#and just that apathy and that pain and that feeling of being in an uncaring capitalist hellscape god. god it's fucking terrible

[istadris]

Slight follow-up to the other anon, but how would the mainverse bros feel about their own counterparts? Would Mario be a little unsettled by a version of himself who's fallen into the habit of following someone else's lead for adventures? Would Luigi be able to see through Mr. L's tough guy act but still give the other him enough space to maybe calm down a little?

Would teamups of Doc and Mario and Mr. L and Luigi work a lil better than Doc and Luigi and Mario and Mr. L? Or would those still be a bit of a mess for different reasons?

[The other anon in question]

Oooooh, another very interesting question !

On one hand, it would definitely be very awkward for every part involved.

Mario would indeed be unsettled by Dr Mario. Not just because of, as you mention, his tendency to follow someone else's lead, but also because this version of himself went through something Mario can barely fathom : losing Luigi. Mario can't even imagine the imagine of living in a world without his brother, just thinking about the inevitable possibility in a far away future makes him anxious, and yet this has been Doc's reality for decades.

And Doc didn't just survive to the loss of his Luigi, he went on and managed to turn his pain into something useful for others. Mario isn't ashamed of his own trade by any means, he's happy and content being a plumber, but he would never have thought there was a version of himself smart enough to pusrue long studies and become a doctor. In Mario's eyes, this other Mario feels like a better, more accomplished version of himself : he's strong (to go on after such a loos), he's educated, he's collected, he's mature. They're the same age and yet Doc feels like an older, more intelligent version of himself.

(This isn't what Dr Mario sees. Doc sees Mario's strength, and resourcefulness, his warm kindness that draws everyone to him. He sees this unashamed joy to live and enthusiasm in everything Mario does, something the Doc has lost by retreating behind his walls of apathy and depression. And above all, he sees Mario has succeeded where Doc has failed)

Above all, Doc reminds Mario of the notion that he might fail to protect Luigi someday. A notion he usually doesn't want to contemplate but now is staring straight at him.

As for Luigi and Mr L, as often with Luigi, it's Complicated.

Luigi is a bit scared of Mr L. Not, let's be honest, at first he's terrified of him. Mr L is a big bully with him for obvious reasons and Luigi never knew how to stand up to bullies.

It's also scary on a deeper level. Luigi always has doubts and fears about his own abilities, about how much he's actually bringing to Mario and his friends. He's not like Mario, who doesn't let anything keep him down or bother him; he keeps his mouth shut when people mock him, except when it really goes too far, but sometimes he just wishes he could...strike back. He's too kind to actually do it but think it's out of fear that he doesn't actually take revenge on people who wrong him.

And now he's faced with a version of himself who, without Mario's influence, has gone full villain. Mr L is confident, uncaring of what others think, he's bold, he's daring, he's everything Luigi would dream to be, and he's also a massive jerk who pushes everyone away including his own "brother".

It seems like a disaster in the making for both sets.

And yet.

On the other hand, despite all these differences, no matter the universe, Mario remains Mario and Luigi remains Luigi.There is something that every version of yourself possesses across the multiverse and if you know where to look, you can find it.

Their lives differed but at the core, they think and process things the same. Luigi realizes quickly that for all of his bluster, Mr L is indeed what Luigi would be if he had to count on himself; hiding his fear under a mask of arrogance but still scared, so scared. As you mention, he knows that instead of pushing and forcing Mr L into a corner from which he lashes out, he has to give his counterpart some space so he can feel at ease again. Which is something Mr L isn't used to, except from the Doc (and only after a long period of trial and error).

And Mr L, for all his arrogance and jealousy, feels like Luigi is incredibly lucky to have his own Mario...but after he's thrown enough tantrums about it, he sees that Luigi can be happy even if he's not fighting and antagonizing everyone in sight. It causes a lot of confused feelings, but at some point it develops into a sort of very protective instinct. "You're a wimp so now I gotta make sure you get back to your dumb brother".

It helps that Luigi just nods and goes along with most of Mr L's whacky plans. Luigi has his own little brand of crazy that goes very well with his counterpart.

#super mario bros #missing half au #dr mario #mr l #long post #answers #miscellaneous mario madness #Ista writes #anon ask

[majocelot]

I wonder how Ocelot thinks of The Boss sometimes. Surely, he later learns that's his mother. Obviously, he never knew before she died (well, I guess "assumedly" is better).

... As someone who grew up without my mother for most of my life, I think I project my own experience.

Apathy, unchecked bitterness, avoidance. Trauma, especially of the absence of parents, is hard to describe.

Ocelot's upbringing is intentionally convoluted, though I more so believe the idea The Philosophers kept a hold on him for the majority of his childhood/adolescence. Did he have an assigned guardian, was he brought up in a Philosopher run orphanage? It's all untouched by canon, as is similar with MOST childhoods of MGS characters.

Growing up without guardianship, however, feels most relevant to his personality. Cool, controlled, calculated. Raising yourself, being both father/mother, you cannot afford to be a child. Especially being puppeted around by an unseen group.

... I could imagine his growing disgust. To be alone in the world, a blank slate, only to be immediately and eagerly consumed by an omnipresence looming over you.

He's defection makes sense, a form of rebellion to leave the nest where he nurtured himself all alone. Like a juvenile bird, he began to sore. It was less of dedication to a nation, in fact it was about the disinterest in any nation. Double agent, flying from tree-to-tree.

He lived wrecklessly. Uncaring. No support, no strings... trying to find purpose.

Now, I love bosselot. I do believe Ocelot felt deeply for Big Boss... but I think that was only a part of his own philosophy to disengage from the world.

Ocelot learning of his mother would have been such an interesting character arc, that of course wouldn't properly be touched on given MGS's storytelling style in regards to emotion (show, don't tell). It must have been the true turning point, but it could have also taken years to digest.

Being forced through the stages of grief, perhaps even prolonged given the scenario of him meeting her and being unaware until after she was gone.

Hate, bitterness, disgust, pain.

In more civilian scenarios, a son would likely partake in wreckless behaviors such as drinking, driving, and drugs. I believe it would have been similar for Ocelot, but factoring in that his world was and had always been tailored, planned, and omnipresent.

The gap between Portable Ops and MGSV, I think that would have been his digestion period upon realizing. Given how calculated he had been, believing to be above all his superiors, beyond nations... to realize he was still just a pawn in the end, a pawn that was born to become a pawn, it must have over took him.

I theorize it was a very ugly period for himself. Chaotic, manic and so forth. Very out of style for the MGS story style, thus unbrushed (i mean of course, probably wasnt even considered. but still fun to imagine).

Ocelot letting his world go in those years, fighting and trying to figure out who the hell he was and what he wanted to be. How to become his own... I want that to be played with more in fanon for my own catharsis. LOL.

#revolver ocelot #major ocelot #mgs #metal gear solid #mgs3 #snake eater #the boss #big boss #portable ops #mgsv #IDK im tagging whatever

[phantomgrimalkin]

Griss/Diamant thoughts

Griss is a true masochist - that is, someone who genuinely enjoys pain.

Now, often when I see this in fiction they’re actually suicidal and I want to put them in an intensive inpatient treatment - or they have no empathy and psychopathically want to hurt everyone as well.

Griss isn’t a saint, but there’s also no real indication he wants to hurt people more than is average for the villains. I don’t get the feeling he’s looking forward to hurting others - but battle is where he gets his cravings met so he looks forward to that.

He’s just some guy who lives in a world where any damage can be pretty easily reversed with magic, he wants to live and he genuinely enjoys the pain of it all.

I absolutely adore him for this because it’s not something I come across often. I do not feel right projecting masochism on characters, and as a masochist myself it’s just absolutely delicious to have someone so overtly joyous at pain.

What does that have to do with Diamant? Diamant doesn’t come off as particularly sadistic, right? 

Now - I have strong feelings about real life, genuine, risk aware sadists because the term is so misunderstood. Often they’re some of the most careful and gentle lovers until they’ve learned your limits and believe you’re truly comfortable with pain. 

Just like masochism doesn’t mean a blind disregard for personal wellbeing - sadism doesn’t mean a cruel, uncaring apathy towards your partner’s wellbeing. A good sadist, in a healthy kink sense, is aware of their partner and their physical limitations. Which is something I see Diamant excelling at.

Diamant I see first as being one of the best, if not the best, character when it comes to matching Griss.  Griss could run the wrong person into the ground pretty easily.

I also think Diamant would very much benefit from the outlet.  I do get the feeling, from the game, that he’s got a lot of anger that has to be kept carefully under control due to his role as prince/king. Griss is a safe outlet to vent those feelings in a mutually fulfilling way.

Griss also isn’t someone he has to take care of. (aside from appropriate aftercare - although Griss would be fine handling that without Diamant as well, imo, it’s just good etiquette)  Griss is self-reliant and has his own people unrelated to Diamant, he’s not part of his kingdom, he’s separate and a place Diamant can fully detach from the rest of his life and sink into the moment without really worrying about the long term repercussions like he does with probably every other interaction he has.

#griss/diamant #diamant/griss #Grissamant #griss #diamant #fe engage #sadomasochists

[tvckerwash]

someone tried arguing against me saying that accel is the diagnostic criteria for asd from the dsm 5 personified and this is what I respond with (block quotes are the other person):

Accelerator's personality is all sorts of fucked up from his upbringing but if I had to, I would say he has elements of Schizoid Personality Disorder (lack of interest and detachment from social relationships, apathy, and restricted emotional expression) and Avoidant Personality Disorder (pervasive feelings of social inhibition and inadequacy, extreme sensitivity to negative evaluation).

personality disorders are very rarely diagnosed before adulthood, and a majority of accelerator's behavior is more accurately described by a combination of severe depression, c-ptsd, and asd.

He has no tics or obsessive-compulsive behaviors. He has no obsessive interests— in fact the guy seems to have no hobbies whatsoever— he literally spends all his free time sleeping, like he's a dragon or something.

+

Accelerator acts like an uncaring asshole because, on one hand, sometimes he just an't be bothered deal with/doesn't see the significance of the subtleties of "normal" social interactions as a result of his upbringing (in line with Schizoid PD) and on the other hand, sometimes he knowingly acts like an asshole in order to push people away because he's afraid of being loved (in line with Avoidant PD).

accelerator's swearing and "tch"-ing is arguably a compulsive speech tic, and asd is about more than just behavior—its about the way autistic people think and process the world around them.

if you look up asd in the dsm 5, accel meets all points in section A (social communication and interaction deficits), and 2/4 of the points in section B (restricted, repetitive patterns of behavior, interests, and activities).

for example, accelerator repeatedly buys excessive amounts of one brand of canned coffee before getting tired of it and switching to another one (a restrictive, repetitive behavior and interest) and his obsession with "heroes and villains" throughout ot.

accelerator also has very obvious issues with developing and maintaining relationships, (something yomikawa points out in ot12 I believe? that whole "what happens when last order runs out of goodwill?" scene), he has deficits in his social-emotional reciprocity (taking the entirety of ot for accel to say he also wants to be with last order forever, among other things), and his approach to communicating in general is completely abnormal and shows a lack of understanding of normal communication between people (violence and intimidation). not to mention that he often lacks any sort of readable expression, and his overall apathetic nature comes from asd as well as depression, which is where the excessive sleep comes from.

accelerator is also hyper and hypo-reactive to sensory input, (going from no pain tolerance to complete indifference to pain, choosing to completely block out all sound, adverse reactions to specific tastes and textures like that green juice drink from the coronzon arc).

#and that's my mini essay on why accel is autistic that no one asked for #toaru majutsu no index #accelerator #toaru kagaku no railgun #mine #toaru

[missinghalf]

I'm so tired. I've run out of hope, I think. Maybe I'm wrong and I'll feel better, but it doesn't feel like it, and I don't think it's fair that everyone always feels like I will. I am drained. I am broken. I feel foolish writing it down because of how cliche it seems. I know I'm just one of many people to suffer. I'm not the first and I won't be the last. But I wonder if anyone has ever felt this particular pain before. There's no way to know, I guess.

I dared to believe I could drag myself out of the hole. I didn't expect it, but when the opportunity came I embraced it. I had help. I can't remember what I did or how it worked, I wasn't taking notes. I was afraid it wouldn't last. For a long long time I was afraid. But life lulled me into contentment with kindness and lifted my anxieties for a while. I thought that meant I was wrong to be worried and that I was safe. I thought I'd already made the home run. Everyone said so, everyone and everything was saying so. It wasn't true, though.

I don't know if I was foolish to believe I could stay up there with my head above the water. But now, sunken back into the lonely and somber rooms I used to suffer in, I can feel it mocking me. It feels just like it used to. It reminds me that this is the default. That I was allowed a break, a brief respite from the emptiness. It didn't feel brief while it was happening. I am lost again on the edge. No one comes here. It is quiet. It feels like summer, but it isn't comforting. It only serves to remind me of how beautiful that respite was. It nags and gnaws and pesters at me, demanding I remember. The essence of everything is replaced with a vague copy. The goodness inside is gone. My brain cannot replicate it. It's a sketch of a nice day with all the faces missing.

I don't understand how I withstood the crippling weight of it before. I didn't feel lonely. It was quiet, but I was content to live in the silence. Now it is crushing. It is unbearable. It makes me want to tear my hair out and scream and beg to be let free. They don't do it justice when they write how much it hurts. It's not their fault. I don't think it's something that can be imagined. They'll write that it feels like a hole in their chest or claws scraping on the inside. It always read like overdramatization to me. But they're right, they're all right. It will disembowel you. It grips you by the soul and it rips and rips and rips and rips. It waits for you to remember it, then it strikes again. You're never free. The more you crave freedom, the more you cry out for it, the harder it scrapes. The deeper the grooves inside you get.

It is unfathomable. Unknowable without experience. You'll think you understand. Maybe you briefly picture in your mind's eye and feel a twinge of the pain. But when it comes for you it is an insurmountable beast. Its strength comes from how happy you were. Why don't we say something? Why don't we tell anyone? It seems silly to discourage being happy, but at least we ought to inform them of what comes if it doesn't last. No? It makes people angry and cruel. It twists you until you have no options left. You are forced to decide between the pain or convincing yourself that none of it mattered. To decide between the pain and death.

It will transform people into uncaring shadows of themselves. They will shrug off your pain. They will turn their gaze away from you when you struggle. If you're unlucky, their empathy will get the best of them sometimes. You'll see the pain in their eyes and they'll sob and they'll hold you. They'll try to save you from drowning. And then when you trust it, when you trust the cracks in their apathy, the holes will seal. Their shell will harden. They'll let go of your hand as you dangle over the cliff face and they'll frown at you as they do it.

The pain will eat away at you until you beg it to stop and then it will go faster. I don't know what to say to someone teetering on the edge of it. Do not love? Do not feel? Avoid caring? No. I do not regret the love. It is the best I've ever felt. To truly love someone, and to be truly loved in return, is as good as you can ever feel I think. However, the cost of departure from that love is grave. It only takes one side becoming unwilling. You need not agree to be dropped off the cliff face, only to be there as they release you. And yet I cannot advocate against following them there, because if they do not drop you, it will be the most beautiful thing you've ever felt. Everything in the universe will pale in comparison. Everything you've felt or seen or done will seem tiny from the top. You'll gain the perspective the cliff offers, the bigger picture, and you won't be able to forget it.

Once you've seen it, there's no going back. The box is open. It will be beautiful, but you have to hold it tight. If you fall, the memory of how you slipped will torture you forever. The memory of their face as they let you drop. So love. Love as hard as you can. Give it your all and hold it dearly. But pray you found someone sure-footed. Remember the emptiness waiting at the bottom of the ravine.

#writing #love

[yuna-writes]

Forgiveness p.2

I’ve been contemplating more about forgiveness as an emotion. Usually, I notice many religious people believe that people should forgive others, because we are all sinners in the end. In terms of unresolved trauma, how can one forgive someone who have possibly committed a crime? Would a person be able to forgive someone who abused them or murdered their loved ones? I understand why someone would forgive a bad person, because its mentally exhausting to be constantly feeling angry and bitter. Every day, they need to live with the idea of ‘why’ and ‘why such a traumatic event occurred’ but they have no resolve. So, they forgive to let go of their rage and resentment. 

As for me, I haven’t really been taught this emotion as much, so I have the tendency to be a bit bitter and resentful toward someone who I think did wrong. And honestly, I sometimes think forgiveness makes the situation less serious and the person appear seemingly okay with it. It’s either someone chooses to forgive but they don’t have boundaries or limitation. They don’t have much integrity. However, a person having integrity would seem judgmental and resentful. I understand from a perspective that people make mistakes, but mistakes also have lifelong impacts too. 

Maybe it’s just better to be apathetic lol. Or forget the event altogether from your memory. So now you won’t have memory of the trauma and the perpetrator. You will feel nothing and be at peace. Because having memories of your trauma just leads to unresolved answers. People always believe trauma recovery needs to be worked on and be opened up for full display. I think it’s important to be emotionally aware of your past, but I also think dwelling on past memories just opens up more anxiety and pain.  Apathy might seem like uncaring, but it’s really just letting go without any strings attached. Forgiveness seems like you are setting some expectation the other person will redeem themselves and become a better person, but there’s no guarantee they ever will. Being too resentful makes you seem like a hateful and bitter person. The past can’t be changed, and what’s left is really the future.

#notes

[mxbitters]

i think i’m facing what might be like the hardest choice of my life and by that i mean i know which option would be like.. healthy for me but regardless of what i pick it would still mean having to sacrifice a huge important part of my life and i feel as if i have no time to even think about it even though i technically do but like given the circumstances no amount of time to think this over will come up with an easy answer for this

#like this is like.. my partner and having a future with them vs literally everything else in my life #and like. i understand where they're coming from. because god they're homesick and this country fucking sucks #and just that apathy and that pain and that feeling of being in an uncaring capitalist hellscape god. god it's fucking terrible #but like.. my family is here. my friends are here. my entire life i've never left the east coast and this..oh god #i'm trying to say canada. i'm really trying to say canada but even canada's a scary fucking idea for me #because i've never been that far away from my family and the last thing i fucking want is to not be able to come home if they need me #and i'm not really all that independent yet i need time to figure my shit out like #we couldn't even realistically get an apartment rn and like i know they're a dual citizen but like #how do i describe the position that puts me in though??? because i've always kinda sucked at making and maintaining friendships #and sometimes i need to go home and talk to my family to just really process anything #and i can't have those ties cut off i just can't #and what if we didn't last and we were already living there??? what would i do then???? #in fucking ireland or wherever???? i'd just pack my shit up and fly back to america and start over??? #like i don't want to run away or some shit i want fucking change and to not be in this situation #but i know leaving this place is what they need. and so like.. i don't know. i don't know #i don't want to have to choose. i just. i can't live like that i don't want to have to make that choice #and my partner's not the type of person to stay in contact with their exes so like. god i'd hope i'd be different but #like. i don't want to be exes what the fuck i want to be with them i love them why does this have to be a choice #i don't know what to do with like. any of this. but i think this is what's had me so like horribly depressed #ok not just that definitely but it's been a factor these past few days #and the depression's only been building these past few months like #god. fuck i don't know #please don't reblog this anyway

[painless-innit-colourful]

'Blind Trust'

AU where Tommy loses his memory temporarily on being resurrected, and when he leaves the prison, he has no idea who he is or who he can trust. Tubbo's nowhere to be found (not that he even knows him). Jack wants him dead. Ranboo's the only one he feels safe with. TW for vague references to the abuse of the exile/prison arc, and a bit of blood.

Something happened to him, he’s pretty sure.

He remembers pain. He remembers fear. He remembers a feeling beyond both of those things, a ripping sensation, a great agony, a fearsome sense of loss. He seems to remember a feeling like being ripped apart, and then reassembled, only like it happened a hundred times, fracturing him to pieces, nothing but apathy for any parts of him lost along the way. He thinks he knows what it’s like to be caught in a seemingly endless cycle of neither existing or not. The ache in his bones, the pounding in his skull, the itchy tremor beneath his skin - he imagines this is what death feels like. He imagines that he’s known death, tasted it, danced in its cold hold, and somehow, evaded it, somehow let go.

But that would be crazy.

Only there’s one more major issue.

Whatever happened, he can’t remember.

Panic rises; he pushes against it, disliking the familiar sensation of drowning. He takes stock of what he does know. The green man he was trapped with, he’s not nice. The green man that let him out… He’s not nice either. Without even knowing why, he’d stood, shaking violently next to his rescuer, and whispered “You left me. You left me in there with him.” He can’t even remember if that’s true.

There are items in his pockets, things in the tatty backpack on his back. He has food. He has blocks. There are no books, no labels in the clothes, no receipts or cards or papers. Nothing that tells him anything about who he was. Is. The items are too heavy, too many random things, what’s he gonna do with all this random paraphernalia? Too much, too little. Nothing that he feels any immediate attraction or attachment to. Nothing that gives him a clue as to who he is. If he’s anyone at all.

There’s a trident, mixed in with the assortment of random blocks. He puts the bag back on his shoulders and holds it with one hand, weighing it against nothing but the pain in his heart. It evokes a lonely feeling. It smells like salty water. It tastes like tears.

He soars through the air, and if he closes his eyes, he’s somewhere else, flying over a calm sapphire ocean. The water is still, the air is heavy, the stars are so near. He’s one of them, part of the sky, just another light for the uncaring mortals below, going about their business as if nothing has changed, as if he wasn’t once part of their society and now he’s nothing but dust, no tears shed, no love lost, as if he never mattered, as if he won’t be missed-

The ground reaches up to meet him, and he crashes into its embrace, and something inside him is terribly, terribly broken. He can’t have been like this before, whoever he was. There’s blood, bloody fingers touching a scrape the length of his back, and it seems to multiply, running down his forearms, over his eyes, pooling beneath him as if to pronounce him dead then and there. He scrambles away, and it reaches for him, tendrils like vines trying to claim him, undo him already. He’s been reborn, delivered from whoever this body belonged to before to this new life, but whatever has given him the chance is already taking back their gift. He rifles through the backpack looking for something to wrap around his wound, something to hide the bloodstains, something to make it go away, please make it go away-

He comes up with a high vis jacket - bloody hell, was he a lollipop man? - and it’s barely anything but it certainly distracts from the crimson, so it’ll do. His trousers are stained an unnecessary shade of red, and he’s panting with an unnecessary terror. He isn’t under attack. He isn’t being attacked. He isn’t going to be killed.

With an uneasiness that feels unearned, he walks along the wooden path ahead of him, away from the imposing black building that threatens to suffocate him with helplessness everytime he looks at it. There’s a petite, yellow building decorated with purple flowers, round like globes and sweetly-fragranced. He reaches out to touch one, to hold it in his hand, and it seems to disintegrate between his fingers, a tiny explosion of colour that withers into nothing like a candle being extinguished. He steps away quickly before it starts turning red too.

Speaking of red, he backs directly into the perimeter fence of a ruby-red monolith, striped and vaguely-rectangular in shape. He’s about to turn and retreat from that too (before he breaks anything else), when he spots a man, standing stoically by the door, wearing a high vis jacket. Before he knows it, the boy is pushing through the fence and approaching with a vain curiosity. ‘You’re dressed like me!’ He wants to call out, because this man is the first that doesn’t immediately strike him with the urge to run for his life.

Confusingly, the man doesn’t react immediately to his approach, gaze directed ahead with a thousand yard stare. He is surprised, naturally, when the man’s head turns sharply and looks him in the eyes. “WELCOME BACK TO THE BIG INNIT HOTEL TOMMYINNIT!! IT IS GOOD TO SEE YOU AGAIN…”

“AAH-!” He shrieks, flailing violently backwards and falling on his ass. His breath comes out in short pants.

“YOU SURE WERE GONE A WHILE TOMMYINNIT… WE MISSED YOU…”

Was that his name? What is this crazy guy talking about? The words were summoning scraps of memories that reached out to each other, trying to build bridges and webs between each other, colouring the gaps between themselves with bright blues and warm greens and soothing beiges; yet the webs collapsed as soon as they formed, like they were made by the world’s most ineffective spider. At least he knows he had once belonged here now…

“What are you making a fuss abou-” From the building emerges a nearly bald man wearing hi-tech glasses, and the boy is hit with two knee-jerk reactions. The first one, a sense of camaraderie, the urge to smile and joke and tease. And the second is the blaring of his danger sense like a nuclear siren, screaming at him to run, get away, get away quick and hide.

“What the f-” The man roughly taps the blue side of his glasses, leering at the boy. “...No- What the fuck.”

“I don’t know anything!” The boy throws his hands up, instinctual surrender. “I don’t have anything!”

“What are you-”

“Why are you saying that?” He squeaks, fear clogging his throat.

The man swipes his hands through the air, cutting the boy off. “No, shut- Bigger elephant in the room, why are you alive?”

He freezes, his body dumping all the adrenaline he thought a boy his size could hold into his bloodstream, his limbs tensing to sprint away. Any second now the weapons would come out, the red would return, he can’t do this, he can’t do this, he can’t do this-

“You’re dead- You’re dead! You died!” The man’s voice is rising until he's almost shouting, yet the frightened boy stops backing away, because something doesn’t make sense, this doesn’t seem like a threat- No, this is- this-

“I grieved for you.” Their eyes meet, and despite the statement, the glare from behind the red and blue lenses is cold and unforgiving, and it sends a shiver through him. “You’re not back.”

“I- I don’t know what you mean…” He raises his hands defensively, but instead of swinging, the man just laughs with a sound like rolling thunder.

“Oh don’t play dumb with me Tommy. No one comes back-” He catches himself. “I mean, most people don’t come back.”

“I- I don’t understand…” He mutters. “I… died?”

The man crosses his arms, scoffing with immense disapproval and scorn. “You wanna speak up? Or d’you want to keep playing stupid? Because I’m not an idiot Tommy. Do you take me for a fool?”

“I don’t know what’s going on!” His hoarse whisper comes out as a shout, and his hands fly to his hair, gripping the strands like they're a rope someone would use to rescue him. “I can’t remember what’s happened, and you keep saying I’ve- died- and nothing makes sense and I don’t even know who you are…” His voice cracks and breaks as he struggles to get the words out, process their meaning, determine their level of truth. Then it shatters, dropping to barely above a whisper again as his knees shake with the effort of keeping him on his feet. He chances a glance at the man’s expression, apprehensively waiting for his judgement, and is met with a glare to rival Medusa’s.

“You don’t know who I am.” His tone is level, and yet, threat runs through it like a river, threatening to catch him in the rapids, pull him under and fill his lungs full of lies, or his own blood, or worse. The man reaches up to push his glasses back up his nose, and the boy flinches back onto the main path. “You are so… selfish.” He opens his mouth to counter, but no sound comes out. “You’re selfish! Shit like this… This is why you deserved this. This is why you should’ve stayed dead.”

Why does that hurt so much? He wants to reach through the fog in his mind, knock down the walls and see this man as he should’ve. Their history- It's all in there somewhere! Somewhere, locked away, inaccessible, painfully so. He hugs his arms to his chest, they are already bloody, he realises, the bandages to protect his bleeding heart.

“I mourned you! I grieved for you, and now I remember why I wanted you dead.”

That's it, he’s gone, he's scrambling along the path, he’s clumsily vaulting the gate, grazing his knees, tears staining his cheeks, hands gripping his sides, nails breaking skin, heart and feet thudding the rhythm to a song he barely remembers, ‘Stay alive, stay alive-’

Terrified and confused and so, so weary, he runs until he can no longer see the black building, or the yellow one with the flowers, or the red one that feels so familiar in a hopeless way. He follows the hills and dips of the wooden path, feet falling into familiar grooves as he winds along the peaks and troughs, past peculiar buildings and strange establishments. Eyes watch him as he goes, their murmured exchanges commenting on his appearance or his desperation or no doubt what he’s done, what he can’t remember, how bad he’s been. He’s a freak, he thinks he hears someone say. There’s more red: twirling vines undulating down towers or wrapping tendrils around infrastructure. It reaches for him; it beckons to him with a hissing voice. He dashes harder: he wants away. From everything, and everyone.

He runs until his lungs hurt, until his legs are screaming at him to stop, and he all but collapses outside a brick house. He’s on his hands and knees, although he doesn’t remember falling, and he touches his head to the floor like he’s praying, and that’s when he hears the solitary voice:

“Tommy?”

Oh shit a brick.

“Please- I’ll go, please just- Let me go-” The words barely make it past his raw throat. His eyes meet that of the enderboy’s ahead of him, and he feels frozen to the spot, and it sends another shot of panic through him. He doesn’t know how much more he can take. “Please- Just let me go.”

The boy with his half-and-half complexion and fascinating eyes approaches, palms facing Tommy - for that’s got to be his name by now - like he’s closing in on a skittish cat. “You’re- Oh… You’re-” He’s slack-jawed, and then he suddenly snaps out of whatever awed trance he’s slipping into, and comes even closer. “Tommy? Are you alright? It’s only me, it’s-” He seems to cringe slightly, for some reason. “-It’s Ranboo.”

“Ranboo.” His mouth forms the word, tastes it. It tastes… sweet. Not sweet like honey but like… a cake. Time slows, the world stops spinning like a top, and the ground settles beneath Tommy. There are no warning sirens harmonising with this boy. His heart rate slows gradually as the much taller boy crouches by his side. “You’re- You’re here…”

“Ranboo,” He says quietly. “Why is everyone looking at me like I just came back from the dead?” The question echoes in the immediate quiet, and he fears the answer to an irrational degree. “Um…” Promising start. “Obviously you know what happened, I mean- Or what everyone thinks.” He amends on catching sight of Tommy’s changing face, as his heart sinks further towards his stomach.

“Ranboo.” He takes a shaky breath. “I can’t remember anything before- before- before the big black building and some green fucker- I don’t know what happened, I don’t know why people hate me, I don’t know what’s going on-!”

“Whoa, okay.” One of Ranboo’s hands, the black one, lands on his side, the touch sending an involuntary shiver through him. “Do you… Do you remember me?”

The question is innocent enough, but all the muscles in Tommy’s body tense again, preparing themselves for the next mad dash downtown. There seems to be a terminal ahead, he could change direction and lose him-

“N- No.”

“Right, okay,” The older boy chuckles to himself. “That explains a lot actually.” Tommy’s danger sense flickers. “What- What do you mean?”

Ranboo’s smile is not cruel, nor does it inspire machiavelli; it’s kindly and soothing. “You and I… We have an on-off friendship. I don’t think you’ve properly decided whether you like me or not.”

“Why don’t I like you?”

He shrugs, looking bemused. “Would you believe me if I said I have memory problems too?”

And Tommy actually chuckles at that. “Maybe.” He swipes at some of the tears drying tracks into his face. Ranboo watches the motion intently. “...Are you okay?”

“I-” He pauses, a thousand answers taking their turn on the end of his tongue, before what comes out is: “No. I don’t remember anything, I barely know my own name, I- people hate me and I don’t know why, and- Everything hurts. Listen to me, Ranboo, I have these terrible- like, flashes of something, where everything hurts and it feels like I’m being ripped apart but the whole world is dark and cold and- and-”

The whole world is not dark and cold, though the outside of Ranboo’s jacket is. It must look a peculiar sight, he supposes, one teenager holding another, both sitting down on a public highway, but it’s happening.

It’s happening, he realises. It’s real. Someone’s holding him.

...Okay.

“You’re alright.” Ranboo murmurs, and Tommy leans into the hug, bringing his arms up to place weakly around Ranboo’s middle. “You’re okay, you’re alright.” The words surround them in the quiet, sentinels standing guard against the rest of the world.

“I’m not.” He replies involuntarily.

“Okay.” Ranboo concedes. “But you will be.”

A long moment passes, and then Tommy speaks again, for a reason he can’t grasp. “Ranboo, I- don’t seem like a very good person. This guy - I think I used to know him - he called me selfish, told me he wished I’d stayed dead. I don’t think people… like me very much.” But to that, Ranboo only shrugs.

“I wouldn’t believe that.”

“Why not?”

“You’re a bit rough around the edges, but you’re alright really.”

“I’m alright?”

“You’re human. As messy and mortal as us all.”

It’s as if in that moment, the floodgates open. Tommy suddenly remembers himself. He knows the pattern of the flag of L’Manberg, he knows Tubbo’s preferred way of having his coffee (no milk, two sugars), he knows Wilbur’s favourite songs and which ones Techno will throw a sword at you for singing. He knows - partially - why Jack hates him, and incidentally, who Jack is. He knows that he died, and how, and what and who he saw beyond, and why he was stuck there in the first place. And he knows all the details of his complicated relationship with the boy whose arms he’s currently occupying.

And he pushes it all away. He snuggles closer to Ranboo, closes his eyes, and leaves it for later, logical operation be damned.

Turns out a blind instinct can be right.

#hi and welcome to 'fic editing on a phone is a PAIN' #but hey! this is my life now. exams have begun so i'm editing fics when i should be revising in class #shoutout to pain for putting up with me wanting to strangle the tumblr mobile app just now. her patience. 100 #dream smp #tommyinnit #jack manifold #ranboo #allium duo #crim writes #so i wrote this last night. writing marathon with my sister. and y'know what? i'm da'mn proud a this #so enjoy! #(and please rb/leave comments please and thank you :) #right. mac'beth. what am i doin'?

[holding-hands-and-hearts]

Remembering Omega

She only pieced together her childhood - or what passed for one - later.

Children didn’t remember things. Children rarely remembered places, either, or features, their minds twisting objects and beings until the tops of their heads touched the sky and their eyes glowed down like yellow lamps, unblinking and uncaring.

But children did remember feelings.

Her first memory is of cold. Darkness. They combined into something tangible, something pressing and present and absent. She remembers how it had sunk into her bones and made something in her chest sharp and stabbing. She remembers that it felt empty. Empty of something she couldn’t really understand, and though she had no reason to think that this wasn’t normal, it felt out of place all the same.

Her second memory is of absence. It was the first time she was able to recognize anguish, tearing at her throat and constricting her airway, and panic, and pain. She wasn’t cold anymore because she was so hot, her blood galloping through her veins and boiling, salty, liquid something dripped down her cheeks and seared her eyes. She remembers a wild need for something, for someone, a hand to cover hers or arms to bundle her up in or even just a voice, and it wouldn’t matter what the voice said so long as she could recognize that maybe there was someone there, and maybe she wasn’t the only one here. She remembers her skin prickling, prickling, prickling, because she’s cold again and there’s some primordial, primal demand for another living being to touch her.

Her third memory is of distance. She was used to the watchful one by now, used to the way it moved and how its features never betrayed any of its thoughts, a mask that she was too inexperienced to see through. But even when the watchful one watched her, even when it spoke, told her to stay still, she never felt seen. When the respected one and the one in the middle, the one who visited, came to see the watchful one and seemed so urgent about when, they looked at her like a puzzle, like an anomaly, like something that wasn’t supposed to be here. She knew they talked about her, but not one of them ever turned and bent their elegant bodies down to her, looked in her eyes and said some kind of something that made a piece fall into place that she was….something. Alive. Okay. She didn’t know the word loved until later, and for her it was defined as the opposite of how unreachable the watchful one’s eyes were.

Her fourth memory is of lost, and of the moments when lost seemed not quite. The world had gotten bigger, like it had simply blinked into existence, and the watchful one had opened the door and sent her away in the care of a strange floaty thing, with shiny limbs and a shiny voice that wobbled with panic whenever she took a step the wrong way. She remembered how bright the lights were, a glowing, constant white that bordered on iridescence and hurt when she looked at them too long. They stabbed somewhere within her skull like an afterthought, a silent kind of pain that didn’t yield until she learned to avert her eyes and keep her head down. She remembered how noisy it had seemed, how her footsteps faded into the endless white hallways. To someone who’s only ever heard silence, even hush is loud.

She remembered her first face, other than the watchful one and the respected one and the one who visited, and how warm its colors had seemed against the stark white corridors. It was tall, but compact, and sturdy, its eyes were confused, but it seemed like asylum when it scooped her up. Its arms were solid and warm and it cradled her head against its chest while it moved, and it clicked something into place. It wasn’t love, but it was something that set a few seconds aside to care, and the warmth in its concern wrapped around her like a blanket and made everything seem okay.

She remembered her second face, and this one was older, its back beginning to stoop and lines sinking into its face like stories untold, and its mouth curved when it looked at her. It knelt down and held her hand and asked her questions she didn’t understand, but it was kindness, and that was new too. She remembered the windows, when the endless white had found an end, and she remembered the cool of glass. She remembered the rain, and that the seal on the window must have been faulty. The kind one had put a work-gnarled hand on her shoulder and let her reach out to drag the ends of her tiny fingertips across the condensation, leaving trails that said I am here. It was the only here that had ever stopped to acknowledge her, the only thing that changed when she moved, like she was worth paying attention to.

Most of all, she remembered her third face, her fourth, her fifth, her sixth, glowing as tiny little lights back in the watchful one’s dark. The others started asking about it, started coming through the door from the world and pointing at the four little lights and saying when. She remembered learning that when got smaller slowly, and the respected one was never happy about it. The one who visited came to say would, and to say this, and to both of them the watchful one’s reply was always will. But every time the respected one came to say when, the four little lights would get a little bit bigger, until she could find herself in their tiny faces and tiny fingers and hope that their four little lights would make the dark a little less.

For now, the four little lights floated oblivious, asleep, maybe, and maybe when they woke up they’d get to stay. For now, they were together, and she remembered something calm settle in her core like how the waves stilled when the rain stopped. The kind one had picked her up and called it the ocean, before the watchful one could see them. He’d pointed, showing her how the funny flying creatures brought their littles to play between the pylons that held the city above the water.

At the end of the when, the four little lights turned off. One of them was bigger than the others, and one of them had a thick thatch of shadow-dark on his head that the watchful one didn’t seem to understand. One of them had a sharper face, carved out of focused intensity, and the smallest one curled in on himself like he was trying to shut out the world. The watchful one gave them numbers, nine-nine, nine-nine, nine-nine, nine-nine, like they were always meant to be together, and something clawed at her stomach when she realized that no one had ever given her one.

Instead, the shiny one zoomed up with its shiny limbs and its shiny voice, intent on a somewhere, and she didn’t want to go, didn’t want to take her eyes off of the four little nine-nines, afraid that they would disappear as simply and finally as a mirage if she looked away.

She only pieced together her childhood - or what passed for one - later.

It took time for her to understand her scraps of memory and feeling, lost without concept or context. She didn’t realize there was a cavernous, empty space she was lost in until she wasn’t anymore, like the way the vents were always loudest in the seconds after they’d just turned off. How do you place isolation, when you’ve been alone your whole life? How do you understand love, when all you’ve ever found is apathy?

She remembered alone, because she never had someone else to be alone with.

She remembered wrong, everything wrong, because there had never been anyone to tell her that she was right.

Now, everyone had a name. She recognized the watchful one, the respected one, the one who visited, and the kind one and the shiny one, who always blurted it in her ear with his shiny voice. For a while, she didn’t understand the identification in these strings of syllables, how they could mean everything, how you would be recognized and explained in a breath. Nala Se, Lama Su, Taun We, Ninety-nine, AZI-345211896246498721347.

She didn’t have a name, because what was there to define her?

She was the last.

Nala Se called her Omega.

*******

eeeeek so I opened Tumblr this morning to a giant pile of notifications and FREAKED OUT. Stupid sloppy grin, excited lil bouncing, all of it. Thank y’all so much for making my day, and probably my week too (by the way, @isaakandreyevs, you’re incredible and I love you).

Anyway, TBB today! I confess I don’t write with them as much as I should, but I got stuck on Omega’s childhood memories. I have discovered that it is REALLY HARD. Like, it’s not supposed to make sense to her, but it has to make sense to you, and my brain is so twisted up right now it should be in Cirque du Soleil.

Let me know what you want to see next! I’m thinking my best boys in the 501st, but suggestions would be more than welcome.

#the bad batch #bad batch #tbb #tbb omega #nala se #kamino #clones #azi 3 #clone force 99 #sw tbb #sw tbb omega #tbb finale #tbb fanfiction #the bad batch omega #big sister omega #star wars #99 #clone 99 #clone trooper 99 #hands-and-hearts

[burnedbyshoto]

I wanted to make myself like the ravine

— There are plenty of things that Hawks knows about, but there are few he knows none about. A journey of how Hawks navigates the meaning of the word love. 

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pairing: hawks (takami keigo) x fem!reader

warnings: recent manga spoilers, future!au, alcohol consumption, fem!reader

word count: 6,819

a/n: this is for the pocuties valentines day collab! rhank you for letting me join! inspired by the poem to the title of this fic!

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A G A P E

—

Hawks is one of the fastest men in the world.

It’s not a brag; it’s the truth.

A cold, hard, damning truth.

Hawks is a Pro Hero with the power, skill, and finesse required to take the fall for the entire country. He is someone who is loved by all, who thrives off of the appreciation and the cheers, but he knows — he understands — he’s expendable. He’s a tool—an object seconds from being put to rest.

There are many things that Hawks knows; he’s been training to be a hero since he was in his very childhood. Blindfolded, tested and conditioned to be the ideal hero, the perfect pawn.

Hawks is no idiot, and he will never deny that often times that he isn’t sure what he is feeling.

Emotions are weird for him. Feelings are oversimplified in everything he was taught, yet disgustingly really and oddly interfering the second he had set foot into the spotlight. He was used to the cold, the people who would view him as a specimen, experiment 20493, codenamed: Fierce Winged Hawks. The only emotions he understood was apathy, seriousness, anger, resentment, bitterness, disappointment, and relief. When finally, finally, the Hero Commission broke his wings, his spine, and his mind, the small boy so eager to be a Hero ultimately nothing but a soldier, ready to follow commands to the T.

Hawks has only heard of love from the blurry, unclear memories of his childhood. His mother muttering how she had no love for him to be taking care of him as he did, or his father saying he could never love him. Love was foreign, strange, alien to him. Even when he was eighteen and finally given a bit of freedom from the chains the Hero Commission bound him in was expressed out of love. But he was put into the cage that granted him the ability to spread his stiff wings; love made no sense.

He saw lovers making out in alleyways, and he furrowed his eyebrows, wondering just why anyone would want to kiss in the smelly, dark, virus-infected areas. He saw his colleagues come in looking dazed, refreshed, reborn, yelling loudly, and singing poetry about their love for some other person they met just yesterday. He also couldn’t ignore the days, weeks, months later when they would rearrive with red-rimmed eyes, swollen eyes, and a tremor to their voice.

Love seemed… awful to Hawks.

Love was a deception of brain chemicals. Nothing more than your mind bending, flipping, and twisting to make something that made absolutely no sense make sense. 

Hawks had expressed that one day to a sidekick of his, his barriers and walls crumbling away because he had been on a stakeout for five days straight now. The world that could never keep up with him was numbing his brain.

“Well, that’s romantic and flirtatious love for ya,” his sidekick explained with a halfhearted shrug. It seemed that he both agreed and disagreed with what Hawks had to say. “They’re amazing loves, don’t get it wrong, and they definitely don’t make sense, but they’re loves not meant to last.”

Hawks blinked.

“What?”

His sidekick chuckled, hands rubbing at his eyes as he peered out the window again, his sullen eyes looking even more tired.

“Have you never learned the different types of love before, Hawks?” the sidekick teased as much as he was curious. “I figured a pro as popular and smart as you are would know the different types of love.”

Hawks feathers fluttered in his inability to keep his lack of knowledge to himself.

“I don’t.”

“Wow, finally something Hawks isn’t aware of!” the sidekick laughed, and his hand opened his phone, fingers hitting the screen before shoving the device into Hawks’ chest. “I’m sure you’ll find that you can understand at least one love.”

Hawks grabbed the phone, head cocking to the side in his curiosity as he scrolled down through the phone.

There were eight different types.

Eight different ones that he could have experienced within his then twenty-one years, and he found himself unable to look away from one.

Agape: universal, selfless love

“Hawks, they’re moving!” the sidekick squawked, and Hawks handed over the phone, and with nothing on his mind, burst out the window, ready to take down this organization.

Hawks had to admit that later that night, when he was finally able to sleep in his own bed, he felt selfless love. It was for the people of Japan. The many citizens who needed his help and the heroes of the country who rose to the demands of the job. Maybe it wasn’t the type of love depicted in anything he’s ever read or watched before, but that was okay. It was love.

The love he has for the citizens is enough to keep his head afloat.

This is the only love he needs in his life right now, the only love that matters.

But he’s no longer twenty-one, he’s twenty-five, and the wings on his back that feel practically invisible to him, are hurting. His back is in pain, his quirk almost gone, save for the smallest, insignificant feathers perching from the stumps of what was his beginnings of a wingspan. It still burns, phantom singes and phantom heat whenever he thinks about his nearly gone, never to be grown again, wings.

“Well, Hawks, you already know that this is going to happen,” comes the cold voice of one of the board members of the Hero Commission. A man who had practically raised (see managed) him. 

Today was the end of Hawks life, more or less.

“AFO, Shigaraki Tomura, and the well-known former members of the League of Villains were finally stopped,” Hawks speaks with a nod. He knows, even though he could not be a soldier, he had been around to see the young UA students, Endeavors Interns, bring them to justice.

The biggest names of evil were dead, and Hawks already knew he was over.

To be fair, he was glad it was over.

But still, it hurt to hear the indifference in his voice, the apathy, the tedium.

“Operation: Fierce Wings - Hawks is officially over.”

“I could’ve figured that one out pretty easily,” Hawks jests, unable to show the way his heart twisted and withered under the knowledge that he was no longer a hero. His love, his agape, for the people were still there. Still, just as he recognized in his colleagues who were experiencing the different forms of love, it didn’t matter how much love you held for someone, something, for the innocent, helpless people…

Life takes, it destroys, and love doesn’t seem to have a chance.

“Thank you for your twenty years of service. I hope you find the freedom you had been looking for.”

P H I L A U T I A

It’s been a week.

Seven days, twenty-one hours, sixteen minutes, and thirty-four seconds since Hawks was fired (see Honorably Discharged) as a Pro Hero.

Hawks has always felt that the world moved oh so slowly behind him. It had been his wish that heroes be able to relax, laze around because society had evolved enough that criminals knew better, were treated better, and could integrate into a truly peaceful society.

It had been his dream.

But right now, he was bored.

B o r e d.

“Fuck, I don’t care,” Hawks grumbled, face smooshing into a pillow as he watched the Netflix Series Bridgerton drone on the screen. “Dump his ass.”

His apartment, it was safe to say, was a mess. There were cups, bowls, plates, and chopsticks everywhere. His hair was ruffled, stringy, held back by a hair clip he had stolen from Miruko. His beard was nearly fully grown in, and there were bags under his eyes despite the fact he was sleeping for more hours of the day than staying awake. He was sore, tired, bored.

So bored.

He didn’t think being bored was going to suck this much, going to hurt him like this.

Fuck.

“Open the damn door, bird boy!” came a sharp scream and powerful kick from the front door.

Hawks glared at the door, the tiniest of feathers he had been able to regrow, trying to pathetically open the lock on the door. A sheen layer of sweat pushed against his forehead, and Hawks grunted, trying to lift the heavy lock.

BAM.

The door swung open, forcefully kicked open by none other than Pro Hero Miruko.

“Yo!” Miruko waved, lips pulled in a fierce grin as she entered through the broken doorway with nothing but a bag of unknown items. “I figured you were here!”

“...you broke my door,” Hawks pointed out, eyes narrowed as dust and destruction danced within the air.

“You took too long,” Miruko breezed, slamming her plastic bag on the kitchen island. “It’s a fucking rats nest in here, birdbrain; I thought you were somewhat organized?”

Hawks groaned loudly, sinking further into his couch as Miruko began reorganizing his kitchen area — dumping the dirty dishes into the sink and throwing things away in fast, practiced skill. “Life is too boring, and I’m too bored to do anything about all of the mess,” Hawks exaggerates partially, hand twisting and dancing as he speaks. “Thanks for cleaning up the mess.”

“I’m not cleaning up your damn mess, birdbrain,” Miruko barks out a laugh, her hands slamming against the now, somehow, clean surface. “I’m just making my life easier!”

Hawks looked over the top of the couch with a semi impressed, semi uncaring look and shrugged.

“You seem to have a great handle over those robot limbs now,” he points out.

Sure enough, Miruko had two bionic limbs, limbs that she had finally managed to work into a fighting career. After spending two years on the sideline, relearning how to walk and then fight, she was back on the field.

She was a hero again, despite it all, unlike him.

“Damn right, I’m amazing!” Miruko preened, chest puffed, and bunny tail wagging excitedly. “But anyway, I figured your dumbass would be depressed, so I brought you some shit.”

Hawks watched with a curious gaze as Miruko quickly hopped once from where she was in the kitchen to a place on his couch, landing on Hawks' legs unintentionally.

“OW!”

“Look at what Rumi brought you,” Miruko laughed, slapping Hawks on the back as he cradled his legs. “And yes, I just referred to myself in the third person, so shush.”

Hawks grumbled, lips in a half pout, half frown.

Taking the opaque bag from Miruko, Hawks pulled out the many items in the bag.

Carrots, a KFC gift card, Korean skincare products, a movie about Miruko’s recovery process, and a 1001 Things to Do (A Book on Finding Self Love).

Hawks stares at the book.

“The perfect items for a self-care, self-love spa day,” Miruko nods, once again slapping Hawks on the back. “Some old sidekick of yours told me that you don’t know what love is, so I figured that I would help teach you the most important one! Self-love! Truly the hardest one to master, in my opinion, but damn if it isn’t a good one.”

Hawks feels transfixed almost, unable to look away from the book as Miruko slaps him on the back yet again as she moves to leave. He hears her yelling about forwarding the bill to fix his door to her, her agency would pay for the damage, and how she’s off to train with some bunny hopping boy from UA.

Opening the book, Hawks looked at the number one thing to do on the book and sighed.

#1: Look in a mirror and name five things you LOVE about yourself.

Well, it’s not like he has anything better to do.

-

Hawks is on number thirteen (Stand at a bridge and scream into the void about the things you love at dusk) when he realizes that maybe… he doesn’t love himself. 

It is without saying that he loves people; agape, after all, is the only love type that made sense to him, but philautia, self-love, was way lost on him. Objectives 2 - 12 on the book were entertaining to do! They had Hawks going outside of his house much more than his week trapped indoors, and for the first time since the day his wings had been burnt off, his house was spotless.

But it was clear to Hawks that he didn’t feel love for himself.

Whenever he tried to convince himself that he should love himself, that there were terrific qualities in himself, he thought back to the dirty, burnt room. 

“I still gotta protect their happiness!” the phantom in his mind screamed, the broken sob collected in his throat.

Hawks shivered, unable to let himself recognize the pain and hurt in the phantom's eyes, or the way that he now wished he had never done that… why had he done that?

What a mess…

The small chirping of Hawks phone interrupts his morose thoughts. He looks at the screen, eyebrows raising in slight mirth and caution as none other than his former intern was currently calling him.

“Tsukuyomi-kun!” Hawks laughs into the receiver, the weight of his past for a moment forgotten. “How are ya?!”

“Hello, Hawks-sensei,” Tokoyami’s calm tone fills Hawks' ears. “I was calling because I have a request to make.”

“Name it,” Hawks spoke immediately, slouching against the cold bars of the bridge, eyes closing as he tried to relax. “You need a letter of rec or something?”

“Nothing of the sort, actually,” Tokoyami says. “We third-year students are graduating in a few days; I was inquiring if you would attend on my behalf.”

“Wow, Tsukuyomi-kun, no need to be so formal with me!” Hawks laughed delightedly, his hands carting through his feather-like hair, “I’d love to come and watch you guys graduate! Is it true that the finger-smashing boy is the valedictorian?”

“That would be false, Midoriya-kun has nothing on Yaoyorozu-san.”

“What a bummer, you’d think he’d be first after how he helped win the war for us, huh?”

“You’ll find that Yaoyorozu-san is highly gifted and undeterred by most things,” Tokoyami sighed. For a moment, Hawks chuckled at the melancholy tone to his old intern's voice. It sounded as if he had been striving with great difficulty to reach the highest marks as well. 

Hawks began speaking to his rather odd ex-intern with great curiosity with the blanket of the night surrounding him. His defenses and thoughts whittling away the more they spoke, the later it got in the morning.

“Ne, Tokoyami-kun, I have a question?”

“Concerning what?”

Hawks pauses, his brows furrowing as he looks up into the still dark sky, “Do you know how to love yourself?”

Silence.

Had it been anyone else, Hawks would have panicked at the lack of noise. Still, his already less than chatty intern typically took to not speaking much to begin with.

“Self-love is difficult,” Tokoyami finally spoke, his words slow, carefully chosen. “We humans are flawed; we all have demons. Most of the time, we only recognize and see our demons, oftentimes forgetting that being human also means being weak and at times immoral. Loving oneself is a hard task because we know ourselves better than any other. It’s a work in progress for everyone to love oneself, it's a type of love by the Ancient Greeks, but it’s not always everpresent. One must accept all flaws to love oneself, and remember that flaws don’t make you less, even if you believe otherwise.”

“...wow, I asked for a sentence answer, and you gave me a speech. Who would’ve known you were so in check with your emotions, Tokoyami!”

“You knew, I’ve already revealed this side of me before. You laughed last time too.”

Hawks finds himself home thirty minutes later, and he stares up at the ceiling, fingers drumming against his chest.

Self-love… it seems like an ever-evolving type of love, but it’s there. He knows that even if he has regrets and hardships and things he hates about himself, deep down, self-love exists and that it will exist. 

Patience.

Even the fastest man in the world could demonstrate patience.

L U D U S

“What can I get for ya?”

“I have no idea honestly, do you have any recommendations?”

Hawks could say with complete honesty that he felt entirely out of place.

He was at a local bar. The bar was semi-busy today. Most young adults dressed in an arrangement of clothes, each on a different level of soberness as they cheered to this and that. 

Why was he at a bar even though he was slightly uncomfortable? Well, you can blame #73 in the book for that.

(#73: Enter the first bar you find, order a drink, and flirt!)

“What type of liquor do you like? Hard or soft?”

Hawks blinked; he didn’t know.

“Hard?”

The bartender looked a bit unsure of him for a bit before nodding and turning his back to him.

Did hard liquor mean he was going to get an iced drink? He’s never consumed alcohol before.

“Here you go!” the bartender sang, slamming two shot glasses before him. “Two shots of Bacardi.”

“Oh, thank you?” Hawks tilted his head as a small cup of OJ was placed in front of him (“That’s your chaser,” the bartender had laughed). Bringing the small glass shot glass up, Hawks looked around at the throngs of people surrounding the bar and looked at you. You were cheering loudly as you raised your own shot glass in the air with a whoop and, in a fast, fluid motion, brought the shot glass to your mouth and took the liquid down easily. Hawks was definitely unimpressed now; that looked entirely too easy. “Here we go, cheers to me.”

Imitating your own actions, Hawks shot back the liquid in his shot glass, and immediately his entire body tensed.

EW.

NO.

EW.

OH GOD, NO!

Spitting out the sour, bitter, disgusting — dear god, how do you even describe this taste?! — liquid, Hawks, chugged the OJ, his lungs and throat and tongue burning from the shot.

“That was disgusting!” Hawks spat to absolutely no one, his hands covering his mouth as he stared at the other awaiting shot of ‘Bacardi.’ “Why would anyone drink that?!”

“Only madmen drink Bacardi while sober,” a voice joined in on Hawks' one-sided conversation. “Or bitches who are self-sabotagers. Never trust a hoe who says Bacardi is their favorite drink.”

Hawks turned around to see you, the girl he had regrettably underestimated for taking the shot, smiling at him with a not entirely sober look to your face. 

“You look like neither. That and the way you took the shot obviously means that you had no idea what you were drinking.” Hawks continued to stare at you, completely perplexed by your casual conversation, the dress on your body that was twisted a bit, screaming wonders about your level of sobriety. You took to the empty barstool beside him with a grin and a calculating look, “You’re Hawks, right?”

“Yeah, Hawks,” he spoke, his tongue feeling weird in his mouth as he bowed stiffly in his chair. You were beautiful, fuck.

“I’m y/l/n, nice to meet you!” you speak easily, fingers grabbing at his other filled shot glass with a concerned look. “I have a feeling you shouldn’t try to take this other shot.”

“Dying of alcohol definitely isn’t in my vision of ways to go out,” Hawks grins. Pushing through his haze of awkwardness as you shift in the barstool so that you’re now facing him entirely, knees pressed to his thigh. “I’ve never actually drunk before?”

You inhale sharply, your eyes going wide as you break all levels of personal contact that’s acceptable of strangers in Japan and grab his cheeks.

“Alcohol virgin?!” you gasp, the sweet smell of some liquid drafting from your breath. “I’ll teach you everything that I know, don’t worry!”

You let go of his face, neck turning away from him, looking for the bartender to flag him down.

“Don’t you have—?”

“They can wait,” you wave at the bartender before turning back to Hawks with a confident grin on your face. “I have my favorite Pro Hero right beside me; I think they’ll understand.”

“Alright, what is it that I need to know?”

“My full name,” you breeze with a wink. “Y/l/n y/n.”

“A beautiful name.”

“I am a beautiful woman.”

Hawks chuckled good-naturedly, his head nodding in agreement, “I think we were talking about the alcohol, though, not your attraction as a female.”

“All in good time, all in good time,” you laugh, taking to the bartender and ordering two drinks, both of which were entirely foreign to Hawks.

Hawks would not consider himself to be an expert at flirting. He was attractive, a great conversationalist, and did have a type of edge to his words that often seemed playful or a warning, depending on how you looked at it. But it appeared that his natural way of speaking was more than enough to make him flirtatious enough to match the way you spoke to him.

You had introduced him to a single mixed drink, telling him that getting drunk by yourself at a bar typically wasn’t a smart thing, so keep to something with a low alcohol percentage. Just enough to make you loosen up, but not enough that you were incapable of getting home. Hawks liked the way your hand rested on his forearm. How you smiled and laughed at something to show your interest but not at everything to show that you weren’t faking your amusement at what he was saying.

You matched his every word, not backing down from his bluffs. Soon enough, Hawks felt his cheeks warm when he finally looked directly at your smiling face (he wasn’t sure if it was from the alcohol or not). 

Eventually, though, the night ended, and you shimmied off the bar stool as your friends had come to collect you to leave.

“Can I get your number?” you ask, eyes mostly entirely sober as you handed him your phone. “I know you were the man who was just a bit too fast, but I think I can handle that.”

Hawks snorts, his eyes rolling in his amusement, “That was horrible.”

“I’m drunk, I have an excuse!” you exclaim with a pout that quickly turns into a giddy smile as Hawks enters his number to your phone. “Don’t worry though, once I’m sober, I’ll flirt your eyebrows clean off!”

“That sounds painful!” Hawks yells as you wave goodbye, your arms linked with a line of other girls as you leave the bar with teasing laughter and undecipherable words.

It was with you that Hawks realized that he had come to find a new type of love.

Ludus, the love of flirtation and playfulness.

Damn, who would’ve known.

P H I L I A

Hawks was having a pretty bad day.

It wasn’t anything super terrible happening, all things considered. It was a lovely day out; the sun was warm, the sky so blue, and the birds chirping. Nothing on the news to be concerned about and all his precious people were safe.

But it was still a bad day because instead of being out and about with you, his now borderline best friend/girlfriend, who he was stupidly having a crush on, he was stuck at home.

Hawks was sick.

Deliriously, stuffy nose, goopy eyed, chapped lips, and feverish sick.

You: Are you sure you’re fine????

Hawks: Im perfectly okay. Ill go with you to the park next time sorry

You: Thats not what im concerned about stupid!!!!!

Hawks: Bye have fun!

You: I knoW YOURE SICK ASSHOLE

Hawks chuckled, rereading his messages with you.

Blowing his nose for what felt like the umpteenth time, Hawks resumed the movie on the screen that you had recommended him to watch — Disney’s Chicken Little — because it reminded you of him, or something like that. The TV droned on with the movie, and Hawks found it hard to keep focused as the Sandman danced on his head and whispered in his ear.

He hadn’t noticed he had fallen asleep until a loud banging was heard on his door.

Shuffling towards the door, Hawks opened the still slightly broken door with bleary eyes and a stuffy nose.

In front of him was none other than you.

You… with a basket full of things.

“Hi!” you greeted him, pushing past Hawks easily and walking into his apartment. “You look worse than I thought you would be!”

“That's hurtful,” Hawks pouted, closing the door behind you, sneezing, then following after you. “Why are you here? I thought you w-were — achoo — going to the park?”

“I was, but we were supposed to go together to check off number 184, and I wasn’t about to go alone to complete a list meant for you!” you exclaimed, dumping the overfilled basket on the kitchen counter.

“Mm,” Hawks hummed, his voice dry and cracking as he pulled the blanket closer around him. “What’s this?”

“A get well care basket,” you say in an unmistakable like tone; you glance at him, smiling widely, and gesture dramatically to the basket. “Follow along, if you can.”

“Pfft.”

“So first, I have some sleepytime tea; I swear to the gods and back that this tea will cure you and knock you the fuck out,” you say, pulling out the thing on top of the basket and putting it to the side. “Next, we have some tissues because you obviously need them.”

“Hey!”

Hawks watched through red-rimmed eyes as you carefully and thoroughly explained what and why you had brought him. Fuzzy socks, a blanket, his favorite snacks and drinks, medicine, DVD’s to more movies you told him he had to watch, an embarrassing childhood picture of you that he had been wanting and swore he would never expose least he wants to die, more oils for his diffuser, and a signed Endeavor poster he had been wanting.

Safe to say that after he had been drugged up, eating some soup and drinking some tea on the couch, wrapped up in the blanket you had bought him, laying between your legs, Hawks was feeling much, much better. It had been hours since Hawks had coughed or sneezed, and he was talking with you about how Disney movies were being produced less and getting sort of worse with each one. The movie titan slowly losing its ground.

“Okay, it’s almost eleven pm; I have work tomorrow, you are still sick, let's pack it up!” you eventually say during a moment of comfortable silence.

“I can’t believe you have to work,” Hawks sniffled, standing up off the couch so that you could get up. “Seems like a crime.”

“It’s not so bad! Being a celebrity PR manager is a million times easier than a hero PR manager. At least we can help decide what's seen!” you laugh, helping to clean up his living room of the bags of chips and drinks.

“Sure, sure,” Hawks grins, keeping the trashcan open for you so that you could place the trash in. “Thank you.”

Walking you towards the front door, Hawks comes to the sudden and almost alarming realization that he doesn’t want you to leave. He wants you to stay. He thought this was a friendship, and it was one, a good one at that! For about a month now, he had known that there was a type of love he had for you, one of friendship.

It was called philia. 

So why did he want to keep you wrapped up in a hug, to pull you close and press a gentle kiss to your forehead, to your cheek, to your lips?

“—I’ll be back tomorrow to check up on you during my lunch break,” you say, slipping on your shoes as you pull on your jacket. “If you need anything at all, call or text—”

The words on your tongue die immediately when Hawks still slightly chapped lips press against yours. The sick must that was present earlier on the day is no longer there, and you can feel heat and fire bursting from your cells as Hawks pulls away from you.

“I’m sorry,” Hawks breathes out, a small smile on his face, a daze in his eyes that tells you he definitely was not completely sorry. “I couldn’t resist anymore?”

“W-We will talk about that later!” your voice squeaks, your heart hammering in your throat because fucking Hawks kissed you. “If I-I get sick, I’ll rip out your eyebrows!”

“Will you go out with me? On a date?” Hawks continues on, leaning on the doorframe you’ve yet to pass.

“...I hate you, yes,” you warble, hands pressing against your burning face as Hawks grin grows.

“Perfect, I’ll text you,” he allows you to pass through the doorway where you feel both entirely light and giddy yet awkward and mechanical.

“Hawks, I swear, if your stupid kiss got me sick!”

“You’ll rip out my eyebrows,” Hawks laughs, waving a hand. “If you rip out my eyebrows, I demand a kiss for every hair you pluck out.”

He laughs at how he can basically see the heat rising from your ears as you squawk and run away.

Looking at #184 of his book, Hawks smiles as he crosses it out (#184: Ask out your crush!) and sighs. Philia was love between friends, but it was also, if he remembered correctly, one of affection. And it was without saying that he held a deep affection for you.

E R O S

As much as Hawks claimed he knew about the world, he was as clueless as a newborn baby when it came to the topic of love. Reasoning? Well, today marked a year of being together. It had been a year since Hawks had kissed you when he was snot-nosed kissed (you did get sick, by the way, and while you didn’t rip out his eyebrows, Hawks had kissed you plenty in apology), and then took you on a date where you went to a trampoline palace.

He was clumsily romantic. More often than not, he wasn’t actually romantic. Still, the sincere thought and emotions he put into it made his actions seem so thoughtful and sweet.

You’re not sure why you actually believed that on your year anniversary, he was going to plan something for the two of you. So the reaction he had when you showed up on the year anniversary, armed with a bouquet of flowers and a small personal gift for him, Hawks looked deeply confused.

“This is still not bad!” you exclaim, watching as Hawks attempts to redecorate his apartment from the messy bachelor vibe into something of romance. It was easier said than done, especially as your boyfriend had no decorations in his house that wasn’t fanboy or bird material.

“I didn’t realize that one year anniversaries were meant to be out and about!” Hawks yelled back, failing to nail the fairy lights onto the ceilings. “I knew you wanted to do something, but I thought it was going to be like ‘let’s go get some KFC!’ sort of thing!”

“Definitely not,” you laugh, sitting on his couch with the take out food sitting on the table. It had just arrived, and Hawks was still not accepting the lack of romance in his apartment. “But it’s okay, really Hawks! I didn’t tell you, which is entirely my fault! Come on, let's watch something together, eat, and relax!”

Hawks sighed and looked up at the ceiling.

He should have known that one year anniversaries were a big thing in dating too. They sure were in businesses; what a rookie mistake. Not satisfied with the lack of romance in his apartment but also unable to do anything more to it, Hawks sulked over to the couch and sat beside you, grabbing his dinner plate.

“Thanks, dove.”

“You’re most welcome, baby vulture. Thank you for the food!” you grin, breaking the chopsticks and digging in.

The food is eaten with a mirthful conversation, the TV playing the 100 Funniest Hero Fails playing on Youtube. Eventually, the purples and pinks of the sky became dark.

Night is here.

Hawks went from sitting right beside you to lying on the couch and having you snuggled into his stomach at some point in the night. YouTube is no longer playing Hero Compilation videos. Still, it is now instead showing a chef with a giraffe quirk demonstrating how to make your very own pancake treehouse, no clickbait!

Hawks is transfixed on you, watching the way your eyes sparkle and shine as you stare up at the screen, your lips moving as you give your side commentary, but he can’t hear a thing.

Five weeks ago, on this day, was the day that Hawks realized that the philia love he had for you had evolved once again. It had become one of eros. Romantic, passionate love. He loved you; he loves you. Anything you wanted or needed in the world, Hawks would do anything to give it to you. He had yet to tell you said realization; after all, he needed to make sure it wasn’t some fluke but found himself chickening out each time he wanted to confess.

Gliding his thumb against your cheekbone, Hawks stared adoringly at you, head tilted as you laughed at the video before glancing up at him. It was evident that you hadn’t been expecting him to be staring at you so intensely. As soon as you glanced back at the TV, you snapped right back, curiosity blazing off your gaze.

“What’s up?” you asked, hands pressing to his chest as you lift up a bit. “Do I have something on my face?”

“I love you,” Hawks whispered, the words coming out so much easier than he thought it would. “Y/l/n y/n, I love you.”

Your eyes widen significantly, your jaw dropping as your eyes grow just a bit watery.

Hawks smiles softly, knowing that for so long you had told him you loved him without a single moment where he returned the affection. It hadn’t bothered you. Obviously, you knew why he didn’t say it, but finally hearing him say it seemed to break you just a bit in the best of ways. He kisses you softly, fingers wiping away the single tear that fell.

“I love you,” he repeats.

“I love you too, Hawks,” you blubber, your smile so bright yet wobbling with your heartfelt emotions.

“Takami Keigo,” Hawks corrects. “My name is Takami Keigo.”

Hawks watches as you process his name, and a wet laugh bubbles from your throat as you nod your head, hands reaching behind his neck to pull him close for the first soul-consuming, fiery kiss of the night.

“I love you, Keigo.”

If this wasn’t eros, well, then, Hawks didn’t know what it was.

P R A G M A

two years later, valentines day

Keigo sits on the bed, fingers adjusting the tie around his neck as he stares at you doing your makeup in the bathroom. Your eyes intensely concentrated on your reflection as you painted dark red lips on yourself.

To sum up the last two years in a single, simple phrase, Keigo would say that love now made even less sense to him.

It wasn’t precisely that it made perfect sense before. Some days he still argued and wondered about how love could exist in specific scenarios. Or why, after you stole his final KFC chicken leg he was saving, he could always love you after such betrayal. It made no sense to him, but also made perfect sense, hence the complete confusion.

But it was without saying that as you twirled in your outfit in front of him, a grin plastered so large and lovingly on your features, that it made sense.

How could he not love when he had someone like you.

The walk to the restaurant was perfect; he had even taken a moment to slow dance with you when you came across some performers. Your sweet smile meant just for him made Keigo hum contently as he kissed you gently.

Dinner was amazing. The food rich and luscious, entirely to die for that had the both of you moaning about how great it was before laughing because the waitress definitely heard that. After dinner was over, you and Keigo were now waiting on desserts when he simply grabbed your left hand and slid a simple ring over a very important finger before placing a kiss on your palm.

“I know I was at one point too fast, and maybe I think I was too slow to ask this, but would you like to wake up and have chicken with me every day?” Keigo asked, watching as your face went through a million stages of understanding, processing, internalizing, accepting, and pure emotions.

The kiss was sloppy and wet, the tears streaming down your face beautifully, like diamonds in the dark sky.

It was today that Keigo unlocked the last love he ever thought he would have.

Pragma: committed, enduring love.

#hawks x reader #takami keigo x reader #hawks fluff

[sour-heart-treats]

Blueberry Pie and Alluring Crescent Moon Angst

The states of conscious and asleep are blurry in the library housed within the City of Wizards. 'Work work, worry worry' had become a motto to Blueberry Pie when apathy cannot take hold to give a comforting nothingness. And yet, on the night of a crescent, there is no peace. Feeling nothing is not an option unless life is taken- an option that is not even possible with the curse that she has unfortunately endowed herself with thanks to the deity that watches above. Peeking through the windows. The color of scarlet coats the library as Blueberry sorts book after book.

"Oh, if you had only read closer into the world that you were going to fall into. Autonomy is not your own. Not anymore." The voices of the pages haunt the night in her endless task. "You shall work to earn your right to work. The cycle shall repeat itself, you know." The librarian's eyes shut tight, trying to give herself room for her heart to beat, for her chest to rise and fall. It was as if there was a binding spell placed upon her very soul. One cast by one of the Wizards.

"I know this, I know this." Blue would murmur to herself, gently nudging one of the books in the shelf she was next to into its proper place. "My life is to serve her majesty Moon, nothing more." Her soft voice would be heard loud and clear to whatever forces have decided to haunt her this night. Usually, the stars above would glisten with hope, but now they seem to be drowned out with all the red that Blueberry can't resist, flooding her senses. "I am to work for the sake of serving. The Wizards always required someone to work beneath them, for them to live through, for them to-" Pie hisses, one hand holding onto the other arm's wrist as she feels a scalding sensation through it, climbing her arm. The books she dropped tumbled to the floor, uncared for in favor of the searing pain that came from nowhere.

'Nightmare, just a nightmare,' Blueberry's thoughts say to her. This must be a nightmare. Either that or... Some cruel magician is playing tricks on her with curse magic. Yet... no one could access this place but her, and anyone else would certainly become lost in the pages of this library's many cursed works of literature. This had to be something imaginary. Something her mind was just making up around her. Though despite how much of a dream this must have been, she does not remember settling down to rest. Had she passed out?

Lifting her gaze to try and look around, there was nothing more than blurry colors and shapes. Other than abstractions, the only other thing that she could get through her senses is... Red. It was all red. Her pained hand trembled, and yet that, too, was unable to be seen. Horrors of a crimson monochrome would be all her own, trying to see anything but being left with horrific images that registered in the nothingness whenever anything could register past basic shapes.

Red.

Red.

Red.

The faint laughter of a woman could be heard in the distance, matching with the unmistakable tone of the moon. And though Blueberry Pie searched and searched, no such person could be found. Stuck in the abstract horrors, even listening would bring about nothing of aid. Shutting her eyes did nothing. The red bore into her retinas, sights of the outside unable to be escaped by avoiding vision. Truly a nightmare.

#blueberry pie cookie #moonlight cookie #angst drabbles #unreality warning #ask to tag #// i really really don't like this one but we're posting it anyways because i cannot write bbpie to save my life

[saeransboy]

Hope

Pairing: Saeran Choi / Male CMC (Rowan)

Word Count: 4177

Warnings: Spoilers for the Secret Endings, hospitals

Notes: this is my piece for the @nostringsdetached zine!! i'm so happy that i got to participate, and that it got so much support. you can get the full zine bundle for free, as well as see my partner @mm12578's accompanying art for this piece, at this link.

you can also read this here on ao3!! i hope you enjoy!!

Saeran was unhappy.

Though not an uncommon feeling for the other man after all he'd been through, being in the hospital evoked the feeling strongly. He was constantly feeling judged, being watched, and it felt suffocating. His lack of choice was all too obvious now. If having most of the control he had over his own body being taken away wasn't enough, being forced to see people he didn't want to deal with was the final nail in his coffin.

It was overwhelming, upsetting, and made him want to disappear more than ever before. Trying to shut out the rest of the world wasn't an option, as it only forced its way in. Unless he had to answer whoever stopped by, Saeran ignored their questions and small talk, and eventually they gave up. Everyone had, except for that boy.

Rowan had been easy enough to lure to the apartment. He obviously hadn't trusted Saeran, and was just as uneasy around the RFA at first. However, he stayed to work as their party coordinator simply because he "had nothing better to do". Of course, with the tense situation that developed, he became far from bored. "Terrified" was a better descriptor.

The guilt Saeran felt over that was overwhelming. He'd been the one to choose Rowan, to lure him in, to try to kidnap him. He killed a man right in front of him. Had it not been for him, the party coordinator wouldn't have ever been dragged into this. Which made it all the more confusing when he came to visit alongside his brother.

The ex-hacker had been so shocked at his appearance, he remained silent only because he wasn't sure what to say. His guest left defeated, but he returned alone the next day, and the next. In fact, despite Saeran's silence, Rowan kept showing up, coming by to ramble at him about his day-to-day life and eventually to sit quietly and read. The silence was a lot more comfortable.

He let the silence remain til the other man came to his defense from a rude nurse. After that, he hesitantly reached out, reigniting his guest's desire to speak to him. The ex-hacker barely replied, and his guest enthusiastically continued on like it was normal. It started off shakily, and he would cut short any inquiries on his wellbeing and brushed off Rowan's attempts at comfort on bad days, but it went well.

They had made a lot of progress since then.

The last time Rowan was here, he held his hand. The other man had sensed his upset and reached to comfort him. Despite his first instinct to push him away, he accepted it without argument, not returning the favor or rejecting it. It felt so warm. When was the last time he got to feel another’s touch without being hurt or manipulated in the process? A brief image of his brother’s arms wrapping around him flashes in his mind, and he scowls.

Saeyoung. Saeran still wasn’t alright with him, not fully, but he was trying. As much as he hated it, he was jealous of his twin. Not just for his carefree lifestyle all these years or the friends that supported him so steadfastly, but for his relationship with Rowan. When he saw them, they were laughing and falling over each other or comforting one another. There was always some physical contact, and so much trust.

Rowan had confirmed that no, they weren’t together like he had assumed, but the bond they shared was perfectly sweet. He felt starved watching them. It was then, when he deciphered what that tension he felt when he saw them together was, that he faced his feelings for the brunette.

He was smitten. Completely, utterly, sickeningly smitten; when he realized his feelings, he had grown so nauseated it made his head spin. He wasn’t entirely sure he was in that deep, but only such a dramatic word could describe the heaviness with which it weighed on him. Someone like him wasn't meant for feelings like this.

The next time Rowan visited, Saeran blamed his suddenly more reserved behavior on the medicine he was being given. He wasn’t questioned, but the guilt of lying stung.

Saeran couldn't let himself feel this. It was inevitable that he would prove himself yet again to be a monster. He would hurt Rowan and it was eating him alive, but he'd rather let the feeling fester inside of him than cause the man any more pain or stress. It was easier said than done.

Nothing had filled that deep, all-encompassing void of guilt inside of him but the other man's visits. Hiis quips and words of comfort provided some relief. It was barely making a change, but the air still felt lighter around him. There was no tension, no distrust, and he never felt cornered.

He could just exist, never feeling pressured to do any more than that.

These awful feelings threw a wrench into that, but it was nothing he couldn't handle. Just like every other thought and feeling, he wanted to push it down in the hopes of suffocating it until it was quiet or died. Or until it explodes and destroys everyone around you, a small voice in the back of his mind whispers. That was just as likely, and the thought terrified him. His hands clench in the thin sheets of the bed, trying to ground himself the best he can.

Downstairs, Rowan worries his bottom lip between his teeth, tapping his boot nervously against the ground as he waits for his security escort. He knows his anxiety comes off as impatience to the staff, giving him more room than everyone else as he leans against the wall, and he lets it stay that way. With the feelings swarming in his mind, he was sure that any invasion of his space might set him off.

After countless visits, coming to see Saeran during his recovery became a routine he enjoyed greatly. It wasn't always this nice; the first few times, he came with Saeyoung, but after being met with silence, he persuaded the hacker to let him come on his own. Nothing changed at first, the room being filled with an awkward silence as Rowan attempted one-sided conversations. The man refused to respond, rarely even offering him a glance. It frustrated him to no end; even after dropping his own guard, he hadn't gotten anywhere.

Eventually he gave up on trying to communicate, simply coming to sit in the corner and read. It had to be lonely, being stuck there, so he figured having another heartbeat in the room that wasn't poking or prodding him or interrogating him on his mental state might help. The tension in the air had quickly faded into something more peaceful, and some of Saeran's guard visibly slipped away. That was good enough for Rowan; as long as he wasn't actively being shut out, it was still progress.

Surprisingly, Saeran was the one to break the silence, though not without good reason. Much to their annoyance, a nurse interrupted their visitation, disturbing the peaceful co-existence they had with each other. She was everything Rowan hated to see: pushy, unsympathetic, and completely uncaring about his mental wellbeing.

It made his heart hurt, seeing the other man flinch when she slammed her clipboard down on his bedside table. Every word out of her mouth was ridicule, and though he knew the ex-hacker was used to such talk, that didn't mean it didn't hurt.

When she left with one last comment on how scrawny he still was, Rowan didn't hesitate to jump up from his seat. Following behind, he proceeded to chew her out. For her complete lack of experience, for her apathy, for taking out whatever the hell was wrong with her on Saeran. It wasn't long before his voice raised, but he was careful not to start screaming. The last thing he wanted was to upset the already stressed man more.

It didn't surprise Rowan that his friendly feelings grew into something stronger, but that didn't make the realization any less terrifying. For the first few days, he struggled to reel himself back in, trying to shove his feelings to the back of his mind so he could be there for the other man without guilt eating away at him. Being so friendly to him only felt like he was taking advantage of the man's barely earned trust.

It didn't last, as he noticed Saeran growing increasingly tense at his less emotional, more closed-off responses. With a quick explanation, claiming he'd not been feeling like himself -- not a complete lie, as such a deep feeling had knocked him off his feet -- and that he was sorry, he mended the situation and forced himself to swallow his guilt.

He could tell Saeran didn't fully believe him, but the man was obviously relieved to have things back to normal the next visit, when Rowan came in grinning. It earned him a small smile in return, the first he'd seen from the man.

Rowan is torn from his reminiscing by a security guard clearing her throat. She nods towards an open elevator. "Come on, tough guy. I'll drop you off." Though he bristles at the obviously mocking title, he doesn't argue, not wanting to get kicked out. Instead, he trails after her and steps in, trying to calm the fluttering that starts up in his chest at the thought of seeing the other man.

The ride up is tense, the brunette almost lunging forward when the doors slide open. "Thanks," he calls over his shoulder with a scowl. Though he always looked forward to the visits, he hated dealing with the staff. Setting his eyes on Saeran's door, he picks up the pace, hurrying down the hall as fast as he can despite his slight nervousness.

Before Saeran's thoughts can spiral anymore out of control, the all-too-familiar sound of chains clinking together sounds down the hall, the thoughts slipping from his mind to let him focus. It was definitely him; despite the noisiness of his entrance, the steps sounded hesitant, stumbling over themselves. The awkwardness always manages to make his heart feel a bit lighter, some of the dread that had been bubbling up inside of him slipping away.

As expected, the footsteps come towards his room, stopping just outside for a moment. There's a pause, his guest taking a moment for a deep breath, before the door is cautiously pushed open. Rowan jumps a bit upon seeing him, obviously not expecting Saeran to be sat up waiting for him. The surprised look on his face quickly fades into a soft smile, some of the tension he entered with easing from his shoulders.

The man always put up a tough exterior, Saeran knew, but he trusted him enough to let that down. Whether that was because he wanted mutual trust or because he was just plain stupid, the ex-hacker wasn't quite sure, but it never bothered him, and he never bought up the subject.

The brunette shuffles his way over to him without a word, taking a seat in the chair next to the bed. Everything about him is a contradiction: the gentle look on his face combined with his dark and intentionally rough exterior, the way he avoided eye contact despite his obvious distaste at being seen as a pushover, how he still wandered to his side like a clueless puppy despite all Saeran had done, as if he wasn't dangerous.

That frustrated him most of all. He was trying so hard to protect everyone for once after he had planned to destroy their lives. It was like the male could see right through him, but never saw what Saeran wanted him to.

As usual, Rowan slouches forward, giving him that stupid grin that made his stomach flutter and twist up all at the same time. "Sorry I'm late, but I'm sure you're used to it now. Have you eaten yet? I kinda had to skip lunch, didn't have time." He trips over his words mid-sentence, distracted by the way that his heavy jacket slips off his shoulder.

Every visit started the same, his visitor pitifully trying to disguise his fretting as small talk and him offering up muttered responses. It was still progress from how they started, but Saeran always felt some guilt seeing how much effort the other man put into trying to talk to him. Wanting to change that the best he could, he tries speaking up some, clearing his throat. ''No. I don't like the food."

Contradictory to the pout he usually gives at that response, Rowan's eyes light up. "Great! Um. Not that you haven't eaten because the food sucks. Just... gimme a second." With that, he hops up from his seat, scurrying back to the door, nearly forgetting to put up his facade before motioning for a nurse.

Saeran can't decipher much from his position, only picking up on the word "privacy" and the dirty look the man shoots the nurse when she shakes her head. Only a few more words are exchanged before his expression brightens, and he whirls back around.

To his surprise, the unusually peppy man closes the door. That had never been allowed before, both for Saeran's safety and his visitor's. But Rowan was always rather convincing, not to mention stubborn, so it wasn't too shocking that he was the one earning him that right.

The act now fully slipped away again, Rowan practically trips over his feet moving back, rummaging through the pockets of his oversized jacket for something. Had it been anyone else, he might've been paranoid or distrusting, but he knew the man in front of him wasn't a threat in the slightest.

Once again stunning Saeran, the man pulls out ice cream -- an entire tub of it. Mint chocolate, he noted, feeling his heart skip a beat at the realization that he had remembered his favorite flavor. Outside food was also previously off-limits, and guessing from the way he had asked for privacy, it still was.

Once again, the man isn't making sense. Not only has he gone out of his way to visit daily, staying even on Saeran's worst days until he's either asked to leave or is forced out by the staff, now he's breaking rules and risking trouble for himself all for his sake. Why? He was a monster and a murderer, and he's being smuggled in gifts?

All of the kindness he was offered was foreign to him, and perhaps that was for the best. He didn't deserve any of it. All he deserves is to rot in this awful place, his nose constantly stinging from the scent of medicine and his eyes burning under the blindingly bright fluorescent light.

"...Saeran?" Broken out of his trance, he shakes his head, feeling a tinge of annoyance seeing the red that reflects off the bedpost in his peripheral. His natural color hadn't grown back much, but it was enough to put a scowl on his face. Not once did he want to let the white fade, wanting to have some semblance of separation from his brother, but he didn't have a choice. Not here, not anywhere.

Only Rowan ever offered him control, and even he himself was limited in what he could allow. It wasn't fair. That, too, made him grateful for his stubborn visitor. It was rare for him to give up when he had his mind set on something, and that gave Saeran a lot more freedom than he would have without him.

"I'm fine," he reassures. Rowan doesn't look convinced, but he doesn't pry, instead placing the tub on the sheets between them before digging in his pocket for a packet of utensils, unmistakably snagged from the hospital's cafeteria. Placing it in his resting hand, the man gives a paranoid glance back towards the door before grinning widely.

"I don't think they're onto me, so go ahead and eat up." Though he hesitates a moment, Saeran reaches out to pull the ice cream into his lap, popping the lid and taking a scoop. It's slightly melted as expected; it couldn't have made the trip by motorcycle all the way over here and through the wait downstairs totally unscathed. It's tasty nonetheless, a huge relief from the blandness of the food he had to eat here. Before long, he's digging in, feeling starved despite having the three meals a day rule enforced on him.

After a couple of minutes, he glances up at his guest, perplexed to find him entertaining himself by winding a loose thread of the sheets around his finger. It was rare that Rowan was this quiet for so long, and even stranger that he wasn't busying himself the same way that Saeran was. Sinking his spoon into the cold mint, he hums to get the other man's attention. Immediately his eyes are on him, deep blue piercing into him and making him melt and tense up all at the same time.

"What are you doing?" He asks, eyes flitting between his face and the string half-wound around his finger. The other man glances away sheepishly, though he doesn't flinch at his blunt tone; yet another thing they were making progress on. Rowan pauses, searching for a good answer and sighing in defeat when he can't find one.

"...sitting here?" He answers quietly, giving Saeran an uncertain look. "I don't really have anything to do. I was already running late, so when I swung by the store, I just grabbed the ice cream and left."

"Didn't you say you didn't eat lunch?" The redhead questions with a raised brow. The silence lingering in the room tells him all he needs to know. Huffing, he shoves the tub towards him without a second thought, surprising the both of them. It was unusual for him to share anything, especially this, but he wasn't about to pull his foot back when he was already taking a step forward. "Go on. You'll make yourself sick if you don't."

Though he wouldn't admit it out loud -- he wasn't sure he could even if he really wanted to -- Saeran cared for the other man deeply. It wasn't just the budding feelings of affection. His worry for his wellbeing, though underlying, had lingered ever since the party coordinator had set foot in that apartment.

If he didn't care, he wouldn't have stopped him from stepping on the glass from the window. Of course he would've, the idiot, and back then he told himself it was because it'd be easier to transport him if he went uninjured. Now, the truth was obvious.

Reassured by his adamance, Rowan reaches out to take the tub. While keeping a close eye on Saeran's face to check for any signs that he might change his mind, he fails to notice how close their hands get, accidentally brushing their fingers together as he grabs it. The touch is minimal, lasting under a second, but it still startles them both. The brunette gasps, nearly dropping the ice cream as Saeran pulls back.

For a moment they're both silent, staring at each other with flushed cheeks and unreadable expressions. Saeran knows why he reacted that way, but… what about the other man? Was he afraid of him? He didn't look frightened, only embarrassed and a bit flustered. Though there was no reason for him to be flustered, right? Maybe he was just touch-repulsed. They had a lot in common, after all. It was obvious the party coordinator's mind was spiraling just as much as his, the panic in his eyes blindingly obvious.

Trying his best not to overthink and to diffuse the situation, Saeran grumbles and snatches up the spoon, getting another scoop and nudging it against the boy's lips. It smudges against his nose, making him blink in surprise. His fingers coming up to up to wipe away the small bit, he laughs, some of his nerves obviously soothed. Good, Saeran thinks; he can barely handle his own emotions, let alone someone else's.

Holding the spoon out like a threat, he stares blankly at him. "Take it. I'm not feeding you. And sit over here so you don't drop it; that's the last thing we need." He curls his legs in, giving the taller man more room.

The brunette sits on the edge of the bed and takes the spoon happily, fixing his attention on the ice cream as he… purposefully seeks out the chocolate chips, to the point where his spoonful is more chocolate than ice cream. Weird, but Saeran doesn't argue.

Some part of him finds it cute, and he shakes his head, desperately trying to swat the thought away. He had hoped that the feelings would fade, but they were blossoming into something far more dreadful with every visit. That wasn't Rowan's fault; it was his own for not keeping himself under control.

These feelings would have to die with him, he concludes, blinking rapidly to bring himself back. When those blue eyes turn upwards to glance at him, he knows he's been caught getting lost in his mind. Bracing himself for the obvious question, he accepts the tub pushed back to him, tensing when the other man speaks up just as he gets a mouthful.

"What's buggin' you?" Rowan asks, his brows furrowed with concern. Taking his time to let the ice cream melt in his mouth, Saeran answers with a shrug. Remembering his earlier attempt to be more open, he sighs, nudging around a chocolate chip as he tries to think of a good way to put his thoughts into words without exposing his feelings.

"...Is it okay for me to feel things?" It's a clumsy question, and he mentally kicks himself for a multitude of reasons: for how stupid he sounds, for burdening the other man when he'd already been through so much because of him, for the way he's just now noticed his hands shaking. But none of this seems to bother Rowan, who smiles gently and nods.

"It is. I promise." Saeran jumps when Rowan's hand seeks out his, giving it a light, comforting squeeze. He seems oblivious to his own actions, getting lost in thoughts of his own. "It feels… wrong, right? Like anything that isn't terrible isn't for you, and that you're meant to be miserable in silence. It's lonely."

The hand resting on his presses down slightly, and despite the conflicting feelings whirling in his mind, Saeran moves his hand, entwining their pinkies together. He isn't sure what feelings the other man is hiding, but it makes some part of his heart hurt knowing that he's suffering too.

"I've felt lonely a lot," He continues, staring out the window with a solemn expression. It's quiet for a while, Rowan staring at the clouds and Saeran staring at him. Finally, a soft smile tugs at the brunette's lips, and he turns his attention back to him. "I won't let you be lonely too. Not anymore. Okay?"

Saeran's face feels warmer, but he doesn't let himself turn away, fixing his eyes on one of the freckles dotting the other man's cheeks as he hums an acknowledgement and squeezes his hand. Only now does Rowan notice the way their pinkies are curled around each other, but before he can pull back, Saeran tightens his grip. Not enough to trap him, but enough to get across his message. He can't bring himself to say it out loud, but all he wants is for the other man to stay.

Out of the corner of his eye, Rowan's eyes are swimming with something he doesn't know how to define. It's sweet, warm, making him feel melted on the inside despite his uncertain exterior. As much as he hates being stared at, he isn't sure he wants the other man to look away. The ice cream was next to them, slowly melting in its container; at any point Rowan could remember and turn his attention away.

As if reading his mind, he doesn't. Instead he curls his knees up to his chest, gazing at him with all the affection in the world. It makes Saeran's mind wander, but for once, the thoughts are welcome. Being cared about like this… it makes him feel like maybe he isn't destined to die alone and unloved as he feared.

"Thank you," his visitor says, voice barely above a whisper. "I'll stay right here with you, as long as you'll have me."

"I will," Saeran manages. "You'll come around regardless."

"But do you mind?"

"...No." The corners of his lips twitch up into a weak smile. It's obvious he's unused to the expression, but he isn't thinking about how he might look strange. Around Rowan, his heart feels lighter.

Falling into a comfortable silence, the redhead watches the clouds through the slightly foggy hospital window, feeling the other man's eyes on him, admiring him. He isn't quite sure what it means, but allowing his feelings to linger, Saeran lets himself hope.

#mystic messenger #mysme #nsdzine #saeran choi #se saeran #rowan carmody #cmc #and nowww my personal sorting links #my writing #saefluff #saehurtcomfort

[agustdef]

With All My Heart

Pairing: Tattoo Artist!Hoseok x Doctor!Reader.

Genre: Established Relationship; Angst; Fluff

Word Count: 11K

Warning: Angsty. Language...?; Mention of Death; Mentions of mental health struggles

Rating: PG15

Banner Maker: @httpangelicjimin​ who was wonderful enough to remake this one after realized the other wouldn’t work and then proceeded to use it for I Found You.

Beta Reader: @suhdays​ who knew I was in a rush and was kind enough to offer to beta it for me without me asking. 

When Hoseok came home from his last appointment, he found the apartment mostly silent and way cleaner than when he’d left that morning. Probably cleaner than after the weekly Sunday morning routine was finished, which was impressing and worrisome. But also made him hopeful.

After discarding his shoes and jacket at the door, he headed to the bedroom where he found YN already settled into bed. She wore a large shirt – with the words fight me with a leprechaun on front – that she’d probably stolen from Yoongi’s closet during their last visit, her bonnet, and a koala face mask. Her eyes were focused on the TV on the wall opposite their bed and she hummed along with the intro to the anime she was watching.

It was the most relaxed he’d seen her in weeks.

“Hey baby,” he said.

That drew her attention towards him, and she smiled when they locked eyes, though that stopped as soon as her mask shifted. She was happy to see him and had missed him after the day she’d spent alone. Not that she was lonely or anything, but it felt nice to break away from being by herself.

“Hi. You’re home early. I thought you had to work on that big piece tonight?” she said.

That made Hoseok annoyed in an instant. He huffed and rolled his eyes while his fingers ran through his hair. The memory of the evening he had before, and after he finished what turned into his last client filled his head.

“She called and said she couldn't make it. Which was fine, because I wasn't up to working on it tonight anyway. I'm still feeling sick I guess. But, then she kept changing her mind, and when she finally decided to come - and said she was on her way - she didn't come at all. No response to calls or any of the messages I sent. But I was scrolling through the shop's feed while waiting for my other person only to see her at some other shop we follow getting a different tattoo. I just told her that if she wasn’t going to honor appointments and give me the run around, then we weren’t the right fit.”

In response YN frowned. It was clear how annoyed and tired he was, even without the added stress of a wishy washy, client who just thought they could do whatever the hell they wanted when requesting someone’s time. She wanted to knock the girl upside her head, but it wasn’t realistic, and she’d never go out of her way to attack someone. Though the idea of cussing her out if she appeared at the shop when YN was around didn’t seem too terrible of a plan.

However, that wasn’t something that either of them lingered on long because Hoseok sneezed five times in a row and by the third he seemed wiped out.

YN took off her mask and threw it in the trash near her side of the bed before hopping up. She opened her bedside table and pulled out a thermometer, which she quickly freed from its little bad as she rounded the bed to where he stood. Hoseok knew better than to argue so his mouth opened before she even raised her arm to stick it in.

They stood there for a moment staring at each other, until they heard the beep and when YN looked at the temperature she winced.

“You went up so much since this morning. You’re practically at fever levels. Go take a shower and get in bed. I’ll get some stuff for you to take,” she said.

There was no way Hoseok would argue with how he felt. It was like once he was at home and stopped moving his body had started to give up. He felt heavy and he ached a little here and there. His head also felt a little weird, but he chalked up part of that to being frustrated. So, once she stepped away from him he dragged himself to the bathroom.

By the time he finished his shower and pulled on some clothes, YN was already back in the room. She’d had a bowl, a mug, and a glass of water sitting on the table near his side of the bed. And she was unfolding a blanket, which Hoseok recognized as one the weighted ones. It was something that YN pulled out whenever one of them was having a tough time sleeping or in general, and when they got sick. Something about the thing eased the body into relaxation that neither of them had ever felt before.

When she noticed his arrival, she smiled at him and patted the bed. Hoseok moved as quickly as his body would allow him and plopped down onto the bed. Before he could do much else she placed the bowl into his hands.

“It’s a mix of the broths from the soup your mom brought and that Mama Min brought. You are to never tell them that I did this. Or that while both are good they taste next level combined. I will not be killed because I took care of you,” she said.

At that Hoseok laughed, and then drank down the broth. YN wasn’t wrong about it being better combined, which was part of the reason he downed it despite the burn he felt. Naturally, YN chastised him as he did because she could see the pain on his face, but he paid her no mind. Once finished, she replaced the bowl with the mug and one look inside had him sitting it down.

“You know I don’t like that version of ginseng. Why can’t I drink the other one?” he whined.

“Because it’s the kind that helps you the most and it hides the taste of the medicine you hate so much. This is your own fault for being a wimp and not wanting to drink it down by itself. So drink it,” she said.

Of course, he didn’t do it right away. Hoseok stared YN down and attempted his best puppy dog eyes and pout, but was met with an unamused expression that became more uncaring as each second passed. That didn’t deter hum though, at least not for about a minute or so when it was clearly she only grew more impatient with him.

With a huff he grabbed the mug and quickly downed the shot of ginseng and medicine. He winced in reaction to how bitter it was and immediately snatched the glass of water up as YN took the mug from him. Once he’d downed that as well she grabbed all the dishes and headed out of the bedroom.

“Get comfortable in bed,” she called back.

Upon return she had both of their 34oz water bottles filled up and ready for them to drink through the night if need be. Which for Hoseok was often while sick and because she’d caught a little of his cold she too needed a few sips at random times if she woke up.

After giving it to him, she climbed into bed and slid under the blanket. It may have been summer but they tended to keep their room on the colder side, which meant that they wouldn’t overheat just because they slept under them; which was good because YN needed to be under a blanket to sleep.

Getting comfortable didn’t take them long, since they were both so wiped out from their days. And despite Hoseok’s sickness they cuddled together, because unlike him YN continued her dose of medicine until it was gone. She knew she wasn’t one hundred percent better even when the symptoms appeared to have left her completely.

They stayed cuddled together for about half an hour watching what YN had on before he’d come home. Nothing felt tense or awkward in their silence, just comfortable and relaxed.

But as time went on Hoseok remembered the feeling he’d had upon his arrival home. The worry that filled him when he saw how much she’d cleaned by herself in the time he’d been gone. And the hope he’d had at knowing she’d found enough energy to even make the effort to clean that much in the first place. She’d been out of it for weeks and it was the first major sign that something changed. Or that’s what he wished for.

Hoseok turned his head to look at her, well more like assess her face. It was relaxed and she seemed genuinely interested in what was on the screen and not off in her own little world. Though once she realized he was staring she turned his way and his assessment was over almost as quickly as it began.

“Can I help you?” she asked, her brow raised.

For a moment Hoseok debated telling her no, but that didn’t sit right with him. He needed to say something or it would bother him until he blurted it out. Or there was a chance she’d bottle it all up and not say anything at all because she was fine or she didn’t want to dump on him because he wasn’t her therapist.

“How was your session?” he asked.

There was a momentary change in her expression, but she didn’t let it linger for long. That made him even more worried, but he waited for her to say something. Though he knew if she was holding back and if he should push her.

“It was fine, I guess. Less crying than usual. We talked about all my other issues and saved how I was feeling about my mom for last. I think she hoped that by keeping me in a time constraint of twenty minutes I’d be forced to get out the main issues first and avoid going off into tangents. She was very wrong about that and the appointment ran for half an hour longer than it should have. I’d gotten so worked up that it wasn’t wise to try to force me down quickly,” she said.

Hoseok nodded along and reached under the blanket to grab her hand but didn’t utter a word. Just like her therapist he wanted her to let things out at her own pace.

“I mean it’s getting easier, but I don’t know. How is one supposed to process the death of their mother? And it doesn’t help that on top of that it’s dealing with how we were estranged. Knowing that my mix of apathy and deep hurt are valid. That it’s okay that I’m not as torn up about her dying as I think I should be. That I’m not torn up about losing a chance at speaking to the sibling that I never wanted to deal with because he moved back to the US. Dealing with calls from a slew of aunts and uncles who regularly give no fucks about me, questioning why I’m not there, and why I chose not to be heavily involved in the process. Why I could only show up. Why I didn’t stay longer.”

The more she spoke the shakier her voice got and it broke Hoseok’s heart. She was getting better and he knew that, but he always knew it was a lot to overcome. The loss of her only parent, despite their relationship, was something hard to deal with or so he imagined it. It had even affected Yoongi a great deal since he’d been close to her before too, but he recovered faster.

More than anything, Hoseok wished he could find some magic way to lessen the pain and confusion for her, but he felt just as helpless as when she found out. She’d come to the shop when she still had six hours of her twelve hour shift left to go and looked in shock. Without a word she’d run into Yoongi’s arms as he’d come out of his room after hearing Jungkook’s frantic calls. There she burst into tears, and through the sobbing told them that her mother had been in a car accident and didn’t make it.

None of them, except Yoongi, had ever seen her cry that hard and he tried his best to be her rock, but he broke with her. They broke down in the middle of the shop, falling to their knees as they cried together. The boys decided to close after that and just let them cry, comforting them when they could. And at some point they called Beau and Mama Min to tell them what had happened.

From there, they had to wait until they were calm enough to get them in a car to head back to Yoongi’s place. There they were met by Beau and Mama Min, who accepted them with open arms. The sobbing started all over again and they slowly got them to calm down enough to eat and shower. Everyone assumed it was a sleepover kind of situation, so they’d gotten Jin and Taehyung to swing by their places to grab stuff for them.

The entire night was just everyone surrounding YN on the makeshift nest they’d made. She never once let go of Yoongi’s hand and he didn’t dare release hers. And as they slept she cuddled into Mama Min’s side holding onto her for dear life with her other hand.

Seeing her shattered like that was eye opening for Hoseok, and he tried his best to make sure she was okay. Work gave her two weeks off, but when she didn’t bounce back quickly they extended the leave for a little longer. Then when that ran out she used vacation time she’d saved up. That was the start of when she actually made progress in not being a shell of her former self and Hoseok would tell her to take off all the time in the world if it meant that she’d be better.

But, as Hoseok sat there thinking about how he wished there was something he could do to fix things he realized there was something he could at least try to make her feel a bit better. And it would allow him to do something that he’d been wanting to for a while.

Smiling at her he leaned down and pressed a kiss to her forehead before pulling away and staring into her eyes.

“We haven’t gone out in a while. So, what do you say about us and everyone going out to the beach for a week? We can do it next week too. Go to the beach house and hang out, have some fun,” he said.

For a moment it felt like she’d say no, especially because she looked so emotional, but then she nodded. And Hoseok watched as a smile worked its way onto her lips, bigger and more genuine than he’d seen in a while.

“That sounds like what I need,” she said.

Happy with that, Hoseok leaned down and pressed a quick kiss to her lips before pulling away and snuggling into her. They continued their comfortable cuddly night in and slowly drifted to sleep together. Hoseok’s mind focused on planning things out perfectly until he knocked out.

The day before they were to leave to head to the beach house YN had planned to spend it packing and relax because the journey was tiresome. However, Hoseok had other plans and just as she finished packing her stuff he called her to come down to the shop for the night. Saying no was an option, but he sounded so excited that she couldn’t help but say yes.

So, on a Friday night when she could’ve been in her home eating and playing video games she found herself in Hoseok’s tattoo room by herself. Upon her arrival she’d been told he’d run out for a second and would be back in a bit. And in that case a bit meant thirty minutes or so after she got there.

Annoyed was an understatement, especially when she saw that he read the texts she’d sent asking him where he was. When it got too much, she got up to leave, but the moment she put her hand on the knob she was stumbling back because the door was being pushed open from the outside.

Hoseok – sweaty and breathing heavily – held bags of food and balanced multiple drinks in a tray. His eyes were wide and his mouth open in that uncomfortable mouth breathing way. Like YN could see the man’s uvula clear as day.

For a while they stood there staring at each other, that was until Hoseok regained control of his breathing.

“Were you about to leave?”

“Yes. You asked me to come at a specific time and you’re not here. Then I have to wait over thirty minutes where you open and don’t respond to my texts. How much longer did you think I was going to stay? Especially since you asked me to come here when I planned to not leave the couch until I absolutely had to all night,” she said.

At that Hoseok frowned. Moving past her a little he placed the stuff down in the tattoo chair that was reclined back. Then he moved to stand in front of her, his hands cupped her face. He stared at her expression and saw the slight bags under her eyes and the lingering sadness. She’d done so well for almost a week following his proposal of the beach trip, but the last day or two something shifted.

Her mother’s husband had found a way to contact her and it had thrown her off. Though the conversation had gone well it had brought her two steps back. Hoseok had woken up to her crying in the middle of the night and through the tears she’d managed to say that she felt like she was doing something wrong despite knowing she wasn’t. Despite knowing she was doing what was best for her and her mental state she felt like it was all wrong. Overthinking her decisions needlessly. The next morning – after he’d gotten her to sleep – she apologized and told him she knew that she was right and having a conversation with her mother’s husband that didn’t go horribly or fill her with anger felt off.

Things got better after that, but it took more than a moment of clarity and a talk with her therapist over the phone to get her back to where she’d been before. And that was why Hoseok had come up with the idea to call her into the shop. Well Jungkook and Taehyung came up with the idea to take her out before they all left, but he came up with what they’d do.

“I know, but I wanted to do something before we left. I swear we shouldn’t be here all night and I got that burger you were craving,” he said, a pout formed on his lips.

The usual thing would be for YN to throw the smallest of fits because she felt so tired, but his stupid face was there and she couldn’t say no. Plus she hadn’t left the apartment much in a week and needed the change of scenery even if it wasn’t a major one.

YN sighed. “Fine.”

With her answer and the small smile he saw fighting to take form on her lips Hoseok finally stopped his pouting. Leaning forward he pressed a quick kiss to her lips before releasing his hold on her face and moving over to the food. He carefully removed everything from the bags and then ran to put two of the four drinks in the tray into his mini freezer.

All the while YN stood and watched him; she hadn’t wanted to get in the way of what he was doing. The man could be anal about how things were handled when he was attempting to make some nice gesture and she’d been on the end of one of his glares before. Though she knew he wasn’t actually mad she knew not to push it further. There was no need for her to deal with a pouty baby later because things veered off plan; especially since she’d shown up before he could get back.

“Okay, so I know you were craving a burger and I went to the place you like and got you a double cheeseburger with extra pickles and a large fry. Also, a sprite and a chocolate milkshake,” he said.

Hearing him list the things made something stir inside YN. After giving into him she’d gotten less annoyed, but that hadn’t meant her mood shifted completely. Despite not being actively sad she felt down and having him get her the thing she’d been craving and getting her out of the house brightened her day. The corners of her mouth even turned up in a smile, something that hadn’t graced her lips once since she’d arrived – or all that day for that matter.

So, she watched as he excitedly continued and reassured her that the things she didn’t like weren’t on the burger and that he thought it would be good for them to sit in his room to eat. There was something about another plan of his, but she barely heard him as she smiled and watched him closely. His smile grew as he excitedly spoke of his idea, causing her own to do the same.

Hoseok was mid-ramble when he noticed that she was smiling at him. A truly genuine one at that. It made his heart beat a little erratically, but he didn’t mind at all. YN’s happiness was his priority and it felt good for him to see that she looked happy, even for a moment.

“Should we start eating?” he asked.

She nodded and he moved one of his chairs over to her so she could sit down to eat her food at the tattoo chair. In many cases she’d object, but the smell of multiple disinfectants told her that he’d cleaned the thing multiple times before her arrival. Plus, he’d laid a paper you’d see when you went to the doctor over the seat, so there was an added barrier from the food and the not so cleanly people who sometimes sat in it.

Though her mouth watered at the smell and the visual of her food YN waited until Hoseok was seat in his own chair across from her. He gave her a pointed look that she knew well from all the times he got annoyed at her not just eating and she dug into it without a word.

Not speaking was something they maintained for a few minutes before Hoseok swallowed a bite that he barely chewed.

“Did you finish getting everything ready?” he asked.

She nodded, because unlike him she liked to chew her food quite a bit before swallowing it.

“Yeah. Everything of mine is packed, as well as stuff we need for the beach, most of the snacks, and I grabbed all your stuff but didn’t pack it.”

Hoseok scoffed. “Good.”

At that she couldn’t help but to roll her eyes.

“You could’ve just let me pack it all for you. That way you don’t have to worry about it when you get home. Plus, you’re going to ask me to help when something doesn’t fit anyway,” she mumbled.

“I can back my own stuff. I’m a big boy. Besides who says I’ll need your help this time, I’m not even taking a whole lot with me.”

There was no verbal response to that, just a shake of the head as she gave up on the topic. At the end of the day she knew she was right and that Hoseok would come to her whining about something not fitting right or being unable to zip the bag. And the solution would be to refold something, rearrange how things sat, or make him realize he didn’t need as many pairs of shoes as he packed. And he definitely didn’t need to bring multiple colors of the same chunky, ugly pair of shoes that she hated.

She wished she could burn them but he loved them too much.

From there silence persisted for a bit and then she randomly turned her head to see a sketch on his wall of an anime she’d watched a long time ago. Naturally, that started a whole conversation about it and how much Hoseok hadn’t liked it as a kid. Something about his sister forcing him to watch it and him not liking the main character. Which led to a discussion about other main characters they both didn’t like. It spiraled into the difference between characters made unlikable as a part of their stories and how some were just not great and people played them off as unlikable on purpose. That didn’t stop people critiquing them though. Definitely didn’t stop YN.

As they talked their food lessened until it was gone. Hoseok took the initiative to clean it up and directed YN to the freezer. She grabbed their shakes and sat the one that was clearly white and black down on his side, grabbing a straw and jabbing it into her own cup. Her lips wrapped around it to pull some of the frozen treat up, but she struggled with how thick it was. When she finally got some out she pulled away with a smile.

“I see it’s up to your standards of thick. Sure you don’t want a spoon?” he asked upon his return to the seat.

YN shook her head vigorously and went in for more. Part of her brain hated the struggle, but the joy that filled her each time she finally got some was too great. The thick milkshakes were always the best.

While she did that Hoseok moved to his computer and turned on some music, his usual tattooing playlist blasted through the speakers. He turned it down when he saw YN flinch and then slid his chair back over to the seat. He grabbed his own straw and milkshake and sucked it down. It was thick, but the normal kind. No part of him had the patience to wrestle with his food or drink, so despite how much creamier it was her way he chose not to suffer.

About half the milkshake was gone before he got up from the seat and snatched YN’s from her hand – despite protest – to put back in the freezer. When he turned around he was met with her pouting and he wanted to give it back but they had other things to do as well.

“There’s another reason I asked you to come,” Hoseok said.

“Which is?”

He didn’t respond, just gathered a few things and prepped his small rolling table for tattooing before pushing towards her. There was no time to process what he meant by the action because then he was whipping off his shirt and taking a seat in the tattoo chair.

His intentions were beyond clear.

“Today?” she asked.

“Today.”

“But I-”

“Aht, no buts. You’re ready to do this and you were so excited to get to tattoo an actual person. So, today you’re going to do me and then Yoongi another time. Probably the others too since they’re all babies who can’t be left out.” He rolled his eyes while he said the last bit.

“That’s so many, I didn’t sign up for that. And why now? I’m not prepared for this. I don’t even have the stencil ready or-”

Again she didn’t get far because Hoseok pointed to a sheet of paper on the table that had various copies of the tattoo they’d agreed on and a pair of scissors.

The man had truly taken the time to make sure that everything was set. Which was sweet, but also spiked YN’s nerves. So much that any sadness that she’d felt was nowhere on her mind.

Hesitation was clear on her face as Hoseok watched her and he worried she was stuck amid her sadness, but then he noticed the nervous glint in her eyes. He found it cute that the woman cut open people for a living and was worried about how her tattoo would come out. Even though she caught onto tattooing faster than anyone in the shop and had the steadiest hand of all of them.

Reaching over Hoseok cupped her face and forced her gaze on him.

“You’ll do fine. We chose this tattoo because it was quick and basic. Line work and some shading. You even did it a million times on oranges, lemons, and grapefruit. It’ll be great,” he encouraged.

There was an urge to protest, but YN didn’t. She rose from her seat and walked out of the room. She went to wash her hands and then came back to slip gloves onto them. She lifted the arm rest and placed his arm on it, careful to look around for a good spot. Hoseok was tattooed almost completely on both arms, but there was a spot on his left forearm that had enough space.

From there she was kind of on autopilot. She cut the stencil and placed it on the spot to double check that it would work. Once pleased she set it back on the table and grabbed an antiseptic wipe to clean the area. She spent way too much time on that, but Hoseok didn’t comment on it. Before she knew it she was actually placing the stencil onto his skin and peeling it off, the thin purple lines transferred perfectly.

By then the nerves had returned and she was ready to back down, but then she made eye contact with Hoseok and he gave her an encouraging smile. She couldn’t stop then, she needed to see the tattoo through.

She got the gun and the ink ready, but the vibe felt off. So, without a word she rolled over to the computer and pulled off a glove. There were several clicks before Jonghyun’s beautiful voice filled the space. It was the first song on her surgery playlist and in a way tattooing was like that, so it was the perfect relaxer.

After replacing the glove she took off with another one she got to work. The tip of the needle dipped into the black ink and using her free hand she pressed Hoseok’s arm down and began the tattoo.

The design was a crescent moon – which would be shaded in – and a sun combined. Where the moon stopped lines and dots of varying lengths were used to make clear that it was the sun. Nothing intricate, but still something she worried about messing up.

Her movements were careful and steady, her hand moving easily as she traced the outline of the moon. It took her shorter than she thought even with her excessive wiping, but she wasn’t pleased with the outcome. It wasn’t bad at all, basically perfect. However, she’d been so nervous that the lines were too thin.

“If you want it thicker you can do it. I know Yoongi worked with you on that the last few sessions. I only taught you to start with thinner lines just in case you’re unsure,” Hoseok offered as if he read her mind.

YN nodded, chewing on her lower lip as she went in again. That time her lines were a little heavier and though part of her worried that it was a mistake to make them that thick, by the time she’d finished and wiped the excess she was pleased with it.

Being happy with her outcome meant that she felt more confident, which meant she went into the next part with less worry. She shaded the moon in with vigor and had to mutter a few apologies when Hoseok whined about her being too aggressive. It was just that she got excited and so into the work.

Which meant that she didn’t notice Yoongi when he’d silently entered the room. He stood behind her, though about a foot away so he wasn’t crowding her. Him and Hoseok watched as she finished the shading and went on to the lines to create the sun. Her hand moved carefully as she did and though there were a few curses when she thought she messed up, there were also those lightbulb moments when she realized she could make up the length with a few extra dots. Nothing ruined at all.

Once finished she set the gun to the side and carefully used the other items on the table to clean it. Seeing the cleaned version had her scared it was a mess, but the more she stared at it the more she liked it.

“You did good. How the hell did you get that to curve so fluidly?” Yoongi said, startling her with his sudden presence.

“She was so worried she’d mess up, I told her it would be fine,” Hoseok said.

Involuntarily, YN rolled her eyes. They enjoyed double teaming her on everything, but self-doubt was by far their favorite.

“Let the man see the new tattoo,” Yoongi said, playful nudging her shoulder.

Her eyes widened as she remembered he couldn’t see it well from the angle he was at and she moved away from the chair so he could get up. Hoseok immediately went over to the floor length mirror hanging near the door. He held out his arm and examined it closely – and for way too long – without saying anything. If he hadn’t smiled before he spoke she would’ve thrown up in fear he hated it.

“I told you, you’d do good baby,” he said.

Tension melted from her body at that and Hoseok watched on in joy. Not only had she accomplished her first tattoo, but she also appeared genuinely happy. There was nothing about her that exuded sadness or showed that she was even vaguely in a low place. It didn’t mean she was completely free from the thoughts, but it did mean that she wasn’t caught up in them enough to show any outward reactions. And since she wasn’t the best at keeping her emotions hidden and bottled up that was a win.

From the eye contact he made with Yoongi for a moment the older male also appeared to think so. Flashing Hoseok a thumbs up when YN wasn’t looking.

The first part of Hoseok’s plan was a success.

The trip to the beach was long and started early. They’d rented a twelve-seater van to drive there and alternated drivers. Jungkook, Yoongi, and YN switched out every two hours so no one got too complacent or tired with the six hour drive. It was trying sometimes because of stupid drivers or someone complaining too much, but they made it there without anyone killing someone else.

A true win.

They arrived at the beach house late afternoon and decided they’d spend that night in. None of them had enough energy from the trip to anything and they had a full week to venture out. Plus avoiding the massive crowd on a Saturday night was a win.

Food was ordered in front various places because everyone either wanted something different or couldn’t make up their mind on what they wanted at all. Dinner was eaten and though it started off with minimal conversation they all eventually started talking about random things and eventually it led to talk of what they would do the next day. Hoseok mentioned something about the amusement park nearby, which got YN excited immediately and everyone agreed with that.

However, the quickness in which they all said yes wasn’t lost on YN despite her excitement. Usually they all took forever deciding what to do on any group outing and when they did there was some sort of whining. But everyone had agreed and then went about eating like everything was fine. No questions asked. No adjustments to time. No concerns about being there for so long. Just compliance.

It was something YN planned to ask about and fight against if they were doing it because she wanted to. Them giving in just because it would make her happy because she’d been so down wasn’t something she was okay with. The thought was nice, but she preferred they did their own things if that’s what they wanted. But she didn’t get to ask because everyone finished and before she knew it Hoseok escorted her to their room.

And like clockwork her body felt heavy the moment her eyes laid on the bed. Not even the pretty view from their balcony could draw her in. Which made it easy for Hoseok to maintain control to get her in the shower and then bed in the matter of thirty minutes.

By the time her head hit the pillow she felt refreshed, but like she’d cried for a few hours straight. The kind of tired where you don’t really feel one with the world and everything is almost like an outsider looking in. Though when she looked at Hoseok he grounded her a bit.

He took a few minutes longer to get into the bed after she did, slipping in wearing nothing but his boxers. Which was fine because she was in short shorts and a crop top. Something that seemed to warrant him poking her stomach every so often, which she allowed to happen because she didn’t have it in her to stop him.

Hoseok knew what he was doing too and that he’d pay for it once she slept, though she tended to forget things when too tired. But he stopped his poking and prodding after a few seconds, preferring to pull her close so they were cuddled together. Her leg thrown over him and their faces resting inches away from each other. He wanted to stay up a little and talk, but her eyes were closed and her breathing slowing.

For once she didn’t argue about it only being 8:00pm and thus too early to sleep. She’d say that every time they went on a trip, but more than anything she’d been saying it since after her mother’s funeral. Even when she looked exhausted and mentally not there she refused to sleep that early. So it felt good to see her not do it for once and after placing a kiss on her lips that thought lulled Hoseok to sleep.

Because they’d fallen asleep so early everyone was up at around seven the next morning. Well, everyone except for Jin, Beau and YN. They’d all woken up and ventured out of their rooms at around five almost six and decided yoga was the move. They gathered on the back patio of the house where you could see the beach and got to work.

Yoga was something that Jin and YN did regularly. The hospital had classes for all the staff to take and they’d gone with no intentions to ever do it again, but then realized how good they felt the days after. From then on they went to the classes or met up in a secluded part of a park early in the morning to do it before going out for breakfast or something. Beau joined in once when YN did it at home and then usually join her anytime he saw her doing it. Sometimes even joining her and Jin when they ventured out.

It was a great first moment of the vacation and one of the few times she’d felt so at peace in a long while.

From there they showered, got dressed, and went down to make breakfast. They’d picked up some groceries before getting to the house so they didn’t have to worry about it later.

By the time they finished everyone was up. Food was consumed at an alarming rate and everyone got ready with the same quickness. They wanted to get to the park at opening so they could have a better chance to get on everything. Which led to a lot of yelling and rushing people to hurry up and get to the van.

Hoseok took it upon himself to drive them there and as the rides came into view the closer they got the more excited YN got. She bounced in her seat and almost opened her door before the car came to a full stop.

That was dangerous and with the way Yoongi looked at her Hoseok thought she’d get scolded, but in fact the older man was upset that she tried to cheat. Which confused Hoseok until he whipped the door open and sprinted towards the entrance, YN hot on his heels and yelling about who was the real cheater.

It was like watching two children and goodness did it make Hoseok feel good.

When the others reached them they both stood there with big smiles and holding wrist bands, all of them the kind that were used for those with fast passes.

Hoseok narrowed his eyes at them, but neither of them looked regretful about what they’d done. In fact, they both appeared way too smug.

“What did we say about you two buying everything before anyone gets a chance? It’s not allowed on this trip or any trip,” Beau said.

Yoongi and YN turned to each other and shrugged, then thrusted a wristband into everyone’s hands. Since it wasn’t their first time out with the two amusement park junkies they all knew to get the bands on quickly, as if their lives depended on it. Yoongi had once wrapped Jungkook’s so tight that it limited circulation in his hand and they had to get another.

No one wanted to repeat that.

Without missing a beat they walked towards the workers scanning people in, leaving the others to catch up. Both of them were several feet inside the park by the time the others caught up again. They stood perfectly still and took in the park. One could feel the excitement that radiated off them.

It took Taehyung clearing his throat multiple times before they turned to face the rest of the group. Though that only lasted for a second before they were focused on each other.

“We meet here in four hours?” YN asked.

Yoongi nodded. “Right here and then I kick your ass in everything.”

That made YN scoff but she refrained from any trash talk in retaliation, there was always enough of that during them playing the games. Besides her focus was on something else.

Off in the distance was a ride that was way too high and moved way too fast – by even her standards – but the expression on her face showed how much she wanted to try it. So, without a word to the others Hoseok walked forward, grabbed her hand, and headed towards it. Everyone else went their own way, except for Jungkook and Taehyung who followed behind them. Hoseok felt like he was going to be sick the whole way, but YN and Jungkook reassured him the whole time while Taehyung poked fun at him, though it was clear that was only to calm his own nerves.

Once on the thing they all were ready to shit themselves but pushed through and as the it reached the first drop. YN and Hoseok made eye contact for a second and there was a reassuring feeling that flowed through them, but the next thing they knew they were sailing through the air so quickly it took a moment for her to breathe properly again.

The entire ride there was no moment to relax or get used to it. Even knowing what was to come didn’t make it any easier to adjust.

It was exhilarating.

That feeling is why Taehyung and Hoseok ended up waiting as YN and Jungkook went on again. Neither of them wanted to relive that and the fast pass line wasn’t that long, so they just sat on a bench a few yards from where the line-up started.

“So, are you going to do it today?” Taehyung asked, his voice a bit strained.

At first Hoseok was confused by the question and then it dawned on him what he meant. A different kind of discomfort settled in him at the thought of saying yes and so he shook his head quickly.

“Definitely not,” he muttered.

Taehyung turned to look at him with a raised brow and confusion.

“I thought that was the plan? Get her all happy and then do it? Don’t tell me you’re chickening out?” he teased.

Hoseok reached over and lightly punched his shoulder, a soft – but nervous – laugh escaping his lips.

“I’m going to, just not today. I want to make sure she’s good first. I’d hate to do it while she’s still wrapped up in sadness. That would make the whole thing much more complicated than it already is.”

At that Taehyung shrugged and turned his attention back towards the ride. They sat in a comfortable silence watching it climb high and then drop, looping a few times before it climbed again. It was more nerve wrecking watching it move like that then being on it, but that didn’t mean that Hoseok wished he was on it instead. He never planned to get on that ride again if he could help it.

About twenty minutes or so passed before they both returned and then everyone was off to other rides. They were all their own level of terrifying, but as they ran from ride to ride Hoseok got used to the fear and thrill that came along with them. He’d even agreed to go on one twice, which made YN beyond happy. Especially since she could see the eagerness was genuine. As if him being the one to request they go again wasn’t clear enough.

They continued on like that for a while, though eventually Jungkook wanted to circle back to get on something they’d all said no to. He convinced Taehyung to go with him and then Hoseok and YN were traversing the park alone.

A few more rides after the departure of the others and Hoseok forced a stop for food. Which wasn’t a whole lot and less than Hoseok would’ve liked her to eat, but it was more than she’d had some of the days from weeks before. A win in his book.

Before they went to get on some more rides they stopped to get a dessert, which was ice cream wrapped in a crepe. The park hadn’t had it the last time they’d come to it and that made YN all the more eager to indulge. They reminded her of ones she’d had in Japan when she’d gone for six months to study in high school. They tasted like them too.

“I don’t know if I should get another one now or later when we’re about to leave,” she said.

Hoseok laughed as he watched her devour it.

“I think I saw a stand with it near the entrance so you can get it when we leave,” he offered.

Though she looked conflicted at first, she smiled and nodded after a bit. No matter how practiced she was at eating and getting on rides too much dairy was a mistake. Fifteen-year-old her learned that the hard way.

After food was consumed, they went on a few more rides and then headed back toward where they were to meet with fifteen minutes to spare. The walk was taken slowly and they intertwined fingers as they went.

It was a moment of peace among the chaos and when YN looked at Hoseok with one of the brightest smiles he’d seen in a while he felt near tears. She’d been so happy and never once did her expression falter or her body language shift negatively. There was so much freedom and joy radiating from her and despite his optimism he’d been scared she’d stay shrouded in darkness for forever. So to have that voice in his head silenced because she was there and existing outside of it was just the best thing to happen to him.

Everything wasn’t fixed, but it was better than nothing.

Yoongi was at the meeting point with an irritated Beau who held a large stuffed bear. Most would question why Beau looked that way, but by the shifting that Yoongi was doing and the wide smile it was clear that he’d challenged his boyfriend to a few games and then mercilessly beat him.

Upon seeing a smiling YN though Beau’s expression shifted to mimic the smile on her face and so did Yoongi’s for a moment. However, YN was in competition mode and when he noticed that he was as well.

Not a word was uttered between them as they left their significant others to head towards the games and neither of them said anything about it. They merely trailed behind them and watched as they tried to one up each other.

Who knows how much time passed or how many prizes were handed over to kids or anyone standing nearby before everyone was gathered together watching them. Though it was tiring to stand there and see them go on forever there was also this mutual contentment as they all looked on. It was as if they were all on the same wavelength with how nice it was to see either of them back to some sort of normalcy.

“Has she been like this all day?” Beau whispered.

Hoseok nodded, his eyes never leaving them.

“Yeah. She’s been so happy and carefree. I don’t think she’s thought about it once all this time. And it doesn’t feel like she’s faking it,” he said.

There was a nod from Beau in response and then all the focus was back on them.

YN being that happy that quickly wasn’t what Hoseok foresaw at all, but it was nice to see that the second part of what he planned worked out well. He only hoped that it was doing some actual, concrete good for her mentally and that the last part of everything would go as smoothly.

Four days into their trip YN decided that Hoseok was acting weird. Though weird was something normal for his behavior it was a different type. He was attentive and kind, but also drifted off into his own head a lot and didn’t put up a fight when asked to do something that wasn’t necessarily in his comfort zone. She hadn’t pushed his limits by any means and accepted no when he said it, but for the most he gave in without a second thought.

Of course, his efforts were appreciated greatly, but that was what worried her the most. She knew how down she’d been and how the call from her mother’s husband had changed her. It was clear as day to her how she was acting and she wished she could snap her fingers and stop, but that wasn’t possible. And since she knew that, so did Hoseok and that meant he’d ramped up on trying to keep her at the very least not actively sad. All his free time was spent trying to help and look after her. The trip was just another one of those things and though she jumped at the prospect of being away from home to enjoy herself – and had enjoyed herself – she feared him taking things a step too far to please her.

No matter her mental state there would be no excuse for any damage she could do to his if that was the case. So YN planned to talk to him about it one morning, but she was redirected by Yoongi to get ready. Apparently he wanted to take her out for the day, just the two of them. Something she happily agreed to on the compromise of her going to talk to Hoseok about a thing first, but that was shot down by being told he’d headed out a few minutes beforehand. Which meant she had no other choice but to do as she was told, but with a pout.

Despite her mopey mood she didn’t take long to get dressed. Mostly because when she’d entered the room she found a pair of shorts and one of her long sleeve tops laid out for her. Yoongi promptly informed her he didn’t want her taking forever so he’d done it for her. It wasn’t out of the norm since he’d done it many times throughout their lives because supposedly she moved too slow or always grabbed the one thing in her wardrobe he hated with a passion. After a while she learned to just let it happen.

Once ready to go Yoongi grabbed her hand and practically dragged her from the house. It took some begging and mild threats to get him to not hold her hand so tight and slow down. From there he was less aggressive, but still held her hand firmly in his. She was fine with that because it was a habit from childhood that they never grow out of. As long as his bony fingers didn’t dig into her hand or squeeze too tight she was fine.

During their walk they didn’t speak, which was fine. They both tended to be quiet people and silences were rarely awkward. Walking for ten minutes to the nearby cafe bookstore was nothing in the realm of how long they could be around each other and not utter a single word.

“I wanted us to relax before dinner later. You know they’re all going to get drunk and it’ll be a mess. So, some peace and quiet for now,” Yoongi said once they entered.

That made YN smile wide. Even without the reason she loved the idea of spending a few hours there.

“You sure it’s not because they let you take naps here whenever we come?” she teased.

Yoongi laughed. “That too. A peaceful nap.”

With that she nodded and finally removed her hand from his. She shooed him away to see if any good seats were open and then headed off to buy their drinks. All of her will was used not to stop and look at books that caught her eye as she walked to the counter. The man wanted a nap, but him waiting too long for his favorite hot chocolate wasn’t on the table. Plus, there was something about being inside the place that calmed her so much that she was a bit tired herself.

After she grabbed the hot chocolates she searched for him and was beyond happy to find him at the reclining chairs in a back corner. Not daring to destroy the nice atmosphere of the space she merely handed him his drink and plopped down into her own chair. Her body relaxed instantly. It was asking her to sleep, but she wanted to drink her hot chocolate first. That lasted maybe ten minutes before she and Yoongi drifted off.

Sometimes she didn’t remember how much having a good time and being happy could drain from a person, no matter how much sleep they got.

When they finally woke up, panic filled YN because she’d misread the clock as saying four hours had passed, but it was barely an hour. The darkness only exacerbated that, but she was thankful her eyes adjusted before she shook Yoongi awake.

Since she felt refreshed from the nap the urge to explore books overcame her again. Instead of ignoring it she left Yoongi to continue his napping and looked around the store.

A lot of what did interest her were things she had read, were on her to read list, or by someone who wasn’t the greatest person despite their excellent writing. The things she did find that didn’t fit into that were all so tempting and she wanted to get them all but knew better than to do that. Her to read list was long and she didn’t need a million more books. So, she settled on getting the top three and took pictures of the others to buy at a later date.

By the time she made her purchase Yoongi had woken up and joined her at the register. He appeared rested and much peppier than he had before, which made her happy to see.

“Should we head back now?” she asked.

He nodded and then they were holding hands and walking back to the beach house.

The silence on the way back didn’t exist. Yoongi asked about what books she’d gotten and some other book she’d gotten a while ago that he’d been interested in. She agreed to give it to him and just as they reached the house and she prepared to ask if he wanted the book’s sequel as well he stopped abruptly.

Confusion coloring her face YN turned her head to look at him and was met with a tense expression. However, before she could question it he spoke.

“You’re okay, right? Actually okay, not the fake okay?” he asked.

YN felt a pang in her heart and her eyes watered for a second, but she pushed that all down. She wouldn’t dare make him more worried than he’d already been, especially when there was nothing to worry about.

“I’m okay. In fact, I’m as close to content as I’ve been in a while,” she said.

His entire demeanor changed when she said the word content. It was a signal of sorts. Something that they’d both learned they wanted through therapy. Happiness was great but being content and not so much good or bad was always the goal. As long as they could reach contentment all would be fine.

Though relaxed he didn’t stop staring her down for a moment and then after a firm squeeze of her hand – that she returned – he started walking again.

Inside the house everyone was putting the finishing touches on the dinner they’d decided on for the evening. It was a night in, which meant cooking and Jungkook had said that meant it needed to be an extra meal. So, him, Jin, Jimin, and Namjoon had spent a lot of time getting everything prepped and cooked. YN had wanted to help and even offered once Yoongi and her returned, but they were done and shooed her out to the patio so they could bring the food out.

Hoseok, who she’d seen maybe twice that whole day, pulled her down onto the seat next to him and immediately moved in for a kiss. That elicited some gagging from Beau which was met with a middle finger from both Hoseok and YN all without pulling away from each other.

They did part when the first of many dishes were placed on the table though. And without hesitation – once everyone was seated and Jin gave his go ahead – they began grabbing the things they wanted or moving them in range.

There was just so much. They’d made kimchi stew, bulgogi, pork ribs, fried rice, curry, and braised chicken. And of course, enough white rice that would satisfy even YN.

Bloated wasn’t even the word that truly captured how YN felt by the end of it all. Though happy was definitely a descriptor. They’d eaten, talked, and down alcohol. Jokes and stories were told, laughed about, and denied with intense vigor all around. It was a peaceful moment despite the chaos and watching her family just be together always filled her with such joy.

She could stay like that forever, but of course that was a no.

About thirty minutes after she’d had her last bite Hoseok suggested they go on a walk while they waited for the others to return with the chosen dessert. No was on the tip of her tongue, but he reminded her walking could help her feel better. Plus, he had a look in his eye that reminded her that she’d wanted to talk to him about something before.

So, they kicked off their shoes and headed down the beach. Hoseok laced their fingers together and led her away from the house. At first they said nothing, but then at the exact same time they spoke.

“YN-”

“Can we talk-”

They both paused and looked at each other with wide eyes before descending into laughter. It took a moment or two, but they collected themselves soon enough and continued their trek.

“You first,” he said.

YN nodded. “I want to thank you for all of this. It was what I needed and I’m so happy to have all this time with you and everyone else. Being with the people I loved most and who love me. Having fun that I haven’t had in a while. Having moments where I feel content, even if it’s fleeting. I haven’t had a bad day for the last few days and I haven’t even thought about anything really. And even if I did it was such a fleeting moment that I only barely remember it happened at all.”

“But?” Hoseok said when she paused.

“But I worry about taking advantage of all of you. I know that I’m not and everyone is happy to be here for a good time and to offer all the support in the world. I know that that feeling is for naught. But I realized how much you’ve given into me the last few days and it makes me feel like I may be crossing a line. You’ve had to deal with me being distraught and not myself for weeks. Never able to escape that unless out at work or I’m with someone else. And then you plan this and you give into my every whim. You do things that I know make you uncomfortable. Even if I’m not pushing you on certain things and I know I’m not crossing any hard lines it still feels wrong. And I’m sorry about that,” she said.

That ended in them coming to an abrupt stop. Hoseok released her hand and moved to stand in front of her, his hands moving to cup her face.

“Baby, you don’t have to worry about any of that. You have not crossed a line or made me do anything I didn’t choose to do. I’m fine. Did I agree to a few things that scare me or make me cautious? Yes. Did I do them partly because they made you happy? Yes. But like I said, it was my choice. I wanted to try them and that was an extra incentive. Seeing you smile or be in the moment was the greatest incentive in the world. I wouldn’t change doing those things. And I know you’re worried about what all this or your behavior could have done to my mental health, but I’m good there too. It hurt me to see you like that, but I processed that in therapy. Dr. Seo was more than willing to take me in more than once a month to process all this. I swear to you I’m fine.”

There was clear uncertainty in her eyes despite what he said. Hoseok could see it and though he wished she’d just believe him he knew that wasn’t how the mind worked. Sometimes things took a while to process or a little more assurance needed to be given.

After taking a deep breath he leaned down and pressed a gentle kiss to her lips, one she returned without hesitation. When he pulled away one of his hands slipped from her face as their foreheads pressed together.

“I love you,” he whispered.

“I love you too.”

The next few moments happened in a weird space where everything moved too fast and too slow. Hoseok’s other hand moved from her face and he pulled away from her, but before anything could be said or done on her end he was down on one knee with a ring in his hand.

YN had no time to process it before he started talking.

“This week was about making you feel even an ounce of happiness, but it was also about finding the right time to ask you. YN you know I love you with my entire being. How you love yourself, me, and our little family brings me such joy. How you live to be the best you and know that you’re not always going to get it right. How you know yourself enough to know how to handle your problems. You realize how off you’re being and take the time to self-assess, not just because of you but because of me. So you’re not doing anything that could affect me. That could lead to unintentional behavior that could harm me. You grow so much all the time and it feels impossible for you to put forth any more effort than you already do.

“You just make me feel so happy. Doesn’t matter if it’s from watching you be that way, you making me feel that way, or the reminder that I can be happy on my own despite you. That I can stand alone in happiness that doesn’t revolve around you or anyone else. Something I struggled with so much before. You’ve helped so much by just being you. And though I know that we have cemented our relationship already, I still want to do this. It would truly be the best thing in the world if you married me, baby.”

YN had worked through the initial shock and was much calmer than when he’d started talking. Her brain fought to keep up with the words and her heart soared as she took them in. It’s why she didn’t hesitate in responding with a yes.

Without missing a beat Hoseok slipped the ring on her finger and rose onto his feet. He pulled her into a tight hug and whispered ‘I love you’ over and over. In the distance there were cheers from their friends who had watched on from the back patio. She hadn’t even realized they’d turned and walked back towards the house once she’d started talking. But that didn’t matter at all. At least not in that moment.

The calm that she felt mattered. The excitement she felt mattered. The content feeling that washed over her mattered.

#BB2020 #bangtanhq #heartsforbts #kwritersworldnet #btswritingcafe #bangtanarmynet #hoseok x reader #hobi x reader #jhope x reader #hoseok angst #hoseok fluff #hoseok fanfic #hobi fanfic #jhope fanfic #hoseok au #tattoo artist!hoseok #hoseok x black reader #hoseok x poc reader #bts fanfic #bts fanfiction #kpop fanfic #kpop fanfiction #fanfic #fanfiction

[doing-an-okay-job-miranda]

Lost loves - Kingceit pt2

AO3 / Masterpost

Part one: AO3 / Tumblr

Warnings: some crying, some mourning, mentions of fusion, i dunno. tell me if i should tag anything

It’s soft Logan giving some comfort

----

Deceit thought he was handling things well enough. He'd accepted Patton's apologies and dealt with the other's gazes watching his every move until finally, things started to move on. Patton and Virgil both seem content to move on since Deceit was so thoroughly repressing all that nonsense. It helped that any sympathy they may have given him he throws back with mockery and thinly veiled insults.

He could almost forget it even happened, write it off as a bad dream if it weren't for a certain pair of twins that had a harder time letting things go.

Remus went silent around him more often, enough that sometimes Deceit wouldn't even notice his presence until the liar turned around to find the other dark side standing right behind him. Deceit wouldn't have cared if Remus was planning something or following some horror skit but as soon as Deceit acknowledged his presence he was right back to acting 'normal.'

Roman was easier to deal with, at least. The light side didn't live with him so Deceit only had to deal with his subdued heartbroken looks on occasion. Only sometimes have to pretend he didn't hear Roman try and grab his attention on the very rare times they were alone.

It was very tiring and he had much better things to do than to walk on eggshells around two halves of his ex.

Deceit hates repression as much as the next side, he knows he really should just talk to the twins and try to work something out, do anything to explain why he reacted the way he did and that it really doesn't affect his relationship with them but there's that one little thing that stops him from heading over to one of the creativity's bedrooms every single time.

Deceit is a coward.

He's been blaming the twins like he hasn't been trying to ignore it every time Remus walks into the same room as him like he's been engaging with Remus and entertaining the chaotic side like normal and not just letting conversations fall flat. He blames them like he doesn't scurry out of a room every time he sees Roman enter like he doesn't ignore the prince's greetings when they pass in the hall.

So maybe Deceit himself was adding to the uncomfortableness of the situation and he was self-aware enough to know he isn't going to do anything about it.

Or at least that's what he planned until Logic decided to stop minding his own business.

Logan raises into the liar's room which that fact that he could even find it to sink into would be impressive if he had said literally anything instead of "Tell me about the king."

Deceit had been shocked that he even had the nerve to mention it, even before the twin's fusion it was a bit of a taboo topic. "You knew the king too, isss your memory failing you?" The snake hisses through a smile with far too much teeth to be anything friendly.

Still, Logan doesn't budge. "I didn't know him as you did." He says and steps further into Deceit's room despite having absolutely no invitation. "Tell me about how you knew him."

"I don't have to tell you anything." Deceit has never wanted to throw hands so much in his existence but of course, he doesn't move from his spot because he's a coward. "Why don't you go ask um, I don't know, literally anyone else."

The logical side is quiet for a moment, staring into Deceit's eyes. The snake keeps eye contact, challenging him, not backing down, he's not about to just take this- "You don't have to say only good things." What. "Tell me about his bad habits, what did he do to annoy you? Tell me about his mistakes, just talk about him. I don't care if you say anything good or not."

Deceit hesitates this time, shifting uncomfortably from one foot to the other and finally breaking his gaze with logic as the floor seemed a much better target. "He..." What is he doing? "He moved a lot in his sleep." Deceit speaks slowly as he picks at his gloves. "It was funny sometimes but a lot of the time he would just turn and smack me in the face in the middle of the night."

The dark side looks up for a moment to see Logan's lips quirk into an almost smile.

"He would put anything in his mouth. I mean, Remus will too because he's curious or likes the feel of things but R- but the King would do it out of spite just to wrestle with him to take whatever he had away because he's an overgrown child."

Deceit moves to sit on his bed, patting the spot next to him and glaring off to the side when Logan sat beside him and spoke about everything that came to mind. He told Logan about how the king always had to choose the movies, how he constantly tried to drag Deceit into whatever idea he had, the time he shoved the liar into a lake of red gelatin that stained his skin and clothes, how he would poke at Deceit's sides to force him to laugh(that story was followed up by a threat to the logical sides corporal form if he told anyone.) He's aware that Logan played him as soon as he's talking about the more fonder memories too, he knows this is what he wanted to avoid but it came a lot easier under the guise of annoyance and Deceit finds that he's not entirely against talking about them.

Eventually, though, the weight gets too much. Deceit falls quiet as his throat tightens and eyes burn. Logan remains calm and quiet next to him, giving him enough time to compose himself before speaking again.

"Roman has admitted to me that he doesn't have many memories of being the king, is this the same for Remus?" Deceit gives a small nod, part of the pain was having someone so much like the king but have no memories of their love. "I see. I have spoken to Roman about their fusion, he said that while he was fused he could remember everything but the moment he unfused, it escaped him again." Logan pauses. "I would assume that means-"

"That means Remus got hit by that too." Deceit sighs tiredly, rubbing his human eye.

"I believe they are left with all the feelings the king experienced but none of the memories." Logan puts a hand on the scaled sides back, the warm pressure making him finally look at the logical side again.

Deceit doesn't know what he looks like at the moment but all he feels is tiredness and that familiar apathy drowning him. "You want me to talk with them." His voice comes out flat, monotone and more uncaring then he intends. Deceit does care, he really does but just the thought of confronting this issue made him just want to curl up and hide away from the world.

He wants to shy away from Logan's eyes but once more the light side surprises him. "No, you don't need to." There's something soft behind the other's eyes, something that Deceit doesn't know if he should trust or not. "You shouldn't avoid them when they're so emotionally compromised-" Deceit gives an amused huff. "But if you're not ready to talk about it then I do believe there is no force on Earth that could figuratively move you. They can wait for you but don't push them away."

Deceit gives a sharp nod and buries his face in his hands. He hates feeling like this, hates being seen like this by another side but still clings onto the small comfort of Logan's presence like the desperate creature he is. "I truly miss him, Logan. I know it may have not seemed like it but-" His words choke off and he bites his lip, willing himself not to cry, he will not cry in front of anyone.

"I know." Logan's hand on his bad rubs small circles, both soothing him and making it incredibly more difficult to resist crying. "I have one question, I will not judge you for your answer so if you could please be honest."

Deceit let's out a watery laugh before taking a deep breath. "Sure."

"If, somehow, the king could back permanently, would you want that?" Isn't that the million-dollar question that Logan just throws out right there.

"No." Deceit doesn't hesitate on this one, this is something he's thought about for a long time, something he wondered when his bed felt too empty or when Remus said something he's heard before. "No." He repeats again, saying it out loud really feels like he's sealing some sort of deal. "He made his choice a long time ago, it hurts and I miss him but it would never be the same." Deceit lowers his hands, letting Logan see him despite his likely disheveled appearance. "And I would never trade my Duke or even Prince for anything, not even my king."

It startles Deceit slightly when arms wrap around him, Logan pulling him into a hug and warms him to his very bones. It takes everything not to break down right there, to not fall apart or collapse in on himself with the logical sides embrace. He does though, maybe, crack a little, just the smallest amount when he leans his head against the other side's chest.

#sanders sides #sanders sides fic #deceit sanders #logan sanders #roman sanders #remus sanders #king creativity #kingceit #platonic loceit #Fusion sides

[deerlyloved]

friends of friends

under cut: a long fanfiction about my fallout 3 oc, clyde, and his experiences with trauma after the pitt

The Capital Wasteland was an inhospitable place, one that even the most toughened of people would struggle in. Mountains of concrete left in radiated piles around the once-bustling city meant it was a struggle to get anywhere in the decimated city unless you decide to take your chances with the potential fall, and the people who flooded the streets you could traverse made the fall seem ideal.

The dangers faced when just trying to walk through the Capital Wastes were bad, but when you tried to settle they got worse. Raiders, slavers, radiation, ghouls, or sometimes just plain bad luck… It seemed near impossible to try and live there, the land mostly infertile and the people hostile.

And that’s why Clyde loved it. Just like home, but with way fewer trogs and way more people. Another plus was being able to do whatever the fuck he wanted to with slavers he found and people not care, either way, no praise for being a hero or dirty looks from someone he kept alive as a reminder. Just quiet apathy and blank looks. It was nice.

He kicked a raiders face in one day and the settlers he was bothering said thanks and moved on. He broke another's legs the next and no one mentioned it.

Maybe resorting to violence to get his feelings out without having to address them wasn’t healthy, but he didn’t know that that was what he was doing, so he didn’t care and just kept swinging and shooting to his heart’s content.

The journey from the Pitt to the Capital Wasteland was...hazy to him. He remembered refusing to go back to the steelyard to give her to Wernher, making him come out instead. The days that followed as Midea took charge, forming new systems to make sure everyone was safe, new expansions, new everything still made him feel almost hopeful. He stood next to her with a gun the entire time and damn near snarling at anyone who got too close, same with Marie. Midea was so hopeful, so happy to see a light at the end of the tunnel finally, and it was infectious. Once they had a farm going, they cleared out Haven of food, and once people got something edible in their stomachs?

Clyde had never seen the place so busy. Even when they had slavers breathing down their necks and beating them, when pain and death were reasonable responses to so much as stumbling, they weren’t as busy and motivated as then. Reinforcements were built up in a day or two, the steelyard was cleared in three weeks and lit up in another two with ingots being found much more easily than they ever were when slaves were being thrown in for fun.

It was almost a settlement, somewhere that could turn out to be worth-fucking-while to put effort into, especially once word got out and traders stopped by again.

And that might be why Clyde left. He could remember packing, and then stopping and having to talk himself into telling Midea, saying goodbye before he up and left. It went about as well as he thought it would, Midea clinging to him and his armor and crying, asking him to stay. Marie was too young to understand, so she didn’t cry like Midea or the other newly not-slaves did. Clyde felt a small twinge of guilt, but it was knocked away by his usual state of uncaring that was so ground into him he couldn’t help it.

The walk took a few days, but he just kept going. Only stopping to sleep and take a small break here and there, he walked to the ruined area of DC and then kept going until he found himself near a tall, crumbling building, three-stories high with a gate. He stared for longer than he wanted to admit, realizing he’d been traversing through unknown territory and not even caring for his surroundings until now. He finally noticed the relative chill of the night, feeling that his skin had flushed at the new temperature.

He was so used to the constant heat of the Pitt that he wanted to shiver at the air around him, even though it was more than welcome.

Finally, someone spoke, a woman. She shouted from the second story, half-hidden from behind a ruined window frame. “What’s your business, stranger?”

Clyde didn’t know what to say. He had no idea what his business was, he just didn’t want to be in the Pitt anymore so he walked and walked and ended up here. He opened his mouth to speak, finding the most convenient lie to spout just like he’d been doing since he was 13.

He said he wanted a place to trade and rest his feet, never mind the fact he had nothing to trade and it was obvious. The woman narrowed her eyes, her finger staying on the trigger of the guns he already had readied and trained on Clyde.

“Hannibal says I gotta let folks like you in, but that don’t mean I have to like it.” She shouted back at him. Keep your hands in sight, and don’t make any sudden moves.” Her gone lowered just an inch, and she paused as she scanned Clyde up and down. “I’m coming down to open the gate.”

Clyde went in. The woman, Simone, literally locked him in the building, telling him to go speak with the previously mentioned Hannibal before she talked to him. Once he found out they were all escaped slaves, the woman’s hostility clicked in Clyde’s mind, and he suddenly felt the same protective feelings he had towards his not-slave family for everyone in the building.

Not love, maybe not even a bond, just a need to protect them.

So he left as quickly as he could. He left and just walked the streets of DC, another soul lost in the ruins of a forgotten civilization.

During the months he wondered, he joined a mercenary company. He became the “quiet one”, the “new kid”, and he earned a minor reputation for being reliable. Even with a bullet in his shoulder and blurred vision, he would make sure every last feral ghoul in the area was dead before he paused to take care of himself.

Something he still looked back on with confusion and wonder is how he found the time to revisit the Pitt, and by extent, the people there. He would never understand why he let himself go back, or why he even wanted to in the first place, but he found himself at the gates one day, a bag full of toy cars and teddy bears for Marie.

The first time he had ever done that, Midea had nearly tackled him with the hug she gave him, and she made sure Wenher had brought Marie out to see him as well. He stayed for a week or so before he decided it was time to head back to the Capital Wastes.

Clyde never cared for the people he traveled with, barely caring to learn their name, but he found himself passing through the streets of DC one particular night, following behind a pack brahmin weighed down with scrap metal and junk.

In the distance, he saw it, shining lights from a crumbling building being patched up with plywood and scrap metal. He raised his gun as they approached, as did the rest of the guards, but the closer the more they realized what they were approaching.

The Temple of the Union had expanded and moved to a more reasonable state of living. The Lincoln Memorial now housed them, the walls that had been torn down through years of abuse and neglect now patched up with wood, stone, and lots of hard work. It had become a central part of the Capital Wasteland, a beacon of hope for some people and an intimidating force for others.

The caravan he guarded stopped to trade and rest their feet for the night, and Clyde found himself at the end of the stairs with a stabbing in his chest keeping him from walking too far up. A woman shouted down at him after a few minutes of him standing around kicking his feet, almost mockingly, “What’s your business, stranger?”

Clyde felt just a tiny bit better as he met the gaze of Simone, who walked down with her gun in her hands and a smirk on her face. “Long time no see.”

Simone coerced him up the stairs with promises of ammo and extra water, and Clyde was almost instantly bombarded with quiet cheers from the slaves he once knew when he stumbled across the Temple of the Union months ago.

When morning came, Clyde didn’t follow the caravan out. He handed the man his caps back and went back to the room he had been sitting in all night. It felt… right to be here. For once, something felt right to him, not almost-right where he was walking on eggshells trying to find a place to sit. So he stayed. He stayed until a woman named Rosie Red came marching into the Lincoln Memorial like she owned the place, a woman with a deactivated slave collar trailing behind her with knives attached to her belt and a smirk on her face.

He stayed until Rosie looked at him, asked him how much his contract was, and bought him out for the year. Then, he followed Rosie around, not that she went far.

She boasted herself as an old assassin, a black widow in the wasteland that took down scummy men to make sure they never hurt another person. She’d quickly add “well... women too…” and wink at her partner, Clover. Rosie went on and on about how she had a reputation, and when Clyde asked around it was confirmed that she did. A few people even said that Rosie had been the one that freed them in the first place, killing their masters, buying them and turning them loose, or just doing something as simple as opening a gate.

Clyde didn’t trust her, contract or not, and he always made sure to keep a closer eye on her than was necessary.

The Union had grown so much, and after Clyde had his week in the Memorial, he considered leaving just as he had with the Pitt. The prosperity was too much for him, it almost reminded him of Haven when he was young. Every small, innocent interaction was painted dark, the heat of the Pitt finding him even in the coolness of DC as Clyde watched two raiders exchange cigarettes before turning back into the good-hearted ex-slaves on the stairs they were.

It’s like he was being haunted, even small things pulling him back however far into his past it wanted him to go. One of the slaves had a baby when she came in, and he had to cup his ears so he’d stop picturing Marie in her crib, confused and whining as he killed her mother just feet from her.

He tried to leave after that, standing and grabbing his bag, packed and ready to go like always. He went for the stairs, the chill seeping into his bones and his ears still ringing from the sound of the whining baby, trying to walk down without drawing too much attention to himself and failing miserably evidently.

His arm was grabbed, and Clyde whirled around and reared back to hit whoever it was that grabbed him, only to come face to face with the aged face of Hamilton. The man gave him a solemn look, lips pursed into a fine line. The air between them was still, the city seemed to go quiet for a few moments as they stared at each other, Clyde blankly and Hamilton ever-so disappointedly.

“Just promise to take care of yourself.”

Clyde almost grimaced at the words, but years of training had made sure he didn’t, and he just stared, moving from Hamiltons grasp as he continued off down the stairs after the look grew too much for him to bear. The feeling followed him, and all Clyde could feel as he stared down the decrepit streets of DC was those eyes on his back, watching, waiting, disappointed.

He stopped just at the bottom of the steps, some ache in his chest keeping him from walking any further as he stared into the night. He thought, and thought, and then he couldn’t stand thinking anymore so he sat on the bottom steps, eyes sliding shut and his head in his hands.

Clyde didn’t want to be Clyde. He didn’t want to be a weapon, or a monster, or a hero, he just wanted to not be anything. Maybe he wanted to be dead. Just the product of some asshole in power armor thinking torturing a child was the way to a new, better world. Just a weapon, a weapon always, what more was he good at? Any ability to decide who he was wiped clean long ago-- He couldn’t even remember who he was. Was Clyde even his goddamn name?

He sat on the stairs, trying not to curl in on himself, just trying to find some semblance of calm in the rushing thoughts in his head. He knew he was alone once the hairs on the back of his neck stopped standing, and all he could do was think.

Clyde sat for what seemed like hours in the moonlight, thinking but not really having many thoughts besides “Oh God, what have you gotten yourself into?” and “You have a job, finish it.”

His head snapped towards someone sitting next to him, and he saw the fair face of Rosie Red. She leaned back on the step behind her, her legs stretching out in front of her as she looked towards the sky. Even at night, she was wearing red lipstick, her hair a mess and a look of knowing on her face. He stared, suspicion creeping back on him as he stared. What did she want? He said nothing, knowing better than to speak up against his boss, but his face gave it all away.

“You don’t have to finish out your contract, but I would have appreciated a warning, kid.” She said softly, eyebrows knitting together in worry for a split second before her entire face relaxed again. “If you want to go, you can. Just be safe, alright? It’s a dangerous world out there.”

“I owe you a few more months of work, I will give you them.” Clyde replied, looking down towards the pavement between his feet.

“But you don’t want to.” Rosie retorted.

“I owe you a few more months of work--”

“What do you want, Clyde? Do you know?”

“I will give you them.”

Rosie sighed deeply, her eyes sliding shut. “You remind me of Clover.” She murmured, going silent for nearly a minute until she spoke again, “Well, kid… If you want to stay, then stay. If you want to go… Ask yourself why.”

Rosie then stood, smiling down at the man before she turned and walked back up the stairs, where Clover was waiting tiredly by the entrance to the memorial.

No point in questioning your boss.

A loud clattering noise snapped Clyde out of his reminiscing, and his eyes snapped to the caps spread across the floor and the man cursing as he picked them up. Bottlecap, of course. He was the person that was best with numbers, so he was put in charge of the money by Hamilton.

Clyde watched stoically as Bottlecap knelt down, gathering the caps back into the cloth sack they had spilled from with more grumbles and complaints, though he shooed away those who attempted to help. Ever protective of the job he was given, just like the rest of them. Regardless of how much you disconnect yourself from your history, the habits you form never leave, it’s why Clyde was a mercenary, why Bottlecap looked up terrified when the woman tried to help him gather the caps he’d spilled, and it’s why that woman flinched when Bottlecap told her to leave.

He had decided to stay a year ago, though he didn’t understand why even now. He didn’t think it mattered, though, as long as he was here, employed by a woman who deserved his protection, he didn’t feel bad. Rosie let him make a trip every few months to the Pitt, though she didn’t know that’s where he went, no one did. Clyde tried his best to make sure no one knew he came from the Pitt, an act of protection in his mind.

The DC chill still bothered him, even now as he was comfortably cool, and he felt the need to just stop patching his armor halfway through to have the extra layer on. He’d ditched the cracked leather years ago, now in comfortable metal pieces that he constantly took care of, always remembering the time he spent in the steelyard with nothing between him and the snapping jaws of the trogs but cloth.

He was ever grateful for metal armor.

Sun shone in through the holes in the walls of the memorial, and Clyde focused his attention back on his armor, finally going over the last few pieces with careful eyes before he put it all back on, standing and looking around the room with a long, slow glance as he moved for the door. Bottlecap had gathered the last of the caps he’d dropped and had moved on to wherever he was going, and the room was filled with a relative silence once more save for the quiet murmurs from people too far for Clyde to hear clearly.

He walked out the door, grimacing at the sunlight that hit his eyes and blinded him for a short moment before he finally adjusted, looking around the area. A farm had been set up in the mangled debris, encircled with its own fences, gates, and guards like it was the most precious thing in the world.

He turned his head to clance at the top of the memorial, seeing a chair set up next to a crate with Nuka Cola bottles covering it, and a small, blonde woman positioned just next to it. She had her hand on a sniper rifle next to her, her legs dangling freely over the ledge of the Memorial in a way that just taunted fate. She saw Clyde looking and raised her hand to wave before she leaned back and grabbed a half-full Nuka Cola.

Everything was exactly as it should be. Clyde had grown used to the relative peace the Temple of the Union held, though the urge to flee bubbled up nearly every day-- he always ignored it, thankfully. At this point, if he took off, Rosie would hunt him down just to scold him for worrying her.

He moved to one of the pillars that held the Memorial up, leaning against it and looking out onto the street. Junk walls had been put up in an attempt to fortify the Memorial, and they worked rather effectively. Made of metal and welded together, it was hard to get past the wall without Liberty taking you out first, and Clyde liked to think he was support. Anyone who got past the walls, whether by pure skill or blind luck, didn’t make it any further thanks to him and his gun.

Just as the relative peace found him and his thoughts, it was gone.

A bullet lodging it’s way in the pillar Clyde stood on snapped his attention towards the road, scanning the little road he could see just above the walls for any sign of movement. He heart Liberty scurry above, knocking off dust and pebbles as she readied herself to shoot.

He saw nothing, and since Liberty wasn’t firing, she saw nothing. The workers outside all went quiet, most freezing in place as they looked towards the gate, others moving slowly towards the Memorial to take cover.

And finally, Clyde saw movement, but Liberty saw it first, and the person moving just outside the gates was shot down before they got any closer. Clyde hated to say it, hated to even think it, but he knew the armor, even though he just barely saw it. His feet were moving before he even realized, and he found himself at the gate, peering out of it with narrowed eyes to see a raider-- no, a slaver-- on the ground with blood beginning to pool. He had no gun.

“Ah shit.” Clyde murmured, spinning around and motioning for those outside to take cover, looking over his shoulder out the slot in the gate again. 

“Here we fuckin’ go.”

#my ocs #clyde #fallout #fallout oc #fallout 3 #my writing #oc writing #fallout fanfiction #fallout oc fanfiction

[yandere-daydreams]

can i get some yandere galo - maybe the aftermath of one of his punishments? idk i just need more yan galo in my life xoxo

He’s so sweet, I can hardly imagine him ever really harming his Darling.  But, with that being said, there are some *creative* measures he’d be willing to resort to, if pushed to his breaking point.

TW: Non-Consensual Drug Use and Mentions of Physical Violence.

~

Everything was spinning.

It was all you could do to lay still, whether on your chest or your back, you weren’t really sure. It felt like your heart was beating too slowly, but your head pounded as if you’d been strung upside-down for hours, your legs no longer attached to your body in any meaningful way. Every time you shifted, if only to try at rolling over, the walls went blurry and you couldn’t make out the color of the sheets surrounding you… or were you on the floor? That might’ve explained the unmirrored soreness in your muscles, like someone had planted their heel in your spine and refused to budge.

You reached to your side, throwing your fist into whatever surface you were resting on. When the pain didn’t come, numbness etching itself into your skin instead, you decided you were on the bed.

The sound of the door unlocking stirred a similar feeling inside of you, something between an uncaring apathy and a dread you couldn’t find it in yourself to feed into. It’d frightened you, your first day, terrified you on your second. A week in, the dozens of locks had fueled your hatred, and after a month you’d learned to ignore them. Now, you didn’t dare to glance up, his footsteps too loud, too heavy, reverberating off your skull and forcing you to bury yourself in the mattress, whatever was left of your mind willing your body to melt into the soft surface. But the illusion was broken as strong arms wrapped around you, pulling you out of your cushiony shelter and into a warm chest. But, the feeling of rough skin rubbing so violently against your own was enough for you to draw back, curling into yourself.

Or trying to, at least. It was hard to tell if you’d actually moved.

Still, Galo seemed content with your immobilized state, grinning as he positioned you on his lap. You were leaning against his shoulder by the time he was done, one arm securing you in place while the other supported his own weight, your form slotted snugly against his. It was a routine, a tradition that he come home and hold you like you were the most delicate thing in the world, your captor seeming to bask in the silence before he leaned down, kissing the top of your head. His lips lingered for a little too long, teeth brushing against your scalp, but it was all you could do to keep your eyes open. Pushing him away wasn’t an option, like this.

He laughed as he looked over you, squeezing your waist playfully. “You’re tired, aren’t you, baby?” Galo asked, despite already knowing the answer. You couldn’t provide much of a response, letting out a light, breathy sound and nodding, but it was enough for him, earning you another kiss. This one to the space just underneath your eye. “I can’t blame you, I’ve seen how hard that stuff hits. I was out of commission for the better half of a week, and I only had half a dose.” He chuckled, reaching up to cup your chin, encouraging you to lean into the touch. “And I gave you more than enough to put a horse down! That… that was my bad, I was a little angry.”

He’d pinned you down. He’d threatened to break your wrists. He made you cry and didn’t feed you that night and injected something terrible into your veins, but you couldn’t bring yourself to give him anything more than a weak frown. “It… it hurts,” You spat, forcing the words out like a rock lodged in your throat. “It hurts so much, Galo.”

He took a sympathetic turn instantly, cooing as you whimpered, something in your chest tearing from the effort. There wasn’t a choice anymore, your cheeks soon completely enveloped in his hands. It was your lips, this time, as fleeting as it was chaste. “I know, (Y/n), I know.” His tone was quiet, compassionate, bordering on genuine. “Whenever you’re in pain, I am too, remember? We’ve always stuck together, and that’s never gonna change.”

You let your heart flutter, blinking away the haze over your eyes. You couldn’t help but fall into it, staring up at him as adoringly as you could, leaning into his comfort ever-so-slightly. “Does that mean you’ll–”

There was a thumb pressed into the corner of your mouth before you could finish, stopping you from speaking and pulling your lips into a wide, tight smile. “I never said that,” He started, his voice never losing its childlike mania. “You kill me whenever you try to leave, and with all those terrible things you say… you should be thanking me for just restraining you. This isn’t even a fraction of the pain you deserve.”

You shook your head, mumbling incoherently and spouting something pathetic, but Galo’s expression never wavered, just growing more resolute as he let one of his hands fall to his pocket. You hadn’t noticed the long, black box in the mess of red material, but it couldn’t have stood out more now, the knowledge of what was inside making the world around you tremble and your eyes water, Galo’s gaze already boring into your jugular vein, where he always aimed when you upset him. You couldn’t walk, you couldn’t even move, but the dizziness and crawling would be worth it that needle never touched neck again.

But, Galo had other plans, pinching your cheek and baring his teeth. You could taste blood, but you hadn’t felt his nails pierce your skin.

“Maybe another little push will help you to see my side.”

#yandere #yandere love #yandere x you #yandere x reader #yandere prompt #yandere oneshot #yandere drabble #yandere imagines #yandere scenerio #yandere promare #promare #promare imagines #yandere promare redux #promare redux #galo x reader #yandere galo #galo thymos x reader #yandere galo thymos #yandere scenarios #yanderecore #possessive #obsessive #obsesion #jealousy