be watching him so intently as he licks his hand. You're able to tear your eyes away to grab a lime and place one in front of him as he finishes.

"To a good time," Diego says, raising his glass to yours. You clink your shot glass against his before swiping the salt off your hand with your tongue, following it with the silver tequila burning its way down your throat. Placing the glass down, you grab the wedge of lime and bite into it, allowing the lime juice to ease the sweeten the sting.

"Mm," you hum, taking the lime out of your mouth and placing it on the opposite edge of the cutting board from the rest of the lime slices. Diego places his wedge over yours and looks at you. 

"Another?” he asks, and well, you can’t let the rest of the lime go to waste. Besides, even well drinks are expensive these days. 

After your second shot, Diego moves to clean up the island as you watch. “Taxi should be here at 9:30.”

“You decide on a place yet?” he asks, and you hum a yes, eyes on him as he places the bottle of tequila up with the rest of your alcohol. It's easy to blame the tequila, but you're not sure if that's 100% why you feel the surge of almost overwhelming tenderness for him. 

"Hey, Diego?" your voice comes out a bit smaller than you'd like, and he notices too because he turns to face you immediately, eyebrows raised. "Thanks for coming out tonight."

He relaxes, shoulders dropping slightly, and his smile which always looks like it's caught between being a smirk and a genuine grin comes out. "We're supposed to be alone together, right?"

"Right," you agree, and you're certain he'll see your affection glowing off you like some kind of aura. Except he turns quickly back to dump the cutting board and knife into the sink.

"How's all that going by the way?" he asks, still bent over the sink. He has to mean dating. Or maybe your feelings. You're proficient in Diego-speak but you're not sure if you'll ever be fully fluent. He's hard to read his words; it's much easier to read his face.

"I think I meant what I told you," you say with a sigh. "I think I'm done with all that."

He turns around to face you then, and you can see the concern and sadness on his face. Sympathy is a rare emotion for Diego, and you don't like how it makes you feel. "Look, if you want to find someone, you can't give up."

"It's just hard to put myself out there when I know none of them are right," you say, frustration and an aching loneliness fizzing under your skin. "You know? None of them are you." The words come out too fast to stop, and it takes less than a breath to reach you could grab them out of the air. Your face is growing hot, but you push it back down and quickly try to remedy the situation, “I mean none of them are like you.” 

He seems a bit frozen as well, assessing, and you wish to God that you had another shot of tequila right now to take your attention off of the way his brow creases slightly and mouth turns down. “You don’t want me,” he says finally with a shake of his head. 

You do. 

You really do.

“What’s wrong with you?” you ask, not liking his tone or the way he's still frowning slightly and can't meet your eyes.

He shakes his head again but steps forward to stand across the island from you. “I’m not going to psychoanalyze myself, but I gotta lotta shit. I don’t know if you could put up with two of us. And I'm not letting you throw me away for some guy who came after.”

You sit there quietly, taking in his words and trying to hear what he was saying. What he was really saying underneath and you don't like any of the deductions you're able to come up with. “Y/N?” he asks, tilting his head slightly, and you know you've been quiet too long right after he's been as vulnerable as he can be. 

“You know I don’t consider it putting up with you, Diego, right?” You ask, quietly. It’s important he knows. He has to know at least that. 

He gives an attempt at a smirk, but it doesn't make it to his eyes. “What else would you call dealing with my bullshit?”

You reach out to him, wiggling your fingers in an insistence that he take your hand. It takes a second, and some aggressive eye contact for him to take your hand, but when he does, you fold your hand over his, smoothing over the knuckles with your thumb. There’s scars there. Probably from his childhood. Or last week. “I’d call it returning the favor.” 

He snorts but doesn't take his hand away. Instead he squeezes your hand, and you know he'll never tell you that he loves you, but this feels pretty close. You squeeze his hand back.

#diego hargreeves x reader #diego hargreeves #diego hargreeves imagine #tua #tua fic #number 2 x reader #number 2 #number 2 imagine #tua imagine #diego hargreeves fic #number 2 fic #umbrella academy #umbrella academy fanfiction #umbrella academy fic #tua fanfiction #diego hargreeves fanfiction #diego hargreeves x you #number 2 x you

[gellavonhamster]

ghost of a lady in furs

Frontier || characters: Elizabeth Carruthers, Douglas Brown, Josephette DaCosta, Malcolm Brown, Michael Smyth; ships: Elizabeth Carruthers/Douglas Brown || AU after 2x05, rated M (?)

ao3 link eng || ao3 link rus

It’s a long way back from the dead.

At first, Elizabeth stays in bed all day – just as for weeks before, only now conscious. It hurts to speak, it’s hard to look at bright light, it’s necessary to lie down as soon as possible after each meal – liquid, as if already chewed by someone else, for her jaw still aches – because staying seated for a long time, even in a bastion of pillows, is hard too. Josephette tries to visit her as often as she can, to keep her up to date on all news pertaining to the company and not only. Sometimes she brushes Elizabeth’s hair or helps her wash herself. Sometimes Elizabeth allows herself to rest her head on her friend’s shoulder, close her eyes, and not think of anything for a while.

Not to think of what happened to her, not to try to remember how exactly it happened – all that took place after her arrival at Grant’s mansion and the arrest of Pond is covered by fog.  

Not to think of the fact that Samuel Grant presently must be sure that he’s won.

Not to think of the fact that if the one who beat her – Pond or anyone else, or Grant himself, which, however, is hard to believe – hit her harder or a couple more times, maybe just once more, he really would have won.

Douglas also spends a lot of time with her. Evenings, when he comes home from the factory, they dine together. Not in the dining room, of course – she in bed, he in an armchair beside it. Occasionally, when Elizabeth wakes up, she finds him drowsing in that very armchair. His presence in her bedroom strangely doesn’t bother her. Most of the time when they’re not discussing the affairs of Carruthers and Co. or Elizabeth’s health is spent in awkward silence; Elizabeth feels it physically that he has an urge to tell her something important, or maybe to touch her, only he doesn’t dare to. She cannot figure out if his hesitance is making her angry or, quite the opposite, glad that it gives her time to contemplate. Perhaps it is rather the second; what happened wasn’t simply not provided for in their marriage contract, it is something of the in-sickness-and-in-health kind, and so on, and so forth. She wasn’t ready for this, and she doesn’t know what to make of it.      

Besides, she has much more pressing problems now, and she’d rather ponder over them.

“I am going to destroy Samuel Grant,” she announces to Josephette and Douglas one evening when both of them come to check up on her. By that point her jaw has ceased to ache so much, which means she is able to speak in longer sentences. She’s been looking forward to this.

Her friend and her husband exchange glances.

“Elizabeth…” Douglas begins.

“Yes, I know,” she cuts him short. The day she almost died is only fragmentary in her memory, as a series of disjointed images; one of them is him by her writing desk, naked, frowning at the freshly signed confession in his hands. She’s aware that he has warned her, but she would still prefer him not to remind her of it. “I underestimated him. I hadn’t second-guessed what he might go for when scared. Every time I think a man cannot sink even lower, I am proven wrong.”

Douglas wisely chooses not to comment in any way on her pronouncement about men.

“Then what is going to stop him from trying to kill you again since he’s already crossed that line?” he asks instead.

Josephette takes her hand.

“Elizabeth,” she says carefully. “You are still in no condition to confront him.”

Elizabeth heaves an exasperated sigh.

“I can see that both of you have become too keen on fussing over me,” she says, displeased, but doesn’t take her hand away. “Well, I am grateful. But do both of you really think me as stupid as to go the same way? I am going to act behind his back. And you are going to help me.”  

Douglas looks like he’s going to object, but Josephette, who has known Elizabeth for a longer time and better – and who knows that she cannot be persuaded to step back from a desired goal – is quicker to answer.  

“Tell us what you have in mind,” she says.

 ***

 Elizabeth Carruthers becomes a ghost.

After so many weeks in bed, she can’t and she won’t make herself lie down. At night, she waits impatiently for sleep to take over, so as not to be aware that once again she is in the same bed in which she has spent more than a month. For days on end, she keeps wandering back and forth through the house, leaning on the walls, wandering and wandering until the inevitable dizziness sets in. The servants flinch reflexively now and again when she emerges towards them from a scantily lit hallway.    

Only thing she’s missing are some shackles to rattle.

Her excuse is doctor’s orders – she has to move to stir her muscles, weakened and numb due to the time spent bedridden. Yet this is just part of the truth – not even half of it, a third at best. The lion’s share of the truth is that there’s an unappeasable rage inside her, howling, growling, thrashing around, and this rage wouldn’t even let her sit at the table for a long time – she studies the company’s documents standing or perched on an armrest, she reads books as she walks around in the living room. She is a cage where a wolf is pacing in circles, and she herself is caged in that house, far from noise, meetings, deals, negotiations, life.

A couple of times, soon after she regained consciousness and became strong enough to sit in bed and even get up sometimes for a while, she let the wolf out. A couple of times were enough – she wouldn’t break down anymore. No, she couldn’t care less about the dishes, all the more about the ridiculous statuette of a shepherdess that was a gift to her and her first husband from – whom? Doesn’t matter in any case. It brought much more joy when it shattered than when it was collecting dust on the mantelpiece. Still, each such outburst is a display of weakness, which only makes Elizabeth angry at herself later. She has spent far too much time proving to the world that she is sensible, rational, and cool-headed. The world – replete with disdain, superficial, and annoyingly male – refused to believe her: she is a woman, after all, and what should one expect from women but hysterics and tears? And even if those living in this house or visiting it have seen her even weaker, they haven’t seen her pathetic – and they won’t. Not the servants, though they won’t utter a word for fear of losing their jobs, not Josephette, though she wouldn’t judge, not Douglas, who might think whatever but wouldn’t judge her openly either. If she loses her temper in front of them, it will be more difficult to keep it in check in front of the others.            

She couldn’t hold back the desire to gloat when she went to mock Grant in person, and look what came of it.  

And so she keeps her rage locked. Or rather remolds it, reforges it, and uses it wisely. Instead of wasting time and energy on yelling and breaking the china, she’d rather put more effort into planning her revenge on Grant – and to bringing these plans to fruition.  

If he isn’t afraid of ghosts, soon he will be.

 ***

 Few people know she’s awake. Many people don’t even know if she’s alive. By a fortunate coincidence, the passerby who found her used to work on Carruthers and Co. He went straight to Josephette, who paid him handsomely for his help and for keeping his mouth shut about his discovery. The onlookers never got a chance to amass, but someone must still have seen her, because rumours started spreading in Montreal that Elizabeth Carruthers was found dead in a ditch. No, not dead, but beaten up. No, not beaten up, just drunk. The latter in particular made her blood boil; even at the dreariest moments of her confinement, when the wolf inside urged her to lunge at the walls and at anyone who comes her way, she didn’t get drunk, not even once. A sip of brandy at dinner, and that’s all. The memories of what Peter was like when plastered are too fresh. He was pathetic when sober and so much the more when inebriated. She grimaces as she remembers. She doesn’t want to resemble him in any way.            

One of the few upsides of marriage to Peter was meeting Josephette, who proves herself indispensable once again.

Few people know she’s awake. Yet Josephette, who has perfect knowledge of the factory and everyone who works there, selects some trustworthy and discreet girls among the workers, girls who own some debt of gratitude to her or to Elizabeth, and lets them into this secret. These girls sometimes enlist the help of their fiancés or brothers, just as trustworthy and discreet. And so acquaintances begin to be struck up between them and the workers from Grant’s company, so begin the casual inquiries about what it’s like to work there and what the news are, and the passing mentions of how it’s pretty good to work for Widow Carruthers (she may have got married for the second time, but most of them still think of her as of Widow Carruthers). Sometimes they spice it up with a bit or two of gossip that might make one doubt just how fair Grant is with his men. Sometimes these seeds take root. Sometimes they don’t. No one is forcing anything on anyone – just offering food for thought.

All the obtained intelligence goes to Josephette, who then passes it to Elizabeth, and together they figure out how to use it. Most of it is not too valuable – one must give the devil his due, Grant’s employees don’t complain much. However, sometimes they get to learn which suppliers have voiced dissatisfaction with the terms of bargains lately, or which potential buyers have visited the factory. Those are approached by Douglas, who offers them better terms and makes them believe that Carruthers and Co. has exactly what they need. First by playing along and then by twisting their words, he convinces Grant’s partners that it is they who want what is offered to them.    

He used to be the face of the company while Elizabeth was its true head, and Josephette was the secret power unknown even to those aware that the company was run by the wife, not by the husband. Now Elizabeth herself has receded into the shadows even deeper than Josephette. Behind Douglas Brown, the figurehead of Carruthers and Co., is a Black former servant, and behind her, there is a ghost.  

Perhaps Samuel Grant’s enterprise is haunted as well, since workers and suppliers start leaving it slowly but surely.      

 ***

 “Miss Dolan came by the factory today,” Douglas tells her one evening as they’re having dinner together – not in the bedroom, now that Elizabeth, thankfully, is feeling much better, but in the dining room. It takes some time for Elizabeth to remember who he is referring to: right, the Irish girl. The little traitor. In fairness, Elizabeth can see that the girl is just trying to survive, but she still cannot think of her without dislike.  

“And what was she after? Surely she didn’t come to visit her former workmates?”  

“Well, first of all, she wanted to return the hat you gave her.”

“I hope you told her she is free to choke on it.”

“I told her you would’ve preferred her to keep it.” Douglas fumbles with his glass that still has some brandy in it. They’re sitting at the opposite sides of the table, like a king and a queen in an empty castle – a haunted one, naturally. One day, as she was lying in bed and obsessively thinking out her vengeance on Grant, it occurred to her that she was turning into a sort of Lady Macbeth, plotting and scheming and slowly going insane. The next thought amused her: how fitting of her to have married a Scotsman. “She asked after your health, for she remembers how kind you were to her…”  

Elizabeth snorts.

“…and she also asked in passing if it’s true that Deschamps and Moreau are now supplying their goods to us. Said she couldn’t help wonderin’ because she’d seen them at Grant’s before.”  

“How observant of her.”  

“You understand what that means, right? They suspect something, Elizabeth. And they won’t leave it like that.”  

Elizabeth slams her glass on the table.

“If you are going to say that it’s time to stop, save your breath,” she tells him, voice ringing with indignation. “Because it’s too late to stop. Afraid, Mr. Brown, aren’t you?”

Douglas sighs, takes off his glasses, sighs again, and puts them back. In the light of the melting candles he looks older than he is, and very tired.

“A wee bit,” he admits. “But not for myself.”

His words produce a strange feeling in her chest, as if a ruffled bird is stirring underneath her ribs.  

Elizabeth gets up and approaches him at a swift pace, and he rises too, eyes fixed on her. She rests one hand on the table – she shouldn’t have stood up so briskly, her head still spins a little at times – and tries to figure out what to say to a man who dared to care about her.  

He’s waiting, and only the cracking of the firewood disturbs the silence.

“I can take care of myself,” Elizabeth finally says. “I’ve told you before: I won’t go the same way. I won’t make myself an easy target. You won’t have to nurse me back to health again, don’t worry.”

“I would’ve done it again if I had to. I’d rather it wasn’t necessary, though.”  

For a change, Elizabeth Carruthers doesn’t know what to say, so she just kisses him.  

When Douglas pulls away, he’s looking at her with a mixture of longing and wariness.  

“I thought you didn’t remember this either,” he says quietly.

“I would’ve done it again if I didn’t,” replies Elizabeth. She doesn’t want to decipher what she means by these words. She made him marry her so that Carruthers and Co. had a representative that these small-minded pigs who don’t trust a businesswoman would agree to deal with. She slept with him, and it felt good. He took care of her while she was unconscious, and then was tactful enough during her recovery not to make her feel humiliated by his help. All of it adds up to something, but she prefers not to reflect on it. She doesn’t want to decipher what she means by these words – but she knows she’s speaking from her heart. “Otherwise I’d have to wait till doomsday for you to be done suffering in silence.”

“Frankly speaking, I… wasn’t sure that back then it didn’t happen because you wanted me to sign that bloody confession.”  

“Well, I wanted you to sign it. I also wanted you. These two were not related,” shrugs Elizabeth. She cannot blame him for the lack of trust: she did use him, and he, in turn, planned together with Malcolm to go against her – what kind of trust could there be? “If you thought I was playing you, why didn’t you leave while I was as good as dead? Why did you stay?”  

He responds by kissing her – not on the lips, but on the cheek right under the scar, very carefully. Again, a little higher. Again, moving along the outline of the scar but not touching her skin where it recently was too new and delicate. His moustache is tickling her face; the bird underneath her ribs is picking at her heart. And she’s mad at him because she’s addled and defenseless in the face of this unbearable tenderness, and she’s mad at herself because she is starting to suspect in horror that she might cry if he touches her like this again, this was not in their marriage contract, this was not in her scheme of things, and how dare he…  

She grabs him by his curls, pushes him lower, makes him press his lips to hers – makes him do something she can comprehend. The urge to tear up subsides. She pulls him closer, one hand still in his hair, the other on the lapel of his waistcoat. Then she lets go for a moment to move the dinnerware aside without even looking (one glass must have fallen – to hell with it, to hell with everything) before sitting down on the edge of the table.  

“The servants might come in,” Douglas reminds her when she runs her hand over his shoulder, his hip, his crotch, like she owns him, but his voice is husky and hot, and his hands are peeling off her dressing gown.  

“So what?” she breaths out. “They are my servants. This is my house. Everything here is mine. And if I want my husband to fuck me on my table in my dining room… I don’t see what must be stopping me.”  

When he lifts her nightdress and kneels between her spread legs, she doesn’t feel like a ghost.  

***

 One of the factory girls who were being friendly with Grant’s workers on Josephette’s orders is found with her throat cut. There is no purse with earnings on her, so it might have been just a robbery. A coincidence. Or maybe not.  

That night Elizabeth sees Grant’s face hanging over her, his eyes wide with terror as he keeps delivering blow after blow to her head with something heavy.

“I’m a good man,” she hears his frantic voice. “I’m a good man.”  

Upon another blow she wakes, and sits up in bed with a jerk. Something that is neither a sob nor a cry escapes her throat – a shrill animal sound. She cannot catch her breath. She cannot believe she can breathe.

“Elizabeth,” Douglas says worriedly, wrapping his arm around her shoulders. Some part of her mind that has either already calmed down or never had time to get scared tells her that she must have elbowed him in the face when she jerked up. “Elizabeth, what’s the matter?”  

“It was Grant,” she whispers. She’s shaking, and even Douglas’s comforting warmth by her side doesn’t help. Pathetic, she’s so pathetic now. “It was Grant who beat me up. I remembered.”  

“Elizabeth, it might’ve been just a dream…”

“And I am telling you I remembered!” snaps Elizabeth. She put her hand to her forehead and wipes off the sweat. “I take it you know better than I what’s happening in my head, don’t you?”  

“I mean, it is quite possible that after the news about that poor lass…”

“No. No, no, no,” she frees herself from his embrace and climbs off the bed. It is his bedroom, not hers, and the unusual surroundings are disorienting: the window is too small, the door is on the wrong side. Perhaps she’d calm down sooner if she lay down again, but presently she doesn’t want to have anything in common with the unmoving body on the floor of Samuel Grant’s mansion.  

She tenses up when Douglas approaches her, but he doesn’t try to persuade her to go back to bed, just throws a shawl over her shoulders.  

She closes her eyes and thinks. And thinks, and thinks, and thinks.

“You know,” she finally says, “I cannot believe I am proposing this myself, but I’m going to need to chat with your brother.”

 ***

 This time, instead of Declan Harp, Malcolm brings her some disheveled boy.

“Michael Smyth of the Black Wolf Company… ma’am,” he announces, indicating the guest with a nod. “Michael, let me introduce you to Mrs. Elizabeth Carruthers.”

“It is a pleasure to meet you, ma’am,” says Smyth. The beard and the overall rough-hewn appearance of a seasoned hunter are unable to conceal how young he is. He reminds Elizabeth of a small animal – a ferret or a raccoon – that has somehow managed to sneak into her house from the forest.  

“The pleasure is all mine, Mr. Smyth,” Elizabeth replies coldly, not bothering to stand up and offer her hand to him. “Although, in truth, I would’ve been much more pleased if Mr. Brown did what I asked and organized me a meeting with Mr. Harp, not with his errand boy. Who is also to blame, as far as I know, for the supply that I’ve arranged with Mr. Harp going down the drain.”  

Malcolm opens his mouth, but Michael Smyth beats him to it.

“Declan Harp is in Scotland now,” he says calmer than could be expected after her remark; well done. “As to the supply, I had no other choice. Your people didn’t come to collect the pelts. Cobbs Pond told me you’re…”  

“Dead? As you can see, it is unwise to believe everything Cobbs Pond says,” even the name of that man seems to taste rotten. Elizabeth cannot help screwing up her face as she pronounces it. “But I admit: my people didn’t come indeed – they were too busy keeping me alive.”  

“Well, I was busy keeping my people alive,” retorts Smyth. “We had to dispose of the pelts before the redcoats caught up with us. Pond was there, and he had the silver. I am sure, Mrs. Carruthers, that you would’ve done the same if you were in my place.”

“Sureness is a fine thing. The trick is not to overdo it. Trust me, Mr. Smyth, I am speaking from my own bitter experience,” Elizabeth replies with a sweet smile. The boy is staring hard at her, waiting for what she’s going to say next. Malcolm, hands in pockets, is observing their one-on-one leaning against the door frame. “Anyway, enough of the past. This is not why I asked my most kind brother-in-law,” she makes a pause, which Malcolm fills with a loud sneering chuckle, “to bring me a representative of the Black Wolf Company.”  

“Then why, Mrs. Carruthers?”

Elizabeth leans back in her chair. Today, for the first time after a month and a half in nightdresses and dressing gowns, she is wearing a proper dress – one of her best – which makes her feel splendid. As if nothing had changed. As if Michael Smyth, her first visitor in a long time who isn’t one of her household, doctors, or family (regrettably, the latter technically includes Malcolm), isn’t currently making every effort not to look inadvertently at the right side of her face – the ugly prominent scars, the greenish yellow of her bruises. And he’s making it; she can feel it.  

“Your company has already stolen for me once, Mr. Smyth,” she says. “I didn’t get to have the results, but still. I need you to do it again.”

“You want us to steal the furs of the HBC?”

Elizabeth cannot hold back a vicious smile.

“I want you to steal the furs of Samuel Grant”.

 ***

 “All right, that was not quite what I required of you, Mr. Brown,” she tells Malcolm after Smyth leaves, “but thank you just the same.”

Malcolm makes a helpless gesture dramatically.

“Well, sorry for not havin’ enough damn time to dart off to Scotland and back.”  

“What business does Harp even have in Scotland?”

“Michael didn’t go into detail, so I guess it must be either something really important or something really personal.”

“Or both,” Elizabeth says thoughtfully. It wouldn’t hurt to learn what it is all about: you never know what information may turn out useful. “Let’s hope this… young man can be trusted.”

“He’s a thief. You need a thief. I don’t see why not,” shrugs Malcolm. “Besides, I warned him that you’re a witch, so if anything goes wrong, you’ll turn him into a mouse and eat him like it’s nothing.”

“Why a mouse, Mr. Brown? That’s not much to eat. Why not into a nice, fat goose, for example?”  

“Not enough meat for a goose in that one,” Malcolm grins, and Elizabeth cannot help grinning back. This nonsense must be the first time in history when something resembling a friendly conversation is happening between them.  

So, she used to be a ghost, and now she’s become a witch.

Or has always been one, as many people certainly wouldn’t fail to point out.

 ***

Josephette makes her a patch that covers half her face. The broad band of black velvet is covered in tiny embroidery – leaves, stems, bees. It looks unusual, but it matches most of Elizabeth’s dresses, and looks a little bit like a carnival mask. Someone uninitiated, upon seeing her wearing this strange accessory, might well conclude she’s going to attend a masked ball.  

“If it’s too tight, it can be fastened by another hook. Or altered altogether,” says Josephette. Elizabeth looks at Josephette’s face in the mirror behind her shoulder, and shakes her head.  

“It’s perfect. Really, you didn’t have to…”

Josephette gestures her to stop.

“I did,” she says. Her face, always so reserved, lights up. “Consider it a gift on the occasion of your return to the world of the living.”

Elizabeth turns around and takes Josephette’s hands in hers.

‘Thank you,” she tells her, meaning much more than just the patch, and she can read it in her friend’s gaze that she understands.

Together they descend the stairs – the queen and her éminence grise. Douglas is waiting for them below, by the door.  

“Very… elegant,” he remarks, taking a look at his wife’s half-concealed face.

“Oh, I intend to bring it into fashion. Soon all ladies in Montreal will be wearing this. I’d love to look at Miss Dolan in it,” Elizabeth says with a sinister smile, and passes her arm through his. “Shall we?”

She can’t wait to return to the factory. To check personally if everything is in order, to examine the equipment, to hear how things are going in the workers’ own words. But first she has to visit the market, the very beating heart of the town. Let people see that she is back. As she passes the stalls of vendors and craftsmen, she can feel the prying eyes on her. Some start whispering as soon as they see her, some elbow their companions to draw their attention, some greet her awkwardly – those she honours with a regal nod.  

She hopes to run into a certain man – and she does.

Samuel Grant is alone today, without the loyal Pond at his side. He’s talking to a couple of trappers whom Elizabeth hasn’t met before, and when he catches sight of her, he almost drops the beaver pelt he was inspecting.

Elizabeth stops and meets his gaze.

The whole market – possibly the whole world – seems to have stopped with them.

She feels ill at ease in his presence. She would never admit that – not even to Josephette, not even to Douglas – but the sight of the man who almost smashed her skull makes some sort of a cold well open inside her. But when he looks at her, he’s dumbfounded too, even scared. She is the witness of his crime. The witness of him being far from “a good man”, as he kept saying back then, trying in vain to make himself believe it.  

Yet another blow, just after a large parcel of furs he was to receive was dragged into the night by black wolves.

Elizabeth forces a smile.

“Mr. Grant,” she says loudly and cordially. She is the first to break the silence, and it feels like a victory. Which is silly, of course: the real victory is a long way off. The real war has just begun. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

It’s a long way back from the dead, but she’s made it.

#frontier #frontier netflix #elizabeth carruthers #douglas brown #josephette dacosta #malcolm brown #michael smyth #clenna bringing the hat is borrowed from canon but otherwise s3? i don't know her #my fic #talk talk talk #gella talks frontier #i guess the tag is needed

[nashibirne]

Safe Haven - 8

Regarding the non-existant reactions to the previous parts, I'm quite sure nobody reads this story and I know I'm much too late for the fandom, but I'm gonna post the parts I've written anyway. *shrugs*

Previous parts can be found here: Masterlist

Safe Haven

A Maze Runner Fan Fiction

Pairing: Thomas / female OFC Setting: After the end of ‘TMR - Death Cure’ Summary: Thomas is dealing with the aftermath of the events since the glade and learns that falling in love can be painful. In this part he's runs right into Anne after Kasey's turned him down and he really needs to vent.... Warnings:  smut/sex/porn, swearing, mentioning of death, traumatic experiences, violence, sexual frustration, promiscuity, homosexuality, daddy-kink, oral, nsfw, 18+ readers only Credits: TMR-Characters don’t belong to me / are based on the books by James Dashner and the movies. All pictures I used for the moodboards/headers are from pinterest. If I violate any copyright please let me know and I’m going to remove the pictures. Beta by the wonderful  @hell1129-blog​  Thanks for your support! xo

Comments, likes and reblogs are very much appreciated.

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

It took Anne less than five minutes from meeting Thomas at the sanitary shack on his way home to winning him over for a hot make-out session behind the wooden building. His vulnerable emotional state and his hurt pride made it easy for her. Her back pressed against the wall he kissed her hungrily, caressing her crisp little tits. His Ex may have ditched him because she considered him to be a bore but she still appreciated his skills as a lover. And so, from time to time, they had a little fun together - no strings attached. 

A loud moan escaped Thomas' mouth when Anne massaged his rock-hard dick through his trousers.

"Shush, silly. We don't want someone to interrupt us, do we." Anne giggled, laying a finger on his lips.

"It's your fault. You make me moan." Thomas replied, his voice thick with arousal.

"I'm sorry." Anne kissed him, her hand still on his cock.

"Get him out." Thomas whispered in her ear. "Touch him."

"You don't have to tell me twice." Anne grinned before she unbuttoned his jeans, shoving them down his legs together with his boxers. She started stroking his cock skillfully.

"Anne..." Thomas groaned. "Be a good girl and suck me off, okay? Daddy really needs it tonight." "Sure, daddy. Whatever you wish." She looked at him with big round eyes, batting her long eyelashes innocently, falling to her knees right away. She was into daddy kink and he knew which buttons to push to make her do what he wanted. And what he wanted right now was to ease the tension and get rid of all the frustration inside of him. In short...he needed to get off. He hadn't had sex in a while. Since he'd fallen for Kasey he just didn't feel like shagging some random girl. So it had been less fucking and more jerking off in the shower since then, but tonight he needed something more.  He needed to get Kasey out of his system. Turned out it wasn't that easy.

Thomas leaned back, his head resting on the moist wood of the wall, his eyes closed, his breath going fast.

When he felt her tongue on the tip of his dick, circling the head seductively, it wasn't Anne's tongue. He couldn't help but deceive himself by imagining it was Kasey's pretty little mouth that was wrapped around his member. Tight and wet and eagerly sucking his dick. When he opened his eyes, bending his head slowly he imagined seeing Kasey's full lips, sliding up and down his length. It was her honey blonde hair, he grabbed, burying his hands in the thick, soft silk, not Anne's short whiteblond strands.

"Fuck...you're doing great, baby girl. Go on, make daddy cum." he moaned, his voice hoarse and demanding.

She sucked him harder, pumping his dick faster, squeezing his balls. Damn, the girl knew how to give a blow job. He imagined Kasey would do it even better, maybe deep throating him.

With this picture on his mind he came hard, spilling a hot shot of cum into Anne's mouth.

"Kasey!" he grunted breathless, thrusting his hips, shoving his cock deep inside her mouth, savouring the last waves of his orgasm. 

Anne rose to her feet abruptly, drops of cum on her lips, fuming.

"Kasey? Are you serious?" she shouted angrily, wiping her mouth. "You cry out the name of another woman, coming in my fucking mouth? Am I a joke to you, Thomas?"

"I'm sorry, Anne...I don't know what has gotten into me." He reached out for her but she shoved him away.

"Don't touch me, asshole. Ever. Again." she hissed, her eyes shooting daggers at him.

"You are so pathetic." she added with a disgusted grin. "Fucking all those girls but too chicken to make a move on her? Or probably you hit on her and she turned you down."

"Anne..." getting his dick back in his pants, he tried to interrupt her but she wouldn't let him.

"I mean...she's well out of your league, Tommy, you know that, huh? Kasey is classy. She wouldn't want a sissy like you."

"Please shut up, Anne." Thomas said pleadingly with a threatening undertone. But she just crossed her arms in front of her chest, not willing to stop her rant. "Everybody knows she's anxiously waiting for Parker anyway. He's the one she wants. And I understand her. He's awesome. Hot as fuck, smart. Tattoos all over his shredded body. A real man, not some whimpering boy..."

"Stop it, Anne." 

"And he's her age. You are too young for her. Do you really think she wants a 20 year old bore when she can have a 25 year old man of action? A leader, not a grunt..."

"Shut up! Shut your fucking mouth. You don't have a clue who she wants and what's going on between us." Thomas shouted, raging with fury.

Anne jumped, looking scared for a split second, but regaining control fast, when it dawned on her. "You love her!" Anne laughed almost hysterically. "This is hilarious. You love Kasey." Thomas stared at her, unable to say anything. Unable to deny the obvious. 

"Well, Tommy, Karma is a bitch, right? Of all the single women in this camp you choose the only one you can't have because she's too smart to fall in love with a moron like you."

"Fuck you, Anne."

"No...fuck you, Thomas." she said, showing him the finger. "Fuck you and never talk to me again." And then she went away, leaving him frustrated, angry and desperate.

***

When Thomas stormed into their hut ten minutes later, slamming the door behind him so hard it almost took off its hinges, Minho woke up with a jolt, his hammock rocking like crazy.

"Jesus, Tommy, what the fuck?" he mumbled sleepy, rubbing his eyes.

"Sorry, man. Didn't mean to wake you."

"Didn't work." 

"Yeah." Thomas said with a deep sigh, plopping down on his bed, taking off his boots and his trousers before sliding under the sheets.

"What's up? You look like shit. Everything all right?" Minho asked with a frown.

"Let's just say I had a rough night, okay?" 

"What's happened? You were fine when you left like what...two hours ago?"

"Nothing. I'd rather not talk about it, okay?" Thomas turned around to face the wall, closing his eyes, hoping his friend was going to leave him alone.

"No, it's not okay. You should see yourself, you look like a zombie. Just fucking tell me what happened, shank." Minho insisted.

"You wanna know what happened?" Thomas jumped out of his bed, starting to pace the little room like a lunatic with a grim look on his face. "I'm gonna tell you what happened, okay?" his voice was vibrating with emotion now. Minho wasn't sure whether his friend was about to burst into tears or to throw a tantrum.

"In the last one and a half hours I had a very emotional conversation with Kasey, then I kissed her and she kissed me back, making me a happy man but then she changed her mind and turned me down, 'cause she knows I'm nothing but a cheap fuckboy. And being the stupid asshole I am, I couldn't find the words to tell her I love her, before Quincy showed up out of nowhere, interrupting us."

"Wow, Tommy..."

"Oh no, man. Keep listening. I'm not done yet. Instead of asking Quincy to give us a minute and talking to Kasey, I just left like a bloody coward. Five minutes later I ran into Anne and what do you think...I had nothing better to do than try to get rid of all that sexual and emotional frustration by letting her give me a blow job behind the sanitary shack. And if that wasn't bad enough I accidentally called her Kasey, my dick balls deep in her mouth, which caused a huge fight between us. That's what happened."

Minho gaped at him, speechless for seconds, that felt like hours for Thomas.

"For heaven's sake, Minho. Say something."

"Yeah...well...shit, Tommy. That's the worst I've heard in a while."

"Oh great, thanks my friend." Thomas rolled his eyes, sinking down on a chair, tired and exhausted.

"Sorry, that I'm a little taken aback." Minho replied sarcastically. "I didn't even know there's something going on between you and Kasey. That you like her...well at least not like this."

"Yeah. I do..."

And then Thomas told his friend the story properly, right from the beginning. From the day he fell for Kasey Miller head over heels to tonight's events by the campfire.

"You know you have to talk to her first thing in the morning, right? Tell her how you feel and tell her what happened behind the sanitary shack. Before Anne does." 

"You think she would?" Thomas' eyes widened in shock.

"Maybe. You know she can be a crazy little bitch sometimes."

"Right." Thomas sighed. "Do you think Kasey loves me too?" he added almost whispering.

"To be honest, mate. I don't have a clue. But she kissed you, right? And we know she wasn't just looking for a shag. So she must have kissed you because she likes you. I would say you have a real chance."

"Thanks, Minho." Thomas said stifling a yawn.

"Anytime, Thomas. That's what friends are for. And now let's try to get some sleep."

#tmr #tmr fanfic #tmr thomas #tmr thomas x ofc #slow burn #friends to lovers #the maze runner

[atinybitofau]

W O O Y O U N G ➪ childhood friends au

THE ONE WHERE HE PUTS YOU ON A STUPID LIST.

a/n: kinda halfassed not gonna lie guys I’m so sorry. but regardless I still wanted to put something out for ya’ll so I hope you like it.

• “Y/n stop your whining. Now get ready because we’re going to be late.”

• “But mother, must you always meddle in my love life?! And Wooyoung no less. That man is out to get me!”

• your mother thinks your pleas are half hearted.

• bull hearted at most.

• thinking Jung Wooyoung was the nicest thing on the planet.

• that you deserve him.

• but not only do you not deserve him,

• he’s had it in for you since grade school.

• making sure you made close to zero friends.

• every girl you’ve hung out with,

• dated him at least once.

• and you can’t stand Wooyoung.

• he’s been a pain in your ass since you two were in diapers.

• and now your buddy-buddy mothers are trying to get you two together before you hit 21.

• “I’m not going.”

• she scoffs. “Yes you are. And unless you want your privelages taken away from going to Jongho’s party next week, then you have no choice.”

• “You can’t tell me that! I’m 20 years old!”

• “And still living in my house.”

• you two normally buttheads, you and your mom.

• funny on occasion.

• but this was far from that right now.

• “Remind me never to eat dinner with you again.” you grumble at your mother who also happened to be joining you tonight. “And to never eat your croissants in the middle of the day. Either the thought of seeing Wooyoung is going to make me hurl or your cooking really does suck.”

• your mom laughs at that despite your seriousness. “Honey, I don’t know how you two managed to hate each other all these years but this’ll be good for you. Regardless if you two end up with each other or not, you might actually make amends tonight. And as parents, that is our real goal.”

• you can’t blame them.

• the relationship between you and Wooyoung was bad.

• from ruining important business conferences,

• family dinners,

• each other’s lives—

• it got so bad that other people started to suffer from it.

• so you decided to live it out just for one night.

• “Look, we both don’t like this.” Wooyoung sighs noticing your temper as soon as you two are face to face in front of the flashing lights of the venue. “But for the sake of our parents, let’s act civil for once.”

• you think he’s sometimes the nicest guy.

• but you hated that he was the nicest guy to people that weren’t you.

• he thinks your amazing.

• but hated that other people thought that too.

• your disagreements revolved around the things you envied from one another.

• probably why you hate him and why he hates you.

• “Oh my god, wouldn’t they make the cutest pair?”

• “Their kids would be beautiful.”

• “Those two were made for each other.”

• people would murmur.

• our hands interlocked.

• no feelings involved. (so you think)

• while you two walked around and greeted potential business partners.

• and no. you two weren’t arranged to marry.

• but it sure felt like you both were.

• “Y/n, hey!”

• the one time you managed to slip away from Wooyoung, another willing handsome man saw his chance.

• you smiled back. “Oh hey Jongho. I didn’t know you’d be here.”

• “Well when I heard you would, I wanted to stop by.” he hands you a drink weary about the people around. “I don’t get to see you often you know.. with Wooyoung always around. And since he’ll be at my party next week, I might not even get the chance to talk to you.”

• your eyebrows furrow. “What is that supposed to mean?”

• he chuckles at you, lips curling. “You didn’t know?”

• “Didn’t know what?”

• “You’re on the OFF LIMITS list. Wooyoung signed you there.”

• oh god.

• that horrid list the boys of South Korea’s pride made years ago.

• “I’m sorry.” you chuckle nervously, eyes already burning in their sockets. “I think you’re kidding.”

• “You’ve been on there since high school. You never wondered why you couldn’t land a date?”

• you were gonna kill him.

• without knowing his intentions, you were so gonna kill him.

• and he was about to kill the man stepping over his boundaries.

• fists clenched as he approached the both of you.

• “Oh hey Wooyoung. I was just talking to—“

• “And now you’re not. Get lost.”

• you hiss pushing him away. “Would you fuck off? Ugh you’re such an asshole I hate you!”

• he’s taken aback.

• at how fast it happened—

• when you run away.

• not used to you sounding more distraught than annoyed.

• so he follows you.

• worried..

• worried that he might’ve went too far this time.

• usually stays behind the border.

• but he thinks he might’ve crossed it.

• now he’s gotta commit.

• “Y/n! Wait!”

• you look for a nearby place to hide but of course,

• though he’s got short legs.

• walks like an oompa lumpa.

• he’s always been faster than you.

• “What?”

• your glare pierces him and he’s tumbling.

• “What did I do?”

• you scoff in disbelief. “What did you do? Are you seriously asking me that after years of doing absolutely everything you shouldn’t have done?”

• shit.

• he’s thinking,

• you found out.

• about his feelings.

• “Y/n, I—“

• “I can’t believe you Wooyoung. I’ve been dateless my entire life because of a stupid list you kept me on. Because you just love to watch me suffer, single and a complete loser. How much you hate me, I still can’t comprehend.”

• now he’s thinking.

• wow you’re a goddamn idiot.

• eyes glaring back, he hisses. “That’s why you’re angry? Seriously?”

• “Yeah seriously! Why else would I be angry at you? Have anything else you’re hiding behind my back? Another list of sorts. Like the most unappealing females on the planet? List of undesirables? People who wouldn’t stand a chance with any—“

• you gasp when he slides his arms around your waist,

• tilting you like a teapot.

• lips on the spout.

• that spout being your own.

• and you can’t seem to understand.

• why this action would mean he hates you...

• cause well doesn’t he?

• he pulls away breathlessly staring from your unmoving lips back to your just as frozen eyes.

• “None. I have you on none of those lists. Those shouldn’t ever exist. However yes. Yes I did sign that stupid list years ago with your name in permenant ink but it wasn’t because I hated you. Far from that.”

• you don’t understand at all.

• how someone you hated,

• who you thought hated you,

• was suddenly confessing his love for you.

• “Everything you did had everybody in love. You think I’d be an exception? God, I hated that you’d want to share your everything with others. I had to force you to stop. Had to keep you from appealing to my competition cause god knows I already had less than a 10% chance with you.”

• you try to read him.

• his eyes and how he’s never looked at you like that before.

• being single your entire life, you’ve never seen it on someone before.

• is it bad that maybe...

• you only know what that look means because you’ve already given it to him?

• “They could do things that I couldn’t do. Things that you’d fall in love with. And that every time I did what I was capable of, you never even turned your head for me. I envied you and I envied them.”

• Wooyoung was hysterical.

• sounding untouched with his emotions.

• love lust and simple minded.

• confused and hurt.

• but relieved to finally let out his troubles.

• “Why the fuck would you envy them, Wooyoung?”

• cause you’ve always envied him.

• the things he were good at.

• when he was nicer than you.

• hotter than you, fitter than you.

• lord forbid smarter than you (all but right now),

• that everyone wanted him.

• you had no space in his life and felt no need to exert too much effort to make some.

• “I loved everything about you. From head to toe.” he mumbles not realizing he still had you in a princess hold.

• you two confessing in front of a water fountain under the stars like a freaking movie.

• “You let them. You never let me.”

• “You idiot.” you shook your head at him. “Wooyoung, you’re a damn fool, you know that?”

• he feels the way your fingers graze against his neck.

• lost in the feeling and in your eyes,

• then he speaks again.

• “I took things too far this time. And the only way I see this working out for the both of us is if I told you the truth so.. there it is.”

• you raise an eyebrow fighting a smile. “The truth.. That you love me?”

• “For someone who claims they’ve had no experience in love, you sound pretty good at this.”

• you’re never gonna get tired of teasing Wooyoung.

• he makes it too easy.

• you start to think maybe you made it too easy for him to.

• “Probably because I’ve had the experience for a long time. Just didn’t know it.”

• “What?”

• “You know, I was thinking about telling you to take me off that list. Cause you had no right to have put me there in the first place. But now I’m kind of thinking you shouldn’t take my name off.

• “H-huh?”

• “If you still don’t want another man to touch me, Jung Wooyoung, then I suggest you keep me there. Especially since I’ll be your girlfriend starting from today.”

• he’s taken aback at first.

• at how fast it happened—

• now he’s smiling like the fool he is.

• and you don’t see him smile enough, you think.

• and that maybe you’re gonna have to make a list of your own.

• a list of men you’ll never fall in love with.

• he’s gonna be the only man alive to not be on it.

• “A-are you asking me to be your boyfriend?”

• you curl your face into his,

• loving the feeling of making him all flustered like this.

• it might be because you’ve gotten so used to teasing the guy.

• or that you might just have fallen in love with it instead.

• “I’m telling you I’m gonna be your girlfriend, Woo. There’s a difference.”

@atinybitofau

#wooyoung #ateez #ateez wooyoung #jung wooyoung #ateez imagines #ateez preferences #ateez reactions #ateez scenarios #ateez x reader #ateez au #wooyoung imagines #wooyoung oneshot #wooyoung scenarios #wooyoung reaction #jongho #enemies to lovers #childhood friend au

[canyouhearthelight]

The Miys, Ch. 99

Here we have the aftermath of the Warlord Bowl. 

Here, we finally... FINALLY get to see Jokul as a person and not a far-off mysterious bad guy. Consciously, there was never any intent to compare Jokul to people who don’t understand how politics work: @zommbiebro​ isn’t even American, for one thing, and therefore neither is Jokul. However, reading it on the last pass before posting, I realized how it could be taken.

The part that isn’t relevant to the chapter: While I didn’t mean that comparison, please make sure you vote in any local elections available to you, if it doesn’t risk your life. No matter how much you feel your vote doesn’t matter, it does. If everyone who didn’t vote decided to do so, it would change the world.

In my own country, I’ll be taking time off work - because I have that ability - and taking local people to polls that ordinarily would be inaccessible to them within their district.

Back to the chapter relevant stuff: Thank you to @zommbiebro​ for giving me such a good character to play with, @charlylimph-blog​ for reading to ensure entertainment, and @baelpenrose​ for beta reading in every way that entails.

After a quick dinner at the first mess we came across - and true to my promise, I didn’t cook anything - Arthur, Antoine and I reconvened with Jokul in my office. As agreed, he brought only two of his own people, who sat on either side of him in a mirror to how I was bracketed by my own friends.

Unfortunately, they entered as I was mulling out loud the possibility of making hot pot for family dinner one night.  Even less fortunately, the ginger who I had thrown in the gym was one of the people who walked through my door while I was debating the logistics of meat versus vegetarian options.

“She doesn’t even take us seriously!” the nasal voice complained, interrupting me.

Simultaneously, several things happened. I opened my mouth to retort, Arthur put a hand over my mouth, Antoine pushed my shoulder back into the chair.

And Jokul spoke up.

“We agreed to meet with them if Farro beat me in combat.  He did, we are here, and there will be no further argument on the matter.” If anything, he sounded weary rather than angry. “She did not even request that we cease acting against her, only that we meet as equals. It is the least we can do.”

I didn’t even know forehead cramps were a thing until I gave myself one with the speed of my eyes widening. Slowly, Arthur lowered his hand so I could speak. “Right,” I coughed. “So, there are a few things I want to know.”

“Such as?” 

“Why am I your target?” I blurted out. Of everything, this was the one that was weighing heaviest on me. I felt if I could understand that, I would know how to tackle the rest. 

To my frustration, he fucking shrugged. “You are emblematic of everything that will destroy our chance at a new start,” he stated calmly, like he was telling me his name.

I sputtered before regaining my composure. “How? How am I doing something badly?”

“You only want to consolidate power, rule over the masses!” the red-haired toady honked at me.

The overblown statement and Jokul’s subsequent glare at his own man was a level of ridiculous I couldn’t handle at that moment.  Laughing ruefully, I wiped away a tear that warned me I was close to hysterical. “I don’t want to rule over anyone, dude.  If I had my preference, I would only decide what I want to eat once or twice  a week for the rest of my life.”

“But you rule over the Council,” Jokul pointed out in a confused tone.

“I don’t rule anyone, buddy. I am on the Council largely against my will, and mostly because no one else who is qualified even wants my job. Trust me, I’ve tried.” Gods had I tried.

His next statement was significantly less confident. “But you took the reins of power…”

“I am a glorified event coordinator and human resources officer. I have a staff of exactly two. One is my sister, who has been in her role longer than I’ve been in mine and only listens to me when it’s convenient. The other is my assistant, who is British as hell and listens to me on about equal level with my cat.”

“The Baconists! Your assistant was part of that rebellion! You must have known and hidden it from our hosts!” I had to give him some begrudging credit. Even he didn’t sound like he believed his own words, and if the smug look from Tweedledumb and Tweedledumber on either side of him was anything to go by, that wasn’t his own theory.

Time to set the record straight, it seemed. “Okay, quick reminder: that bitch tried to kill me,” I enunciated carefully, leaning forward as I spoke.  “She nearly succeeded. That wasn’t a cover up, it was her realizing that I talk to myself in the shower and listening long enough to hear me think through what was going on. As far as hiding her intent from our hosts… You’re only half right. Miys doesn’t read minds, contrary to what people think, they only read intent. That nutjob really did think she was doing the best thing for the universe by wiping humanity off the proverbial map. Nothing for Miys to pick up, she actually had what she thought were good intentions.”

“You have built yourself to be this legendary hero -”

“I didn’t build myself to be jack. Effing. Shit. If I had my preference, I would give you my position, and open a restaurant that does cooking classes.” When he opened his mouth to interject, I held up a hand to stop him. “Miys likes me because I talk to myself, even in my head, and so badly that they can still hear what I am saying when I don’t move my lips. I only survived being attacked by a crazy person because I treat the person who saved me like, you know, a person? Make sure he’s okay, give him his space when he wants it, sass him back when he wants to be sassy. It was just sheer, dumb luck, and I’m not even sure it was good luck, because voila!” I flung my hands wide at the current situation, forcing both Arthur and Antoine to duck. A quick glance at Antoine only rendered one of his eloquent shrugs. Must be handling the situation okay if he doesn’t think I need help.

I was less concerned with Arthur’s opinion, not because I didn’t care, but because I knew he would jump in when he felt it was needed, without prompting or permission.

“So you do not want to rule over us all?” Jokul asked carefully.

“I don’t even want to top one of my boyfriends consistently.”

“Sophia!” Antoine hissed with a miserable expression, while Arthur burst into a coughing fit. I wasn’t sure if the latter was trying to cover a laugh of choking. 

Jokul, on the other hand, seemed to take that at face value  “Then why are you in power? Explain that.”

With a heavy sigh, I tried again. “I’m not in power. Decisions are voted on by the Council. If someone brings me an idea for a class, or an architectural project, or a medical possibility, I pass it off to the Councilor who handles that and let it go from there.” Emphatically, I pointed at my own face. “Again, glorified events coordinator and HR.”

“And yet, you have your pet warlord sitting beside you. Explain that away,”Tweedledumb - the brunette on Jokul’s other side - accused.

I whipped my head to look at the subject of that statement before looking back across the table. “Arthur?” I asked, jerking a thumb in his general direction. “You do realize he’s a teacher first, right? Warlord out of need, but that ‘need’ was protecting the students in his history class when everything went to shit? Don’t get me wrong, we butted heads like you would not believe when we first met in person. But we realized halfway through what looked to be one hell of an argument that we knew each other for - fuck, like, a decade? Maybe less? - before the End. I didn’t ‘win him over.’ We just realized we’ve always been friends.” With a shrug I glanced back at Arthur, who also shrugged before nodding.

“Too convenient, Councilor.” Tweedledumb gloated. “You just happened to be friends with someone who - “

“Oh for FUCK’s sake!” Annnnd there it was.  Someone had reached his limit for diplomacy and stupidity. “We met on a fanfiction site writing a crossover of two of the worst pieces of science fiction ever written and mutually infected each other! FUCK!” Crossing his arms, he started muttering to himself. “Not like finding someone to kick your asses is hard…”

After a glare at the darker-haired idiot, and with an expression that looked like he was entirely regretting his choice of people for this meeting, Jokul schooled his features before addressing me directly. “Fanfiction?” he asked in a skeptical tone.

And the dirty truth comes out, I thought with another sigh. “StarDoc and Warhammer 40K, okay? It was fun, no fandom to cheese off, nothing smutty. Just… fun.” When the nostalgia threatened to overtake me, I shook my head vigorously. “The point is, we knew each other for years Before the world went to shit, and only realized when one of my friends landed in his class and there was a data error.  I don’t even like violence.” Antoine gave me a skeptical look so I clarified. “Usually.”

“And yet you are a combatant!” Jokul stated with certainty, clearly on more familiar ground.

Angrily, I scowled at Tweedle-the-ginger before leaning forward to look into Jokul’s eyes. “Look. I don’t know how it was in Canada, with your mooses and shit, but I really, really want to know: Do you honestly believe that anyone who got through the After did it without learning how to defend themselves? Even more, that any woman who made it, didn’t learn to fight dirty?”

“Not if you know how to have people defend you - “ Jokul tried before I cut him off.

“They don’t defend me because I’m helpless, let’s be clear. They defend me because I will only fight back if I know my life is on the line. But, on the same page, I will protect my friends and family from anything, without reserve, and die for them. No hesitation.” With a deep breath, I sat back rather than jumping over the table.  “I have my flaws, and my sister will tell you the biggest among those is that I trust too easily.  I assume the best in, literally, everyone.”

“Except smartass teacher, apparently,” Arthur said in a fake cough that fooled exactly nobody.

After making a face at my friend, I turned back to the moose in the room. “What that means is, I don’t try to defend myself until it is literally your life or mine. Or both. I don’t really care at that point, because I assume I’m not going to make it. I just want the person I’m fighting to go down with me.” Trying to imitate Charly’s most savage grin, I put on a forced-cheerful tone. “Now, tell me, Jokul. Who would rather have faced in that fight, knowing that?”

His eyes darted between Arthur and myself as he swallowed hard, mulling the implications of that. “You would kill and die for your friends’ safety and health, even if you would only protect yourself at the last moment?” Here, he scoffed. “There is nothing exceptional or even special about that. Many who were in power in the After felt the same.”

“Except I don’t want power,” I repeated in a tone that I previously reserved only for small children. “I just told you that.” In the corners of my eyes, I saw both of my friends nodding so hard I was concerned for their spines.

Before I could try to reason with Jokul any more, Arthur jumped in. “If you’re both done arguing righteousness, let me explain a few things. Jokull. First off, Soph actually doesn’t want to rule, or be on the Council. She told you this. She’s also bitched about it to me, her sister, and anyone else who will listen, at length. On top of being too trusting, her biggest flaw is actually an impulsivity problem, in general. But she’s not an autocrat.” As he gestured, I saw his eyes glaze over, his voice taking on a serene tone that was entirely too familiar. “If Soph was a real autocrat, she’d have let us have our little duel armed, with my sword and - I presume you’d have had an ax? Maybe a broadsword? You look like a broadsword guy... any rate.”

“However,” he continued, leaning forward with a thoughtful expression, like he was puzzling something out. “she made me promise not to kill you. Think about that. After you’ve been nothing but a headache and a threat to her and her family for months, she makes me promise not to kill you. I wanted to, you know.” The wistful sigh that accompanied that statement was entirely unnecessary and I was certain he only did it to irritate me.  “I wanted to kill you and have your lifeless corpse thrown out of the airlock like trash, not because of the Council, not because your Viking gimmick wears out in a hurry, but because you made the mistake of threatening a friend, then slapping a student. I had no idea if you were actually going to seriously harm any of them, and I didn’t care. The threat alone was enough to make me decide I wanted you dead.” Tapping his chin briefly, he pointed at Jokul without actually looking at him. “Because you were an unknown quantity, but no matter whether or not you were actually the threat you claimed to be, your corpse would be harmless.”

Arthur shrugged before looking Jokul in the face. “That’s how warlords handled things in the After, isn’t it? When someone threatened your people, or when someone threatened mine? I didn’t negotiate. I didn’t warn. I doubt you did, either. I took them at their word, and I did unto them first. And I’d bet you did the same. ‘Peace’ was what you called it when everyone who wanted to make war on you or your people was dead. That’s what the After taught me, that’s what it taught you.” After emphasizing his point by gesturing between the two of them, he shook his head.  “And that impulse, that set of lessons? That's not what humanity needs right now. Our skill set as leaders is not what humanity needs right now. If you want humanity to have a fresh start as you claim, drop the hostility, drop the self-righteousness, and actually try listening. Do you want a genuine peace with the Council?” Thoughtfully, he stroked the hilt of his sword where it laid across his lap. 

I knew it was the fondness of being reunited with a long lost limb, but Jokul didn’t know that. 

“Or a warlord’s peace with me?” In a creepy way, Arthur’s tone was downright perky. “I prefer a genuine one. A warlord’s idea of peace is one of the things I want to leave in the ashes of the After. That’s why it’s the Council who make the rules here - not warlords.”

With an alarmed expression, Jokul very slowly glanced at me. “Did he just threaten to kill me and shove me out an airlock?”

“No, he’s pouting because I wouldn’t let him do that,” I answered honestly.  The topic had come up, for a solid fifteen seconds.  I was even reasonably sure Arthur had been joking.

“I don’t - “ Arthur started  indignantly before being cut off by Jokul.

“He makes a good point. Our skills as warlords are not what is needed in this new world. I let myself believe people who told me that the Council in general and you specifically wanted to hoard power and privilege over us, just like the people who led Earth to where it ended up.” He glanced nervously at Arthur, who was still stroking his sword, before forging ahead in a somewhat squeakier tone. “If someone who has had real power agrees that you and the Council are the best option, then I will at least try to see how that would work.”

Here, Antoine joined the conversation. “Militant strength and ruling by force aren’t the only forms of power. We do not want that sort of power over us anymore. The Council leads because the people on this ship largely want to follow them.  That is the kind of power no one can force.  It has to be earned.”

“But the Council still makes decisions without our will - “

Shaking my head, I angrily flicked open my datapad and shot a file to him like I was thumping off an insect. “No, Bjornson, we don’t.  I was elected to my position - without my knowledge, might I add - by the people I represent to the Council. Every decision we make, the people on this ship get a vote with the exception of an emergency like what happened on Level One.  There wasn’t time to have a vote on how to handle that.”

“Although, we have had a lot of emergencies lately, so I understand the confusion,” Arthur interjected.

Is this what hallucinations feel like? I wondered. There was no way in frozen hell Arthur just made a point in Jokul’s favor, but the calm, resigned look on his face told me that, at some point, he seemed to have made peace with having to treat Jokul Bjornson as a sentient being. I was going to pass out if I kept sighing, though. “Okay, true. But everything else - Insert Winter Holiday, the swimming area, the diving docks, food festivals, permanent low stimulation areas throughout the ship, Galactic Core education - those were voted on by the people on this ship, with an overwhelming majority in favor.”

“What about the alarms?” Jokul pointed to his own head for emphasis.

“Also voted on, believe it or not,” I confirmed. “ And most of the ship agreed that there was more benefit in not running into people who would react badly to unexpected touch than there was discomfort at the alarms going off.”

“I tested them myself, monsieur.” Antoine offered. “So I am well acquainted with the volume they are calibrated for, and I do not appreciate you disabling them.  My staff have had to work around the clock to treat the damage your people have caused to others on this ship, who are terrified to leave their quarters now.”

Jokul looked a bit guilty at that, as well as his entourage.  Looked like he hadn’t considered that. “Would you believe me if I told you that was originally an accident?” he admitted sheepishly.  “One of the engineers thought it would be funny to shock another one in the neck with a low level electrical current, right behind the ear.” He turned his head and pointed to a small burn scar in the same place. “It took days for them to notice that the proximity alarm didn’t work anymore.”

To my shock, Antoine started swearing angrily in French, so fast even the translator couldn’t keep up. “Sophia, if I find out Charly Harper is the cause of this…”

Jokul shook his head vigorously. “I can assure you it was not Miss Harper.” His focus slid over to me, eyes wide.

Either this motherfucker just lied to keep Charly out of trouble, or she really was innocent.

“That explains why Derek and Zach couldn’t figure out how they did it,” Arthur pointed out. “You can’t hack into something that’s shorted out.”

Jokul spoke up again. “It also… may? Have caused some translation inconsistencies?”

“So the shock corrupted more files than just the alarms,” I stated in clarification.

“Several, in fact, yes…. Specifically signed languages and tonal languages.”

“That’s… that’s at least a third of the ship…” I couldn’t figure out if I wanted to sob in horror or laugh hysterically.

Jokul groaned before cradling his head in his hands. “I am aware, yes.”

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[momentsuspended-intime]

Finding light in the darkness.

*Trigger warning* This post mentions suicide, overdosing, crisis team, alcohol, drug abuse, and other scenarios people may find triggering or offensive. Please proceed with caution.

Don’t be afraid of change, it is leading you to a new beginning. The pain you feel today will be the strength you feel tomorrow. Every day is a new beginning. Take a deep breath and start again.

Sitting in my living room, empty boxes of codeine surrounding me, this is it I thought, all the pain was going to end. Finally.

I texted my ex, I messaged my friends, all saying goodbye and how sorry I was for causing so much turmoil. I felt broken and defeated, I just wanted it all to stop. My head was racing, I just wanted all these thoughts to stop going round and round my head, was a little peace too much to ask for? Suddenly my Mum entered the room her face was pale. “What have you done?!” she cried, tears streaming down her face. All I could do was look at her and apologise, I had a momentary lapse where I hadn’t considered my next steps. One of my friends had messaged my Mum in a panic; my ex was on the phone, I could hear him crying but I just felt numb.

My Dad then raced into the room “Why would you do this, Victoria?” “Not my baby, please no” Those words will haunt me for the rest of my life. I can count on one hand how many times I’ve seen my Dad cry, but this was different. In that moment I thought “had I made a mistake?” but I still felt numb. Maybe it was the 60 codeine tablets I took or the adrenaline pumping through my body but all I felt was nothing. It had been like that for weeks now. This empty feeling inside me, like a black hole, sucking out every little piece of love and emotions I had. I didn’t realise it at the time but I was suffering with Borderline Personality Disorder, but I’ll get to that later.

Suddenly I was in the back of an ambulance, ECG hooked up to my body, and I’d spend hours in the hospital, being seen by different Doctors and Mental Health Nurses. My parents were pushing to having me committed. The hospital didn’t do anything; they sent me home and in less than 24 hours I’d be back in the hospital after a second failed attempt at taking my own life. 120 codeine tablets in total over 24 hours. Thank god I’m alive writing this now. I’m not a religious person but I must have someone looking down on me, keeping me safe.

You might be wondering how I got to this point, you see I’ve always known something wasn’t quite right, I could never put my finger on it but I never felt ‘normal’. Whatever normal is anyway. My head had always been a chaotic place for as long as I can remember, I always felt things so intensely, but that was normal right? I never knew any better. I would say goodbye to my ex after a lovely weekend together (he was in the RAF so I only got to see him on weekends) and I would have been crying hysterically, like he was being deployed for 6 months but in reality I’d be seeing him again in 5 days time. Minutes later in my car with music blaring I’d be singing and dancing along to the radio, like the previous few moments never happened. Something that would annoy the average person would make me fly into a fit of rage; my family described it as like walking on eggshells when they were around me. Too scared to say certain things out of fear of how I would react.

Anyway I’m digressing here, but the point is I always knew something wasn’t right with me. So what happened to make me feel so low? I had a week from hell. I’d been fired from my job by e-mail, basically told not to come in the following Monday. I was heartbroken, I was a photographer for a Cigar and Whiskey company, and I’d studied Photography at University. I could do that job in my sleep but that e-mail hit me like a tone of bricks. Later that week I would find out that my Nan had stage 5 terminal kidney disease and a couple days later my boyfriend of 3 and a half years would break my heart. It was traumatic, we’d spent 4 lovely days together and on the Sunday he woke up, looked at me and ended it. Just like that. I still remember the stabbing sensation in my stomach when I instantly knew something was wrong. An hour later I was driving 4 hours back from Buckinghamshire, crying my eyes out, reality had not yet set in and I couldn’t believe this was really happening. I still remember hearing Lizzo on the radio “If he don’t love you anymore, just walk yo’ fine ass out the door”. How ironic.

The day after my stint in the hospital I find myself sat in a room at the Crisis Centre on Northgate Street, waiting to be seen by a Psychiatrist and Mental Health Nurse to discuss what needs to be done. I’m angry, exhausted, confused and want anything but help. One of the Mental Health Nurses looks at me and says, “If you’re going to kill yourself, you’re going to do it anyway”. That was it, I went super saiyan, how dare he say that to me! These people are supposed to be here to help me, I know I didn’t want help at that point but how could someone in authority whose profession it is to support and care for those in a crisis say something so repulsive? That would be one of many unsavoury experiences I’d have with the Mental Health services.

After finally speaking to the manager (I promise I’m not a Karen), we all agreed that at home treatment would be best for my situation and me. Over the next few weeks I would be seen by the Crisis team every day. Every damn day I would have to explain in intricate detail what had happened and how we got to this point. You see with the Crisis team you don’t see the same person every day, they’re all on shifts, so each visit I would meet someone new and be expected to open up to a complete stranger about how I was feeling. When in a crisis a person needs consistency, the chance to build a rapport with someone and to feel like they’re being listened to. Not judged for being in the position I found myself in.

After many visits with a Psychiatrist and members of the Crisis team they came to a conclusion, I didn’t realise just how life changing this revelation would be. I had Borderline Personality Disorder. Suddenly everything fell into place; intense and unstable emotions? Check. Feeling empty and angry? Check. Impulsivity? Check. In total there’s 9 different symptoms for BPD (I’ll cover this in a future post), and I had all 9.

If you’re wondering what Borderline Personality Disorder is exactly then let me give you a brief outline, of course this is one of the most misunderstood and often stigmatised mental health issue a person can have. In simple terms BPD is a condition that affects how you think, feel and interact with other people. People with BPD experience a pervasive pattern of instability, both in the way they view themselves and with interpersonal relationships.

BPD isn’t a fad, it isn’t quirky, it can be soul destroying and it almost cost me my life. Experiencing a break up, losing a job and finding out a loved one is ill was just too much. Just one of those things can cause someone with BPD to lose control, they say things come in threes and for me it was true. To a ‘normal’ person a break up is hard, unless you’re lucky enough to part ways as friends, for me it felt like someone had died. That might sound dramatic but it was true, I didn’t realise but my ex was my FP (favourite person). People with BPD often have a FP, someone they rely on and put on a pedestal, and this person can do no wrong. My problem is my FP broke my heart.

Now don’t get me wrong I know it takes two to tango, I wasn’t a saint but in my defence I didn’t realise I was ill. I was moody, never wanted to spend time with his family, argued over every little thing and I wanted him all to myself. I didn’t realise it at the time but I was obsessed.

I spent the next two weeks at a friend’s house, drinking and getting high. My head was a mess, thoughts racing; I just wanted a moment of calm. I thought I was making myself feel better, trying to forget all the chaos going on in my life but I was just making everything worse. I wasn’t facing these problems head on, I was masking them and I didn’t realise it but things were about to erupt.

During this time I was a train wreck, I was drinking at every moment I could. Taking the dog out so I could nip to the shops and down a bottle or two of Lambrini in the park (how classy, right?). My problem was during this time drinking would make me disassociate; I’d become violent and angry. At one point I found myself in the back of a police van, but I’m not ready to talk about that yet.

I had reached rock bottom, my family stood by me, and god knows why- I gave them every opportunity to disown me and kick me out of the house but they never did and for that I am eternally grateful. I knew something had to change, I HAD to change. I couldn’t keep going on living like this, surly there’s more to life than this?

I decided I would quit drinking and get my life back on track. I knew it wouldn’t be easy, but anything worth having in life isn’t. I decided to try and raise money for NSFT (Norfolk and Suffolk Foundation Trust), at this point I had been discharged by the Crisis team and I was now in the hands of NSFT. This is when I met Allison, my Mental Health Nurse and things finally started to change for the better.

I started cycling 30 miles every day, I reached over 500 miles but due to health reasons I had stop. It’s my aim to re-start my little goal and hopefully add to the £250 I’ve raised so far. I started engaging with NSFT; I had weekly meetings with my MH Nurse, Allison and went to Recovery College, learning ways to cope with my diagnosis and my recovery.

During this time I started feeling better, I was given a cocktail of medications such as antipsychotics and anti-depressants and slowly the real me was starting to come out.

2 years on I feel like a completely different person. I’ve rebuilt my relationship with my family; I’m one year sober and living in a beautiful new house. Treatment, medication and personal growth have changed me. Just yesterday my Sister was saying she could finally see the real me, the one that had always been there but just needed some nurturing (and treatment) to help shine through.

I’ve made many mistakes in life, I’m sure you’ll hear more about these in future posts but I decided I wanted to give back and use my experiences to help other people. You see I’ve always felt lost, like I never knew who I was as a person or what I wanted to do in life but I’ve finally found my calling. Last November I enrolled on a course and now I’m studying to become a Mental Health Nurse myself.

During my recovery I found that talking to someone who has lived experience of mental health issues utterly valuable. They understand you in a way no one else does, you have this shared connection. So I decided I wanted to take my lived experience, mistakes I’ve made, everything I’ve learnt over the past two years and try to help someone else that’s going through a Crisis.

I started volunteering at a Mental Health Charity called Together, working with the service users to offer them some support and it gave me a real taste of how it would be to work as a Mental Health Nurse and help someone who really needed it. Unfortunately lockdown hit and I had to stop volunteering.

I’m still working on my online course and hopefully by the end of the year I’ll be a Peer Support Worker and from there I’ll be able to join a course to specialise in Mental Health Nursing. For the first time in my life I have a plan.

What happened to that angry girl, who was moody all the time and argued over every little thing? I can say proudly that she no longer exists. Now I’m confident, happy and feel motivated to get as much out of life as possible. I’ve even started dating again! I’ll occasionally feel my mood flip quite quickly but I’m better at managing it now. Like any other illness you learn to live with it, this time though I’m not letting my diagnosis define me.

My relationship with my family has never been better, of course it’s not easy to forgive and there’s some things you can’t forget but my family have never held the things I’ve done against me. The past two years have been really tough but I’ve learnt a lot about myself as a person and the type of person I want to be. It hasn’t been easy writing this blog post, I wanted to give an honest and raw account of what it’s like to experience the darkest point of your life and what it’s like to rebuild from the ground up.

If you’re experiencing a hard time just know my inbox is always open, you’re not in this alone and I promise you things will get better.

Until next time.

Victoria Jane x

#BPD #borderline personality traits #borderline personality #mental health #bpdwarrior #tw suicice #trigger warning #it gets better #one step at a time #personal post #mental health blog