#i too am very VERY relieved about the election but that is Not this post

[mingtinys]

Silent Cry

pairing : jung wooyoung x gn!reader

angst , hurt / comfort , a lil fluff if u squint

warnings : language , themes of depression and isolation , nudity (not explicit or detailed) , just heavy content in general

word count : 3.5 k

requested ? no

a/n : this one has been sitting in the drafts for quite some time as i just never felt good enough about posting it as it's a little different from what i usually write about . but i did promise a wooyoung fic , so here it is !! (and yes , this fic was slightly inspired by the skz song)

It's not often you find yourself angry beyond reason, in fact, you'd like to think yourself a rather patient individual. But at the end of the day, a rather shitty one at that, there's only so much you can excuse or find reason with. Only so much silence and disrespect you can take before something inside you snaps and pushes down the logical side of your brain that's desperately trying to convince you "there's gotta be a good reason, Wooyoung would never purposely ignore you." Bullshit.

If he didn't want to go out tonight? Fine. That's not your issue. But standing you up without, at the very least, a courtesy call? You've wracked your brain all day, and there's just not much you can think of to justify the utter embarrassment and betrayal he put you through tonight. So you let your rage carry you the entire thirty-minute walk from your usual restaurant to the dorms and wait to be let in.

Not that there was much to begin with, your expectations having been severely degraded for the night, but the last twinge of hope you'd allowed to fester dies when your aggressive knocks on the KQ dorms summon San in leu of Wooyoung. He looks startled, but moreover just exhausted. "Y/N," He breathes out a greeting, quickly waving you inside. You don't quite pick up on it at first, but he sounds almost relieved to see you.

"Is he here?" You ask immediately, stepping into the empty area of the living room, between the TV stand and L–shaped couch. Yunho and Yeosang are there too, they peer at you through solemn eyes and let out their own sighs, matching San.

Yeosang rubs at his face, pulling the skin as he drags his palms down until they slip from his jaw and land in his lap. "Wooyoung? He's in his room."

You scoff, "That asshole–"

It's Yunho who moves first, standing and catching your arm before you can storm off to confront the object of your frustration.  "Woah, wait, what's going on?" It takes everything in you not to yank your arm from his gasp. You're mad at Wooyoung, not Yunho, you remind yourself.

"He's been ignoring me for the past three days and now he's missed our date night." You explain with a huff. Yunho drops your arm and looks between San and Yesoang. Their glances are far too knowing and not enough explaining, it irks you even further.

"What? Am I missing something here?"

Your impatience prompts another glance between the three boys before San finally elects himself to speak. "He won't really talk to us either," San frowns. "He's been acting kind of . . . weird."

"We got snapped at when we tried to offer grabbing dinner together earlier." Though Yeosang sounds just about as annoyed as you, there's something more behind his eyes that sends a pang through your heart. Worry? Helplessness? Guilt, perhaps? You try not to read too much into it.

"Well, he doesn't get to be an asshole about it."

"I agree," The group nods at your statement. "But listen, don't be too hard on him, alright? I don't think he's feeling too great." Yunho chooses his words with surgical-like precision. The phrase "I don't think he's feeling too great" sticks in your mind and leaves a bitter taste on the tip of your tongue.

"Noted." With that, you turn on your heels and start down the hall to Wooyoung's room, no one intervenes or follows this time.

You rasp three times on the wooden door with your knuckles, and thrice more when your first attempt yields no response. It's just silence, and after an internal debate between impatience and hesitancy, you reach for the knob and twist.

The door only opens but a few inches when a loud huff resonates through the pitch-black room. "I told you guys to leave me alone," Wooyoung croaks, his voice raspy and raw.

You ignore his request and allow yourself in anyways, shutting the door behind you and enveloping the room in near darkness. The poor lighting situation unfortunately doesn't do much in terms of masking the clutter you're faced with upon second glance. Various piles of clothes are haphazardly strewn about, making the room feel more like a maze than a habitable environment. Open and unfinished food containers cast a rather unpleasant aroma that clings to your olfactory senses and causes your nose to scrunch up involuntarily.

Wooyoung himself lays in bed, wrapped in a thick cocoon of blankets with his back turned to the door. A faint glow highlights the portions of his face visible to you and you can just barely pick up on a popular TikTok audio playing on a loop over the hum of the A/C unit.

You stop a few feet from him. "Oh, so your phone is working. Good to know."

Wooyoung's head whips around with lightning speed, eyes blown wide with surprise. "Y/N? Why are you here?"

You roll your eyes at his incredulous expression. "Do you have any idea what day it is?"

He thinks for a moment, hazy eyes scanning the room, and then you. He blinks once, twice, a third time. "Thursday?"

"It's Saturday, Wooyoung."

"Oh."

He visibly deflates, sinking further into the safety of his blanket and flipping back to his side, leaving you to spill your grievances to the back of his head. "Is that all you have to say? I waited alone for you to show up for nearly two hours, and all you have to say is 'oh.'?"

"I'm sorry." He doesn't sound it. "I'm not really sure what else you want me to say."

Your fists ball up at your sides with how apathetic he is. It's just so unlike him, giving you the cold shoulder as opposed to greeting you with eager kisses and excited giggles. A knot ties itself tightly in your gut and twists uncomfortably. You uncurl your fingers and wriggle them, trying to release the built-up tension. Forcing a calmness into your voice that honestly, you aren't sure how you manage, you speak.

"Woo, why are you being like this?" You cross your arms over your chest, preparing to protect yourself from another very likely short response from your boyfriend. "You could have at least told me you weren't coming, or texted to let me know you were okay. . ."

He huffs again. "Fine. I'm sorry I flaked. I'm an asshole, I get it. Now please leave, I'm not in the mood."

It should make you even angrier. His complete disregard for how he's talking to you, the careless attitude he uses to cover up whatever he's actually feeling. But you've known Wooyoung for too long, and something must be seriously wrong for him to behave how he is. The knot in your stomach coils even tighter and stretches into your chest, constricting your airways. You're starting to understand why Yeosang looked so worried.

You manage to suck down a deep breath that allows your prior frustration to dissipate just enough so you can keep a cool head, even if he can't. You choose your next words carefully, dropping your voice down to a patient whisper.

"I don't wanna leave without knowing you're okay, but if you say you are . . . then I'll believe you, I won't pry any further."

The room descends into an uncomfortable silence, broken only by the increasingly rapid and jagged breathing of the boy in front of you. Something halfway between a choked sob and hiccup bubbles up from the confines of his throat. The uncharacteristic sound is worse than anything you've heard pass through his lips before. It nearly splits your heart right down the middle.

"Baby," you coax. "Tell me what you need and I'll do what I can." You take a seat on the edge of his bed, and rest your palm where his shoulder is just beneath the blanket, lightly squeezing to try and initiate some form of comfort.

Wooyoung crumbles all too quickly for what your heart can handle. He shrinks even further as he curls into a loose ball. One hand shoots out from under his fortress to grip yours that rests on his shoulder. He cradles your hand against his chest, holding on the way a frightened child would. Cry after cry tumbles from his lips in a wretched sound, something akin to that of shattering glass on cold tile.

"I don't know," he gasps out. "I don't fucking know!"

"Okay, okay," you coo, using your free hand to repeatedly comb through strands of his messy, unwashed hair. "It's okay." You aren't sure what to say, and you're terrified you'll say the wrong thing, so you opt for nothing at all. You simply let Wooyoung cry, trusting that eventually, he'll let you know what he needs, even if it's just the rest of the night alone.

You aren't sure how long the two of you sit in silence or when Wooyoung's sobs finally begin to taper out to sniffles. Though what he says next sends your heart plummeting to your stomach and snags the air from your lungs.

"I just wanna be good enough." He confesses.

Your fingers freeze in his hair as you try to process some type of response, but the best you can get out is "What do you mean?"

"I just. . . I just feel— like shit. Like a shit friend, a shit boyfriend, a shit idol, a shit person. I feel disgusting."

Realistically, you know there's nothing in the world you can say in this moment to relieve the anguish he feels. You can let praise after praise for him fall from your lips, but they'd never reach his ears. Not when he's already convinced himself he isn't worthy of them. But that doesn't stop you from wanting to at least try. Even if it only relieves a fraction of what he feels. And you think maybe if you can't heal his mind, you can at least make sure he's physically okay.

You give his hand that's still clutching yours to his chest a squeeze. "Why don't we make something to eat, hm? You must be hungry?" But he shakes his head.

"Some tea then? Water?" He shakes his head again.

"Baby, you gotta do something to take care of yourself."

Wooyoung lets out a shaky sigh, "I don't want them to see me, not like this." You piece together he must be talking about his members. Which means no venturing out to the kitchen for food or drinks.

"Okay, maybe a bath then?"

He thinks for a moment, but surprises you when he, albeit reluctantly, agrees. Maybe he's caught on that you won't be giving up until he does at least something. Maybe he's just trying to appease you so you'll stop pestering him. Or maybe he just genuinely wants to. Whatever the reason, you're happy for it.

You slip your hand from his grasp and whisper that you'll get the water started and for him to take all the time he needs. When the tub fills and bubbles form from the bath solution you poured in, you come back to find him unraveled from his nest of blankets and sitting on the edge of his bed. You smooth his hair back and he looks up at you with sad eyes.

"It's ready whenever you are. I'll give you some time to get undressed and settle in, okay?"

The way he nods is robotic and the glassy and distant reflection in his eyes drives daggers through your heart. You wonder if he even heard you, but then he meekly rises to his feet, rubbing at stiff joints on the way up. He disappears to the bathroom moments before two knocks resonate from the wooden door.

You open it by just a crack, fully preparing to shoo off whoever it is as per Wooyoung's wishes. But when you're met face to face with a disheveled red-eyed Yeosang, you don't have the heart to tell him to go away. So you take a quick peek to make sure Wooyoung is shut away in the bathroom before opening his door the rest of the way.

Yeosang peaks around the dim room. "Is Wooyoung okay?" He whispers.

You offer up as good of a smile as you can despite the circumstances. You're not sure you've ever seen Yeosang so concerned. "He will be," you assure. The blond boy in front of you nods and mumbles out his own affirmations of Wooyoung's well-being.

"Uh, I know he probably doesn't want the extra attention right now, but could you give him this for me?" Yeosang extends a water bottle and two bags of snacks for you to take. "Oh– and San asked me to give this as well." He untucks what looks like a stuffed dog from under his arm and hands it to you as well with the utmost care. "Shiber is his favorite, but San said he thinks Wooyoung needs him more tonight."

"I'll let him know," you speak softly and Yeosang nods, but doesn't leave. He just stands there, nervously looking around and shifting from side to side. "Are you okay?" You ask.

"He scares me when he's like this."

"It's happened before?"

Yeosang nods. "Not a lot, but sometimes he just gets too caught up in his own head and shuts everyone out. I know he'll be fine, he always is . . . But he's my best friend, you know? It hurts."

You nod, understanding exactly what he means. It's hard, watching someone you love struggle and not knowing how to help them. "Yeah, I know. If it's any solace, he did get out of bed." You check over your shoulder to make sure Wooyoung hasn't reappeared. "Hopefully washing up makes him feel a little better."

The information causes a sad smile to lift the corners of Yeosang's lips. "Thank you for taking care of him."

"I'll try to keep you updated or let you know if he needs anything."

Yeosang nods, "Please do."

The two of you say your goodbyes and you shut the door back as softly as possible before setting the items Yeosang brought on his bed and returning to the door of the bathroom. You knock a few times, making sure it's okay that you enter, to which you only receive a half-hearted hum as permission. You peer in and see the tub still remains untouched. Frowning, you step fully inside to find Wooyoung stood in front of his sink mirror, seemingly lost in thought as he stares at his reflection.

His t-shirt lays discarded on the counter, leaving him shivering in just his red plaid boxers. His eyes are sad as they roam over his own figure, lips pursed in a thin line, expression one of disappointment. He takes in a deep breath, chest puffing out as it fills with air and deflates seconds later. Trembling, he wraps his arms around his torso and drops his gaze to the porcelain sink.

You take it upon yourself to slip into the space between him and the mirror, effectively blocking his ability to look even if he wanted to. You tilt your head enough to gaze at him from below, finding his eyelids squeezed shut and his jaw tensed.

Wooyoung's breath hitches when you place a gentle palm on his cheek, but he relaxes into the warmth of it twice as fast. You lift his head, thumb working to rub half circles into the damp skin.

You press a feathery kiss to the space between his eyes, and the action causes them to flutter open. "Hi, my beautiful boy." His bottom lip quivers the tiniest amount.

"C'mon, it'll get cold if we wait too long, yeah?"

He nods and tries to take one last look in the mirror, but you keep his face from turning enough to do so and he doesn't even try to fight you on it. Your hand slips from his cheek and reaches out for his, taking it and leading him over to the steaming tub.

"I'll grab some towels for when you're done." You offer, though it's more of an excuse to give him some privacy while he finishes undressing and slips in. You can only imagine how vulnerable he feels right now and it only feels right to extend that courtesy.

When you return he's fully submerged, covered by the opaque and foamy water. "I set out some shampoo and stuff earlier, but if you need anything else just call out, okay?" You say, crouching beside the tub and using the edge of it to rest your hands for balance. "Would it be okay if I cleaned up your room a bit?"

Wooyoung thinks for a moment, chewing at the inside of his cheek. "I won't if you don't want me to." You give him an out.

"Actually, um . . . Could you maybe just sit with me for a little? Please." His eyes flit back and forth between you and the still water.

"Of course," you whisper, using the tub's edge to push yourself to stand. You swiftly discard your own clothes and fold them up on the counter along with Wooyoung's. "Scoot up a bit," you instruct, and he does. Carefully, as to not splash any water, you step in and lower yourself into the warm liquid. Your back rests against the wall of the tub with Wooyoung positioned between your legs.

Taking a quarter-sized amount of shampoo in your palm, you begin lathering it into his hair and massaging his scalp. He stays silent while you work away, doing as you ask almost absent-mindedly when you guide him this way and that to rinse the products from his hair.

"Okay, lean back," you instruct one last time, guiding his head down to dip his hair in the water and cleanse it of conditioner.

"Thank you," he mumbles, turning his head a little bit to look at you. "You didn't have to do all that."

Leaning forward, you wrap your arms around his abdomen and rest your chin on his shoulder. "I didn't, but I wanted to."

"And I'm sorry for ignoring you, I'm so sor—"

"It's okay, I know." You mumble, lifting your head from its resting position just enough to press a kiss behind his ear. He relaxes slightly, and you continue. Peppering butterfly kisses down the side of his neck and to his shoulder.

The two of you sit in silence for a moment, the only noise a soft buzzing emitting from the fluorescent lights above. The warm water mixed with Wooyoung's even breaths work like a lullaby and you finally allow yourself a moment to relax. Your eyelids feel heavy, the stress of today's events finally catching up with your body. You rest against Wooyoung and continue to hold him, cheek smushed against his shoulder blade.

"It's okay if you want to go, I know you're probably tired." He suddenly speaks.

You hum against his skin, "I'm not leaving, not unless you ask me to."

"I just don't want you to feel like you have to, I can handle shit like this myself."

"That's the problem, Wooyoung." You sigh, not out of frustration or anything of the sort, but because your heart hurts for him and you're running out of ways to let him know you truly do want to help. "You're not a burden. Not to me, or Yeosang, or San, or Yunho— anyone. Why didn't you just tell us? You know we're there for you no matter what."

"I didn't know how," His voice breaks. "I don't like being like this. I hate who I am right now but I can't stop it!"

Wooyoung's shoulders tremble, and you can sense another pent-up wave of emotions ready to crest. "I just want to feel okay again," he sobs and you instinctively shift back, pulling him with you to recline. He sinks into the water a bit, head under your chin and resting against your chest. You reposition your arms for him to get comfortable, wrapping them around his midsection.

The final thread he'd been hanging on to finally snaps and Wooyoung completely shatters in your arms right then and there. His wails fill the room with perhaps the most heartbreaking sounds you've had the misfortune to hear. You hold him for what feels like hours, your own silent tears streaming steadily down your cheeks.

There's absolutely nothing you can say in that moment and you hate it. You hate feeling helpless, you hate that Wooyoung ever has to feel this way, and you hate the world for being so harsh to him. It isn't fair.

You can sit there and tell him everything that will be okay and kiss him better all you want, but at the end of the day, those are just empty dreams. It's ambitious to believe you alone could piece him back together in this moment. So you do the best you can, and just hold the broken pieces of him together so that none get lost. Even if they slice your skin and leave your hands bleeding, you'll make sure to handle them with the utmost care.

#wooyoung #jung wooyoung #ateez #ateez wooyoung #jung wooyoung imagine #jung wooyoung x reader #jung wooyoung imagines #jung wooyoung x you #wooyoung imagine #wooyoung x reader #wooyoung x you #wooyoung fanfic #ateez x reader #ateez fanfic #ateez imagine #ateez imagines #ateez x you

[princepestilence]

NYR: May in review.

Post-May horoscope: “You gotta walk in rooms like God sent you”

Okay, hands down favourite month this year so far. I’m the happiest I’ve been in... a while? ever? I’m very very happy. And relieved, my god. It’s been a stressful year but I choose to believe this is the light at the end of the tunnel, infinite and forever. Throughout May, I’ve:

handed in my resignation! After much, much deliberating, and stressing, and wondering if I was doing the right thing by me or just making a stupid choice that would backfire even worse somehow, I handed in my resignation for my current job, and I experienced immense relief. I am thrilled that these events are very soon Not My Problem, and I am excited to never be involved in corporate conference management again. That’s not to say the experience was unequivocally bad (it wasn’t), or that there won’t be things I’ll miss (there might be), but it was deeply not the right fit for me and I was going fully insane really fast. 

got an amazing new job! I start literally the day after I end at my current position, because they’re just that keen. I’m still processing the fact that this is my life, because this job ticks literally every box I had on my wishlist, which I didn’t actually think was, like, possible. Once again it feels as though someone is pulling the strings of fate in my favour, and I don’t know why. 

support feature at the slam! I didn’t win first place last slam, so it shouldn’t have been me, but since the winner had to drop out kind of last minute I got to substitute in instead. It was really fun and I’m proud of myself. It’s one of those times where you have kind of an out-of-body experience, and witness how much you’ve grown and changed. A yardstick moment. When I discovered the slam like five years ago, I would never ever have thought I’d be support feature. It’s really nice. 

nearly hit my step count goal. Weather hasn’t been on my side for months so it’s been nice to get out more. However, even weather can’t stop me now, because I’ve:

joined the gym! I’ve wanted to for ages but with work up in the air for the last few months it hasn’t been the right time. Now definitely is, though, and I’m excited to head over a few evenings a week to exercise more and listen to my podcasts since I will no longer be catching trains for hours a day in the near future. 

got a new government. I am but one of millions involved in the process, but it’s such an immense relief and source of joy. After nine consecutive years of smug religious rich boys club bullshit conservative politics “fuck the lot of yez” non-leadership, it was so satisfying to witness, as the journalist commentators called it, a “bloodbath” at the election. It’s just too bad it wasn’t literal, but it’s not too late and if we’re lucky the shame might yet kill them--at least those still able to feel it. 

attended the AGM for the first time. Really not a big deal but I guess it’s a rite of passage. I’ll see how the next few months play out and then I might put my hand up for an executive position, since they’re kind of in need of one (or several) at the moment. 

celebrated some friends. It’s been a big month for creative friends. One of my friend’s had her debut novel released yesterday, and a few days before another friend launched her published chapbook (technically it was already launched, but the plague meant she wasn’t able to have a party about it). These have nothing to do with me but it makes my heart happy to see people I care about flourishing and recognised for their talents. 

made a dreams and desires list. I guess you could call it a wishlist, but I like calling it my dreams and desires. It is fully just a collection of lists detailing the things my goblin heart covets and longs for, but as silly as it is it feels nice to like, honour that I want things and that I am allowed to have things that are nice, and update it as I want new things or get the things I want. To be fair, it’s still pretty humble all things considered. A lot of books. Various enamel pins. A new pair of boots. So on. Not anything more extravagant than bits and pieces, but I might also make a daydream list about how I would like to decorate my ideal apartment. Just for fun. 

In June, I will:

start my new job! I’m anxious because that’s the disposition I’m burdened with, but also very excited. 

finish my old job! I’m kind of mentally checked out already because the last six months sort of ran me into the ground even before I handed in my notice, but for my workwife’s sake I have been still doing some things leading up to the official handover. 

celebrate like... a lot of different things? Because of the plague and also the exhaustion of living etc. etc., we’ve put off actually doing anything ~fancy nice~ for several events and we probably should make time to do something. There’s Clair’s new job, and promotion (kind of?), and my new job (now my old job), and me resigning from my job, and getting my new cooler job, and our fourth anniversary back in March (oops), and her birthday (oops), and probably other stuff. I feel like if I don’t make this a resolution, it’s going to keep getting put off. 

writers festival. Not really a big deal and I’m only helping out for some of it, but I’m excited. I think it’s going to be really fun, and also paves the way for more excellent events like this in the future. I’m still very keen on the idea of a fantasy/spec. fic. writing festival. We need it. 

go to the gym a few times a week. Not totally sure what the schedule will be, but I’d like to aim for about three times a week, which I think is doable. I’ll say step count folds into this as well, since I would still like to hit that 5k a day average. 

go to the zoo! Also a cat cafe, but on a different day. It’s going to be such a good weekend. 

watch all of Prehistoric Planet. Probably several times. I really want to settle in and do the whole thing and just haven’t had a good chance, so I’ve blocked off a whole day for that (June 13th, mark your calendars) and I’m going to go fully mental. 

exciting new tabletop game~ The funding campaign begins this month (June 22nd, mark your calendars) and I am going to be intolerable, because my friends made it/are working on it (and also I’m the editor). Hope you’re ready for me to be super annoying for like three weeks straight. 

new poem at the slam. I’ve started a new one over the last couple of days that I think is going to fuck, so getting that finished and ready to go is the poetry goal for the month. 

do some art? I didn’t get around to it last month but I thought about it a lot. 

think about routine. I don’t want to set anything down yet until I experience the new job and get a feel for it, but I’m really craving routine and I think now is a great opportunity to lean into that properly. I think it’ll do a lot for me to have a more liveable structure in my life instead of the clinging on that I’ve been doing.

#2022 resolutions

[fortunatelylovingcrusade]

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snowman og Somewhat the information recommend that staff members with healthfulness are actually very most likely to be marketed. In the personal market, our professionals find out that job advertising dramatically exacerbates individuals's psychological strain (on a GHQ rating) snowman biscuits tension. For everybody market, there are actually some probationary clues of the opposite. Our business talk regarding precautions to our judgments, urge care in their analysis, and also disagreement that even more longitudinal research studies are in fact needed to have Very very subjective health and wellness: a crossway in between economics and also psychology via Christopher J Boyce( )3 versions uploaded in 2009 in English as well as stored through 19 World, Feline participant libraries worldwide This area takes advantage of individual wellness data to realize the influence that an individual?s economical circumstances have on their well-being.

This chapter supplies clinical paperwork to highly recommend that psychological procedure is actually a far more reliable means to reduce psychological pain. Revenue advancement carries out certainly not try to elevate national well being in well-known countries thus this chapter recommends that enriching access to psychological medical may be actually a much better technique to elevate nationwide well being snowman pot pressure.

5 cheer 36 micrograms every cubic gauge. At this moment, the senior and also individuals with hidden problems are told to restrict activity (runtz strain yield). At 150 micrograms per cubic meter, senior high school football crews can't practice outdoors or even host video games. During the course of the whole Seeley Lake smoke cigarettes occasion, the sky balanced 220 micrograms every cubic gauge.

Andi Bourne, editor of the Seeley-Swan Pioneer paper, came through all of it, dealing with the fire as well as surrounding smoke cigarettes that jeopardized her tiny community."It was actually only disappointing," she claims (flavor of the coochie). "You awaken as well as you can't find throughout the lake or even observe the mountains as a result of the fog. It seemed like it was pushing down on you, and it would certainly obtain even worse within the day as opposed to better (sativa runtz).

Runtz Family Seeds Things To Know Before You Get This

It was thus segregating kind of like what our experts all are actually experiencing with COVID at this moment."She asked Seeley old-timers if they had ever before experienced just about anything like it."They mentioned it was actually just remarkable for it to go on such a long time," Bourne points out. "I assume the valley has actually been socked in like that for a time or 2, yet it had never put up around for just as long as it did.

A couple of weeks after the Rice Spine Fire burst, he acquired a call from the Missoula City-County Health Team. runtz creator."They claimed there were actually folks left open to exceptionally high degrees of smoke," he mentions. "Existed anybody at the University curious who had the ability to come up?"Migliaccio and also the team moved quickly to get authorization for non-invasive individual screening.

For those 60 or more mature, the taken selection is actually 70%. The team acquired data coming from a mate of about one hundred folks in 2017. Yet what made their research study a lot more notable is they returned once again in 2018 as well as 2019 to check out the majority of the exact same people. They hunted for possible health impacts coming from the extraordinary smoke cigarettes visibility that might be shown in time."What our experts located was actually a reduction in their bronchi feature as a pal," Migliaccio states (what is runtz strain).

At that point, when we happened back in 2018, forty five% had fallen listed below excess of ordinary. So there was actually some put off damaging effect. It was not what our experts expected (baller runtz strain)."The 2018 and also 2019 fire seasons were actually much less extreme than 2017 in western side Montana, so people in Seeley Lake have actually not sustained further horrible smoke cigarettes exposures.

[awanderingcanadian]

Politics: the Good, the Bad, and the Stupid, (that would be me!)

Well 3 days ago our southern neighbours voted in their mid term elections. Having a completely different system of government from our parliamentary style, I liken these elections to an interim report card on the government. Of course, because people are never happy with their government, more often than not, regardless of who occupies the big chair, the opposing party seems to take control of at least one of the two “Houses” down there.

This time, however, there was a lot at stake: equality of freedom for all, and democracy to name to big items. While the candidates and pundits talked about other issues, those two were the underlying stakes. I’m all for difference of opinion. I don’t believe in a one party system. In fact, I find a two party system too confining, so it’s not that I don’t want different views in charge from time to time. It’s why an autocratic government is so dangerous, (even if you originally agree with the goals of said government). Therefore, what I feared the most was not Republicans winning seats, but the type of Republican who won said seats, and I have been very relieved. Discourse is good, but I believe that the Trump back Republicans would lead the country to a place where freedoms would be curtailed under the very banner of allowing more freedom. It was Orwellian, Atwoodian, Putinian, and Hitlerian all in one package.

On my own political front, I foolishly posted a comment on our Prime Minister Justin Trudeau’s Instagram page. Now, I didn’t vote for our current PM, but I do follow him on social media because I like to see how every party spins its actions. Our PM just got his COVID booster and posted a photo of it. I too just got my COVID booster and I foolishly said that on his Instagram page. Since then I have been inundated by comments from antivaxxers, none of whom I have responded to, but I wanted to share a photo of the comments I woke up to this morning, as a sample of what it’s like:

I particularly “like” the “f u” and the lovely reference to my sudden adult death. Note to self: don’t make even casual comments on political pages. I am disappointed in my fellow humans, as I would never call out someone I don’t even know in such a rude and insensitive manner. The comment blacked out is from my friend commenting on a photo I posted. She doesn’t need to have her identity made public, but I’m find outing these others.

On a positive note, the U.K. still has the same Prime Minister!

Until next time…

#awanderingcanadian #politics #justin trudeau

[vincentcheungteam]

Tsunami and The Problem of Evil

Posted by Vincent Cheung on March 10, 2005

(The following is an edited response to an inquiry on the topic.)

The tsunami crisis has not moved me one single bit. Since learning about the sovereignty of God, it seems that my entire psyche has changed. Things like these events used to disturb me, but now that I know that God is in fact the Cause of these events, I can rest in His judgment. Of course, it does not relieve me of the duty to pray for God's works and any charitable givings. Is this a correct response?

Yes, your attitude is the biblical one. Many people will hesitate to state it so clearly and directly — apparently you are not one of them, and neither am I.

Big or small, no instance of natural or moral evil can generate a logical problem for Christianity. On the other hand, big or small, every instance of natural or moral evil can generate an emotional problem in a person about Christianity. But then the "problem" is purely subjective, non-rational, or even irrational. That is, the problem is with the person, not with Christianity.

I haven't been paying too much attention to Christian reactions to the tsunami, but still I have heard a few. Even some professing Christians are shaken to question the existence of God by this, which is obnoxiously stupid. How about Noah's flood? If the flood does not shake their faith, then the tsunami shouldn't — unless they have never taken the Bible seriously to begin with (about the flood and other relevant events).

Any reaction that causes you to doubt or defy God is certainly not biblical compassion, but it is a humanistic and anti-biblical sympathy that is rooted in irrationalism and rebellion. Of course, you can affirm the rationality of God and Christianity against the argument of "the problem of evil," and still have compassion. In fact, it is the only way that you can have compassion. Doubting God because of human suffering is no sign of compassion, but a sign of wickedness and defiance. If you doubt God, then you are really doubting the very foundation of compassion, and how then can you have compassion?

In any case, "the problem of evil" is convincing only to those who hold to false and irrational presuppositions — of the primacy of human dignity and physical welfare, for example, rather than the glory, the holiness, the wisdom, and the sovereignty of God. Instead, one who understands the holiness of God and the depravity of man asks, "Why are so many people still alive?" Of course, the Bible also answers that question — God has his own plan for history, and a big part of this is to direct all events, whether big or small, whether human or natural, toward the filling up of the sins of the reprobates, and toward the salvation of the full number of the elect. But the non-Christian has no rationally defensible answer for either "Why were so many people killed?" or "Why are so many people still alive?"

From: https://web.archive.org/web/20060316180200/http://www.vincentcheung.com/2005/03/10/tsunami-and-the-problem-of-evil/

[cosmicxmelodies]

I’m tired. Emotionally.

Back then, I never really cared much about politics but I remember supporting Rodrigo Duterte during the 2016 Presidential Elections. My family were not his die-hard supporters but we had merch to support him and his candidacy.

I liked people who are strong and blunt—those who can protect the country. Maybe that’s the reason why I liked him a lot. I knew he was a good mayor of Davao so I hoped that he can change the Philippines for the better.

I wasn’t a registered voter yet so all I could do was to share posts about him and his statements. Back then, DDS was a thing already but it wasn’t as degrading as it is now. DDS used to stand for “Davao Death Squad” until it turned out to be “Die-Hard Duterte Supporter”.

I didn’t really mind any bashing directed to him simply because I didn’t see a lot of bashers around. Most of my friends were supporting him, too, and so when he won the presidency, I was really happy. I even posted him on my Instagram feed (now deleted).

I openly supported him from the very start. I wanted change in this country. I wanted to be safe. Little did I know, it was the start of a hellish ride to 2022.

The War on Drugs was the first issue that came to my mind as I am writing this post. It was bloody. At some point, I was a supporter of this movement. It was only until the rising number of cases that I started to doubt his morals and values.

He was a tough guy. People feared him. I think he abused his authority. Countless deaths during the Drug War has always been in the news. Since then, I slowly drifted away.

In 2020, COVID began spreading like wildfire in the country. He had all the capabilities to stop foreigners from visiting the country, yet he did not bat an eyelash about it. He was more concerned about the investors, the POGOs, and the economy.

I was mad because I experienced it first-hand. I was in the university when the first case of COVID was announced. We were all worried.

Duterte did not do anything. He let them in. A week later, he announced a lockdown. It took him more than seven days to decide and announce—and in those seven days, people started getting sick. People died.

I do not believe that he does not have empathy because I know that he does, but relieving these bad memories breaks my heart. We could have saved their lives if only he announced the lockdown earlier. They could have stayed with their families, they could have done more things in life.

It’s so unfair. I was furious. It was so hard to live during those tough times. I was enraged that I even wished ill upon him.

If you know me personally, you’ll know that my emotions get the worst out of me. I lash out and express my anger online. I say whatever I want to without even considering what other people might think. I just could not keep it to myself. I had to let things out.

He’s old and I am very soft for old people but remembering his decisions makes me angry.

Now, his daughter, Sara, ran for Vice President along with Bongbong Marcos (of course you know him). I couldn’t bear watching videos about Martial Law because I know I’ll be fuming right after knowing what happened during that time. Yes, I am aware, but only through textbooks during high school as well as online posts.

I cannot stand watching people die of hunger and torture because I know that I couldn’t do anything about it and I’ll only feel guilty. The Marcoses lived a good life while the Filipinos suffer under their regime.

Apparently, Marcos had already won the elections—although I am still hoping for a miracle.

I wanted Leni Robredo to win. After all, she embodies the hope and change that we, Filipinos, wanted to achieve. I am not very vocal about my support towards her because my family supports the thief (Bongbong) but after the voting, I finally expressed my side as a Kakampink.

I supported a Duterte before but I will no longer support a Duterte, especially now.

By becoming BBM’s running mate, it only goes to show that she’s an enabler of the Marcoses. It irks me to remember how I bad I wanted her father to win, and now that she could be our nation’s Vice President, my stomach just could not take it.

As much as I don’t want to associate myself with BBM-Sara supporters, I could not do it because my family supports them. They simply could not be for Leni due to the Hacienda Luisita Massacre, which is obviously not Leni’s doing.

They associated her with the Aquinos which is ridiculous if you ask me. Leni is an independent candidate. Although she used to be Mar Roxas’ running mate during the 2016 Elections, it does not mean that she is an Aquino. She is a Robredo. If you’re literate, you’ll understand. But if your mind is closed to the truth, you’ll probably ignore what I just said.

The Aquinos had their shortcomings but it was as hellish as it is now. I support Leni but I am not a fanatic. I will continue to criticize those who will fail the country. After all, democracy is practiced in the Philippines so it’s only right to voice out our opinions when needed.

I could spend all day dealing with my Facebook friends who openly support the BBM-Sara tandem but I have a day job—a job that feeds me and my family, a job that I scored because I had a degree, and a job that allows me to pay my own bills.

Bongbong did not finish his degree and he’s banned in the United States. I can’t believe that people elected this man to be our president. Have you all forgot about Martial Law? Perhaps you all wanted to experience it.

Take me out of that narrative because I will not support Bongbong and Sara in any way, shape, or form. I stand by my morals and I still have a dignity left. I’m not going to risk it for them. They do not deserve it.

I want him to prove me wrong but I don’t want to suffer in the next 6 years. Miracle is what I need right now but maybe I should stop hoping.

I am tired. Emotionally. Please guide us, Lord. Please watch over our country. I leave it to you now.

[warmau]

☆ [nostalgic] summer romance!au doyoung late birthday post for mr. kim! i am never on time for these posts, apologies.  find others here: johnny | haechan | taeil | taeyong | mark | jaemin | yangyang | yuta | sicheng | chenle | kun | yukhei

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

“what are you doing?”

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

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

“doyoung! come in!”

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

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

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

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

doyoung is in your house. 

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

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

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

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

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

you pick at your food

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

but that’s not what happens. at all. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

why not? why not? why not? 

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

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

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

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

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

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

“aren’t you going to leave?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

this is the most confusing moment. 

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

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

yet

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

every time he comes over

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

your mind coils itself through a storm

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

despite the summer heat, you feel cold

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

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

“hello?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“i can’t lie to my mother.”

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

“why not?”

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

“really? could have fooled me.”

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

i probably deserve that. well actually-

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

the words wilt and doyoung suddenly looks over his shoulder.

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

you look at the grass. 

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

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

the thought blooms something in your chest

i wish - i wish it was that.

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

“excuse me?”

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

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

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

he leans forward

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

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

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

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

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

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

“i don’t just sleep with people.” 

he whispers against your mouth

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“no one on this planet is like you.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“i wasn’t staring at you.”

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

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

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

“when we-”

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

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

“i thought you’d say it first.”

he blinks

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

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

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

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

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

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

but somehow neither of you can ever ask the other one

aren’t you going to leave?

because neither of you ever really wants to.

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

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

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

“you need a shower.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

he asks and you shake your head. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

“no seriously though - we will prune.”

“i’ll get up if you get up?”

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

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

[numptypylon]

Epilogue

I added a short epilogue to Reunion and Intersection today, but I also wrote a much longer one, full of fluffy comfort, to get through the angst-writing in the first two chapters. It’s unedited, unfinished and ridiculously self-indulgent, and I don’t think it really goes with the story, so I elected to not post it, but I’m attaching it here, under the cut, for those interested. Keep in mind it’s a reject for a reason though; this is what my writing looks like in the explorative phase where I’m looking for the point, and in this case I didn’t really find it XD

~2K under the readmore

Callum got there early. A lot of people eyed him warily, but a letter from Queen Janai was a good smoother-of-grumpy-elf-tempers.

No-one had seen Rayla, so… she was probably not here yet.

He went to the inn, bought a large room, lit a roaring fire in there, activating the Sunfire rock he used to keep warm at night under the covers of the bed, and calling for the tub to be filled. It had the usual Skywing heating arrangement, only needing a good Fulminis to heat the water.

He resisted flying out to find her. He risked missing her again, and her leaving town before he got back.

It was about… hitting the point of intersection.

So, he waited at the city gates. He didn’t have to wait nearly as long as he expected, considering the distance she would have had to traverse. Maybe she had recovered and had travelled faster than he thought.

It was definitely her though. A small, lone figure on the mountainside.

He intended to wait for her until she got to him, but then she stopped to lean against a tree and he realized that she had not recovered and was up there sick in the snow… and that resolve evaporated like it had never been.

Like he would ever let her struggle alone a moment longer than she needed to.

 **

 It was a measure of her exhaustion that she didn’t notice him until he was basically right in front of her, and even then, her reaction was so much slower than usual.

It still… it was hard to believe it was real. For her too, surely more so.

He numbly pulled his scarf off, packing it around her neck and head. He grazed her cheek and felt it and she felt it and… she felt it, because the tears that had built up in her eyes spilled over at his touch, slipping down her dirty and flushed cheeks.

She looked ready to drop, and felt it too, when he put his arms around her and her disbelief gave way to relief. Whatever ridiculous level of stubbornness had kept her upright for the last day and night of walking through snow and up mountains when she should have been in bed… fell away and she slumped almost completely in his arms.

She sobbed hoarsely for a bit, and he let her.

And she let him, when his hand cupped the back of her head and her hair tickled his fingers and it hit him too that… it was really real, she was here.

They needed to… get to the inn though, so he pulled away and wiped his face. They could… and probably would… have a longer cry and a longer hug later. But she was sick and cold and there was a roaring fire and a filled bathtub two minutes of flight away.

“Let’s go,” he said. “I knew you were coming this way and that you were sick. And I booked a room for… you.” For them both, he hoped, but-

“What?” she blubbered. “But… aren’t… aren’t you mad?”

“I mean, of course I am, but… that’s not really… that can wait.”

“I’m…” she laughed weakly, more tears spilling over. “I’m so happy to see you and there’s… so many things I would like to say and… and I’m such a mess right now and so tired and I’m just… I’m so tired I cried earlier just because a stupid pine branch hit me in the face and knocked me off my sled and it continued down the mountain without me and I’d have to walk instead and-“

“Hey, hey!” He stroked down her flushed, wet cheeks, along fresh scratches where presumably that branch had hit her. Sledding, huh… she always was extremely resourceful and oh so daring. And that explained how she got here so fast. “Rayla, it’s okay. You can rest first. I’ll take care of things… of you. For as long as you want me to, but… definitely for the next few days.”

“How c-can you… are you… here-”

He leant his head against her forehead, relishing in the feeling of contact, even if her skin was clammy and too-hot. “That’s… complicated,” he said. “And also simple. You called me here. I came.”

“Manis. Pluma. Volantis.”

 **

 She staggered, when they set down, steadying herself on his shoulder, and Callum was glad he had elected to land in front of the inn instead of at the city gates.

She definitely wasn’t well yet, her breath rasping in her throat, her forehead beading with sweat, cheeks and ears flushed. The fever had maybe broken, but it hadn’t quite left. And she was exhausted, trembling with the effort of staying upright, her eyes dull and glassy.

People were staring, when they went inside, but the innkeeper came over and recommended the soup of the day, and their house-made herbal tea blend with Sky Yak milk, and assured them it would be brought to their room shortly, with a look of very obvious sympathy at Rayla.

And then the door shut behind them.

“I owe-” she started, but he cut her right off.

“No. You’re owed,” he said tightly.

“Owed what?” She sounded… nervous.

“Soup. Hot tea. A warm bed and a fire someone else made. General fussing. Love. Forgiveness. Kindness. A damn break, for once.”

“L-love?”

“Yeah, love.”

Her clumsy fingers fumbled at the clasps of her armor. They were still ice cold when he touched them, the skin red and no-doubt sore.

But she for once didn’t resist any help he gave, sinking gratefully into the tub he had prepared. A warm bath was possibly not great for her fever, but… it was pros and cons and he needed to warm up her hands and feet.

She was barely conscious when he helped her back out of the tub, so he just put her down on a towel on the bed, drying her hair as best he could. He at least managed to get her awake to pull off her own wet underwear and pull his clean night shirt over her head.

 **

 “Callum?” she asked, because… she wanted things, and she could have them. “Stay with me? Please.”

He pressed against her back, warm and real.

His hands engulfed hers, big and soft and familiar.

Full of real little details that her brain hadn’t accurately recreated.

The callus at the side of his right index finger, from his charcoal pencil. The scar from a clumsy sparring accident at the second knuckle.

His voice when he said her name and when he told her it was okay.

His kinda… snuffling non-snoring sleep-sound.

And new things, that she hadn’t known to add.

His arms, still skinny, but stronger than they had been.

His too-long hair flopping over his ears.

And things she had yet to find out.

 **

 “Morning-“ she muttered, as she woke, feeling warm. And her throat felt a lot better, too and most of that sticky, gross fever feeling was gone, although there was still some sluggish daze, everything just a bit vaguer and floatier than it should have been.

“Afternoon,” Callum corrected lightly, but there was something not so light underneath. “You slept for… 14 hours. I bet you’re hungry.”

“I bet… you were worried.” That was a long time to worry and not wake her to assuage it but just sit in it, watching her sleep.

She reached out to stroke his furrowed brow. Her hands were bandaged though, so she couldn’t touch him properly. She didn’t remember, but did recall something about Callum saying he had called a doctor, and then she must have conked out pretty hard and slept through it.

She clenched and released her hands experimentally. Seemed alright except for being stiff and sore?

“What’s wrong with me?” she asked, staring down at the thick bandages.

“Except for the illness that nearly killed you because you’re such a massive dummy? Lots of things.” He took her hands, starting to unwind the bandages. “For your hands, hopefully only frostnip. I’m supposed to check that, when you woke, take you back to the doctor if there’s signs of deeper frostbite.”

There was some thick ointment, probably the reason for the bandages. Her hands looked reddened, the fingers a bit swollen, but… not so bad. Nothing was white or black or blistered, so really, nothing to worry about, where frostbite was concerned.

Callum wasn’t satisfied with a visual inspection though, cupping her hands in his, methodically checking she could feel all her fingers and make a full fist.

“I think it’s okay,” he said, breathing out, relieved. He did tend to catastrophize- “No… no risk of amputation this time-” His fingers slid across her left wrist, the faint whitened scars from where the binding had dug into her skin and where the sunforge blade had burnt her.

“It’s definitely okay,” she said. “Barely hurts.” She cupped his face, feeling his skin just fine against her fingertips. “It’s not like back then, okay?”

“How do you feel today?”

“Better. Way better. I’m ready to go, if-”

“What?!” He stared at her in disbelief. “Absolutely not. You didn’t hear what the doctor said. But I did, she got here while you were sleeping. And absolutely not.”

“What-“ Was it not just a regular bug?

He breathed, slowly and deliberately. “You’re okay, it’s a regular winter infection going around. But you did a number on your own immune system with the hypothermia and mountain climbing and… she said you were undernourished, dehydrated, stressed and critically exhausted. And that you would do well to take a week or more to fully recover, during which you should eat and rest plenty, stay warm and keep stress down. Does that sound like your regular travel, to you?”

Well… not so much.

“So, I’ll ask again, how do you feel today?”

“Tired,” she sighed. “My hands are stiff and achy. My throat hurts. My legs are wobbly. My head feels full of snot.” She smiled, despite all that. “My heart is happy to see you. It’s okay if you’re- I know… that it’s complicated.”

“It is. We have… some things to talk about. Promise you won’t leave until we do?”

“I promise.”

“Okay. Then, I think we should put the complicated things away for a few days. Until you’re better and it doesn’t hurt your throat to talk. Because… we have a lot of talking to do.”

“You don’t… need to stay. For those few days. If it’s hurting you to-”

He sighed heavily. “It does.” Yeah, he couldn’t say that it didn’t. Being around her with so much… unresolved. She didn’t want that for him. She didn’t… want to have those long and hard conversations right now either, when she was still tired and fevered and liable to burst into tears at the slightest provocation. “But it would hurt me more to leave. Didn’t it hurt you? To leave?”

“Yeah.” So, so much.

He reached out to pack his scarf around her throat more closely, the soft, warm knit a soothing feeling against the raw ache.

“Lie down, okay? Be sick? I’ll read you a story. It has murder and dismemberment in it, I asked the innkeeper specifically.”

#rayllum #rayla #callum #tdp #the dragon prince #numpty fic tag #reunion and intersection

[jawllines]

Sorry to be annoying but I asked awhile ago and I think tumblr ate my ask but did you ever do tattoo Harry blurb? I love them and I miss them:( I’ve looked through your tags and there isn’t any on there if you have posted one

I CAN POST ONE I WROTE A WHILE AGO RIGHT NOW :D I DONT THINK I POSTED HERE BUT LET ME KNOW HERE YOU GO PET 

i.

“Baby -- baby, c’mon!”

It was rare that Harry ever woke Y/N with more than kisses and cuddles. Maybe an abrupt shoulder shake if the both of them slept through their alarms (and, considering that they are the only ones with the key to open up their own respective stores, they never typically arrived late facing happy employees -- or in Y/N’s case, employee -- Niall, in particular, was always more of a grump in that situation than Riktor even), but even that still managed to be tender, and soft. He always treated her so delicately, as if she were made up of porcelain in the morning and it was imperative to speak in a low, soothing voice with careful touches or she might shatter. And she really didn’t think it was because she was an absolute terror to wake up -- Y/N did quite well, even as early as 5 AM she was still in somewhat of a pleasant mood, certainly nothing to be fearful of -- she thinks he’s just gentle in the morning. He’s gentle all the time, but for some reason or another, he’s extra soft with her then.

They had both had a bit of a busy day, so by the time that they made it back to Y/N’s flat (Harry said he liked it there best because it smelled like her, and -- well, he softens her up and calls her Darling when he wants them to go over there, so it’s hard to say no), both of them were ready for bed. Neither of them could barely keep their eyes open as they scarfed down the burgers they’d picked up on the way home, and once they’d finished and brushed their teeth, they toppled into each other on the mattress. Y/N would reckon they both fell asleep before their heads had even hit the pillow -- she doesn’t even remember crawling beneath the blankets.

Apparently she had though, because now as her brain tunes in with the world around her and she realizes that the distorted voice that had begun to prod her dreams was actually a grumpy, dry throat Harry, she’s cuddling herself closer in the covers. This only makes him grumble at her more, “You’re such a blanket hog,” he whines and Y/N finally blinks her eyes open, being greeted with Harry’s disgruntled, pouted face illuminated by the sunlight beginning to slip through the blinds, “I’ve been trying to unravel it for like ten minutes, but you’re all wrapped up! I’m cold.”

Y/N smiles sleepily at him, not understanding the gravity of the situation entirely as she begins to un-burrito herself from the covers, “G’morning, beautiful,” she murmurs as she does so, finally disentangling from the blankets and while she was a little less warm, Harry was quick to wiggle in beneath them, “Sorry.”

“Don’ be sweet when m’tryin’ to be angry with you,” she puckers her lips at him dramatically, and though he sighs, he leans in and presses their mouths together softly, “Your kisses aren’t g’na sweeten me up, m’still grumpy, blanket hog.”

She can only hum as she cuddles closer to him, “Sorry,” she repeated, this time adding, “Like to swaddle myself like a lil’ baby. Reckon you weren’t holdin’ me well enough last night.”

An offended gasp leaves through his lips soundly, enough that it startles her, but his arms worm around her waist and draw her closer to his body, “Brat,” he grumbled, dipping his nose into her throat, “I held you so well and you just wiggled right out of my arms and took all the covers with you.”

“Like a worm -- I wiggled out like a worm or somethin’,” she tried to sit up but his arms tightened around her, “This worm has to pee though and she’ll soak the bed if she isn’t allowed.”

His arm loosens around her, “This worm sounds like she’s a sleepy sort of delusional that requires about two hours more of rest.”

Y/N stumbles toward the bathroom in her room, “Noooooooo,” she whines, frowning at nobody, not bothering to swing the door shut before she plops on the cold toilet seat to relieve herself, “We’re supposed to go get hot chocolate, no more sleep.”

“Baby, it’s 6 AM and I’ve been up the last 30 minutes freezing my bits off!” He calls back to her and she giggles some, her eyes trying to accommodate to the bright white lights of the bathroom, “Sleep just a bit more and we’ll get the hot chocolate when we wake up next.”

She waits until she flushes and washes her hands to respond to him, and though she knows that she is definitely going to crawl back in bed and fall asleep, she stands at the foot of it with her hands in fists at her hips. He had let his eyes flutter closed by then but she thinks he could feel her eyeballing him, so he looks up past the mountain of blankets now covering him so she could only see his eyes and his nose, “What’re you doing?”

“You’re telling me, you don’t wanna go at 6 AM, three hours before the kiosk even opens to get hot chocolate with me? You must really hate me, don’t you?”

He huffs a sharp breath through his nose which is how he usually laughs in the morning, when he can’t muster up the strength to have a proper giggle, “Absolutely loathe you, baby doll, but could you please come back to bed so I can loathe you in the warmth?”

It takes little persuading -- as she said, she knew she was just going to crawl right back in beside him -- and instead of relying too heavily on the blankets to provide her warmth (like wrapping up half of it around her so she was cocooned entirely. . .this is what she normally does, and she would say that’s probably why Harry almost never has any of the covers in the morning), she relies on him. Picks up his arm so that she can fit herself underneath it and lies her cheek on his chest, “Your pits better not be smelly.”

“I make no promises.”

.                             .                         .

“I love your hair.”

“Stop it, Sweetheart, I’m g’na start blushing.”

They had slept for four more hours rather than the two Harry had originally suggested, but that always happens with them. Y/N would say that they are just too content cuddled up with one another that they milk it for all it’s worth. If one of them wakes up before the other, then they just settle their head back down and close their eyes again. Unless they had somewhere to be, of course, but Harry had a free Saturday (no clients schedule, even though Saturday’s could often be some of his heaviest days) and he’d elected to spend it with her -- whether they were awake or asleep didn’t much mater, they just liked to be near each other.

When they finally did wake up, they lazily got dressed into about thirty layers so they wouldn’t freeze outside. The weather had grown frigid quite quickly this November, and neither of them stood the cold very well, but there was a park lined with little pop-up kiosks with hot chocolate, sweets, little holiday goodies, and an obscene amount of knitted blankets (it was a clever marketing tactic, Y/N thought -- everyone is more willing to spend money on a blanket when they’re freezing cold - she and Harry had certainly fallen for it today). Y/N bought them shoe warmers to keep their toes at least not numb, and Harry lets her borrow a pair of his gloves because she keeps forgetting to buy some of her own. They both have hats fitted over their heads too, and since Harry’s let his hair grow out, his curls stick out from beneath the pumpkin orange print and Y/N can’t stop staring at it. She’s always loved his hair, she told him as much one of the first nights they’d sat on her bookstore’s floor and talked about just a bit of everything. Back when she barely realized she had a crush on him. . . .when she didn’t know that in just a little time, she would be over the moon.

And she’ll never forget that people used to make him feel like shit about his hair, so she maybe overcompensates by telling him every time she has thought about loving it. Which means today, in the span of a short three hours they’d been awake, Y/N had complimented his hair about twenty different times. If she was running her fingers through it, fixing his beanie, or just staring at him, she let him know just how much she adored his curls.

“I hate to tell you this, Button, but your cheeks are already red as apples,” she shifted the paper cup of hot chocolate from her hand closest to him to the other, so she could reach up and tuck them behind his ear, that had reddened from the cold, “The air has you more bashful than I ever could.”

“Not true,” he murmurs, lowering his voice as he knocks closer to her ear, “I always blush when you go down on me.”

“God,” Y/N shakes her head, “You’re too much, d’ya know that?”

He laughs, nudging her with the cold tip of his nose, “You want the peppermint bark? We’re coming up on the seller.”

“Of course, I want peppermint bark,” she reaches for her wallet, “I’m stocking us up for the next hundred years or so.”

Harry slows for a moment, sliding his gloved hand into her own and squeezing, “Hey,” he begins, his voice soft, somewhat reflective and it brings her attention to him at her side, “Y’know when -- you remember how you said you just get random flushes of love for me and s’a whole lot and you just don’t know what to do with it?”

Y/N nods, “Yeah, like every waking minute practically. Why?”

He smiles shyly, “I’m having one of those moments.”

“For the peppermint bark?” She teases, but his brows furrow and he swats her shoulder playfully, “Hey!”

“I’m trying to be sweet on you, and you’re still going on about this bloody chocolate,” he rubs the arm that he swats, even though Y/N has so many layers on plus the blanket that she bought wrapped around her, that he made no real contact with her body.

Y/N pulls him in for a hug, narrowly avoiding a child running past them as she does so, “Oh, you know m’only kidding. I love you too, Bug, more than words can describe and ten times more than the chocolate I reckon. . .well, unless it’s made really well this year.”

“I’ll leave you here, blanket hog.”

#blurbs #Anonymous

[ghastspidergwen]

I love @doctorsiren's dadskall au, and I thought I'd write a little fic about it. basically, the dadskall au is where xisuma and ex (alex)'s dad is doomguy, but some sort of accident/crazy magic/whatever made him and iskall share a body, go check out doctor siren for the whole story, she has great art, too!

disclaimers (you can completely ignore this section if you want): I have played about 15 minutes total of all the Doom games, read none of the books, seen none of the movies, but the ost is great, so this will probably be ooc for doomguy. xisuma and alex are more based on the featherweight au versions, not the real hermitcraft versions. this story is not part of the dadskall au nor any of dr siren's other aus, it's just a break for me to write some fluff. it takes place ~3-4 years after where fw currently is (s7 election era) but is not set in the fw au world. link to the post part of this is based on. ...and I think that's everything, onto the fic!

.

Xisuma took a deep breath, “I think dad’s alive.”

“You said you saw him die,” Alex, previously known as Evil Xisuma, said, turning to his brother, “They told me he died”

“He wasn’t exactly dead, it’s hard to explain. It’s more like...the horcruxes in Harry Potter. When dad died, I think there was some magic at play that made it so his ‘soul’ transferred into the nearest healthy, person. And I think I found them.”

“Uh-huh, and who might that be?”

“HALLO!” Iskall burst in, “What did you need me for?”

“Iskall? Seriously?”

“He was there that night and I have no reason to believe-”

“You really think Iskall-”

“It’s my best guess, everyone else was injured, and the magic had to choose the nearest healthy person, so it must be Iskall.”

“What must be Iskall?”

“Are you sure we’re talking about the same Iskall?”

“No, Iskall86,” Xisuma said, sarcastically, “Of course this Iskall, how many Iskalls do we know?”

“I still have no idea what we’re talking about, can -”

“No!” The void brothers turned to him and responded in sync. Xisuma pulled his brother into a side room, “Stay right there, thanks Iskall.”

“What?”

Xisuma exhaled and closed the door behind them, “Phew, OK, I have reason to believe that 13 years ago, Iskall was present the night that dad-y’know-and since everyone else there was either corrupted or injured, as the only uninjured person, dad’s spirit ended up inhabiting his body, but’s been so weak that it was only using Iskall as a means of staying alive, not influencing him or trying to take control of his body at all. Do you get me?”

“A little.”

“And I think I know the spell that will separate them, and give dad his old body back,” They went back into the main room with Iskall, “Should I do it now?”

“Blast ‘im,” Alex backed out of the room, putting a protective wall between him and the magic.

“WHAT?!”

A glowing green ball of energy swirled between Xisuma’s hands, and Iskall backed into the wall, “H-hey Xisuma, what are you doing?”

“This...shouldn’t hurt.”

Iskall held up a hand in a stop gesture, “SHOULDN’T?!”

Xisuma blasted him with the magic. Iskall glowed green, floated into the sir, then split into two people who fell down.

“I...think it...worked,” Xisuma muttered, collapsing to the floor.

Doomguy looked up, and noticed someone lying, unmoving, on the floor. His saving-people instincts kicked in, and he pulled himself over to the person. “C'mon, don’t be dead, don’t be dead,” he said, shaking them.

Someone was shaking Iskall. He sat up and opened his eyes, “Holy heck, it’s Doomguy!”

“You’re alive!” Doomguy said relieved, and pulled Iskall into a hug.

Absolutely starstruck, Iskall sat there, frozen. It’s Doomguy, I love Doom, Doomguy is right here, and he’s hugging me, it’s Doomguy! Iskall’s mind looped.

Pulling out of the hug, Iskall spotted Xisuma crumpled on the floor, “W-wait, I got-gotta check on my friend.”

Doomguy turned around, and spotted his son on the floor.

“Xisuma!” He stood up and stumbled toward him.

“Wait, you know Xisuma?”

“He’s my son. Well, your son, too. Our son.”

“Wha-”

“Short answer, I am you. You are me. We’re the same person.”

Looking at his hands, one thought crossed Iskall’s mind, I’m Doomguy. It was closely followed by “I HAVE A SON?”

“Two sons.”

“TWO SONS? And one of them is dying!” Iskall sprinted across the room and cradled Xisuma’s head, “I don’t know what to do!”

“Health potion?” Doomguy suggested.

“Oh, yeah,” Pulling a potion of healing out of his inventory, Iskall splashed it onto Xisuma. He held his breath and waited to see if it would work.

Xisuma opened his eyes. He sat up.

“Dad!” He jumped up, and buried his face in his dad’s chest plate, giving him a hug the same way he did when he was younger.

“I’m your dad, too,” Iskall said.

“You know?” Xisuma asked, breaking off the hug.

“Yeah, Doomguy told me. So give your poppa a hug,” Iskall uncrossed his arms and gave a very confused Xisuma a hug.

“Oh, OK,” Xisuma awkwardly pat Iskall’s back until he stepped away.

“Is Alex here?” Doomguy asked.

“He should be right outside, he didn’t want to be in the same room as an untested spell.”

“Wait, you didn’t test it? Then why did you cast it on me?” Iskall asked, panicked.

“How many people do we know that have another person living inside them?”

“Wels/Hels, I’m pretty sure Ren did for a while, a pregnant lady,” Iskall ticked off on his fingers.

“Different circumstances. Wels and Hels are one person, like two sides of a coin, Ren-I don’t know what happened with Grimdog or The Red King or whatever, but I definitely don’t want to mess with those, and did you just compare yourself to a pregnant woman?”

“Uhhh...nevermind.”

“You said Alex was just outside?”

“Yeah,” Xisuma pulled the door open, to reveal Alex sitting on a bench outside, drumming his fingers against the seat

“Did it work?”

“Yeah.” Stepping out of the doorway, Xisuma revealed their dad standing behind him.

“Hi, Alex.”

“Dad?”

“It’s me,” Doomguy sat next to his other son.

“Dad!” Alex hugged him, and they pulled Xisuma into the hug after a second. They sat there before the hug was interrupted by another pair of arms joining in.

“Family, together again,” Iskall sighed.

“What’s up with him?” Alex asked, glancing at Iskall.

“I’m part of the family, call me Dadskall.”

“OK...Dadskall, can we have awhile alone with our dad?”

“Oh, yeah. Sure. See you later.” Iskall trudged out of the room.

“I haven’t seen you guys in forever! How long was I…”

“15 years.”

“So that would put you guys in your mid-30s, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Has anything big happened in the last 15 years?”

Alex pulled off his helmet, “Nothing too bad. I was imprisoned for a bit of it,” he glared at his brother.

Xisuma also removed his helmet, “I said I was sorry, how many times do you want me to apologize?”

“I wasn’t saying it’s your fault, I was just making the point that-”

“I get it! I was an idiot and I didn’t listen to you when you were clearly right.”

“Just like old times,” Doomguy chuckled, he examined his son’s faces, “You look so much older, like real adults. I’m so sorry I missed out on the last 15 years, I would’ve loved to see you grow up.”

“It’s not like you could do anything about it.”

“I know you would have been here if you could.”

“Also how did you guys get those scars?”

“Someone needed to keep slaying the demons after you left,” Alex shrugged.

“I angered some Watchers years ago.”

“You angered some Watchers?” Doomguy asked, standing up.

“I just realized someone was right, but it was too late to save them.”

“Darn right, I was.” Alex and Xisuma also stood up.

“I...forgot how tall you were,” Doomguy said looking, at up at Alex, who was only a few inches taller.

“Oh, yeah. Xisuma was jealous he never got this tall.”

“No, I’m not!”

“Sure,” Alex smirked.

“So, anything else new?” Their dad intervened.

“Daisy’s still alive.”

“Should’ve guessed,” he chuckled.

“Oh! You’re a grandpa!”

“What?!”

“Yeah! I adopted a guy named xB. I’ll call him over, so you can meet!”

<Xisuma> hey xb, can you come on down to my base, I’ve got something to show you

<xBcrafted> ?

<xBcrafted> yeah, be there shortly

“How did you meet this xB?”

“I was doing some exploring between seasons, looking for a good seed, when I found a small single player world. xB was alone in there. Poor kid was only 13, didn’t know where his parents were, said he had been handling himself for the last 2 or 3 years, so I took him back to Hermitcraft with me. He’s a great kid, you’ll love him.”

“Xisuma has practically adopted the entire server.”

“Server? You’re an admin?”

“We both are. I’m main admin of Hermitcraft, Alex is the backup admin.”

“I’m so sorry I missed out on all of this stuff. I really wish I could have been there for you two.”

Something thumped into the outside of the building they were in, and the door opened, “Freakin’ rockets, stupid friggin’ elytra,” xB mumbled. “Oh, hey Uncle Alex, hey, dad.”

Doomguy gasped, “I love him already!”

“Wha-”

“xB, this is our dad, Doomguy.”

“Wait, I thought he was dead.”

“Wonky magic stuff.”

“OK then. I’m xBcrafted,” xB said, offering his hand for a handshake.

Doomguy scooped him up in a hug, “Hello, xB, you can call me Grandpa Flynn, or just Grandpa, or just Flynn, I don’t care. I have a grandson!”

“Nice-to-meet-you,” xB gasped.

“Dad, I don’t think he can breath.”

“Oh, right,” Flynn released his grandson, “sorry, got a little overexcited.”

“Nah, it’s fine. I’m glad you’re back.”

“Glad to be back.”

“Do you want to go meet the rest of the server? There’s just under 30 of us, total.”

“Oh, you’ll love all of them. There’s me, of course, but Hypno and Jevin and Wels and False are all set up near me, Stress and Gem are also pretty close, and Doc and Ren are just past them, and…” xB rambled as the other three grabbed their helmets.

“You ready?” Alex asked, pushing open the door.

“Let’s go, I want to meet the rest of your family.”

#hermitblr #hermitcraft #hermitcraft fanfic #doctorsiren #dadskall au #gsg writes

[obiwanobi]

In the Sith Senator au, I imagine that sheev introduces them either at a dinner party or maybe at a gala? anakin is in his robes as always and obiwan is super dressed up because he's a respectable senator thank you very much and he calls anakin darling and sweet thing and stuff like that and within an hour he has anakin wrapped around his finger

Okay, so WHY NOT BOTH? The last long post about this AU was painful, so have some “hate at first sight” and “0.2 sec for Obi-Wan to fix it and learn that banter and endearments can turn Anakin into a very charming mess” 

The first time they met, Obi-Wan has just been elected Senator after working in politics on Stewjon for years, making enough important friends and empty promises to be re-elected even without showing his face on Stewjon until the next decade. It’s his first month back on Coruscant, close to Sidious after years on his own. He needs to show him that his presence here, so close to his Master, is right, and can only benefit their plans. Even when everything isn’t… great.

The committee of small planets of the mid rim is pestering him to join their sad little club of useless dustballs, he has dozens of demands of various needy mayors, dignitaries and even ministers from Stewjon to reply to, the Senate security staff are a bunch of lazy bastards who still haven’t given him his pass and badge to enter and exit the building whenever he wants to and keep pretending not to recognize him even though they force him to go through a full security check every morning, and he can’t find a decent assistant to hire. 

You could say that Senator Kenobi is a bit on edge. 

He really, really doesn’t need to be late to his first real, private meeting with Sidious, especially because his only excuse is ‘I forgot how busy traffic was on Coruscant in the morning, don’t blame me I’m used to the countryside and seeing more sheep than ships on my way to work”. That would probably not go too well.  

Looking at his chrono every twenty seconds, he doesn’t pay enough attention to where he’s going and doesn’t notice the man turning at a corner on his side, running fast enough to come crashing against him without having the chance to do anything about it.

One second, a sharp cry, a flurry of dark robes and a cup of tea flying, and they’re both on the ground.  

Obi-Wan isn’t pleased. You could say he’s even a bit exasperated, lying on his back, a stranger’s elbow digging in his stomach. And then he turns his head to see who’s stupid enough to run in the Senate’s corridors on a Monday morning and almost curses out loud when he recognises Jedi robes and a stupid Padawan’s braid. 

It’s fine. He’s fine. He’s used to suppressing his Force-presence so no one can feel him and he’s not going to make a scene to attract more attention. He’s going to inhale and exhale slowly, accept the deepest of apologies from the stupid Jedi with a benevolent smile, repress his need to do something harsh, and be on his way.  

But then the Padawan groans, rubs his head and asks reproachfully why Obi-Wan didn’t watch where he was going. 

It’s eight am, half of his (expensive and only sold on Stewjon) tea on the floor, and Obi-Wan already wants to strangle a Jedi.

So, there is a shouting match.

Words like “pathetic life form” and “karking useless politician” are thrown, and it takes almost half a minute for Obi-Wan to realise that he’s arguing with a dumb teenager and that they’re still on the floor, half on top of each other. He, very politely, asks the Padawan to get the kriff up, doesn’t take the time to even look at the remains of his cup of tea after salvaging his wet datapad from the puddle on the ground, and leaves with one last silent death glare. 

“You’re not even going to clean that?” the Padawan yells in his back, sounding revolted. 

Obi-Wan rolls his eyes. What are droids for these days? 

*

“You’re late,” Palpatine says flatly the instant the door of his office closes behind Obi-Wan. “Make sure it doesn’t happen again.” 

“Yes, Master.”  

“Call me Chancellor for now. I want you to meet someone and he should be here soon. He could become important, maybe even crucial for our plans.”

“Oh? Another Senator or representative to charm?” 

“Even better,” Palpatine smiles. And that’s what gets Obi-Wan interested. He knows this is the reason he’s here and the reason Sidious wants him in the Senate. Obi-Wan is a smooth talker, a nice face and a warm smile all in one. Someone who, with enough time and efforts, could make anyone believes in anything.

Palpatine always said that he was made for politics. 

“He could be a decisive piece in this game. It will take a lot of careful manipulation and dedication to bring him to our side and I don’t have this kind of time to waste, so you’ll do. With enough care and patience, I think he could be the most loyal and useful… support, we could have.” 

“Who is he? What do you want me to say and how far am I allowed to go?”

A knock at the door interrupts them. “For now,” Palpatine says in a low voice, sitting behind his desk, joining his hands together above it, the picture of old and trusted wisdom, “I just need you to make him like you.” 

That’s not going to be a problem, Obi-Wan thinks, as the doors open. He straightens up, gets ready to put on his most radiant smile and displays an inviting openness and friendliness that few can resist. 

The Padawan enters. 

This is going to be a problem. 

*

“Ah! My favourite Jedi!” Sidious exclaims loud enough to be heard over the music and raising his cocktail above their heads. Anakin Skywalker smiles as he sees him, and dutifully comes closer. The Chancellor makes a point of clapping his hand twice on his shoulder once Skywalker is in front of him, and leaves it there as he introduces him to his new chief of staff. If anyone is wondering what a Padawan is doing at a Senate party that should only include political staffers and a few dignitaries, no one breaths a word of it. 

It gives Obi-Wan time to gauge, assess and appraise Skywalker, his reactions, body language, and anything he can learn from a simple conversation between Sidious and him. It would be his turn to do it soon. Relieve me from the burden of having to stroke the boy’s ego regularly so I can take care of more pressing issues, his master had snarled disdainfully. Right now, he’s playing the part of the dotting and proud fatherly figure to perfection, Obi-Wan has to give him that. 

Attention, approval and respect, Sidious had told me. That’s all you need to be in Skywalker’s good graces. The boy will soak every bit of kindness you can spare, as long as he considers you someone worth his own devotion.

It didn’t stop Obi-Wan from learning absolutely everything he could about him, from his lightsaber technique to his favourite food because Obi-Wan is and will always be a very thorough man who doesn’t rely on luck or unprecise sciences like basic psychology. Especially from his Master, who probably never encountered an emotion or feeling he couldn’t twist to fuel his ambition. 

Admittedly, Obi-Wan doesn’t share his Master enthusiasm for charming the brat and make him fall. He’s all for turning him against the Jedi, sure, that he can get behind and happily endorse, but having to deal with a moody teenager on a regular basis for the foreseeable future? It would be painful for everyone. Especially for Obi-Wan’s nerves.

 Anakin Skywalker, reckless, volatile and troublesome former slave and actual Padawan, wasn’t the type of Sith candidate Obi-Wan would have chosen. Not at all. Too many variables, too many chances to go wrong, a wild card that he would never risk. 

But Sidious is adamant. Doesn’t care for any of his arguments. He wants Skywalker, and Obi-Wan has started to realise why when he learnt all about the prophecy. Stealing the Jedi Chosen One and turning him against them in a last-second betrayal was the kind of symbolic irony Sidious loved and would gloat about for years to come. And when Sidious decides that he needs something, there is no going back. 

But this time, Obi-Wan has to do all the hard work himself. He calculates that getting close to Skywalker, especially after their more than tense official introduction, is going to take months, maybe even (and Obi-Wan shudders at the thought) a year. Trapped at playing nice with an overgrown child who hates being told no and likes to think he’s above the rules. For no direct and personal benefit but the approval of his own Master.

Obi-Wan really, really hates it.

But that’s not going to stop him from completing his mission perfectly, as he has always done. 

“I’m glad to see you, Chancellor,” Skywalker says softly, his quiet tone already at odd with what Obi-Wan expected. He grew taller than the last he saw him, and Obi-Wan hates it. His braid is a bit longer and his robes are a shade darker than a few months ago. Something passes in his eyes when the Padawan notices Obi-Wan’s presence next to the Chancellor and his head snaps up defiantly. “Senator Kenobi,” he grits out like the words pain him. 

Obi-Wan needs to change this right now before Sidious deems him inapt for this mission.

He hates this a bit more. 

The opportunity is given quicker than he thought when Sidious excuses himself and leaves their little group to mingle with other demanding sycophants. Obi-Wan gets stuck with Skywalker, Sidious’ chief of state who’s apparently only here for the free drinks, and Keneg, the senator of… Corulag? Barl’leth? One of those rich Core planets that hate anyone who isn’t them but need to be kept around for their credits, who always seems to suck years of his life every time Obi-Wan is forced to speak to him. It takes thirty seconds for all of them to grow bored of Keneg incessant complaints about how the lower levels of his planet are “ruining its reputation” and that the problem resides in their too lenient immigration policy, especially concerning poor and uneducated races.

Skywalker’s face is a journey. At least twelve different emotions play through his eyes, the twists of his mouth and raised eyebrows like a theatre actor in a dramatic scene at each careless word coming out of the Senator’s mouth, and Obi-Wan wonders if anyone has ever told him that Jedi are supposed to be masters of their own emotions first and foremost. Especially around politicians. 

But it doesn’t matter right now, because that’s the opening he was waiting for. 

“Excuse me Senator Keneg,” He cuts him off politely before another endless tirade. “I’m afraid I have to go, I see the Senator of Botor and I’ve been trying to talk to him for months. Surely you understand. Padawan Skywalker, may I ask for your assistance? We could use some Jedi wisdom in our debate, if you don’t mind.” 

Skywalker looks torn between being relieved to be offered an out from an awful conversation, but also have no desire to spend more time with Obi-Wan. 

“Sure,” he ends up mumbling, apparently judging that he was the lesser of two evils. 

“Wonderful.” Obi-Wan doesn’t pay any attention to the betrayed look Sidious’ chief of state sends him after being left alone with Keneg.

“So,” Skywalker says, resigned, following Obi-Wan who’s making a beeline for the bar. “Where is he?”

“Who?” 

“The senator of Botor? And what’s your deal with him?” 

“I don’t even know what he looks like,” Obi-Wan replies, trying to ignore the casual tone Skywalker shouldn’t take with a Senator, even one he dislikes. 

“What? Then why did you ask me to come with you?”

“Aren’t you relieved that I saved you from dreadful hours of xenophobic discussions about how poor people should be banned from showing their face in public because it doesn’t please Senator Keneg?”

“You didn’t save me,” Skywalker grimaces, but still seats beside him. “Is it… Is it always like that? I mean, I know Core worlds politicians can be a little…”

Obi-Wan weighs his options, and decides that Skywalker would probably appreciate truth more than carefully chosen words and subtle hypocrisy. Pretending to be the last nice man in politics is out of the question with the way they met, so Obi-Wan opts for sincerity.

To a degree. 

“Snobbish? Disconnected from reality? Shameless bastards with no souls?” Obi-Wan says while signalling the bartender for Trandoshan ale and a cocktail.

“Well, yes.” 

“Welcome to politics.” 

Skywalker opens his mouth like he’s going to protest. He puts his hands in his sleeves, probably hoping to pass for a wise Jedi Master, but his pouty lips and frowned eyebrows make him look like a sulking youngling. “You’re part of it, you know. You can talk about it like you’re not one of them, but I remember you insulting me and leaving without caring about your tea and cup all over the floor.”

What a brat.

“My tea- My dear, do I have to remind you that you barreled into me at full stupid and made me spill my tea everywhere? Some Senators would have made a diplomatic incident out of it,” he huffs, a bit more irritable than he wanted to. 

 “You said I was a brainless child!” 

“Because you ar—” Their drinks arrive at that moment, and it gives Obi-Wan precious seconds to compose himself.

This isn’t how he’s supposed to play it. He didn’t expect Skywalker to be this whiny and petulant, despite Sidious’ warning, and was planning on letting him think he was the one in control of the situation. He’s supposed to be a Jedi for Force sake, not someone who can’t control their tongue and get into pointless fights with politicians! 

No, no. Grin and bear it. Obi-Wan should recall the last remnant of Jedi philosophy still in him. 

“Padawan Skywalker, I’m sorry if my words offended you,” Obi-Wan says with the voice he normally uses for debates where he wants to appear as the most sincere and reasonable party. He holds a glass of ale to Skywalker, as a peace offering. “I admit I wasn’t in the most pleasant of disposition at that time, and I may have been harsher than I realised. I hope you can forgive me.” 

This seems to mollify Skywalker a bit. He doesn’t look like he’s going to forget it, but does take the offered glass. “At least the Chancellor is different,” he sighs and Obi-Wan represses the urge to burst into laughter. 

Oh, Skywalker is truly the most naïve boy around. Perhaps twisting his mind will turn out to be fun. 

“Wait,” Obi-Wan exclaims suddenly as the Padawan holds the glass to his lips, “are you even old enough to drink?” 

“Oh come on, I’m 19! I can handle a beer and I’m a Jedi, don’t forget,” he brags, like being Force-sensitive changes anything about his (probably low) alcohol tolerance. To be fair, a regular politician wouldn’t know anything about what the Force could and couldn’t do. Skywalker’s probably relying on lack of awareness about the magic and mysterious abilities of the Jedi to get away with it. It’s almost endearing. 

 “I don’t know, Padawan, you did look like an adorable sulking youngling just a minute ago.”

“Ador- I’m not adorable!” He yelps as his cheeks turn into an interesting shade of pink. 

“But you don’t deny the youngling comment,” Obi-Wan teases good-naturedly between two sips of his cocktail. He can’t help it: It is way more intriguing to follow the colours on his face spreading to his neck than being on the receiving end of his frowns and accusing words.

Unduly flustered for such an innocent comment, Skywalker stutters a few syllables, huffs, and narrows his eyes at his glass, Obi-Wan’s playful smile, and his glass again. He downs the whole thing with his head thrown back before Obi-Wan can say anything, surprised by the sudden motion and too busy watching his throat moving until the empty glass is back on the table with a resounding clank. Still wiping his mouth, he calls the bartender and asks for another. Obi-Wan doesn’t miss the ‘don’t you dare stop me’ glare. 

This isn’t how he imagined befriending him, but Skywalker is still seating next to him and getting into a rant about how he’s a capable man, thank you very much, and yesterday his Master even said so, well, not in these words, but he’s not a youngling, and absolutely not adorable, he’s a warrior, a protector, but he doesn’t suppose a politician can understand, and if Obi-Wan wants to know, his sabre technique is exceptional, really, it is! 

His whole speech is supported by hands flying around to illustrate his words and mouthfuls of ale, because he is a man and not a kid, remember that, Senator Kenobi. It doesn’t prevent him from flushing a bit deeper and spluttering even more when Obi-Wan, listening attentively with a smile on his face, throws an indulgent of course you are, darling.

Skywalker turns his face away from him, desperate to hide his embarrassment, and orders another ale. 

Adorable. 

 Obi-Wan can work with that.   

*

Hours later, once Skywalker is happily sloshed and dangerously leaning toward crashing against his shoulder, Obi-Wan calls him a hover cab.  

“Thanks, Senator Kenobi!” Skywalker exclaims as he climbs into the cab, like Obi-Wan is now his favourite person to be around. His cheerful and warm demeanour has stopped being surprising after his second ale. “You’re not as awful as I thought!” 

Obi-Wan can’t help it, he laughs, truly laughs at that. It’s probably the most sincere compliment he’s gotten since he arrived at the Senate. “I’m glad you consider me a slightly better man than Senator Keneg,” he says, leaning forward toward Skywalker, hands on the cab. 

Skywaker grins and raises an eyebrow at him. “And more handsome too!” 

For once, it’s Obi-Wan who must look baffled. Despite his careful planning, all his diverse estimations and assessments about the different ways he could charm Skywalker, he didn’t consider actually seducing him. That’s… a whole new point of view. 

Interrupting his thoughts, Skywalker yawns and starts hugging his robe around himself, smiling contently like he’s in the best place in the galaxy, barely trying to blink away sleep from his eyes. Adorable.  

On an impulse, Obi-Wan leans closer to him and tugs on his braid. The reaction is worth it: Skywalker makes a small surprised noise, eyes suddenly wide, and the slight flush on his cheeks worsen in an instant.

Obi-Wan almost considers touching his face, just to see how warm his skin is. And maybe even brushing his parted lips with his thumb, just to see how warm it can still get. 

But Obi-Wan feels merciful.

For tonight. 

“Sleep well, Padawan,” he purrs, winding the thin braid around his finger one last time. Skywalker looks like he’s going to melt.  

Obi-Wan can work with that too. 

*

Two months later, Sidious tells him that he’s going to be the victim of an assassination attempt right before the Military Act vote. It would be acceptable for the Chancellor to be concerned about the protection and security of all Senators, of course, so he will push for Jedi protection and is certain to convince the Council to send one particular Padawan as a bodyguard. 

Obi-Wan doesn’t hate the idea. 

#these two asks were in my inbox for like... 2 months #I'm very slow but I don't forget! #sith senator kenobi au #anon #asks #obikin

[bluescluelessly]

Tossing the Script out the Airlock (and Good Riddance to it)

[Rating: Teen] || hurt/comfort, suspected infidelity, polyamorous relationships, made up Stewjoni biology because George Lucas didn’t say Obi-Wan wasn’t a little weird and if he’s gonna give his birth planet a stupid name then I’m gonna give him stupid biology tweaks, and use of Dai Bendu, the language of the Jedi (translations at the bottom of the post)

tw: mentions of grooming (because Palpatine)

Ships: Bail Organa/Obi-Wan, Bail/Breya, Anakin/Padmé

Palpatine tries to convince Anakin that Padmé is cheating on him with Obi-Wan. Anakin confronts his friend about it, finds out a bit more than he bargained for, and not at all what he was expecting to. 

°|●.*•

From the Revenge of the Sith Novelization:

“That’s why I put you on the Council. If the rumors are true, you may be democracy's last hope.”

Anakin let his chin sink once more to his chest and his eyelids scraped shut. It seemed like he was always somebody’s last hope.

Why did everyone always have to make their problems into his problems? Why can’t people just let him be?

How is he supposed to deal with all this one Padmé could die?

He said slowly, eyes still closed, “you still haven’t told me what this has to do with Obi-Wan.”

“Ah, that – well, that is the difficult part. The disturbing part. It seems that Master Kenobi has been in contact with a certain Senator who is known to be among the leaders of this cabal. Apparently, very close contact. The rumor is that he was seen leaving the Senator’s residence this very morning, at an… unseemly hour.”

“Who?” Anakin opened his eyes and sat forward. “Who is this Senator? Let’s go question him.”

“I’m sorry, Anakin. But the Senator in question is, in fact, a *her*. A woman you know quite well, in fact.”

“You–” He wasn’t hearing this. He couldn’t be. “You mean–”

Anakin choked on her name.

Palpatine gave him a look of melancholy sympathy. “I’m afraid so.”

Anakin coughed his voice back to life. “That’s *impossible!* I would *know*– she doesn’t… she couldn’t–”

“Sometimes the closest,” Palpatine said sadly, “are those who cannot see.”

Revenge of the Sith, Matthew Stover, p. 250

°|●.*•

This is it. Anakin is going to just… ask him. He’s not sure what he’ll do if he finds out Obi-Wan has been sleeping with his wife, but…

Well, he’ll figure that out if it’s true.

He went to Padmé’s apartment, felt for himself the evidence that Obi-Wan had been there.

Now, he needs the truth. He needs to be wrong.

“So… I heard you spent a late night with a senator,” he asks, trying not to sound overly accusing. Obi-Wan always gives him the benefit of the doubt.

Several emotions flicker across Obi-Wan’s face then. He eventually fixes his gaze on Anakin, a modicum of panic in his eyes. Anakin’s heart sinks.

The next words out of his old Master’s mouth, however, catch him by surprise.

“You… know about Bail?”

Anakin’s eyes go wide. No, he didn’t–

– but he can’t help thinking he knew it, it was a male senator –

– “Bail?” He blurts out, confusion showing. “No, Palpatine said–”

“– Palpatine saw me with Bail?” Obi-Wan asks, his voice rising an octave.

“No–” Anakin insists, hands going up in a placating gesture. “Not– I didn’t know about Bail. I uh. Palpatine told me he heard you were seen leaving Padmé Amidala’s Apartment.” He explains, and some of the worry drains from Obi-Wan.

“Oh,” he says, sounding infinitely relieved. “No, I, er. Well, I definitely haven’t been making ‘late visits’ to Senator Amidala.” He gives Anakin a curious sort of look. “I hear she’s spoken for, not that I would pursue her, in any case. It would be… awkward.”

“Awkward?” Anakin asks, feeling as if he’s missing something.

Obi-Wan gives a tired sort of smile. “Besides the fact that my preference is not for the fairer sex; she once made an advance, and I turned her down.” Seeing Anakin’s flaring temper, he is quick to clarify, “long before your knighting, Anakin. But, as I said, awkward.”

Anakin nods, appeased. Then, he remembers there’s a more important topic to focus on here. “So… Bail?”

The reaction is immediate; Obi-Wan’s face blushing a dark red as he looks away. “Yes, I– if you could keep that to yourself, I’d appreciate it.”

To hell with it, Anakin thinks. “Sure Master, I’ll keep your senator a secret if you keep mine.”

“The fact that you think your relationship with Senator Amidala is a secret is adorable,” Obi-Wan responds, a glint of amusement in his eye. “Half the council is still asking me why they weren’t invited to the wedding; I can’t give them an answer, as I wasn’t invited either.”

Anakin looks shocked by that information, which is truly endearing. “Wait, they aren’t mad?”

Obi-Wan shakes his head. “You proved to me that you could put responsibility over your wife on Geonosis. Relationships aren’t forbidden so long as there’s not an unhealthy attachment involved. Anyways, we’ve always bent the rules a bit for you.”

Anakin feels as if a weight has been removed from his shoulders. A weight that Palpatine put there, he thinks.

The old man has been wrong about the Jedi on two accounts now… why does Anakin hold what he says about the Jedi in such regard?

Perhaps he should fact-check more of the Chancellor’s absurd claims.

“Ah.” Anakin responds intelligently. “… so why does your, um, thing with Bail need to stay a secret?”

Obi-Wan’s red cheeks return once more. “Well. A… few reasons. Not that I think I’d be in trouble for it, but… I’d like to respect Bail’s privacy. He is, after all, Married.”

“Does Breha not know?”

“She knows,” Obi-Wan assures his former Padawan. “I wouldn’t agree otherwise. But that doesn’t mean they want the whole senate knowing about their … arrangement with me; or others.”

Again, Anakin nods to show his understanding. “The less people who know, the better. Right…”

“Exactly.”

“Still,” Anakin starts, bemused, “I didn’t take you for the 'mistress’ type.”

A complicated flurry of emotions cross his friend’s face. “… neither do I,” he responds, a little clipped. “I think of myself more as Bail’s type.”

Anakin realizes how insensitive that came off a bit too late. “I’m sorry–”

Obi-Wan waves him off. “It’s difficult to understand when I haven’t explained. Bail is Bi; he generally prefers men, but his heart belongs fully to Breha. I prefer men as well, and I have… a condition… so we came to a mutually beneficial arrangement, in which Bail and I enjoy one another while on Coruscant, as he and Breha cannot be together as often as they’d like to be.”

Anakin gets all that, he does. But one thing sticks out to him that he feels needs to be clarified. “You have a condition?” Is Obi-Wan sick?

If its possible, Obi-Wan grows more embarrassed. “Well, I’m from Stewjon.”

That clears nothing up.

At Anakin’s clueless expression, Obi-Wan sighs and explains. “Right, quick biology lesson. Somewhere down the evolutionary line, it was decided that Stewjonians need more incentive to reproduce. So, while it isn’t necessary in order to live out a full, average life span, our bodies naturally produce more beneficial hormones during sexual intercouse. This means, the more I…” he pauses, looking displeased by the verbal corner he’s painted himself into. “… get laid, the slower I age, the faster I heal, and the less sleep I need. All beneficial to fighting a war, yes?”

That’s all news to Anakin. Fascinating. “So do you have… other arrangements too?”

Obi-Wan shakes his head. “As of now, just Bail. I could, of course, visit the lower levels to the same effect, but I find it safer and more preferable to have intercourse with someone I like and trust.” Less likely to catch something that way, too.

Anakin nods, strange mixtures of relief and utter confusion swirling in his mind. At least he knows Obi-Wan has no interest in Padmé… but that doesn’t explain the way he felt his presence in the force, in her apartment.

“Okay. Uh.” He hesitates, knowing there’s no real, good way to word this. “Just… to be 100% clear, you’re not having secret meetings with Padmé in an attempt to overthrow Palpatine and the Senate?”

The look Obi-Wan gives Anakin would make someone think he had just grown a second head.

“… no, wherever did you hear such nonsense?”

Anakin rubs the back of his neck, feeling the last bit of worry ebb away. “Just rumors.”

Obi-Wan shakes his head. “Truly, the Senate gossip gets wildly out of hand. I’ll admit, I do on occasion have tea with Padmé, but there’s nothing treasonous about friends visiting one another and trading stories and doing each other’s makeup from time to time.” He pauses. “And while neither of us have very high opinions on Chancellor Palpatine’s term, there’s no plot against him, as far as I am aware. We are both just eager for this war to end, and for him to release his emergency powers so the Republic can return to democracy.”

“You think his rule is undemocratic?” Anakin asks, looking appalled by the idea.

“He’s been in power long past his elected term,” Obi-Wan points out. “A new Chancellor should have been elected already. Over this time, he has used the war to gain far more emergency powers than any one person should hold.”

Sensing Anakin’s impending argument, he continues. “… Of course, this makes it far simpler to fight a war; I simply worry that when the war has ended… he won’t give up his power so easily. He has resisted peace talks, and every other attempt to bring this war to an end sooner. So I… have concerns.” He gives Anakin a tired sort of smile. “But last I checked, he hasn’t yet made it treasonous for Padmé and I to exercise our right to free speech.”

“Of course not,” Anakin responds, sounding distracted. He’s always thought having one person to make decisions was a good thing… or, does he just think that because Palpatine has told him it’s a better idea so many times?

He has many things to question. But, more importantly right now, Obi-Wan mentioned make-up?

Anakin shakes himself from his thoughts, giving his friend a curious look. “Uh. Rewind a second. Did you say Padmé did your make-up?”

“And I did hers,” Obi-Wan answers easily. “We both had dates.”

That would explain why they were, in some cases, sitting closer than friends would; as far as he could tell in the force.

“Bail takes you on dates?” Anakin asks, curious but trying his best not to be pushy about it. This is something new, which he never anticipated learning about his Master… he wants to know more, but as a Jedi with his own secret significant Senator, he understands the secrecy.

“Not all of them are Bail,” Obi-Wan answers after a moment, as if weighing how much he should admit to. “But yes, he does. He’s quite a gentleman really; I do look for other potential partners, but I fear he’s spoiled me for most.”

Anakin can imagine; having a Senator as a partner is pretty nice. “The tea is that good?”

“And the company,” Obi-Wan agree, a crinkle at the corner of his eyes. “I’ll admit… I’m glad you know now. I don’t like keeping secrets from you.”

That warms Anakin’s heart, so much that he doesn’t quite know how to express it, so he deflects. “If you have pictures of yourself in that makeup, you better not keep them secret anymore,” he teases with a grin.

the teasing pulls a laugh from Obi-Wan, who shakes his head. “I don’t; but I’m certain Padmé has plenty. I think she even took a few of us the one time Bail stopped by her apartment to pick me up.”

Oh, he is definitely getting those from his wife later. “So Padmé knows about you two?”

“She introduced us,” Obi-Wan admits fondly. “I don’t share details with her, but she’s a smart woman.”

That she is. “Why am I the last to find out?” He protests, trying his best not to let it come out sounding whiny. 

“Because, my dear padawan,” Obi-Wan starts, gently ribbing him. “You are a dear friend, and an unparalleled partner in combat, but you can’t keep a secret to save your life.”

“I can keep a secret!” he argues! “I swear, Master, no one else will ever know. I only talk to you and Padmé, anyways.” He pauses, “Well, and Palpatine.”

“And he mustn’t know,” Obi-Wan insists, more serious now. “Bail is one of the leading senators advocating for clone rights and peace talks, Anakin. He is a good man. And, he disagrees with Palpatine quite often. I shudder to think what the Chancellor would do with this information, should he find out. I wouldn’t put it past him to use it in an attempt to not only discredit Bail, but to berate the Jedi as well.”

“But neither of you are doing anything wrong,” Anakin states, frowning.

Obi-Wan’s eyes close for a moment. “And it’s not wrong for a system to want to remain neutral and out of the war, yes? And yet, Palpatine did everything in his power to try to strongarm Republic forces onto Mandalore, even rushing a vote 3 days ahead of time, without Satine present, based on a doctored holorecording.”

Anakin doesn’t look at it that way… but he’s not going to argue with Obi-Wan where Satine is involved. Though he now questions how romantic their relationship really was, he knows they were, at the very least, close.

“Just please, don’t tell him, Anakin.” Obi-Wan persists, looking up at his friend beseechingly. “If for no other reason than Bail values his privacy.”

“Of course,” Anakin agrees easily. “Like I said, I won’t tell anyone. I just… nobody really talks to me about Palpatine like you are now. I guess most people know he’s my friend and are too afraid to say anything less than flattering… You’re giving me things to think about.”

“I try to be honest with you whenever I can,” Obi-Wan responds cautiously. “You aren’t a child anymore, and though old habits are hard to break, I don’t want to keep sheltering you as if you aren’t a capable adult.”

“I sense you have more to say,” Anakin prompts when Obi-Wan doesn’t immediately continue.

His friend nods, looking troubled. “I know he is a close friend of yours, Anakin, and one of the few people you knew and liked here, after leaving your home. Which is why I–mistakenly, I think–didn’t object to his interest in you. Initially, I had hoped another friend would make your transition from Tatooine to Coruscant easier… but… well. I find the way he treats you… inappropriate. In some cases, predatory.”

And with those words, Anakin suddenly feels on the defensive. No, Palpatine is his friend, like a grandfather to him. He isn’t… predatory, or–

Obi-Wan’s hands are up even before Anakin can think of a rebuttal. “I don’t claim to know all the details… but the fact that when you were younger, you didn’t feel comfortable telling me anything of your activities on your outings with him says quite a lot, Anakin. And more than that, when I started to suspect something was amiss, and attempted to join you on visits with him, or simply ensure you weren’t left alone with him, he used his position as the Chancellor to strongarm me into backing down. It was… is, concerning.”

And, that’s news to Anakin. He understands why Obi-Wan hadn’t told him sooner, too. He was a headstrong kid; any attempt to protect him, especially from someone he saw as a friend, Anakin would have just taken as Obi-Wan ‘controlling’ him. He knows better now; after years of being Obi-Wan’s equal. But then, it may have just pushed him away, and further from where Obi-Wan could attempt to protect him.

Still, he feels the need to explain himself. “It’s not– He didn’t do anything… like that…” He starts, floundering a little. “It’s just, I didn’t want to tell you, because he took me places I shouldn’t really be going, and I had fun, so…” might as well come clean now, it’s not like he can get in trouble for it anymore. “He used to take me on trips to the lower levels, like, clubs. And he taught me how to make a chance cube land on the side I wanted, so we would find corrupt senators, and cheat them out of their credits. And, Palpatine said he gave the money to charities, so we were doing good things, you know?”

Obi-Wan closes his eyes, and Anakin is reminded of when he tested his patience early on as a padawan, and his Master would silently count to keep himself calm.

He hasn’t needed to in a long time, not since well before Anakin was knighted.

And despite what the action reminds him of, Anakin knows his Master’s temper isn’t directed at him.

“… Anakin,” he starts, tone gentle but tight. “Please, just. For a moment, put Ahsoka in your place. If she was telling you what you are telling me now… what would you think?”

And Anakin’s gut does a flip, because deep down, he already knows.

He… he knows that Palpatine uses him, says one thing and does another, feeds him constant doubt about his friends, about the Jedi…

He knows this, and yet, no one before has had the nerve to say anything even slightly negative about Palpatine to his face. No one has ever dared do anything but say how great his close friend, the Chancellor, is.

Because like Anakin, people are afraid of him.

He feels a tremble start in his fingers, finally faced to acknowledge how afraid he is. How much it terrifies him to know that Palpatine holds all his secrets, that should Anakin ever be less than his enthusiastic friend, he could be ruined.

He, the hero with no fear… is afraid; a frightened boy in the face of a decrepit old man.

And only now can he show it, in the presence of the only person he’s ever known to have the courage to speak up about someone so untouchable.

As if sensing Anakin’s oncoming panic, Obi-Wan interrupts his thoughts, voice kind and sad. “Anakin, dear one, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.” He moves closer, and any restraint Anakin had breaks.

He feels 9 years old again, lost and seeking comfort in Obi-Wan’s arms. “I can’t say no,” he whispers brokenly. “Master– Jaieh, I’m terrified of him.”

Hearing Anakin call him Jaieh, like he hasn’t since he was young, since it was too hard for him to call anyone ‘Master’ without dredging up bad memories, Obi-Wan accepts Anakin into his arms, no hesitation or holding back.

Anakin needs support right now, needs to know that he isn’t alone in this, that if he asks, Obi-Wan would walk right into Hell with him. “Enoah foh bika, Anakin.” he promises him, reassures him. “Enoah foh mikeelal.”

“Paienoah kodaih bika,” Anakin says, but it comes out unsure, like he’s asking. Like he doesn’t know if he’s accepted, if he’s really not alone in this.

Obi-Wan’s heart aches, and he holds Anakin closer, pressing a reassuring kiss to his temple. “Haj Dai, Anakin. Paienoah kodaih bika.”

Anakin shatters then– or it feels like he does. So many doubts, so many fears, and Obi-Wan bats them all aside with a few words. Words said so easily, words Anakin feared shouldn’t apply to him.

He cries, his earlier suspicions and anger forgotten, absolved now, as he is faced with the truth that Obi-Wan cares for him; that his best friend is his truest ally, that Obi-Wan accepts him and will always accept him.

As he allows himself to acknowledge that Palpatine is a liar and a manipulator, and he is (and always has been) coming up with vile falsities in his attempts to drive a wedge between Anakin and Obi-Wan; the one person he can rely on absolutely.

And through it all, through his tears and his shattered sense of self, Obi-Wan holds onto him; not judgement or disgust, nothing but kindness and acceptance as he carefully picks up the pieces and helps Anakin piece himself back together.

How he could ever doubt Obi-Wan’s character… he would say he doesn’t know, but he remembers. He knows all the little things Palpatine said, all the betrayals he implied, the way he twisted Anakin’s thoughts to see himself pitted against Obi-Wan instead of regarded with him, as he should. They are a team, The Team.

He should have recognized long ago that their accomplishments aren’t a competition, they are an accumulation of the good they can both do, together and apart.

Anakin may be late, but late is better than never, and he recognizes it now, at his lowest and most vulnerable moment. A competitor wouldn’t hold him and build him back up, stronger than before. A friend does that, a friend and mentor and good person.

When he can speak, albeit in a watery way, Anakin wipes his eyes, face still hidden in his Master’s shoulder. “What am I going to do?”

The answer doesn’t come immediately, and that in itself is a reassurance. Anakin doesn’t want unthought-out platitudes, he wants honesty, and preferably, a plan.

“I don’t know what we can do right this moment, Anakin.” Obi-Wan admits. “He is still the Chancellor… and that won’t change until we end this war. But I can promise you this, my dear padawan, you will never have to go see him alone. You need only ask, and I will be by your side. And as soon as circumstances change, I will do all there is in my power to make sure he never comes near you again, Anakin.”

He sniffles, more reassured by the realistic response than he could ever be by promises that can’t be fulfilled.

“Then we’ll just have to try harder to end this war, huh?” Anakin goes for an optimistic tone, hugging Obi-Wan more snugly.

Another comforting kiss goes to his temple. Obi-Wan is frugal with his shows of affection, so it means all the more now that he is giving them so openly. “We will, Anakin.” He promises, and his voice is so steady, so sure, the rock that Anakin can always lean against. “Together, I doubt there’s anything you and I can’t do.”

“Together,” Anakin agrees, a knot in his very soul coming loose. 

Obi-Wan is right. They are The Team, and that isn’t just a title. Together, they can do anything they set their minds to.

They can defeat Sith Lords, they can end a war, and maybe, just maybe, they can even save Anakin Skywalker’s soul from the Devil.

°|●.*•

Dai Bendu Translations

“Jaieh” || ● Simplified Meaning: Master

Literal Meaning

roots: ‘je’- mystic, ‘ai’- mastery, non ownership. so ‘one who is a Master in the ways of the Force’, implying more like a teacher than an owner.

“Enoah foh bika, Anakin. Enoah foh mikeelal” || ● Simplified Meaning: I am here, Anakin. I am with you.

Literal Meaning

Enoah fo - I am (in a permanent state, not transitive) 

bika- here

[Anakin]

Enoah foh- I am (in a permanent state) 

mikeelal - comitative ‘you’/with you.

“Paienoah kodaih bika.” || ● Simplified Meaning: We are here together, now and forever.

Literal Meaning

Paienoah - We are (in a permanent state, and this has implications for the future)

kodaih - Exclusionary ‘We’ - all of us jedi (exclusionary, implying the inclusion of Anakin in the Jedi and alluding to the exclusion of Palpatine as not a Jedi)

bika - here. 

so essentially, “We are jedi, and we are together, and Palpatine is not, and this matters for the future.”

“Haj Dai, Anakin. Paienoah kodaih bika.” || ● Simplified Meaning: Yes, Anakin. We are here together, now and forever.

Literal Meaning

Haj Dai - literally ‘Force Wills’, a reassuring ‘yes’.

[Anakin]

Paienoah - We are (in a permanent state, and this has implications for the future) [italics stress is on ‘are’]

kodaih - Exclusionary ‘We’ - all of us jedi (exclusionary, implying the inclusion of Anakin in the Jedi and alluding to the exclusion of Palpatine as not a Jedi)

bika - here. 

so essentially, “Of course, Anakin. We are jedi, and we are together, and Palpatine is not, and this matters for the future.”

Thanks to @jasontoddiefor @ghostwriterofthemachine for the translations to Dai Bendu, their fancrafted Jedi Language!

#bailobi #anidala #breha x bail #polyam dating #polyamorous #obi wan kenobi #Anakin Skywalker #Palpatine #Dai Bendu #Anakin & Obi-Wan #Brobikin #language with translations #palpatine is a massive dickwad #hurt/comfort #fic #ficlet #star wars #canon divergent #references to Anakin & Obi-Wan comics #Jedi as family #suspected infidelity #tw: grooming

[heyheydidjaknow]

It is 6 am. I know that it reads like I’ve never heard of pacing. Trust me, I’m aware. Quite frankly, I am entirely too tired to care. It might not even be as bad as I think it is. It’s possible, I guess, but not likely, I don’t think. I don’t have proofreaders, and it’s probably too edgy or too soon for more edge but you’re along for my ride and I’m sorry. I’ll probably rewrite it at some point, but right now I’m happy I’m even awake right now to post it. My eyes hurt and I'm a little queasy but we are powering through. Having said that, let's torture some fucking teenagers.

Chapter 12

Donatello stares at the small knife intensely.

It is an incredibly boring-looking one. Knowing as little as he does about culinary arts, he does not know the exact use of it, its size and shape giving him very little insight into its use in that environment. He is willing to make an educated guess and assume the blade itself is made of carbon steel, which is not exactly a strange choice for a knife in his opinion. It is not a combat or survival knife. It is hardly sturdy enough to last long in a combat setting. He is tempted to call Mikey to ask him to identify it for a second but thinks better of it.

After all, it fell out of your pocket. Questions would be asked.

He picks it up off the floor, weighing it in his hand. ‘This is a kitchen knife, right?’ He picks your jacket off the floor, folding it neatly and placing it on the back of a chair. ‘Why would she carry around a kitchen knife?’ He rests his head on his arms, holding the offending tool in front of his eyes, continuing to analyze it. ‘To fight? She knows carrying around a knife like this with no combat experience is a bad idea, right? Don’t people usually use pepper spray or something when they want to defend themselves?’

An image flashes into his head. You, standing alone in an alley, pointing this poor excuse of a weapon at a member of The Foot or the Purple Dragon. You, falling back and hitting your head and bleeding out with a knife sticking in your side because you fell on it wrong—‘It’s not even in a sheathe’—and trying to crawl back out into the street, begging to god not to—

He blinks, noticing his knuckles going pale around the handle, mouth weirdly dry.

He swallows. He forces his grip to loosen. ‘That’s dramatic.’ He gets up, slipping the knife back into the pocket of your jacket, hoping he put it in the right one. ‘She’s fine. She’s probably just scared after everything that’s happened. It won’t come to that.’

He sets back down, picking the last gas mask up and turning it over in his hands to give him something to do. He will not have time to properly test whether it works exactly as planned, but he is fairly certain that it and its brothers should allow them to breathe with little difficulty when they need to go into the TCRI building through the elevator shaft. If that is the plan they go with, anyways-- he had elected to stay out of the planning party, seeing as creating explosives strong enough to destroy the portal is enough of a challenge on its own, and he has faith in you and his eldest brother to come up with a good course of action. You guys always did. Bradford was dead after all, a fact that he had been informed made their lives considerably easier. In your words, “Mousers are the fucking worst, and if Bradford had gone off and recruited Stockman, we would have to deal with all of that way sooner.” You had quickly admitted that you did not know how long the peace would last, but you seemed pretty satisfied by the way things were happening overall, despite his accidentally causing the power cell to be stolen—“We’ll have the whole thing under control after this mission, don’t you worry.”

You had also claimed that you had the staking out of Shredder’s lair under control, but that is neither here nor there.

The door to his lab slides open. “Donnie,” you call, “we need to go over the game plan. How’re the explosives coming?”

‘Why is there a knife in your pocket instead of a taser?’ “Theoretically? Well.” He shrugs, getting to his feet. “I can’t really test if they work, but they’re good to go, probably.”

You smile teasingly. “They’re not gonna go off randomly?”

“Probably not.”

“Probably?” Your smile widens.

“No promises.”

“Well,” you grin, “I sure hope they’re good explosives in that case; wouldn’t wanna almost bleed out again.”

His stomach churns. “For sure,” he agrees, crossing the room as you start to “walk” back to the war room/kitchen. “Have you guys decided on anything?”

“Well,” you sigh, “Leo’s bein’ Leo if that’s what you mean. I don’t mind their plan, mind, but it seems a bit silly.” You hold the door open for him. “After you.”

“Dude, totally.” Mikey nods eagerly in agreement to something someone said. “I can get him on board, on prob.”

“Good.” Leonardo taps his finger against the blueprint splayed across the counter. “Now all we need is a big enough box.”

“There should be crates down by the docks.” Raphael looks over at you. “Any stores up top sell ‘em that big?”

“Probably.” You lean against the doorway as Donnie steps past you. “You guys know we don’t know what they’re breathing, right?”

“Yeah. So?” The green-eyed brother gestures to him. “He can figure out letting us breathe.”

“Can and did, but I’m not sure that’s what she’s talking about.” The tall boy crosses his arms across his chest absentmindedly. “If the gases they’re breathing are highly flammable—which, knowing the absurd biology of the Kraang, isn’t out of the question—” You stifle a laugh, covering your mouth, “using explosives in there might blow the roof off the place.”

“That’s good, ain’t it?”

“Not If you don’t want to be pressure cooked, no.”

“Is there some other way to destroy the portal?” Leonardo laced his fingers together, leaning his elbows on the worn island.

“Without knowing the metal they’re using?” He shakes his head. “Even if we did, I’m not sure if I could safely create hydrochloric or nitric acid, especially on such short notice, let alone transport it.”

“Then we’re screwed.” Raph looks off. “Perfect.”

“Unless you feel confident in busting out of that building on a time crunch, we’d need someone to be close enough to the bomb to actually use the detonator. Seeing as we need all hands on deck, we really don’t have anyone that could fit the bill.” Even with his back to you, you notice his tension. “Unless you guys just want to crack a window or something, but that would kinda negate the point of doing the whole stealth thing, setting off an obvious alarm.”

“That’s not true.” Mikey points out the obvious. “Y/N could do it.”

“I’m down,” you shrug, moving your hands to slide in your nonexistent pockets. “You’d need to let me know when to do it so I don’t fry you guys, but I might as well add domestic terrorism to my non-existent rap sheet.” You smile wryly at that.

You think you hear Donnie mutter something before speaking up. “I’m not sure there are any buildings high enough up or close enough to be an effective--”

“Sure there is.” Mikey, again. “There’s that apartment building across that alley. It’s plenty tall.”

“Oh yeah, huh?” Raph smiles sharply. “Even has a fire escape to climb.”

The idea of climbing anything anywhere makes you want to vomit, but the idea of having to deal with whatever goes on with the saving of Leatherhead later is enough to ignore it. ‘Stop being a pussy,’ you reprimand yourself, feeling vertigo already. ‘It’s a fucking ladder. A twenty-story high ladder, yeah, but it's still just a ladder.’

“She can’t use a ladder,” the tallest brother protests. “She can’t use one of her legs.”

“Then she can take the stairs, or we can carry her there before we go.” You take slow, deep, quiet breaths. “It’s no big deal. I’m sure you wouldn’t mind doing it, right?”

You are suddenly incredibly grateful that you are leaning against a doorframe. The idea of being carried over buildings, twenty stories into the air, makes the ground sway underneath you. You subtly dig your fingernails into the walls on impulse, trying to slowly relieve the pressure.

“It’s not about—What are you even talking about?” You barely register his bashful embarrassment, swallowing thickly. “I’m just saying…”

You can barely hear them, shutting your eyes as you feel sticky, warm blood on your fingertips, dripping down in between your digits. You wipe the phantom liquid off on your jeans quickly, thoroughly, opening your eyes to see what you register as the other three ragging on Donnie about something you do not catch. You lock your knees to keep them from shaking as bad as your hands, ignoring the nausea and staring straight ahead. ‘Your folks didn’t raise a wuss. Your hands aren’t wet. Snap out of it.’

You force yourself to focus on counting threads in your sleeves. You get to thirty-five before you feel someone shaking your shoulder.

“Dude, you alright?” Mikey was waving a hand in front of your face, having apparently crossed the room from his seat on the counter. “Hello?”

Your eyes snap up from your wrist to look at him. “Hm? Yeah, totally.” You nod. “Just zoned out is all.”

He put the back of his hand to your forehead as if he knew what he was looking for. “You sure? You look sick.”

You nod again. “Just didn’t sleep well last night. I’m fine.”

“Do you plan on zoning out during the mission?” Raphael smirked. “Don—”

“No,” you cut him off sharply. “I’ll be fine. When are you guys going?”

“A couple of hours.” Donnie is staring holes into you. “The hours listed online say actual people work until then, but the actual building is open for another few hours, so by the time we get far enough down to hopefully not feel the effects of the blast, we won’t have to worry about witnesses or people getting caught up in it.”

“Awesome.” You start out the door, using the walls to limp back to the lab. “Meetcha back here in an hour.”

He runs after you. “Need me to come with you? I can help pick a crate out.” The way his words spill out is not lost on you. “O-or I could drive you there if you want—it’s bad to walk around so much on your leg, especially at night.”

“If you don’t mind vomit in your party-wagon, sure.” You slip through the gap in the door, grabbing your jacket and pulling it on. “Honestly, Donnie, I’m fine.”

“But—”

“I walk home all the time.” You use the chair to roll over to your walker, snapping it open and getting to your feet. “I’m just going to go to a hardware store, buy a couple of the largest boxes they have, grab some dinner, and come back. Besides, you have to worry about getting in, right? I’ll be fine, really.”

He wants to argue. He does not.

“Text me if you need anything while I’m out.” You maneuver past him with a bit of difficulty. “Want me to pick up some pizza while I’m out?”

“… yeah.” He nods, shaking off the feeling sinking into his gut with a bit of difficulty. “If you want some, you’ll have to eat it on your own, though.”

You smile back at him. “I’ll get something else to eat,” you roll your eyes, voice oozing with honey seemingly unintentionally. “Don’t you worry too hard about me, now; your brothers give you a hard enough time as is.”

“Don’t get yourself killed and I’ll think about it,” he jokes, mostly serious.

You laugh. “I’ll try, Dad.”

He has never noticed how loud you walk until today. Maybe it is just that it is unusually loud in comparison to him and his brothers, or maybe it is the sound of it knocking around the concrete walls of the lair bouncing the sound off the walls, but he cannot help but notice it, how easily he can identify where you are just by listening. How has he never noticed that? ‘You could hear her down the street, walking past. Anyone with ears could tell where she is, no problem.’

He feels himself grip onto the door to keep himself from running after you and insisting he come with you. ‘If someone can hear her walking down the street, someone can hear her scream. They’ll call someone. Who would leave a teenage girl to get attacked?’ He does not answer his question.

He shuts the door. ‘And she has a point. I still need to figure out how to get us into TCRI without the cameras catching us.’ He sits back at his workstation to think. ‘It doesn’t have to be too advanced. A remote-controlled dolly wouldn’t take much time to build, and I have the code already.’

It is not an effective distraction, but it is enough to preoccupy him for a solid half an hour.

--

You are back at the time you say you are going to be back. The trip did not take you long, although carrying the boxes and food was an unforeseen challenge, and you bought yourself a burrito and soda, so all is well. You and the guys eat in the kitchen, you do not have another episode and, all in all, you almost forget about the fact you will have to be carried up a twenty-story building.

Standing and staring up at the building they had ended up next to is an easy reminder.

You swallow your dinner back, mouth dry. ‘Commit.’ You fold your walker up, hiding it behind a dumpster and hooking your arms around Donnie’s neck before you can chicken out, shutting your eyes tight, the humming of their van—you had walked—doing nothing to ease your nerves. You hear the others say something before the engine roars back to life, the tires squealing against the asphalt as they drive off.

“I’m not going to drop you,” he promises, barely noticing the extra weight as he hooks one of his arms under your thigh to pull your body flush against his. Your legs immediately tighten into a vice-like grip around his middle, pulling him even closer.

“Fucking better not.” He starts to scale the building with a bit of difficulty, with one arm otherwise preoccupied. “I’ll haunt your ass.”

He smiles at that. He jumps up, grabbing onto the railing of a fire escape and earning a squeak of terror and a quiet string of obscenities from you. He takes longer than usual out of necessity but finds a quiet joy in how hard you cling to him, swallowing laughs drawn out by your swears—his personal favorite is, “Oh fuck me Mother Mary!” which is a result of him overshooting the railing, resulting in both of you violently swinging back and forth for a time.

“Are we on solid ground?” Your voice is pleading.

“We’re on the roof, yeah.”

You let go, sliding down to your knees and lacing your fingers together behind your neck, breathing for the first time in the eternity—two minutes—it had taken to get there. You want to cry, your heart pounding out of your chest as you try to catch your breath.

“Are you okay?”

You nod once, shifting back and putting your head between your knees to regain your head.

‘Did I do something wrong?’ He crouched down in front of you, concerned. “You sure?”

You nod again.

“Are you being honest?”

“I will be in a sec,” you snap shakily.

He backs off, staying in that position.

You give yourself a count of fifteen before looking back up at him. “I’m good.” You take a deep breath, pulling yourself into him again. “Let’s do this shit before I’m not.”

The journey over is painfully silent, other than your guys’ breathing. Balance is the only real problem throughout. Holding you and making sure not to crush you makes the normal measures he would normally use to soften his falls impossible, meaning his jumps cannot be as high or far as normal—the last thing you need on top of everything else is a concussion. The trip might have been rendered shorter had it not been for the need for the Kraang to know nothing of their whereabouts, but he does not think it is too long until he moves to let go of you.

You do not let go of him.

“Y/N?”

Nothing.

“Y/N,” he says again, “we’re here.”

You do not move to let go of you, your heartbeat thundering against his chest.

“I’m going to set you down.” He unhooks your legs, lowering himself and setting you on the floor. “See?” He unlatches your arms, gently pulling you away from him.

Your face is white as a sheet, mind only barely registering the fact you were on solid ground. He would be concerned you were dead had it not been your incredibly fast pulse. You stared straight ahead, eyes unfocused.

You blink, pushing the hair out of your face as you get to your feet. “Sorry,” you mumble. “Zoned out. Tired.”

He hesitantly gives you the detonator. “Alright,” he relents. “You know the plan, right? You remember it still?”

“I’m scared, not dumb.” Your face flushes. “Sorry. That was mean.”

He blinks, confused. “It’s fine,” he shrugs. “Lack of sleep can cause irritability, especially in teenagers.” His voice is soft despite his own anxiety about the whole plan. He hands you your phone. “I’ll come back to pick you up. If I don’t in two hours, text me. If I don’t respond…” he trails off.

Your stomach drops. “You will,” you assure him firmly. “I know you will.”

“If I don’t,” he nods in agreement, if only for your sake, “hell will’ve frozen over anyway.”

You chuckle nervously at that. You reach over, cupping his face in your hands. “Seriously, though,” you make him look at you properly, “kick their asses for me.”

He smiles, his face heating up under your hands. “You got it.” He gets up. “See ya, then.” He smiles tipsily, waves, and runs off.

You watch him bound rooftops, grateful he had seemingly not noticed the violent shaking of your hands as you set the electronics down. You swallow again, dragging yourself and leaning your back against the ledge, crossing your legs in front of you. You lean over, placing the detonator down next to you carefully and picking your phone up. You shakily input the passcode, turn the volume as low as it would go, and press the speaker to your ear, sinking into a song with a slow exhale of breath. While you had refused yourself any illicit substances for the same reason you had gotten rid of your sleeping pills, you saw no issue with relying on music for some stress relief, the familiarity of the slower song letting your heartbeat match its rhythm.

You reach down, pulling your pant leg up and carefully peeling the tape from your good leg, wrapping your fingers around the handle of the paring knife and holding it at your side. Sure, you know, logically, it would do little but hinder you in a fight, but you felt as though you needed something, anything to make you feel less weak. You already feel the embarrassment from clinging onto him so tightly, tears pricking at your eyes. “You’re the literal definition of a damsel in distress,” you mumble, scoffing at yourself. “A young, unmarried woman who is in distress. A crazy damsel in distress at that.” You blink them away. “God, you’re really fucking pathetic, huh?” You chuckle, swallowing again and pressing the phone closer to your ear. “You’re almost a fucking adult and you’re scared of a little height and a little blood. Perspective, Y/N.”

It feels like an hour of sitting, knees now at your chest as you listen to music to take the edge off—‘Like taking ibuprofen for an amputation.’ Regardless of how effective it is, it does something, at least, and that is all you can ask for right now.

You jump out of your skin when your phone buzzes with a text. You fumble with it, pulling it to your face to read Casey asking if you were still free next Tuesday for his stupid fucking game. You text him back that, yes, you are, and hope he stubs his toe for the false alarm.

--

The text comes at eleven-o-three.

You almost drop the phone, the message “NOW” crossing your screen. You pick the device up carefully, craning your neck back to glance at the building across the street, feeling as though you missed something incredibly important despite knowing the contrary. You swallow one more time and slam your hand down on the button.

The sound of the explosion roars in your ears, your eyes widening at the light now illuminating the roof, images of that night burning in your head and squeezing your throat. You drop the detonator, covering your ears as the ground in front of you is seemingly set alight. It barely registers to you that it is a cold autumn night. Why would you care when all you can hear is screaming? Why bother when your heart is begging to be let out of your chest, when your blood is pooling under you and all your scars are open? All you can see as you shudder, shutting your eyes tightly, is that man’s sides slashed with glass, warm red dripping out of him and onto the dashboard.

You look up, choking on your fear.

You remember what you forgot.

The walls of the top three floors of TCRI?

They are made entirely of the glass now showering down on you.

Table of Contents

Chapter 11

Chapter 13

#tmnt donnie #donnie x reader #2012 donnie #donnie #donatello x reader #tmnt donatello #donatello #tmnt #tmnt fanfiction #tmnt 2012 #tmnt 2k12 #teenage #teenage mutant ninja turtles 2012 #teenage mutant ninja turtles #hamato clan #donatello hamato #y/n #self insert #self insert fanfiction #tmnt x reader #reader insert #angst #we back on that angst shit #I am so fucking sweaty #it is light out #look at these dumbasses go #pacing? what's that? #Can I eat it? #I have been listening to the same playlist for literal fucking months #I am hungry

[jcmorrigan]

Hey, do you still take requests of your headcanons? If yes, then maybe you have a thought about Taylor's and Albert's everyday life in college? Or those things when doc goes 'I have a PH. D. in Marine bioligy, I' ll explain to you your biology homework, god damn it!' XD

This sounds fun so LET'S DO IT. For simplicity's sake this will take place in the same universe as this post. (Also, if I mess up any pronouns, please forgive, as it is an accident.)

-Yes! Albert ABSOLUTELY tries to explain Taylor's biology homework to them!

-But also sometimes is like "Give me that" and tries to DO their homework for them.

-Here's the problem. Albert grew up on encyclopedias, books by Ph.D.'s, and handwritten reports. Taylor is using laptops, email, and research databases. This confuses the heck out of Albert. He can use a word processor and send basic emails and that's about it. He keeps trying to pick up a book published ten years ago and Taylor's just "THAT'S OUT OF DATE. USE GOOGLE, COWARD."

-He also tries to help them out with their social life. For instance, if Taylor mentions that there's this asshole in their class who keeps showing them up, Albert will immediately yell "YOU'RE GETTING AN ARCHNEMESIS? AT LONG LAST? I'M SO HAPPY FOR YOU" and Taylor's like "Not...not every pair of people who hate each other are you and Vincent, man"

-I see him crashing school events like dances. Taylor will be chilling out at a dance and then suddenly see him leaning against the wall and waving at them and they're just "OH MY GOD WHY"

-Except that particular night, no one wanted to dance with Taylor, so Albert was their partner for the slow song and twirled them and taught them to waltz and they basically made a scene

-"Is that your dad?" "I don't know how to introduce him anymore. He's my Albert. Just to make this less confusing you can say dad I guess, or annoying older brother type. Also I guess he's literally my therapist."

-I still believe that in his own RMU days, Albert started out a psych major because his dad pressured him into it and switched to marine bio halfway through once he found his own footing. (Vincent didn't know he switched to marine bio until after they reconnected and could SWEAR he was a psych major. Victor knew, though.) So Albert also tries to help Taylor with studying for psych. Except he is SHIT at actual psychology, he's just trying to show off in a discipline he REMEMBERS VERY LITTLE ABOUT

-Taylor is an undecided major for their first two years and Albert encourages them that this is absolutely fine; you don't want to be like him and lock yourself into something you'll lose favor for

-He tries to pack them lunches and they're just "It's college. They have a cafeteria. I don't need you to pack me a lunch." (But he's a great cook so sometimes they take the food along anyway)

-Dream Eaters with flash cards!

-He really stands by flash cards as a whole (you know, since his Sanity Check revolves around them in the first phase)

-Taylor: "So I'm using an elective credit for art - " Albert: *CANNOT CONTAIN EXCITEMENT*

-He just stands there in the same room as Taylor while they draw. Staring. Not saying a word. They've learned to pretend he's not there.

-Immense praise when a piece is finished, but also nitpicks on some of the little details that falter

-Keeps offering to kill people for Taylor, though.

-"Yeah, Professor Shaw is a real bitch and I don't know how I'm gonna pass this class" "Well, you would definitely pass if she were...removed from staff" "ALBERT DO NOT KILL MY LIT PROFESSOR"

-He kills the lit professor anyway. Taylor pretends to be horrified but is secretly relieved. The replacement gives them a passing grade.

-In fact, replacement professor says something like "I just knew you'd come through; I saw it in a dream!" And for a moment Taylor must wonder: "Did...did Albert invade their dreams and influence them to give me a better grade?"

-"Albert, did you invade my professor's dreams - " "NoIdidn'twhatareyoutalkingaboutohlookit'sdinnertime"

-He also orders the Dream Eaters to guard Taylor's brain from nightmares the night before finals

-Vincent: "WHERE WAS ALL THIS SUPERNATURAL AID WHEN I WAS IN CLASS" Victor: "You two supposedly hated each other back then, remember? But I guess this just proves that 'supposedly.'"

-I still am not sure myself what major Taylor chooses, but when they make undergrad, I know they hug all the guys after the ceremony but Albert gets the longest hug

-It's not lost on Taylor that their greatest mentor and cheerleader through this time period once tried to kill them and/or make them into one of his pet monsters. But when you live in Revenge House you don't question this stuff too deeply. It only leads to confusion.

#taylor lee #albert krueger #set in the blakeworther cinematic universe

[kotsuvi]

a month of sundays - part two

pairing: nishinoya x fem!reader (slight oikawa x reader later on)

summary: in a period of stress and tight scheduling, kiyoko asks you to step up as manager for the boy’s volleyball team until she can get back on her feet.  words: 3.4k warnings: swearing, small bit of angst

a/n: this is my third time trying to post this and i’m slightly perturbed. i also really want to work on the mafia fic AND a smau so... we’ll see how things go. 

series masterlist

Kiyoko told Coach Ukai that you had accepted the position, and he was relieved nonetheless. Apparently he assumed you--for whatever reason--were going to say no--which you were--, and he had been panicking to find a replacement. But you hadn’t denied, to both his shock and yours. “Damn,” you mumbled to yourself as you started towards the main gym building. You had changed into your athletic-wear back at home, and although the sun was warm against your back, the breeze was cool, sending goosebumps down your warms. You wished that you had brought a sweater. 

It was your first early morning practice with the boys--your first practice as manager. The thought still terrified you, and as you pushed on those heavy double doors, you reevaluated exactly how good of a situation you were getting in, or how bad. “Heads!” Tanaka shrieked as soon as you stepped inside the gym, and you ducked last minute, narrowly missing the yellow and blue volleyball that rocketed past your head.  “Wanting to obliterate me already?” You straightened, brushing your hair out of your eyes to spot the culprit. The ball bounced off the wall, then skittered across the floor, landing at the feet of a very flustered Asahi. His face reddened as he picked it up. “I’m so sorry!” He exclaimed, his face pinching up in concern. Sugawara chuckled behind him as he practiced his sets, the ball seeming to float above his fingertips.  You laughed. “Don’t worry about it. I think it’s something I’ll have to get used to.” Again. Something you would have to get used to again.

“You trying to rip off her head or something?” Nishinoya yelled from across the court, and Asahi dipped his head. 

“He didn’t mean to,” you chuckled, letting the doors close behind you. Nishinoya threw a ball into the air, then caught it behind his back, his eyes on you. “I knew you’d come back,” he said, a smirk toying at his lips. “You just missed me so much, didn’t you?”

No, no you hadn’t. No, you didn’t know Nishinoya very well. No, you wouldn’t consider yourself friends. Yes, he was annoying, but also shockingly good looking. You hadn’t noticed it at the practice previously, but his figure had changed. He wasn’t much taller, much a couple of inches, but he had filled out a lot more than you liked to admit. His shoulders were broader, biceps tugging at the material of his tight white shirt, and when he rolled out the kinks in his neck the veins above his Adam's apple swelled. You tried not to stare, but it was unexpected, although you knew that the team had started to hit the gym more often recently. Once you had seen Asahi at the bottom of your street when you were getting home from work. He had explained how exhausted everyone was, but he had also expressed how he believed it was going to pay off. 

Clearly it had. 

You rolled your eyes at him. “In your dreams.”

You dropped your things outside one of the office’s, your movements slow and controlled. You were cautious. You were nervous. You were just trying to put one foot in front of the other. You didn’t want to freak out, or to seem like some weird fill-in manager chick who couldn’t keep her act together. You just wanted to make it through, one day at a time. “You ready kid?” Ukai asked, his voice making you flinch. You hadn’t even noticed that he had entered the gym, but you knew what it meant: it was official. Once you started you couldn’t just back down, mostly for the sake of your own pride. The boys would know that you didn’t have the guts, and Kiyoko would know too. She was an amazingly supportive friend, but you didn’t want her to see you break. You had received a text from her over the weekend expressing her gratitude. She wasn’t an overly animated person, so you knew that for her to be so thankful was a big deal. You wouldn’t let her down. 

You spun around to face the coach. “Ready as I’ll ever be.” Ukai cracked a small smile, then flicked his head towards the court. “Almost everyone is here. We’ll wait five minutes, then we’ll get started, okay?” You nodded, not exactly sure what you were going to be ‘starting’ on. But you stood because Ukai, nerves pitting your stomach as you watched the boys. Hinata had an exceptionally impressive vertical, and you silently applauded him each time he went up to the net. Moody had a powerful set as well, one that arched when it needed to and fell when it needed to. On the other side of the net, Nishinoya was digging the balls that Hinata had sent over. He got low, right underneath the ball, and passed them up with beautiful height.

“They’re first-year’s, right?” You asked, gesturing to Hinata and Moody. “Sure are,” Ukai said, nodding with approval. “Good, huh?” “Seems like it,” you mumbled, your eyes flitting through the rest of the boys. Tsukki and another freckled boy were practicing hits and blocks on the left side of the net. Sugawara was up against the wall, stretching out his chest. The rest of the boys were hitting, or passing, or practicing serves. To you, it was actually quite chaotic, but somehow it seemed to work.

“Alright!” Tanaka suddenly yelled, bursting through the doors. “It’s okay guys! I’m here! Not to worry!” “We weren’t asking,” Tsukki said flatly, a bored expression on his face. You wondered exactly what Hana thought was so hot about him. The glasses did do something, but they weren’t it.

“Well now that practice is ruined,” Moody said, earning a hard glare from Tanaka. “It was ruined when you joined the team, Kageyama,” Nishinoya stated proudly, and Moody’s lips drew together in a firm line. So the dark haired boy actually had a name. Kageyama.

“Being a second-year doesn’t give you superiority,” Tsukki said, pushing his glasses up with one knuckle.

“Hell yeah it does!” Nishinoya stated, a smirk tugging at his lips as he tossed his ball in the air again. He bumped it once, then twice, then caught it. His eyes darted over to you, and you gave him a shake of your head. He grinned, facing Tsukki.“You’re jealous.”

Tsukki’s face darkened. “Am not.”

“Okay!” Coach Ukai yelled, breaking them up. He gave you an exasperated look, then waved them over. “Come on. You’re going to meet your new manager.” You gulped at the words. “Do I need a speech?” You asked, trying to play off your nerves. “Every good introduction comes with a speech.” Ukai eyed you. “Kid, this isn’t the election. Relax.” Your cheeks flushed pink as the boys crowded around you, wide grins on their eager faces. You met Nishinoya’s eyes, and he gave you a quick thumb’s up and a wink, but it only made you feel even worse. You knew that he was flirty; you had always known it. He made up for his height in personality and confidence, and he fucking made his presence known. It was one of the things that drew Hana to him most. You wouldn’t exactly call him a player, but he definitely pulled girls. Apparently it was an ongoing joke between him and Tanaka, but you didn’t find it overly funny. He could be a jerk sometimes--if his head got to him. 

But he had caught your eye, both physically meeting your gaze in that very moment, but also metaphorically, many times before.  “So Kiyoko did rope you into it then,” Daichi said, smiling softly. He held a volleyball between his wrist and hip, and he rolled it around his torso once. “She did,” you replied. “Although I don’t know how.” “Aw, have you already picked favourites?” Nishinoya teased, glancing over at Tanaka.   You gave him the eye. “Maybe I’ve just already picked least-favourites.” There was a collective whisper throughout the group. Nishinoya’s lips parted with surprise, but he didn’t reply.

Ukai let out a snort beside you, his arms still crossed tightly over his chest. “Boys, as I was saying,” he said, gesturing to you with a flick of his head, “this is Y/N.” “We know Coach!” Tanaka yelled, his voice booming through the gym. “She was here on Thursday!” Ukai quirked a brow. “And formal introductions aren’t a thing anymore?” “Tanaka wouldn’t know,” Tsukki said. “He has no manners.” “Why you little shi-” “Hey,” Ukai cut them off once more. “Please. Let’s not scare Y/N away already, sound good?” Tanaka continued to glare at Tsukki, but he zipped his lips. The tall blonde just shrugged as if to say I’m right. You were tempted to agree. One time you had Tanaka and Kiyoko over for dinner and Tanaka ate everything with his fingers and didn’t use a napkin. He didn’t even wash his hands afterwards, and your parents weren’t entirely pleased with the greasy finger marks all over their furniture.

“Have you been a manager before?” Hinata asked, his face lighting up. He managed to push himself to the front of the group, and he was looking at you eagerly. He seemed like a little burst of energy; you liked him already. “I haven’t,” you replied. “First time for everything?” “I bet you’ll be gone by tomorrow if Tsukki has anything to say about it,” Hinata said casually, and the blonde narrowed his eyes.

“It seems that everyone is against me today,” he said matter-of-factly. “Maybe it’s because I’m presenting the facts. You see-” “Okay professor,” Nishinoya cut in. “Thanks for the lecture.” Tsukki snorted. “Noya you-” “Boys,” Ukai said, interrupting them for a third time. He turned to you briefly to say “bear with me” before proceeding. “I wanted you to get familiar with Y/N, and for her to get an idea of you and your skills.”

“Skills?” Tsukki let out a snicker, his fist coming up to his lips to stifle his laughter. “What skills?” “Oh so you’re referring to yourself as well then, you dimwit,” Kageyama snapped, and then a collective shouting session started, prompting your jaw to drop slightly. You had never seen a team with so much banter in such a short amount of time. Hell, you had barely been standing there for two minutes and they were already in a blowout. “Enough!” Ukai yelled, uncrossing his arms to swipe them through the air. “That. Is. Enough.” “Sorry Coach,” a few of the boys grumbled, and they all earned a disapproving look from Daichi. “You’re a third-year then, Y/N?” More questions from the redhead. You definitely liked him. “I am,” you replied. “So…” Hinata’s brows pinched together as if he was really trying to figure out the circumstance. “Do you play volleyball?”

You knew the question was coming, and you had braced yourself for it, but there, standing in front of all those boys, you felt unprepared. “Uh-” you started, clearing your throat quickly. “I used to.” “Used to?” Asahi asked quietly. “I didn’t know you played.”

You nodded shyly. “Yeah.” “And you don’t anymore?” Hinata almost looked offended. “Why would you ever want to stop? Volleyball is the best sport in the world.”

You knew that. Hell, you had once told all your teammates the same thing. But that was a lifetime ago. “Damn, you’re a nosy little thing, aren’t you?” Tanaka said, ruffling Hinata’s hair. “She probably had people like you on the team Hinata,” Kayegama said bluntly, and Hinata’s expression deflated. “I wouldn’t blame her for quitting.”

Your body went tense, and you couldn't help the defensive response that swelled up inside you. You hadn’t quit. No, far from it. If you had, you wouldn’t have been standing there in front of all those boys, having them gawk at you and question you to wit’s end. As a harsh reminder, you body crawled with a shoot of pain, starting with your toes. You bit your tongue to hold back a wince.

“I didn’t quit,” you said quickly, your jaw tightening. You hadn’t meant for it to come out so hard, but the boys picked up on it. Hinata quirked a brow, and the corners of Nishinoya’s lips turned down slightly. Daichi continued to roll the ball around his torso, but he exchanged a glance with Suga.   “Y/N doesn’t have to explain anything to us,” Coach Ukai laughed, giving you a quick shake of the shoulder. You were relieved; it appeared as if Hinata was going to continue his interrogation. 

You forced him a smile, shaking away your outburst. “It’s a long story. Maybe for another time.” “We can make that happen,” Nishinoya said, hair flopping as he tipped his head. “Name a place and a time.” You clicked your tongue, but didn’t reply. He was toying with you, it was just what he did. But right there in front of Coach?

You sighed.  “We’ll deal with personal matters later,” Ukai said, giving Nishinoya a look. “For now, just make sure you treat Y/N with respect, and you listen to her like you listen to me, got it? Anything she says, you do it.” You could’ve sworn you heard Nishinoya whisper “kinky” to Tanaka. “Now, let’s show her what you’ve got. Serves!”

“Yes sir!” The boys yelled, and then they split; parting to different areas of the gym. They picked up balls along the way, and then in no time they were sending them across the gym, spiralling over the net. Decent, decent, decent. The boys were good, you would definitely admit it.

You just hoped that they hadn’t picked up on the tenseness of your stance. 

“Not bad,” you said, the words slipping between your lips before you could stop them. “You think so?” Nishinoya said, stepping up beside you, a ball twirling in his hands. You noticed just then--with him so close to you--that he had piercings. Three of them, actually. One stud on his right and two small hoops on the left. That was new. “I bet I could do better.” “Oh really?” You asked, watching as Asahi sent a beautiful ball over the net. In all honesty, you were being awed. “Then why don’t you get out there and show me?” “Please,” Tsukki muttered as he picked up a ball close to your feet. “Shorty can’t serve for shit.” “Shut up Four Eyes!” Nishinoya snapped, flustered. You laughed. “I’m sure you could do it.”

“Oh-” “Or not.”

Nishinoya pursed his lips, still mindlessly spinning the ball in his hands. “Oh, I see how it is.” He paused. “ You said you used to play volleyball?” He raised his brows, then his hands, waving them through the air. “Well I’m sure Tanaka knows. Tana-!” “Shut up!” You whisper-shouted, batting his arms back down to his sides. “Shut up. I haven’t played in ages.” “There a reason for that?” Nishinoya asked, his face pinching with suspicion. From the short amount of time that you had known him, you had become accustomed to his few quirks: the curious look in his eye; the loud mouth; the flirtatious tendencies. He wasn’t easy to miss in a crowd.

“Like I said before,” you said, almost a little too defensively. “It’s a long story.” Nishinoya pretended to check an imaginary watch on his wrist. “Hm, seems like I’ve got time.” “Noya!” Dachi yelled, as if on cue. “Get your lazy ass away from Y/N and start doing something!” Nishinoya tilted his head innocently, then tossed the ball in his hands up into the air. He bumped it up once, twice, three times, never breaking eye contact with Daichi. “What?” He asked sweetly. “But I am doing something Daichi.” Daichi pursed his lips; paused his serve to give Noya a look. “Use your time effectively.” “Always do, Captain.” Nishinoya caught the ball as soon as Daichi turned back around. “He’s uptight sometimes. He needs to live a little.” “Maybe you just need to listen,” you shot back, raising your brows. Nishinoya scoffed. “As if. What did I tell you? I only listen to me, myself and I.” “Noya, practice your digs with some of these serves,” Ukai said as he passed, his eyes scanning through a large stack of papers. “Yes sir,” Nishinoya grumbled, and you let out a laugh, your palm covering your mouth to keep quiet.

“What were you saying?” You called as he sauntered away. “About answering only to yourself?” “Yeah yeah!” He snapped, waving you off. “I get it.”

You grinned as you watched him walk over to the opposing wall. He tossed the ball against it, then bumped it back. Wall, arms. Wall, arms. Wall, arms. The ball made a steady rhythm. “So, kid,” Ukai said, making his way back towards you. “You mentioned you’ve played before?” You nodded. “How much do you know? Or remember.” All of it. Every little detail. You could recite the rules of the game in your sleep; every single play that your team ever did.

“A decent amount,” you replied softly.

“Perfect.”

-

The first practice went relatively smooth, you could agree to that. You had successfully managed to follow through the directions that Ukai had given you, and you actually had some fun. The boys seemed to like you too, which calmed your nerves immensely.

You stumbled out of the gym, freshly changed out of your athletic-wear. Your uniform was spritzed with a small amount of rose scented body mist, just to steer clear from any kind of gross locker room smell. That was about the only thing that you didn’t miss about sports: the change rooms. 

“Well Y/N!” Tanaka exclaimed as you left the gym. “Success?”

You gave a heavy sigh. “Sadly not.”

“What?” Noya--you had decided to take up the nickname—asked, slinging his bag over his shoulder as he caught up with you. “You’re tired of us already?”

“Actually just you,” you replied, deadpan. “I think I’m going to quit.”

He pouted. Yeah, you decided, he was cute. “You shouldn’t,” Tanaka said, his fingers toying with his backpack straps. He wiggled his brows as he talked, and you laughed. “The superiors like you. The peasants like you as well.”

The three of you started across the courtyard. You told Hana not to wait for you before the first period, so there were a few extra moments to spare. You wanted to try and catch up with Kiyoko before she went to her class, but there were a million places she could’ve been. Plus, you weren’t sure if you would even be able to break away from the two boys. They hadn’t shut up since practice had finished. 

Cue: chatter chatter chatter, you never stop talking.

“What class do you have now?” Noya asked, running a hand through his hair, then quickly over his jaw. He looked older than you remember. He would’ve been what? 17? Someone had told you he had an early birthday, so maybe even 18. “World history,” you replied. As if on cue, your bag seemed to get four times heavier, and your back began to ache. You jumped slightly, trying to hoist the bag up higher. “What do you have?”

You started up the steps to your hall. A group of girls rushed past you, all of them complaining about nearly missing their club meeting. From the other end of the courtyard, someone was playing rock music from a mysterious speaker.  The school would probably shut it down within the hour, but the kid had the right kind of spirit. The music wasn’t even half bad. 

“Ethics,” Noya replied, his eyes darting from you to the ground. “Wish I had taken world history.” “No you don’t!” Tanaka yelled, shoving Noya roughly on the shoulder. “It’s bloody hell. All this stuff about who knows what and who did this and who did that. I don’t care, it’s the past.” You grinned. “That’s why you’re failing.” “Am not!” Tanaka argued, tossing a set of keys into the air. Noya attempted to grab them when they were thrown again, but he was unsuccessful.

You were in class 4 and Tanaka was in class 2. You didn’t really ever walk with him to class, but every once in a while it happened, and every once in a while Nishinoya had tagged along. You enjoyed those moments. Noya was easy to get along with; playful and charming, with a decent sense of humour. You couldn’t help but watch him out of the corner of your eye as he spoke. He had an aura about him, one that made his ego almost suffocating. You didn’t mind so much because it was him, but you knew of another particular person that just happened to inflict their ego heavily on the crowd. You had fallen victim to this particular person more than once.

You shook off the thought.

“I’m only down the hall,” Noya said, tugging at the collar of his uniform. The first few buttons at the top were undone, and the tie was loose. Tanaka’s looked exactly the same, but you weren’t watching him nearly as intently as you were watching Noya.

You tried laughing it off. “Well thank God for that then, right? Any danger and I’ll know exactly who to call.” Noya winked. “Oh you bet. I’ll be waiting.” “I was going to say Ghostbusters.” Tanaka frowned. “I would call Ghostbusters.” “Of course you would Tanaka,” Noya said cheerily, slapping the tall boy across the back of the head. “You’ve got absolutely zero common sense!” “Says the kid that’s always in detention!” Tanaka defended, crossing his arms tightly. “Me being in detention has nothing to do with my grades.” Tanaka gave you a knowing look at you and you bit back your laugh. “Whatever you say,” he replied. “Detention huh?” You questioned as you stepped into the hall. Your classroom was right at the end, and you ducked and weaved under arms and over bags. Everyone was pushing and shouting and laughing with one another, and it almost made it hard to hear. Noya did the same, dodging oncoming students, one hand tugging at his dual-toned locks. Tanaka just shrieked at them to move.   “Only every couple of weeks,” Noya said, shrugging like it was nothing. He then stuffed his hands into his pockets, looking over at you with a glint of achievement in his eye. “Why? You like bad boys Y/N?” You felt the colour rise to your cheeks and you dropped your gaze. “Of course.” You tried to play along. “Wouldn’t want them any other way.”

“You’re the exception,” Tanaka stated proudly to Noya, who rolled his eyes.

You neared your classroom and you slowed. Noya did the same, but Tanaka plowed forward, not even noticing that you had stopped. “This is me,” you said, flicking your head towards the door. Noya glanced inside, then over at you, a smirk toying at his lips. “Well, you know where to find me,” he said, pulling a hand out of his pocket to salute you casually. “I’ll see you tomorrow, yeah?”

#nishinoya #yu nishinoya #nishinoya x reader #nishinoya fic #nishinoya fanfic #nishinoya imagine #nishinoya fluff #nishinoya series #nishinoya haikyuu #yu nishinoya x reader #noya x reader #haikyuu #haikyuu fic #haikyuu fanfiction #haikyuu series #haikyuu x reader #anime #fanfiction #veewrites #vee's disastrous writing #vee's mediocre writing #a month of sundays series

[fullhalalalchemist]

Black muslims endure a lot of racism and sometimes are ignored by the muslim community. I absolutely agree with what you're saying. After all we are all humans when we see such injustices occurring we should stand up for each other and for each other's rights.

I feel people who are saying how people arent coming together for palestine as they did for blm don't mean to target blm activists and those who spoke up about this and continue to do this despite being ignored so much. I feel they are instead targeting the media who yes were very slow on covering blm and also displayed racism when reporting injustices against the black community but I remember for some time the media were covering the issue (though in many cases misinformation was being spread about protestors being violent when this was not the case). Some of the news coverage where I am from reported the protests more truthfully and people were interviewed about blm and their experiences. However big media outlets in my country havent spoken about Palestine and given a voice to people who have studied the situation and are on the ground witnessing atrocities. When they do report Palestine again like the blm a lot of misinformation is spread and we need people to speak up about this. Through the blm movement some white people came to understand how their silence is harmful and stood with the black community. Whilst people of different backgrounds and faiths have been standing up for Palestine I have also witnessed a reluctance to do so as they believe the situation to be about a religious war or typical middle eastern terrorism and dont educate themselves. Some of those who educated themselves about the struggles black people face are silent now. Perhaps they arent aware of the situation and with the social media like instagram deleting/hiding the coverage etc maybe they havent seen what has been going on.

Just like blm was viewed a controversial topic to discuss (which is a load of bs) some are reluctant to talk about Palestine or even reblog posts as its viewed as siding with muslims and being antisemitic. There was a recent election in my home country and the outcome of the liberal party was bad due to many reasons and yet I frequently saw people on twitter saying it was because the party asked people about their views on Palestine when talking to the public and being obsessed with Palestine was a problem. As well as this celebrities who did a good thing by raising awareness of blm and also about stopping asian hate are silent now. As you said we should be supporting each other. All these issues are important to me as people are being treated unjusticely and cruely without a valid reason. This is why its upsetting to see those who say they advocate for all rights aren't saying anything about Palestine. Each issue is important and we must fight against all racism and hate so that is why I am slightly critical of those who seem to be activists in a performative way and who are silent now. At the end of the day I pray all those suffering from hardship and injustice are relieved from their suffering, finally get their long overdue human rights and be treated fairly and equally and find peace.

I apologise for the long ask. I do not mean to be rude or patronising. I agree that we should supporting each others movements after all muslims are diverse and there are black arab muslims too, instead of degrading one cause as being unimportant. I also feel that even with the blm many people were performative activists and are silent on Palestine. Have a good day.

you’re fine for the long ask!!! sorry it took me so long to get to it. thank you for your perspective. my original post was mostly targeted towards people online who are targeting other people online for their silence on palestine and using how they spoke up on blm as some sort of exchange, which i think isn’t fair and is patronizing to both movements. i haven’t really seen much in terms of asking the media to cover it.

but you are right, a lot of people are hesitant because they think it’s a religious war or your average everyday middle eastern terrorism, which also is an issue but that’s for another day. people don’t really know how deep zionism goes in the west and how much the propaganda works. that’s why spreading it on social media is the most important because western media outlets will NEVER cover this honestly. people have to see the dead bodies and destroyed buildings and grieving families to understand that the violence from israel is real and is colonial and is all one-sided. but to spread that online you shouldn’t have an ego and be entitled and say things like “oh you guys were loud for blm where are you for xyz issue??” like many poc do for their own home countries. like why target blm? why not target the white people or influencers who have large platforms? why single out this movement that will almost always stand with oppressed people everywhere anyway?? that was my thing that annoyed me most

#palestine #blm #zionism #asks #anonymous #Anonymous