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bones4thecats · 24 days

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Hello 👋🏻

Could I request Heracles, Buddha and Hades finding out their s/o is cursed with immortality because she managed to kill several gods as a mortal? In her defense, she was being hunted down by the gods.

What If Their Immortal! S/O Was Cursed?

Type of Writing: Request Name: What If Their Immortal! S/O Was Cursed? Characters: Heracles, Buddha, and Hades Requester: Anonymous

A/N: The God that I used for the story to fit together for my writing is completely fake. He does not exist (that I am aware of) in any kind of mythology or religion.

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💪 Heracles has heard many stories from his fellow Gods about a 'God-Killing Human' and how dangerous they were that even they had taken down a former high-ranking God by the name of Merikh, who was the God of Death

💪 When you had killed said God, you were brought to the peak of a nearby mountain and offered by the humans as a sacrifice for your crimes against the Gods

💪 Zeus and a few others saw potential in you, so, instead of torturing you in many ways, like how they did Tantalus for trying to feed his son to them, they had gifted you with immortality, though you were not considered a God in their books

💪 You had been alive for a few centuries when Heracles became a God, but when you had first met him, you didn't confirm that you were the Immortal Killer of Gods, instead you said you were an average human with no value to him

💪 Heracles had bonded with you through many years, and the only reason he discovered you were immortal was when Ares had come with him and he had come across you after their training

" Oh! Ares, this is my- " " You know the Immortal Killer of Gods?! Heracles, you know what Dad'll say! " " Wait... you're the- WHAT?! "

💪 Despite trusting many despite their flaws, Heracles was very scared that you had lied to him about loving him and everything else. But, when he had spoken to his uncle Hades about it, he gained the knowledge that instead of immortality being a gift to you, it was more like curse for thinning their divine-numbers

💪 All of his concern about if you were lying had faded away, well, more like moved to the category of are you okay and what could you possibly be going through whenever coming across a divine being such as Heracles?

💪 But his biggest question was; why didn't you hate him?

💪 When you replied with how he had nothing to do with your sentencing and how it was your actions that led you to this, not his and how he didn't need to blame himself, he felt his heart melt and tears pocket in his eyes

💪 Despite living with such an everlasting and probably torturous life, you still do not hate those who punished you, you knew from the centuries you spent alone that this was what you should have expected. Though, Heracles still scolds you if you go into a depressive state of blaming yourself

" Dear, don't blame yourself. All humans makes mistakes! Myself included! Oh no, please don't cry anymore! Wait, no- "

🍭 As a human-turned-God, Buddha did not really see any issue with being this. In fact, he found it nice to round about and spend the rest of his 'afterlife' relaxing and keeping up with his path of enlightenment, and he loved to help others get on that path as well

🍭 While he was alive, he had heard stories of a human that killed many Gods, including one by the name of Merikh, a Death God who had tried killing many children just because he could

🍭 Buddha could sense something was wrong with you when he first met you on his path to enlightenment, you were just sitting beside a random river while your long white and gold robes flowed in the air, while a thick line of face-paint laid on your eyes from one side to the other

🍭 He just felt that you were far to quiet for your own good. But, since you didn't get up and join his group, Buddha just smiled, waved, and went on his merry way, not expecting to see you ever again

🍭 But, when he had awoke as a God and took a small walk a few hundred years after, he had noticed a familiar form at the edge of the river; you.

🍭 Before your relationship even began, he knew you were a form of divine being. But, he had no idea how you had gained the power of immortality, but as far as he guess, you could have been born with it

🍭 So, when Brunhilde had come to him to ask if she could have you fight in the next round of Ragnarok against a new and dangerous God, he declined, saying he didn't want his delicate immortal S/O to die

🍭 Brunhilde had spilled the beans. Telling your story of killing God after God until you made it to Merikh centuries before Buddha's birth. But, unlike Heracles, Buddha doesn't view you differently, you were his S/O. Plain and simple.

" Brunhilde, I understand why you would want 'em to fight. They're strong, and that's plain to see when they glare at anyone. But, I am not letting them risk their life against some new douche from the Norse Pantheon. They're my S/O to protect and cherish, and I plan on doin' that for a long time, longer than these last few centuries. Do they're not doing it, got it? "

🍭 He also loves to just stand there and flip of Zeus with you, since he had cursed you in the first place and Buddha just didn't like the old geezer

💀 Hades had known about you for centuries, as he was one of the Gods who was against torturing you, and instead just giving you a sentence of immortality to satisfy the lives lost of their allies

💀 This guy is very distant, even to most of his own Pantheon, so he always has had rumors floating around that he may be doing something behind everyone's back. Well, technically he was, but still- you get the point!

💀 Whenever Hades would go up to the surface and relax in the rare sunlight he ever gets, he would always try visiting you in your small home located deep within the forest

💀 He had noticed you had gotten used to being an immortal quite quick, and that shocked him. It had taken Heracles a little while to accept the fact that he was immortal himself, but you accepted it within a couple years while his was nearly double your time!

💀 Hades had asked you to be his one and only a few hundred years of knowing one another, and when you said yes, he just smiled and spun you around, thanking his fellow Gods for you being immortal like him

💀 But, Hades didn't understand how this had been affecting you internally...

💀 While you seemed to accept outliving everyone you cared about, on the inside, you were the complete opposite. You had had many panic attacks and nightmares of the Gods you had killed, especially the Death God, Merikh, in which you would wake up in a cold sweat

💀 The only reason that he found out was because of your small friendship with Hermes, who was a well-known gossiper. He had found out about your nightmares getting worse and had confronted his uncle about it, not sparing a detail, much to your annoyance

💀 Hades had come to you directly and, while you were away, had his servants move your things from your home to his. He didn't do this to observe you more- well, he kinda did, I guess- BUT. He mainly did it because you were married and married couples live together!

💀 Yeah right

💀 It only took a couple nights together for your nightmares to calm down, as feeling the lovingly-tight grip your husband had on your midsection made you feel protected and adored instead of hunted and hated for your actions of the past

" Sweet-Skull, you have no need to cry over such an event happening to you. As long as I am here, nobody, and I mean nobody, will ever come close to harming you again. "

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distinguisheddwarffriend · 23 days

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Inspired by that post about Thranduil being all defensive/protective over Gimli in Valinor:

We all know the head canon of Thorin being all "no nephew of mine even associates with an elf" BUT

Just imagine, in a world where all three Durins survived, and Tauriel saved Kili (again), and some other elf healed his and Fìli's wounds last minute.

Thorin saw both his nephews almost die before him, has LIVED through how the gold sickness twists the mind and perception of things, and after coming to terms with Bilbo's theft of the Arkenstone, he for a while questions EVERYTHING.

And yes, he totally has a dramatic phase of self pity, holing up in his rooms, drinking Elvish wine (cus thats all there is atm) and smoking Gandalf's pipeweed, and mourning how "everything i knew is a LIE" and "if elves can make such amazing wine there HAS to be some good in them" and "I almost got my boys killed I am such a failure boooohoooo", and after Bilbo kicks his ass out if depression (and a STRONG worded letter from his sister) he is like "okay FUCK y'all I have TRAUMA TM and will do WHATEVER I WANT!!"

So when Kili all shyly comes forward one day asking if Tauriel can please stay with them in the mountain because she's banished from the Woodland Realm he's all "OF COURSE she can stay, you do you my precious boy, if Thranduil is stupid enough to let such a great warrior go we'll stick it to him"

and BAM, Tauriel joins Dwalin in leading Erebor's guard, and Dwalin is torn between "excuse ME u want me to share my job with a pointy eared maiden?" And "holy hell that lass has fire can't show how impressed I am".

And Tauriel Takes No Shit even from her own boyfriend, so Kìli is forced to take his new responsibilities seriously because "I did NOT lose my home to live with a CHILD, Kili", and Fili gets dragged into the whole thing without really understanding what happened, but hey, his lil brother is happy so who cares really.

And whenever someone at council (like Dain) complains about an Elf in the mountain, Thorin goes absolutely FERAL like "are you saying I don't know what's best for this mountain I just won from A DRAGON?! are you suggesting that my perfect baby nephew has bad taste? Huh? Exactly, didn't think so!!!!" And is a protective Papa bear "listen Tauriel if someone gives you shit you SHOOT them. No, not killing them, but, you know, just maim them a little to make a point. Trust me I'm the king."

And once Kili and Tauriel have their first child Thorin constantly kidnaps the kid and has them in the forge before they can even talk because "need to keep up that good old dwarven influence".

Anyway I'll go cry myself to sleep now.

#the hobbit #fili and kili #middle earth #tolkien #fili durin #fíli #the hobbit fanfiction #thorin oakenshield #kili durin #kíli #tauriel #kili x tauriel #bilbo baggins #dis durin #thranduil

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avatar-anna · 11 months

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Aaaah i am so deep in my Harry feels and you write him so perfectly…

So i have a request !

Something i cannot get out of my mind are the lines from as it was “Answer the phone, "Harry, you're no good alone why are you sittin' at home on the floor?What kind of pills are you on?" … and maybe the reader just got home and she’s the one saying that to Harry? Idk …

Anyway i love how you write ❤️ stay golden !

Grief Fic, Part One

so, this turned into a really long fic that's full of angst (perhaps too much). part of me wanted to make it even longer, but i think i ended it at the right point where i could come back to it if people wanted me to.

Part Two

tw: mentions of death, depression, grieving

"Harry? You here?" you called, walking across the threshold of your friend's house. Looking down, you ruffled the hair of the little girl who came in with you. Her hands gripped the straps of her backpack as she skipped into the house, clearly not bothered by the band-aid on her knee or the cut beneath it.

She looked around and called out for her dad, who either didn't hear it or couldn't find it on him to respond. When the skip in her step faltered and a look of confusion and hurt began to creep onto her face, you helped her out of her backpack and said, "Why don't you go upstairs, kiddo? Change out of your uniform? We can decide what to do for dinner after. Your pick."

You hoped that the distraction of getting to pick what they ate for dinner tonight would be enough, but she still seemed rather subdued compared to how cheery she sounded as she talked about her day at school on the drive home. "Okay."

She scurried off to her room upstairs, leaving you alone in the big kitchen that hardly got used anymore. When the young girl was gone, you called out to Harry again, stepping further into the house. You eventually found him in his studio, but he wasn't working.

"Jesus, H. I can't leave you alone for five minutes," you muttered, picking the bottle of whiskey off the floor and screwing the cap back on before setting it on a high shelf where he wouldn't think to reach for it.

Harry himself was sitting on the carpeted floor of his studio, staring blankly at nothing in particular. This wouldn't be the first time you found him in a similar state, but each time you hoped it would be the last.

"Is Harper alright?" he asked.

"Yeah, she's upstairs," you said.

"Thank you for picking her up again today," he said, still not looking at you.

You sat down next to him, draping your arms over your knees as you crossed your legs together. "No problem. I knew you were supposed to be working today, which leads me to my next question. Why are you sitting in here alone? I thought today was a writing session?"

"Cancelled. Didn't feel up to it today."

Harry didn't feel up to much of anything these days. It was understandable, to an extent. You knew he was going through a lot, but it wasn't just him he had to look out for. Harper needed her dad, now more than ever.

"Was it...anything in particular?" you asked gently. Sometimes Harry got cagey when you asked him about his current situation. He would snap or get defensive or ignore you completely. You'd known him for so many years, but in the span of a few months, you had to relearn how to talk to him. "Yesterday you seemed excited to work."

Harry shrugged, which drew your attention to his narrow shoulders. He hasn't been eating, you thought. You quickly scanned his face, and looking past the obvious unkempt facial hair and dark circles, you noticed his features were more pronounced, eyes sunken in some. You thought he was doing better, you thought he was healing.

"Harry," you said when he didn't respond.

Ever so gently, you rested a hand on his arm. His skin was cold as ice, and pale. So unlike the warmth and sunny glow it used to carry. The person in front of you was a shell of the man he once was, and you didn't know how to bring him back.

"Do you know what kind of pills you're on? If they're not working, the doctor can prescribe something else," you said.

"It's not the pills," he murmured. "I just...I just don't know how to function without her."

So you're not taking them, you thought but didn't say. Instead, you gave Harry's hand a gentle squeeze. "I know."

"I don't want to function without her. I—I can't do anything else but exist, and even that's exhausting."

Harry's voice was heavy with emotion, his eyes downcast as he stared at the band around his finger.

You were aware of the dangerous waters he was wading into, and the pressure to keep him from drowning suddenly crushed your chest. You'd already said all the typical platitudes—it'll get better with time, she wouldn't want you to live like this, Harper needs you. Sometimes they were enough to get him out of the house or to sit down on the couch with Harper to watch a movie, but it would only last so long, and recently Harry's mood improvement would dwindle faster and faster. You did what you could to help by taking care of Harper and checking in on Harry everyday, but he was starting to scare you.

"Daddy?"

Your head whipped around to where Harper was standing by the door of the studio. At eight years old, she looked just like Harry with bright green eyes and dimpled cheeks and curly hair. But she looked like her mother too, and though it was nearly imperceptible, you saw the bob of Harry's Adam's apple when he looked at her.

"Hi sweetheart," he said, not standing up to go over to her.

Harper waited by the door, waiting for Harry to do more. To ask about her day or tell her about his or go over to her or something. But he didn't, like he was too exhausted to move.

"Can we—Can we go to the park? The sun is still out and I finished all my homework."

"Y/n can take you," Harry said.

"Or we can watch a movie? Or—"

"Harper, I think Dad is tired. Why don't we—"

"He's always tired!" Harper said suddenly. "He never wants to spend time with me or talk to me! Why are you acting like this!" She went over to Harry and began to shake his shoulders, her cheeks red and eyes imploring. "Wake up! Wake up!"

Harry didn't do anything at first, letting his daughter shake him and pound her fists against his chest. Your eyes welled with tears and your throat tightened as you watched, caught between pulling Harper off and letting her get her emotions out, half hoping it would stir something in her father. It didn't.

"I hate you! I want mom!" she finally said when Harry was still practically catatonic.

He said nothing, but you could see the tears in his eyes as she stormed off, flinching when he heard the door to her room slam two floors up. His shoulders shook of their own volition then, accompanied by tears and sobbing.

"She didn't mean it," you said, pulling him into your chest. Harry's grip was tight despite his lack of nourishment as he continued to cry, warm tears bleeding through your shirt. "She's dealing with this too."

"I don't know how to be what she needs," he sobbed. "I don't think I can."

Your heart broke for the two people you loved most in this world. You'd tried so hard to help Harry and Harper, to take care of her while he got back on his feet. But he hadn't, and now you felt like you were standing at a crossroads.

"I think it might be time to—" you stopped, getting choked up yourself, "to maybe go somewhere."

That got his attention enough to stop crying for a moment. "Go somewhere?"

"I've...looked into a couple places," you said gingerly. "Facilities. Where you can rest and get better and meet with grief counselors and groups. Get the help that you need, you know?"

When Harry's wife died, you obviously didn't expect him to bounce back right away, but you also didn't anticipate the state he was in now. Everyone grieved differently, you knew that, but his grief was all-consuming, slowly eating away at him and leaving him hollow. You did what you could to support him and Harper, but you had your own life, your own job, which was starting to become less and less understanding every time you left early to pick Harper up from school. You did it all happily and willingly because you loved both of them, but none of you could keep going like this.

"I'm not sick," he said. "I'm not an addict. I don't need to go to rehab."

"I love you, H, and I'm worried about you," you said. You put your hands on either side of his face so he had to look you directly in the eye. "Harper loves you, and she wants you to be her dad. You have so many people that love and care for you, Harry, and we all want you to be okay again."

"My wife died, Y/n. I'm never going to be okay again," he said, pulling away from you harshly, voice sharp. "How can you say that? You really think it's so easy? The mother of my child is gone, and she can never come back, and you what? You want me to just forget about her? Forget what we had? I bet you'd love that wouldn't you. That's probably why you've been so eager to 'help' Harper and me. Don't think for one second that you could ever replace her. So just go!"

It didn't matter that you knew this outburst was one of rage filled grief, but that didn't mean it hurt any less. You felt like you'd been slapped, like Harry had reached his hand into your chest and crushed your heart. That was never your intention. Harry was a friend, a dear one, but a friend just the same. And Harper was your goddaughter. You couldn't just sit by and let the two people you considered family fall apart.

But maybe you weren't who he needed.

"I know you think you'll never be okay again, but you will," you said quietly. "Because you love Harper, you will be. One day you'll stop resenting her for not being Sophia, and one day you'll stop resenting Sophia for leaving you. It'll always hurt, I know that, but one day it'll hurt a little less."

You stood up from the floor and smoothed your trousers, sniffling a little. Harry had gone back to staring blankly, but the tight clench of his jaw told you he was listening. "Bye, H."

You didn't leave right away. You made a phone call to his mom first, asking her to stay with Harry and Harper, not explaining why you couldn't be the one to check up on them anymore. Anne had asked you to keep an eye on the pair after she went back home after staying at Harry's place for a month. You'd already planned on doing so, but you agreed. Now the tough love needed to come from someone else. When Anne told you she was on her way, you went upstairs to Harper's room to check on her.

She was crying on her bed, her body curled into a ball around a stuffed animal. Sighing, you walked over to her and sat on the corner of her bed and soothed her back with your hand. "I know you didn't mean that, Harper Rose."

"Why is he acting like that?" she cried, not looking up at you. "Why won't he play with me anymore? Or take me to school?"

"He..." You didn't even know what to say to make this better. "Your dad is...sick."

"Like my mom was?" Harper asked. She sat up, her little face red from crying.

"Not—Not quite," you said, trying not to get choked up. Sophia had been a dear friend to you too. "His heart hurts so much that he can't, or doesn't know how to...function properly. Does that make sense?"

Harper nodded as she wiped a tear from her eye. "He's heartbroken."

"I think so."

She didn't say anything for a minute, as if she was processing that information about Harry. Then, "Does that mean I love my mom less if I'm not heartbroken like that?"

Her words made you pinch your arm to hold back your tears. It wasn't fair to Harper that she had to deal with all of this at a young age; she didn't deserve to have these thoughts or ask these questions, and selfishly, a part of you deep down felt you didn't deserve to answer them.

"No, of course not, kiddo. Your dad just—you and your dad loved her differently. And I think part of him is sad that you lost your mom and not just that he lost his wife."

"I don't understand," she said, her voice trembling. "When will he be normal again?"

"Do you think you'll feel normal again?" you asked her gently. Harper shrugged, more tears silently leaking out of the corners of her eyes. "People's hearts and minds react differently when someone dies. And right now, your dad's mind is telling him not to get out of bed or take care of himself or take care of you. It doesn't make sense to you or me, but it makes sense to him."

"Oh." Harper looked contemplative again, her eyes trained on the yellow patterned bedspread beneath her. Everything in her room was some shade of yellow—walls, curtains, lampshades, the sun behind the bedframe that Sophia painted—everything was made to feel warm and inviting. "What do we do now? How do we help him?"

"Well, what do you do when you're sick?"

"Go to a doctor."

"That's right," you said. "He's gonna go to the doctor, and the doctor will tell us what we should do. And in the meantime, you just keep loving your dad, okay? You're allowed to be angry and frustrated and sad, but never stop loving him. It might not look like it, but knowing you love him helps."

"Okay," Harper said.

"I called your grandma. She's gonna come stay with you for a little while while your dad gets better. She'll take you to school and pick you up and make you all sorts of treats with you."

"Why can't you take me to school?" she asked.

"I have to work," you explained. "But, if you need anything, you know my number. Just call me and I'll be there, okay? But you and Grandma will have fun, you always do."

You stayed in Harper's room until she fell asleep, smoothing her hair with your hand once more before standing up from the bed. You planned to stay until Anne arrived, but you figured you could tidy up and get the guest bedroom ready in the meantime. By the time she walked through the door, the guest room had been made up and the kitchen was squeaky clean. Harry never came out of his studio, or he went up to his room without you noticing but you were fine with that. You wouldn't have known what to say to him anyway.

You gave Anne the names of doctors and grief groups for Harry, and the name of a good child psychiatrist for Harper. You'd been meaning to set up a meeting for her, but you hadn't had the time, and it also wasn't really your place and you didn't want to overstep. Anne gave you a long hug before you left, thanking you for taking care of her family. Having someone hug you for once instead of the other way around was overwhelming, and you almost started crying right there in her arms.

But you held yourself together for a few more minutes as you pulled away. You promised to check in and help wherever and whenever you could, then you left, slightly relieved that Harry and Harper's well-being wasn't solely on your shoulders anymore and partly sad that you weren't able to help them more.

The first few weeks, you didn't come around the house as much, giving Harry his space. You met Harper at the park when your work schedule allowed it and had her over to your place for sleepovers when she asked.

Anne kept you in the loop, even when there wasn't much to report—Harper met regularly with a counselor and Harry didn't, Harper didn't wake up crying in the middle of the night as much and Harry still wasn't going back to work. Part of you felt like Harry needed more tough love than coddling at this point. You knew he wouldn't actually go to therapy unless you dragged him by the ear or eat something if you didn't sit with him until he was done. But it wasn't your place to dictate how he was helped, so you kept your mouth shut whenever Anne said he wasn't getting any better.

However, that all changed when Harry collapsed. He was so weak from not eating, he physically couldn't hold himself up. Or so Anne claimed. You didn't want to, but part of you thought there might have been some intention behind Harry's actions, or lack thereof. That was when you knew things had to change. If this were a movie, then that moment was the point of no return, and you weren't going to let Harry destroy himself anymore.

"If you get him in a car, I'll take care of the rest," you said to Anne the day after. She'd been apprehensive, but you insisted that this was the right choice. "He can't just sit alone on the floor of his studio all day. Either we do this now or his grief wins."

So it was settled. You didn't know how she did it, but Anne somehow got Harry up and in the passenger seat of your car. He clearly was not pleased by the whole thing, but with his lack of eating, he was no match for you or his mother.

"Where are we going?" he asked, arms folded angrily.

"My place."

"Why?"

"Because I'm not going to let Harper witness your path of self-destruction. You wanna die? You don't want to take care of yourself? Then you can do it at my place instead of in front of your daughter."

It was harsh, but Harry hadn't been particularly amicable these last few days. According to Anne, instead of catatonic, he was rude, his words sharp as a knife and just as cutting. His mother didn't deserve to deal with that, and neither did Harper, but you could handle him. Whether he liked it or not.

"Fuck you," he muttered.

"Fuck you," you replied simply.

Harry didn't say anything else the rest of the ride to your house, which was completely fine by you. You had a plan in place for Harry's stay, but you went over it again and again in your head, hoping it would work. You had Harry's meds, which he had not been taking, you picked out a grief group for him to attend, or one-on-one counseling if he didn't want to go to group therapy, you worked out a schedule that made sure Harry was constantly doing something rather than withering away on your couch. But first...

"You need a shower. I'm not living with you while you smell like that. And brush your teeth too."

"I thought you didn't care what I did," he said, begrudgingly following you into your house. It was much smaller than his, but that was for the better. It would be easier to keep an eye on him in close quarters.

"Don't be ridiculous, Harry. We all care about what happens to you," you said, leading him down the hall to your small guest room and bathroom were.

You gestured toward the bathroom when he set his small duffle bag on the bed, but he stayed where he was. "No."

"No?"

"You and my mum can drag me around and make me sleep in a different bed, but you can't force me to take medication, you can't force me to go to therapy, you can't force me to live," Harry spat. You took it on the chin, eyeing the way it seemed exhausting for him to just raise his voice at you. "I'm not a child, and I'm not one of your patients, so leave me the fuck alone."

"Lord, give me strength," you muttered to yourself before storming over to him.

You grabbed Harry by the collar of his sweatshirt and pulled him into the bathroom, where you promptly began to pull his layers off one by one.

"What the fuck?" Harry said, too surprised to fend you off, and too weak as well. "Get off of me!"

"You are a stubborn asshole," you spat, letting all the anger and frustration from the last few weeks seep into your voice. Once Harry was down to his underwear and socks, you quickly turned the shower on and pushed him in, holding your forearm against his chest as water sprayed both of you. "And selfish. You are a parent, Harry, you can't afford to fall apart, especially not in front of Harper. You can't do this to her. I won't let you."

Harry struggled against you, but not as much. He looked furious for having brought up Harper, though. But you kept going, needing to say everything that had been rattling around in your brain since he snapped at you.

"Sophia is gone, H," you said, voice gentle but firm.

"Shut up—"

"And it hurts. I can't imagine how much it hurts to lose your wife, but I—I know how it feels to lose a parent." Your voice began to waver, but you willed yourself to calm down. You didn't talk about it much, but you could relate to the situation at hand better than most. It was part of the reason why you helped Harry and Harper out so much. "Harper is strong and brave and charismatic. She's all the good things Soph was. Stop punishing her for it and celebrate it. She needs you, H. If you can't find it in yourself to get better for you, do it for your daughter. Don't do this to her."

Harry was crying by then, and you were too. Water sprayed the both of you, but he wasn't straining against you anymore. When it felt like he was starting to slide against the tiles to sit down, you didn't let him. "Don't do that," you said, using all your strength to hold him up. "Don't let it consume you. Lean on me if you have to, but don't—don't sit down."

To your surprise, he didn't. Harry let you give him a scrub down, starting with his hair and then sponging his body with soap. You left his briefs on for his sake. As a nurse, you were used to seeing every part of the body, but Harry was your friend, not a patient. When you were done, you left him to dry off with a towel and dress with the instruction to be in the kitchen for dinner in twenty minutes. You didn't have to say what you would do if he didn't come. Harry got a dose of how forceful you could be very quickly.

So he came out of his room, and the two of you ate in complete silence. You didn't mind the quiet and were content to let Harry figure out whatever was going on in his head. You did keep an eye on him, though, making sure he didn't push his food around and actually ate it. He did, thankfully; you really didn't want to have to spoon-feed him too.

"Tomorrow I set up a group therapy session in town. It's super confidential, so you don't have to worry about that, but—"

"No."

"No? Really? We're doing this again?" you asked, only half joking.

"I don't want to go to group therapy," he said, and you could practically taste his displeasure for it across the table.

"Well, I thought you might say that, so I also scheduled one-on-one counseling, though I thought you might prefer the group. Less opportunities to talk when there are multiple people in one session." You picked up and quickly washed your plate before setting it down on the drying rack. "Tomorrow's session is at ten. Let me know what you want to do before then, but you're going to one of them. Oh, and you're responsible for cleaning up after yourself. Night."

You left Harry to his own devices after that, deciding to get ready for bed. It was going to be a long few weeks, or however long to get your friend back up on his feet, and you were going to need all the peace of mind you could get.

Three weeks later, Harry was still irritable. You knew he resented you for making him do, well, anything, but he still did them. He went to his group therapy sessions and cleaned up after himself in the kitchen. He just didn't like talking to you. Or acknowledging you. Or looking at you. You were pretty sure all the anger he had about Sophia dying and having to take care of Harper alone was now directed at you. You didn't necessarily mind being his outlet if it meant he was getting out of the house, but it did get exhausting at times. And it made for a very awkward car ride.

"I...can't pick you up from group today," you said as you neared the building where Harry's group sessions were.

"What the hell am I supposed to do then?" he huffed, crossing his arms across his chest like a child.

You gripped the steering wheel tighter so as not to whack him repeatedly on the arm. "Are you really that much of a pampered celebrity that you can't use public transportation? Or your own two feet?"

"Well why the fuck are you signing me up for this shit if you can't take me. I don't even want to go to these stupid meetings."

In a split second, you pulled over and put the car in park. "Get out."

"What?"

"You heard me," you said, the frustration you'd been pushing down the last three weeks finally bubbling to the surface. You'd been patient, you'd done what you thought was right for Harry and his family, but you couldn't be his punching bag anymore. "I've been taking you to these meetings because I want to help you, because I want to help Harper, but you have...kicked and screamed like a child every step of the way, and I—I want you to be better. I want you to be able to handle your emotions in a healthy way, but I—" I give up, you wanted to say, but even you weren't that mean in the midst of your anger. "You're an adult, Harry. I can't force you to go to therapy, so don't. Get out. Do whatever the hell you want."

Harry looked at you for a moment, surprised by your outburst. His mouth was pressed into a hard line, his eyes roving around your face. Searching for what, you weren't sure. Maybe he didn't think you would ever actually kick him out. You gave him as good as he got when he snapped at you, but you never expressly kicked him out. You were pretty sure he was deciding if you were serious or not.

"Out!" you said when he still hadn't opened the door. Now you were going to be late to work.

"Fuck! Fine," he said, then he was opening the door and getting out of the car. It shut with a definitive slam, but you didn't wait around to see Harry glare at you as you rushed back onto the street.

Work sucked, which made your mood that much worse. You normally liked your job at the hospital. It was busy and made you feel like a zombie at the end of most shifts, but the work was rewarding, and you were good at it too. You ran the Labor and Delivery room like a tight ship, everything and everyone had a place. But tonight you were slammed, one issue after another for you to solve. Normally you could handle the stress, but your nerves had been frayed for weeks, and every minor inconvenience didn't feel so minor right now.

Nothing was going your way, patients' families were being bigger assholes than usual, and the charting system was being glitchy. Not to mention you were pulling a double shift, so it was safe to say you were tired out of your mind, irritated, and not as chipper as you normally were amongst the normal amount of stress.

"Y/n, have you taken your lunch yet?"

You looked up from the computer at the nurses' station where one of your coworkers was standing on the other side. "Look at this place, Miranda. When would I have the time?"

The Labor and Delivery wing of the hospital was full of patients, excited family members in the waiting room, OB interns, and nurses trying to maintain order. You could always expect a good number of people in this wing of the hospital, but today was more crowded than usual. In-laws that wanted to be in the delivery room were driving you crazy in a way that they normally didn't, and a surgical intern tried to talk down to you, which tried your practically non-existent patience. It was safe to say that your pink scrubs were very misleading about your disposition today.

Miranda narrowed her eyes at you. "It's thirty minutes."

"I can't. I have to get these charts updated because these idiots we call interns don't know how to—"

"Y/n?"

"God, tell me this is not happening," you muttered before looking up from the computer again. Harry was standing at the nurses' station next to Miranda, who was staring at him with wide eyes. "I can't do this with you right now."

"I know. I just wanted to—"

"I can take your bitching at home, but not here," you said, going back to your computer. Everything you'd felt this morning was still simmering in you, and you didn't want to make a scene at work.

"I just came to apologize," he said, his voice lacking the harsh edge it'd had since he'd been staying with you.

You shook your head and picked up a chart as you began to walk away. "Honestly? I don't have time for that, either, H."

Perhaps you shouldn't have been so flippant, but you were at work, for one. You got into a certain headspace to keep everything and everyone in order, and you couldn't compromise that on a hectic day like this, even if Harry had come to say he was sorry.

"But, Y/n, you still have to take your lunch!" Miranda said.

Stopping in your tracks, you turned back around. Your arms were crossed as you gave Miranda a look, but she just stared right back. She was always the one who looked after you while you looked after everyone else. Sighing, you walked back over to the nurses' station to hand over the chart on your hands. "Ten minutes."

"The law says thirty."

"Fifteen," you amended, then left before Miranda could argue with you. You heard footsteps behind you, and while you knew they were Harry's, you didn't do anything to stop him from following.

The break room was small, just big enough to hold a refrigerator, some cupboards, and a table with a few chairs. You didn't spend much time here, but it did see a lot of foot traffic despite its size.

Sitting down at the table, you rested your head in your hands, your eyes closing for a few seconds now that you let yourself have this short break. Your feet hurt and your head pounded, but you managed to stand up anyway and make yourself a cup of coffee.

"What are you doing here?" you asked, though you weren't really sure you cared. Not right now anyway.

"I wanted to apologize," he said right away, like he was afraid you weren't going to let him speak.

You laughed a little. "Oh? What for?"

You knew you were being difficult, but you couldn't help it. The way Harry treated you had all come to a head this morning, and the shit day at work didn't help your mood, either. Staring at him over the rim of your coffee mug, your heart softened the tiniest bit. He looked like a scolded puppy with his head tilted down and his hands behind his back. It was hard for you to balance the anger you felt for the way he treated you and acknowledge the fact that it was his grief that was making him act this way. There's no wrong way to grieve. It was something you knew and understood, but Harry's grief process didn't make your life any easier.

"I've been...horrible to you," he said, though he still wouldn't look at you. "I—I know you've been trying to help Harper and me, and all I've done was take everything I've felt out on you."

It was hard to find the right words to say. You didn't want to just excuse his behavior by saying he was grieving, but you knew he would never treat you the way he had been otherwise. But that didn't make it hurt any less.

"What made you come to this conclusion?" you decided to ask, curious to know the answer.

Harry smiled sheepishly and chuckled to himself in a way that was embarrassed more than amused. "Therapy. I went after you kicked me out this morning. Thanks for that, by the way."

You couldn't help but grin a little, at the very least because you hadn't seen Harry smile in months. "You're welcome."

"I'm really, really sorry, Y/n," he said once the air in the room sobered again. "I don't know if I could ever say it enough, or express how thankful I am to you for being there for Harper when I couldn't. I'm sorry for all the horrible things I've said and the way I've acted. I, um, I don't magically feel better, but for the first time since Soph died, I want to be."

You believed him when he said that. There was an air about Harry that seemed different than the last few months. And the fact that he was apologizing at all and seemed to have a small grasp of his feelings said a lot. And you wanted to believe him too, for the sake of his own health and happiness as well as Harper's.

"I know it was your grief that made you...act a certain way, but thank you for apologizing," you said.

"Things won't immediately go back to the way they were, I know that, but," Harry said, wiping the corner of his eye. "I wanted to take Harper out to dinner tomorrow night, and I'm hoping you'll join us."

"Not tonight?"

"No. I think I just want to go home and be with my daughter tonight," he said, sounding a little nervous and a little hopeful. "And I'm sure you're sick of me, so I thought I'd let you have a night to yourself."

You took a moment to look at your friend, really look at him. Harry's frame was still narrow, he was paler than usual, and the angles were still a little too sharp and pronounced, but his hair was neat and his eyes were clear, and he just looked different overall.

Standing up, you walked to where Harry was still standing by the entrance to the break room and threw your arms around him. A wave of emotion hit you the second his arms wrapped around you, and you couldn't help the sob that escaped your lips as you held him tight. He felt so frail, like he could blow away with the next breeze. It pained you to feel how everything affected him physically.

"You scared me," you said. Perhaps it was too soon to admit, but you needed to say what had been weighing on your heart since he collapsed. "You pissed me of and drove me insane, but above everything, I was terrified."

Terrified of losing him, terrified of not doing what was right by him or Harper, terrified that he'd never be the same. The fear of losing Harry to his grief kept you up most nights. More than the poisonous words or cold shoulders or childish behavior, you'd been so scared of every worst case scenario it nearly made you sick.

"I'm sorry I've put you through so much. You lost her too."

That made you squeeze Harry even harder. You'd known Sophia first and had been the one to introduce her to Harry. The three of you had been friends for a long time before Harry and Soph had even started dating, and you stayed friends long after. She wasn't your sister, but in a lot of ways she was family, and so were Harry and Harper.

Eventually you pulled away, wiping your eyes and stepping back from his embrace. You felt a little awkward, but lighter too, and hopeful for the future.

"So you'll come? To dinner?" Harry asked, his own eyes lined with tears.

Harry wasn't magically healed. He still had a long road ahead of him to be healthy again, not to mention mending his relationship with Harper. But you decided to believe that he was on the mend, that he was open to getting proper help and taking the right steps to manage his depression.

"It would be my pleasure."

#harry styles #harry styles angst #harry styles blurb #harry styles x reader #harry styles fanfic #harry styles oneshot #harry styles imagine #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles x you #harry styles fluff #harry styles writing #harry styles fic #harry styles one shot #hs angst

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ametrictonofaudacity · 6 months

Text

Gaps 5

Yandere! Platonic! Batfam x Mentally il/Forgetful Reader

Warnings: exploitation of mental illness, depression and self-neglect, forcing the use of medication, manipulation,arguing, implied threats of violence against an animal (DW MOMO IS IN NO DANGER), and captivity and general yandere themes.

Despite what you thought, they don’t hound you twenty-four seven. They are not constantly at your side, are not as close as they normally are. Dick comes around, because it’s Dick and you were normally attached to the hip. Or you had been. Things were different now.

And of course the peace wouldn’t last. Of course the Wayne’s wouldn’t be content to allow you some much needed time to adjust, of course things went wrong. When there’s a quiet knock at the door of your room, you’d stiffened, Momo in your arms.

Tim pushes the door open. It was always Tim, or Damian, or Jason. Dick didn’t really come to see you in the mornings. Not after you’d refused to even touch the food he’s laid out, not after you had ignored his existence the entire time he’d been in your room. As far as you were concerned, Dick was to blame for all of this. He’d had the initial idea to kidnap you, he’d introduced you to his family, he’d been the one to cause your pain.

You shift, fingers clenching your blanket tightly, letting Momo slip out of your arms. She prances up to Tim, rubbing her face against his pant leg, and it makes your heart race in your chest. None of the Wayne’s had hurt her, sure, but she was so little and friendly that it worried you that they would. Tim, thankfully, barely even acknowledges her. He gently nudged her out of the way with his foot, setting down the tray he had been carrying on the bedside table.

“Alfred mentioned that you hadn’t touched your plate. Is the new medication interfering with your appetite?” He asks, and you swallow. You really didn’t want to have your meds changed again. They had just put you back on the prazosin for fucks sake, and you would prefer if you didn’t go back to those stupid drugs.

“Did Alfred mention it or were you just stalking me again?” You mutter, drawing your knees up to your chest. Tim frowns.

“It’s not my fault you keep trying to do something stupid!” He snaps, and it’s defensive. Angry. Maybe it’s because he knows he shouldn’t be doing this. Maybe it’s because he knows he’s in the wrong.

“You barely take care of yourself, (Y/N).” He starts, and he angrily sorts your meds as he does so, fingers flicking through the pills to lay them out. You noticed he did that. Compulsively sorted or organized thing when he was thinking, lips pulled into an angry frown.He continues, ruthless.

“We’ve tried doing it your way. We gave you space, like you asked, and you haven’t eaten. You barely interact with anyone, you haven’t brushed your hair since after dinner three nights ago, and not only that, you’ve barely gotten out of bed. You only get up if one of us make you or if it’s to feed Momo or use the restroom.”

His voice starts to rise in anger, getting loudly and louder as he yells in your face.

Your ears ring. You can’t tell the cotton in your mouth is from disassociation, anger, or sheer, unadulterated indignation. How dare he.

“And who’s fault is that?!” You snarl, pushing yourself up. Tim wouldn’t hit you, you knew. He argued with you, and he was clingy as fuck during the rare occasions you let him touch you or got caught off guard enough to not protest when he initiated it, but never did he hit you.

“You all- I can’t even leave the HOUSE! I can’t do anything without a fucking escort! You watch me through the fuckin cameras, you creeper, don’t think I haven’t heard Jason fucking teasing you for it! You all might not be at my hip all the time, but I’m not stupid enough to let myself even THINK for a second that you aren’t aware of everything in my life!”

You scream.

“You’re so fucking convinced that I am incompetent and stupid, you’re so fucking convinced I can’t take care of myself, that you ruined my life for it! That- I can’t even leave the house, I can’t do anything by myself, don’t think I didn’t notice how literally anytime I walk past the kitchen, someone’s always watching me, this isn’t fucking fair or right, and fuck you for doing it!”

You snarl, and Tim just… stands there. Takes it. He doesn’t argue, which you expect, but he doesn’t apologize, either. You hate that you used to trust him. You hate that you used to look up to him, admiring his wits and intelligence when he had been using those very same attributes to rip apart your life so he and his family of snakes could pick up the pieces and put them back together again.

“I trusted you and all you did was throw my trust in my fucking face!” You snarl. “I told you, how I struggled to remember things! How I felt like I was going insane because my stuff kept vanishing! You offered- you offered to help me search my apartment! Was that just- just another opportunity to stalk me?! To manipulate me?”

Your voice cracks. You weren’t even screaming anymore, no matter how much the anger burns.

“You were right to trust us.” Tim finally says. “I know you don’t like it, I really do, and that it’s not fair, but we’re doing this to help you. You-“

He sighs, running his hand through his hair.

“You haven’t eaten. Haven’t brushed your hair, or your teeth. You’re lethargic. You fight us every step of the way on taking your meds. What if we weren’t around taking care of you? What if-“

He wrings his hands slightly, and you feel a trickle of doubt seep in. He seems to genuinely believe what he was saying. That you needed him, needed them, to keep yourself alive. To keep yourself sane. You don’t know if it’s delusion or paranoia or some other, crippling thing, but it makes your stomach twist with guilt and what might be sorrow.

“Tim.” You cut in, grabbing his hands in your own. His eyes widen, and you worry your grip is too tight from your anger and your desperation to be heard, so you loosen it, slightly. He tightens his grip.

“Tim, I took care of myself for years. And I-“ You swallow, there’s this faint pressure in your eyes that might be the beginnings of tears, but it was something. “- I get I didn’t always do the best job, okay? I get that. But you need to just- you need to trust me. Please.”

You plead, and his face softens, cracks. The anger drains and you feel guilt. What you’re doing, it feels like manipulation even though you know it’s not, and you wonder how the Wayne’s have gotten you so twisted up into knots that even asking for your autonomy as an adult and a person felt like some forbidden thing. You hadn’t even been with them that long. Certainly not long enough for Stockholm Syndrome to occur, and the conditions for Stockholm weren’t even really being met, you were pretty sure.

“I do trust you.” He insists. “We all trust you. But- you need help. Help that you won’t get for yourself and won’t let others get for you. Can’t you just trust us back?” He asks like it’s simple. Like you would want to trust the people who hurt you so totally, so completely, you thought you would never recover. The Wayne’s had been the few people in your life you had sought out, the few people who had been a part of your life, who hadn’t minded your quirks and oddities. They had fit into your life so seamlessly you had nearly forgotten a time they weren’t there, and it had scared you, so you’d pushed them away.

You should have pushed them away sooner.

Your hands go lax, and you slide them from Tim’s grip. There’s a moment where he seems reluctant to let go, before he releases his grip, and you place your hands in your lap.

You were already tired of arguing. The righteous anger had burnt itself out in the face of how sincere he was being.

“Why don’t we get you ready for the day and you’ll feel better?” Tim offers suddenly, like you hadn’t just nearly broken down in front him about being treated as incapable, being treated like a child.

You hold out your hand. He places the pills in them, and you glance down. You consider throwing them across the room again, but last time you had, you had simply gotten the same medication forced down your throat. You take the pills with a grimace, and Tim passes you a glass of water. This, you also resist throwing.

You eat mechanically, the food tasting like ash in your mouth even though you know it probably tasted delicious. Alfred’s cooking always did. When you’re done, you set the plate to the side, and Tim takes it.

“Why don’t you get dressed, yeah?” He asks softly, like you have a choice, and you narrow your eyes at him, silently communicating you wanted him out of the room. He doesn’t budge.

“Hey, Tim, where’s the-“ You jump slightly when Duke pokes his head in the empty doorframe, surprised.

“Oh! Hey, you’re up! Tim said you were having trouble with your hair, yeah? Want some help?” He lifts the comb and strangling brush, a myriad of other things in his arms.

You pause, considering. Part of it was spite, part of it was the fact Duke was asking, and not telling, but you nod, and he beams. He looks absolutely delighted, and he steps into the room after a moment.

“Awesome! Grab a pillow to sit on and let’s get started, yeah?” He beams, setting down his supplies on your bedside table. He doesn’t mention your meds, or the food, or anything else. It’s refreshing.

“Sure.”

Momo hops into your lap, the little opportunist, and you stroke her fur softly as Duke gets everything situated. Tim looks horribly jealous, and the thought makes you a little smug. It didn’t even feel all that petty, given how he had just been practically demanding you listen to him, and Duke had come in, offering you help but not demanding you take it.

Duke’s hands are gentle as he does your hair, carefully working out the tangles, and you hum, leaning back into it. You were still.. wary, you’d be an idiot not to be, but it was a little better with his fingers in your hair and you wanting them to be there.

“Duke?” You say slowly, Momo in your lap.

“Yeah?”

“Why’re you okay with.. all of this?” You start, fingers tapping on your thigh as he works out the knots.

“What do you mean?” He asks, and you wonder if he’s going to play stupid.

“All of it. The kidnapping, the tampering with my medication, the…” You trail off.

Duke sighs. He sounds so much older than he is, and it makes your heart ache.

“I’m not.” He says lowly, glancing at the now closed door Tim had left through. “I understand where they’re coming from, don’t get me wrong but.. it’s not fair to you.” He finished. “Figured I may as well give you some normally.”

You nod, and sigh, leaning against him.

“Thanks.”

“No problem.”

#yandere dc #yandere platonic x reader #yandere platonic batfam #yandere platonic Duke Thomas #yandere platonic Tim’s Drake

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sunshine-jesse · 3 months

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In defense of Andrew Graves: Facing Yourself

Alt title: Andrew Graves: The Will to Plow Her

I think my analysis of Andrew is one of the best essays I've written so far. But since then, I think I've expanded my understanding of his character in a way that urges me to add on to my prior essay. What I intend on doing is further fleshing out my reading of Burial, and going deeper in detail on why I think Decay ends up panning out the way it does. This essay will end up sharing a lot of text with my prior one, but will add enough scattered throughout that I think it merits a complete reread instead of just scrolling down and seeing what's new.

I've focused a lot on Ashley in my past writings. She's my favorite character in the story (and depending on how episode 3 pans out, maybe ever) and I'm pretty mortified by how some parts of the fandom have reacted towards her, so I pretty much made it my life's mission to push back against that. From highlighting the ways Andrew mistreats her, to coming up with justifications for her behavior that aren't just being a manipulative bitch, I really wanted to prove that a more favorable picture of her could be painted than most were willing to.

But in doing so, I've left Andrew in the dust.

In highlighting his flaws and the ways he mistreats Ashley, I think I've implied a level of intentionality to his actions that I don't believe he has. When I say that Ashley did nothing wrong, it's in direct response to the idea that she holds the most responsibility and agency in how their dynamic plays out, when in reality, I believe she has very little. Most of her actions in-story are in reaction to a variety of stimuli that come directly from Andrew, that he has control over and are aware of how Ashley feels about. His refusal to use clear and direct language to deny her most toxic tendencies causes her more and more stress as time goes on, and instead of giving her clear answers he opts to be catty, passive-aggressive, or, at his worst, threatening. Never direct and never clear, except when establishing boundaries over his name after the choking scene. Andrew fails to help Ashley be better in some frankly depressing ways throughout the whole story, especially in their childhoods, so we never get to see where she'd fall short if given a better influence.

...

Kind of. More on that later!

In mentioning his thing about preferring to be called Andrew instead of Andy, I also implicitly mention one of the places where Ashley falls short in their dynamic and could stand to do better: recognition.

This scene says a lot. It's the most heartbreaking scene in the game, if you ask me, and probably the single most profound and well-written moment in the entire story. I could write a whole 2000 word essay on it alone, but I've already said most of what I have to say about it through what I've said in other essays, so I'll spare you all that. Instead, I'll use it to highlight something:

"I had fun."

Their dysfunction is fun to her. She's so used to abuse and alienation that even the most awful, stressful (as far as we know) route of the game is still fun to her. And that's not a sign of her being a secret evil sociopath or whatever; that's actually not abnormal behavior to develop for a lifelong victim of abuse. Those highs and lows, those strong emotional highs and lows are -addicting-. They're -fun.- Part of why abuse victims get into so many abusive relationships is because it's easy to pick up on those patterns of thought and take advantage of them, and the cycle of abuse is often furthered when a victim of abuse tries to draw out mutually abusive behaviors in someone with no interest in having that kind of dynamic.

This is where I'm willing to acknowledge Ashley's manipulative tendencies. Not just as a matter of controlling Andrew for its own sake, purely out of jealousy or possessiveness, but as a matter of trying to further the only dynamic she's ever known in her life. Better the devil you know, right?

That push and pull- that emotional rollercoaster- is all many of us know. And it's all Ashley knows. This dynamic is something she's so used to that she reacts incredibly harshly to any attempt to change it, because she doesn't know that things can be better. Because of this, she refuses to engage with who Andrew really is, and tells herself- and him- that she *hates* Andrew:

This scene is almost as heartbreaking as the above one in a lot of ways.

Andrew putting his foot down about the Andy/Andrew name dichotomy wasn't arbitrary and it wasn't just about his comfort. It was about Andrew giving a clear indication about what needs to happen for their relationship to improve. He's recognizing the cycle between them and wants to put a stop to it, because he's confident that things between them CAN get better and evolve into something healthier. Ashley, not understanding that their dynamic can get better, because their "fun" little push and pull of abuse is all she knows, rejects that. She rejects the unknown, and says- in Andrew's mind at least- that she'll never accept that new dynamic, nor will she accept who he really is.

Ouch. No wonder he looks so sad in that screenshot.

They have a conflict of understanding here, and I think it's fair to pin most of the responsibility on Ashley. Andrew was clear in what he wanted, and Ashley just... Didn't. She didn't see the importance of it ("...whatever that means in practice") and didn't really ask. This gap in communication, perfectly displayed in this scene, is likely what causes the Decay ending. He wants things to be better, and wants to treat Ashley better, and whether or not he understands the ways in which she communicates with him is in part what determines what he sees her as.

But there's a lot of evidence that he always wanted things to be better, that he always wanted to treat her better. But external factors have made it very, very difficult, and I think there are two key points in which he started to shed the importance of those external factors and seek that better relationship, both of which happening in the apartment: The killing of the warden and the 302 lady. In the first case, he was forced to do it to protect Ashley in a way he hadn't done before, or depending on how you look at it, since the death of Nina. But the intentionality was the key point here. After this point, he calls Ashley Leyley, which may or may not seem important at this point, but it's something I'll draw attention to later, so keep that in mind.

Next is the killing of the 302 lady, which is the much, much bigger point. We don't learn much about it until later on- as at first he just gives an excuse about the nail gun that doesn't line up with what we see on the map- but during the dream, it's revealed it was a calculated, intentional killing that he did to make sure there was no evidence left behind, and because Ashley (supposedly) would've wanted him to do it anyway. I say supposedly because Ashley herself doesn't seem to ever want Andrew to kill for her past Nina's death, because he only ever kills for her to defend one or both of them. If you want more evidence that violence for violence's sake isn't something she wants, look at this part in the final dream:

A knife isn't what opens the door, despite it being placed on the ground in that very map. While it seems obvious that the knife (violence) would be the key to solving the puzzle, it's put there explicitly to show you that it isn't. It's not what she wants; what she wants is a flower.

So, why is this important? Why am I centering Ashley- again- when this essay is supposed to be about Andrew?

It's because these two killings are when Andrew's self-delusion over who he really is starts to break down. It's still there, mind, as he still relies upon Ashley as an excuse to justify it, but, as well as what I've said before, the name ultimatum is an implicit confession that the normalcy he finds comfort in is starting to lose its grasp on him. There's a lot that's been said about Andy being something close to a "moral impulse" for Andrew, given his child self's reaction to Nina's death being the only thing he does that approximates a normal moral response to his and Ashley's actions, but if you do think that- which I think is a reasonable thing to think even if I don't necessarily agree- there's something you must also keep in mind:

-He- is the one who doesn't want to be called that anymore. -He- is the one who wants to let that moral impulse go, and Ashley is the one making it difficult.

That reading is assuming that Andy is a moral impulse, which I think is... either wrong or too simplistic. Every time I see that reading, it's from someone who's trying to paint him too sympathetically and absolve him of most moral responsibility. I also find it infantilizing to equate morality with childhood in such a way? But that's another tangent that I didn't sign up to talk about. What I do think, however, is that it's a useful framing device to display his own relationship with morality; the allegory to his child self doesn't have to be there for the general pattern to exist.

When Ashley starts to grill Andrew over the killing of the 302 lady, he gets mad. Very mad. Ashley sees it as pointless, as him covering his own ass, but he genuinely did it for her sake, because he thought that's what she wanted, and that it'd make her happy. But what makes her happy isn't violence- or any similarly extreme action for that matter- it's attention and validation. Something he's always reluctant to give her, despite the fact that he always chose her over the alternatives. But despite making that choice, it's always empty and meaningless, because in Ashley's mind, he never did it for her sake.

And hoo boy, does he not like it being framed like this.

He is perfectly willing to do whatever it takes to keep them happy and safe... but only for her sake. It has to be for her sake. He still needs that traditional role, and he still needs to have a narrative in which he's the good guy- a protector. Because it can't be for his sake. It can't be because that's what he wants. He has to uphold that romantic (in the literary tradition sense) ideal. His darkly romantic idealistic streak colors many of his actions and beliefs. This is most plainly visible in his quip about a double suicide being romantic, but it's also visible within the symbolism present within his dream, such as how he can only pave his own path in blood unless Ashley lights the way. It's visible within his appreciation for poetry, and it's visible with how the cultist within the dream speaks in Shakespearean English.

But the transient nature of this ideal is also revealed within this dream, because there's never a cohesive, guided path, even with Ashley there to light it up. Contrary to Ashley's dream, where you literally have maps showing you where to go, Andrew's dream has many more dead ends and no map to guide him. The symbolic role he acts out gives him no clarity, and there's no overarching narrative; merely a bunch of disconnected symbols.

This is contrasted with Ashley's dream, which has narratives so clear that the story literally gives the dream an episode title.

In a sense, he wants to view himself as an actor acting out a role in a story. He wants his life to be poetic, to represent something greater, and to have a cohesive narrative. This is why he's so disconnected from his true desires: He's more concerned with acting as a representative of an ideal than a person with agency. But every time the mask drops, every time he stops acting, his true self becomes visible. He naturally settles into being comfortable around Ashley, in treating her with warmth and kindness, and their banter becomes much less toxic. As intent as he is on acting out his role, it does nothing for him, and as his dream sequence shows, it doesn't even form a cohesive narrative, because he can't act one out. It's too contrary to who he really is, and what he really wants. But that idealization doesn't just apply to himself, it also applies to Ashley. Specifically, who Ashley is, vs who he wants her to be.

In his unique dream sequence, he sees two versions of Ashley; the child version of her- Leyley- and the adult version of her- Ashley. And the differences in the ways he interacts with the two of them are stunning. Leyley is an obstinate, annoying child. She's the one he NEEDS to take care of, and he hates that. He hates Leyley for what she did for his childhood. He hates that he needs to provide for her. He has the option of trying to kill her, even, over something as small as a candle!

But in the room with all the murders, the gilded cage, he sees Ashley as an adult. This version of Ashley is stuck in a closet that he himself has to open- and to choose to see. Their interactions are calm and friendly. She teases him a bit, sure, but she's still helpful, and they have fun together. He doesn't need her, and she doesn't need him. He needed Leyley- needed the candle- but here, there are other limbs strewn about for him to take. And, crucially, he doesn't even have the option to kill this Ashley for one of the limbs.

And during the choking scene, he lets her go the moment she acknowledges that he doesn't need her anymore. This is the first time we know of that he seems comfortable enough to set a clear boundary, which is acknowledging that their prior dynamic is dead and that they're now Andrew and Ashley, not Andy and Leyley. It's a bit late to express a clear boundary -after- literally acting like he was going to kill someone, but it's the first time we know of that he sets a clear standard for what, in his mind, would improve his relationship with Ashley.

After all, what he wants is to want her, not need her. He wants Ashley for Ashley's sake. Not for what she can provide him. He doesn't even need her for sleep, he just wants her. But Ashley has trouble acknowledging this, because he's never before shown that WANT. Only a NEED. She keeps trying to find ways to make him need her, because she's never seen what his desire for her is really like. She's only ever seen him desiring someone else, someone other than her.

She's only ever seen him as Andy, because she's never truly seen Andrew, only the violence he can inflict on others. But Andrew can see both:

He can see Leyley, the needy, bratty child who always needs his attention, that he needs to provide for. The one he hates and wants to get rid of. The one he kills for to protect.

And he can see Ashley, the one who engages in friendly and cute banter with him. Who comforts and shows him physical affection. The one he loves. The one he kills for to make happy.

He just can't choose which one he wants to see. Every outside influence- from his parents, to Julia, to Nina- makes him see her as Leyley. Ashley herself makes him see her as Leyley too, whenever she brings up all the things he did for her, and calls him Andy, his child self, instead of Andrew, his current self. And as long as he sees that child, he feels like one too, and can never give Ashley anything that comes from the heart.

But he really, really wants to see Ashley as an adult. He wants to take pride in her, how much she's grown, and how driven and competent she really is.

But god damn, does that bitch ever make it hard, because there IS no real difference between Ashley and Leyley. She's grown and changed over time, taking more adult (and stereotypically feminine) responsibility upon herself, but the fact that her temperament and personality hasn't changed much obfuscates that growth. When you talk to Ashley in the closet during the dream after getting the limb, Andrew asks Ashley to come out of the closet, but she refuses to come out because he won't invite Leyley over to play, which is a pretty strong metaphor for how he interfaces with different aspects of Ashley's personality and refuses to accept others. But the reality is that he needs to accept both, or rather, see her whole self as Ashley, rather than just the parts he likes.

In the end, it's him who has to make the choice how to see her. Ashley can only see what she's been shown, but Andrew can choose.

And in the basement scene, he makes that choice.

If Ashley refuses to leave him alone with their parents, that's it. In one of the most critical and important moments of his life, she couldn't give him the space needed to make up his own mind. She couldn't treat him as an adult. She couldn't see him as Andrew. If she does give him that choice, she chooses to acknowledge that Andrew is an adult who can be trusted to make his own decisions, even though she (perhaps foolishly) believes that this choice lines up with her own interests. And frankly it does either way, but in accepting their mom's offer, her chooses to see her as Leyley once and for all. He chooses not to reciprocate what Ashley showed him. He does it because he needs to, not because he wants to. Because it's his duty, not his desire.

This is what results in the Decay ending. Through his inability to see Ashley as an adult, he surrenders his agency and views all of his actions as an extension of his responsibilities, his role, which he no longer wishes to uphold. He dissociates fully from who he really is, acting in accordance with that disconnected, barely-cohesive narrative that exists only within his mind. The game starts to resemble the heartwrenching tragedy that many seem to take for granted that it is, as their dynamic fully doubles down on its painful toxicity. And, in an example of a poetic book end, Ashley's dream shows a double suicide, closing the book on their tragic tale.

It's tragic. It's heartwrenching. It's poetic. It's beautiful.

...Except it's not. Not at all.

It's actually fucking stupid, pointless, and brutal, and Burial shows us that. When we view their spiral as beautiful, we project the same darkly romantic ideal that Andrew possesses onto the story.

But the actual reality is horrifying.

Ashley spends most of Decay terrified of Andrew, the one person she found comfort in. He acts cold, distant, and aggressive towards her, showing pointless cruelty instead of any warmth. All she wants is comfort; all she wants is to not die. She doesn't want to engage in this death spiral at all, and, in her dream sequence, shows none of the same willingness to die alongside Andrew that Andrew does with her. The moment we stop focusing on the end of the Decay dream sequence, which has very striking imagery, and if you choose not to shoot, one of the most beautiful scenes in the game, we can see it for what it really is:

A scared animal running away from a predator.

The moment you see Decay through Ashley's eyes, and not the perspective of some romantic ideal, Decay becomes terrifying, tense, and painful. There is no catharsis to be had in this tragedy. It's easily avoidable as long as Andrew chooses to engage with reality, and not the empty promises of his mother and incoherent narrative of his ideal.

Finding beauty and meaning in tragedy is how we cope with the harshness of reality. But there is no coherent narrative to the tragedies we experience, just like there's no coherent narrative to the ideal Andrew wishes to uphold. It's something we create- that he creates- but it's not something that actually exists.

And when Andrew casts aside his desire for that ideal, and the responsibilities it shackles him to, it grants him clarity that he never had before. He sees the world for how it really is, and acknowledges that nobody- the least of which their mother- is as different from Ashley as they pretend to be.

They're no better than her, and he's tired of people pretending that they are. People are all the same, no matter what ideals they try to uphold and represent. They still sacrifice others in the name of advancing themselves, still punch down whenever they can, and still lay blame on those beneath them rather than try to take control of their lives. They just use those ideals to justify themselves, but Ashley, and now Andrew, reject even the need for that justification.

This is why I believe the story is nihilistic. Not in that it asserts the inherent meaninglessness of life, but in that it grapples with the ideals we uphold and how they obfuscate the reality of the world we live in. The story, intentionally or not, highlights how ideals are often but a pretense we use to justify what we were likely going to do regardless, and how holding to them too strongly can lead to our ruin- and how monstrous they make us look to those who do not share them.

Consequently, this is how I view the part of the fanbase who thinks Decay is a good ending.

(the characters themselves represent existentialism rather than nihilism but i couldn't really fit that analysis in here without it feeling forced so i might cover that another time)

From that point on, their relationship becomes a lot more friendly, lighthearted, and playful. They ironically start acting more like children, but to quote CS Lewis:

"Critics who treat adult as a term of approval, instead of as a merely descriptive term, cannot be adult themselves. To be concerned about being grown up, to admire the grown up because it is grown up, to blush at the suspicion of being childish; these things are the marks of childhood and adolescence."

He's not ashamed of being playful with Ashley, or showing affection towards her. He's grown up. He finally sees her, and himself, as an adult- although he still doesn't show that in full until much later on (more or that later). But in Decay, he still sees her as a child, and to an extent, probably himself. Let's compare the ways in which he reacts to being called Andy. In Decay, he lashes out at Ashley and gets angry, even threatening her. But in Questionable Burial, he calmly says that Andy is dead and doesn't need Ashley's comfort, but still tries to reassure her that she's still needed. He's not ashamed of or hostile towards their prior dynamic, because he's grown past it. He still acknowledges Ashley's need to feel needed, but here, he recognizes its importance to her, whereas he was hostile towards it before.

It's a display of respect towards her feelings.

This interaction doesn't happen in the Sane ending, however. He doesn't play games with her and is just a lot less fun to be around all together. Why is that? Because he still hasn't yet shaken viewing Ashley as Leyley there. He still views her as a burden, as someone who needs taking care of. He's calmly accepted that, too, mind you, but he lacks respect for her because she's still a child, in his mind. But in Questionable?

The vision did more than just make him extremely embarrassed and lay his deepest desires bare. It forced him to recognize Ashley as an adult. When choosing between "Never" and "Never say never," if Never is chosen, the burden of thought is lifted off of him. But if Ashley chooses "Never say never!", he has to reckon with the fact that Ashley is an adult, someone who can consent to those kinds of things. Someone who MIGHT. Someone who has agency, and can make her own decisions. And more importantly… someone who can trust him to make his own.

Whether he desires sex or not is secondary; he's always had those feelings and has always been ashamed of them. But now that the part of him where that shame came from is dead and buried, there's no childish impulse to grow up. There's no attachment to the hate and bitterness he had before. Look at what he worries about when he picks up that she's uncertain or confused about who he is now:

It's her feelings.

He wants to be fun to be around. He wants to make Ashley happy. He loves her, and not as a romantic interest or even as a sibling. He loves her independent of all that baggage.

He loves her as a person.

Their relationship runs contrary to societal ideals in some pretty huge ways. So contrary, in fact, that it's hard for some to accept it as anything good, that it can ever be best for the people involved. It's incestuous. It involves them killing and eating their parents. It involves them distancing themselves so much from society that it's hard to believe they'll ever fit in it again. It's chaotic, it's messy, it's codependent, and maybe even toxic. And yet, here they are. They're coexisting. They're happy. They're healing. They're navigating the world in the only way they can: together.

Meanwhile, in Decay, Andrew refuses to allow himself to get closer to Ashley. He surrenders all agency to her, buys into his own narrative, drinks his own Kool-Aid, and may or may not condemn one or both of them to death in the process. Like it or not, the only path where Andrew takes ownership of his life is the one where he's closest to his sister. It's the one where he decides where they will go next, the one where he decides his own feelings matter, and acts in accordance with what he wants instead of how he thinks he should act.

His agency, his freedom, and his growth don't happen in spite of his codependency; they're happen because of it. They can't grow alone. They can't heal alone.

In reading the story, one must interrogate how important those societal ideals are in the face of the realities of what makes people happy. Are those ideals worth upholding in spite of this? Can we really allow people to fall through the cracks in the name of social norms? Can we blame people for taking rash actions when the social contract has failed them?

Or are we so blinded by those ideals that we can't see that people can be happy while blatantly disregarding them?

All I know is that in Burial, Andrew, having cast aside normalcy, now appears to be truly happy for the first time in his life.

Who are we to take that from him?

#the coffin of andy and leyley #andrew graves #ashley graves #tcoaal #gaming #gravecest #tcoaal essay

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randomshyperson · 4 months

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Messy Hearts - [HS Challenge]

Summary: When your unhealthy habits grow out of control, your girlfriend finally brings you an ultimatum. [Requested]

Warnings: angst with a hopeful ending, explicit mentions of unhealthy coping mechanisms, depression and grieving, end of an established relationship, innuendos at the end but nothing explicit | Words: 1.709k

General Masterlist | Wattpad | AO3 | Holiday Season Masterlist

-&-

A deal is a deal.

So when Wanda arrives home from an exhausting 12-hour mission only to find that you've barely moved from the same place she said goodbye to when she left, there's a broken agreement and irritation exploding in her chest.

The room is dark and stuffy and you haven't even noticed her yet. Completely focused on the electronic game in front of you, which seems to be in full swing judging by the commands you give into the microphone and the rapid movement of your fingers on the controller.

Wanda pulls the curtains open and you squirm like a vampire.

"Jesus Christ, what... Wanda!" But your complaint is completely ignored - your girlfriend makes a simple movement with her fingers and all the wires are disconnected at once, scarlet sparks vanishing into thin air for a moment. With the screen black and the connection interrupted, you let out an indignant exclamation and get to your feet. "W-what? Why?"

She crosses her arms. "Are you serious? Do you even dare to ask? Did you at least drink any water in the last few hours?"

With an indignant grumble, you threw the controller down on the table and glared at her, ignoring her question as you rebutted; "That's so disrespectful of you! I was ranking and now I have to start all over again-"

"Oh, but you won't!" she interrupted in the same tone. "Go eat something and take a shower. We've been over this, Y/N! We have an agreement-"

You huffed, turning your back on her. Wanda saw red and followed you at a brisk pace across the room to the bathroom.

"I don't want to talk to you, just leave." You retorted with your back turned, but as you tried to open the bathroom door, the handle remained stuck and you only had the choice of facing the angry witch behind you.

"Are you really going to act like I'm the wrong one here? After you've been playing non-stop for 12 hours?"

With an annoyed sigh, you cross your arms defensively. "That's not your problem, you're my girlfriend, not my mother."

"Wow." She raises her hands in a defeated but hurt look and you flinch.

"Wanda, I didn't mean to-"

"No, do whatever you want." She interrupts you, pulling away when you try to touch her. "I'm tired of this. I'm tired of taking care of you when you clearly want to carry on with this self-destructive lifestyle bullshit you decide for yourself." She turns around suddenly, only to throw the golden ring in your face. You catch the item just before it slips to the floor, and Wanda storms out of the room.

Instead of heading for the bathroom, you return to your chair with an irritated sigh.

Less than ten minutes later, you're back online and the voices of Kate Bishop and Peter Parker are asking you about your sudden disappearance.

"Wanda dumped me again." You comment, that despite holding the control stick, your fingers were twirling the matching ring.

Kate is the first to speak: "Do you want to know my opinion on the matter or are you going to be grumpy if we take Wanda's side?"

You chuckle briefly, trying to control the urge to cry. No matter how many times this happens, it hurts just the same each one.

"Shoot, Bishop." You grumble.

Your longtime friend pauses as if gathering her courage to speak. "We love you because you're our best friend and all, but honey, Wanda is doing holy work here." Kate comments. "If I had to babysit my girl to make sure Yelena was functioning like a human being, I'd have severe stress problems. But I think I'd do it anyway because I love her and she can always count on me. You know what I'm trying to say, right? Wanda works as a superhero full time and when she should have some peace, she still has to monitor whether her girlfriend is eating. It's not an easy situation, and I think you should try harder for that girl."

You sighed. "Wow, Kate, you've really made your point now."

"I love you but you needed to hear this."

Peter murmurs in agreement before adding: "We're here for you, always. Just sort things out with your girl first."

You left the ring on the table, and thanked the other two, muttering that you'd take care of everything before turning off the computer.

But Wanda needed some time to let off steam, so instead of looking for her now, you stopped resisting the urge to sleep.

-&-

The two of you have been through worse. Wanda knew this, just as she knew that there was no place for anyone else in her heart, not really, not in the same way.

You were undeniably the most important person in her life. Her best friend, her teammate. The person who helped her deal with the loss of Pietro, and the person who has stood by her side without hesitation ever since.

But while you pulled Wanda out of self-destructive grief with surreal ease to create warm moments that made her hopeful again, Wanda failed to do the same for you.

Because your sister Natasha was gone, along with half of the Original Avengers, and with them, a part of you was buried too.

Even if the Tower remained standing, and the compound and the Team, now bearing the title of Young Avengers, had been rebuilt, part of you didn't stand up with them.

And Wanda has tried everything, between the exhausting routine of being one of the few Avengers still active, she kept trying to get you out of your room, feed you, and make sure you didn't join Natasha of your own free will.

It was difficult, but for you, Wanda didn't hesitate to do it at any time.

And yet, perhaps because Thanos stole five years off your maturity, you were still fighting like teenagers. Arguing and throwing rings even though in your hearts, the will was to go on forever.

Wanda couldn't relax after the discussion. She only slept because she was exhausted from work, and was lucky enough to be dismissed the next day. Perhaps Sam already knew about the break-up, she imagined so, from the way he looked at her when he commented that he was going to rearrange the demands among the others.

Then Wanda retired to her own room with a breakfast tray that she barely touched.

A knock during the fifth episode of the sitcom she chose to watch to distract herself made Wanda look at the door. She wasn't surprised to see you, but she was certainly pleased to realize that you had just stepped out of the shower, and were also carrying a tray with enough lunch for the two of you.

"Hey."

Wanda could be resentful too. Stubborn. She just grumbled back, without smiling. You didn't mind, closing the door with your foot and moving slowly across the room. You left the tray on one of the tables and approached the bed.

"Can we talk?" You ventured. Wanda sighed, without taking her attention away from the TV show.

"I'm listening."

You smiled briefly, putting your hands in your pockets. You continued to stand in the room, even though your (ex) girlfriend was pretending you weren't there.

"I spoke to Bucky earlier today." You begin. "I got his therapist's phone number, I'll start next week." Wanda looks at you in surprise, but you sigh heavily and look away. "I did what you asked too. Shower and food. And I put my computer and video game away in their boxes."

"You didn't have to." She interrupts, but you chuckle sadly.

"I did." You insist. "And there's something else. Something you're not going to like."

Wanda frowned, turning her body completely towards you. The forgotten TV show next to her.

You swallowed dryly before taking courage. "I'm in a really bad place right now, and I... don't want to take you with me." You say. "So I think, at least until I feel better, this time it's going to be serious. This time, we... should stay apart."

Wanda could feel her throat closing with the urge to cry. She could see the tears in your eyes too. But she also knew that everything you said was true and that you meant it.

So all she could do was sigh and get up to go towards you, to wrap her arms around your shoulders. "I love you." She whispered as you slipped your arms around her. "I'll always love you."

"I'm sorry for being rude and mean last night-"

"Shh, it's okay." She hugs you tighter, tightening her embrace. Why did it seem like forever since she'd hugged you like this? This was so incredible. "Now say it back, please."

You chuckle shyly but nod. "I love you, Wanda Maximoff."

She broke down to smile at you. "And don't you forget." She warns in a casual tone, sharing a short chuckle with you.

Still holding her, you rest your foreheads on hers and rub your noses together affectionately. "I never want to be away from you." You confess with a sigh, and Wanda sniffles softly.

With a tearful voice, she nods. "The feeling is incredibly mutual, darling. Even when you're being a total pain in the ass." Wanda is trying to joke because you're hurting and she loves you and wants you to get real help and not feel so serious about the break-up. This is temporary. You'll get better, and she'll marry you one day like she always dreamed she would.

But you don't laugh, instead, you put a gentle distance between your faces. Wanda almost thinks it's a new argument brewing, but when she meets your gaze, she understands that it's something else.

The tension in the room emerges with the blink of your dilated irises.

"My therapy doesn't start until next week." You comment. "We don't need to be apart right now..."

"You're such a dork." She snorts back an incredulous laugh, before grabbing your shirt collar. "Who says we can't have sex without commitment?"

"Jesus." You reply in the same playful tone, muffling Wanda's laughter with your mouth.

Yeah, you both missed that.

#wanda maximoff x reader #wanda x reader #elizabeth olsen x reader #wanda maximoff fics #marvel fics #holiday season fics

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k-s-morgan · 4 months

Text

This is a belated post where I wanted to briefly address the outcomes of 2023!

While Ukraine mostly faded from the stage of world's news, unfortunately, the situation didn't get better for my people. Every day Russia kills, maims, and ruins everything it can touch. Every day civilians die from its imprecise missiles, random shootings and artillery, and outright executions. I often see that those living in other countries call this Putin's war, but it really isn't. This is the war sponsored by Putin and his regime, true, but first and foremost, this is the war of Russian people. It's hundreds of thousands of Russian people who arm themselves and go kill our defenders and our civilians. It's Russian people who fire from tanks and other deadly weapons to ruin the Ukrainians' homes, to scorch our land, to leave nothing but destruction instead of cities and villages. It's Russian people who build the missiles, load their bombers, and fly for 5+ hours to direct them at our cities, homes, factories, and even empty fields.

This is me during one of the latest massive attack that took place on January 2. At first, at night, 35+ Russian-Iranian drones bombed us. Then Russian people sent about 100 missiles at us, mainly at my city Kyiv.

Our air defense system managed to intercept the majority of them, but while it sounds like interception is an entirely positive thing, it might have terrible consequences. Because the parts of the missiles fall down randomly. They can kill any human or creature walking down the street; they can collapse on top of a residential building. There is no escape, no way to feel safe even with the best air defense systems surrounding the city. Here's one of many disastrous results of this attack.

Dead and injured people and animals. Damaged and lost apartments.

On December 29, another attack killed over 30 people in Kyiv alone. You can see their faces below. They deserve to be seen and remembered.

This is a short story of just two latest attacks that took place just within one week, just in one city. Imagine how many of them me and my people lived through during the entire year? How many more we will have to experience?

Actually, we lived through another one before I finished writing this post. It happened on January 8, and it killed even more civilians.

I know that there are good, sane, compassionate Russians. I have some relatives among them. One of them, my aunt, can't keep herself entirely silent: she's deeply religious, and a few weeks ago, in a church, she risked saying that killing Ukrainians is bad. Another man told her that she's scum and that if she dares to open her mouth again, he will report her to authorities. The headmaster of a school where my aunt teaches was imprisoned for 7 years for refusing to hold a Z-event among students. Living there must be a torture of another kind, where you are surrounded by zombies who openly promote terrorism and bless missiles sent to kill other human beings. The problem is that sane and compassionate Russians are the minority - the vast majority is happy to either kill us or they support those who kill us. Or they simply don't care, trying to claim that everything is complicated when in reality, there is nothing complicated about it at all. Russia is a terrorist state and the world allows its people and its government to keep being monsters.

Seeing the indifference and impotence of seemingly powerful countries makes me increasingly concerned and depressed. At this point, I don't think I'm simply affected by my experiences: the world is rapidly going to hell, with terrorist countries like Russia being allowed to revel in their blood-thirstiness and the other terrorist countries, like North Korea, or potential offenders like China, observing and taking notes. When a criminal sees that no one is punished for a crime, they escalate. More criminals appear. This is what I feel is going to start happening more and more, until half of the planet is plunged into death and destruction. I'll be so very glad to be wrong.

On a personal note, I lost my most beloved pet pigeon Daikiria in 2023. I love her and miss her so much that I still cry whenever I think of her. In turn, I acquired a red nightmare of a rabbit who eats everything, including my feet, and two more pigeons. Taking care of them brings me joy - I only hope that my effort will actually benefit them.

Here's a pigeon that I named Noveria the day I found her, in a video I made for my vet. Attacked by a cat, bleeding all over, with broken ribs and a missing piece of her wing, with no tail:

Here is she now. She is feeling much better, although unfortunately, she got sick because of her weakened immune system.

My kitties continue to be adorable dorks. Here's me sleeping with my cat Tom after one of the attacks - he's really scared of loud sounds, so he sleeps like a rock afterward, just like me.

My family stays strong, and I hope we will remain to be so.

Writing stories remains a huge source of relief and distraction to me, and your support, love, and care give me strength even when I feel like I'm about to run out of it.

Thank you to those who support me on Patreon and give me a chance to have a safety net shielding me from some of the horrors and insecurities - thanks to you, I can rest sometimes when I would have to work instead; I can afford some more distractions and to write more as a result. Thank you to those who leave comments, kudos, asks; thank you to my friends who never fail to message me with questions about my well-being. I love and I appreciate you tremendously, and despite all my fears and worries, I hope that we will get to see a better future still.

#personal #ukraine #kyiv #kiev #russia is a terrorist state #my fics #thank you

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strniohoeee · 4 months

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matt despises reader but after noticing that she is having a hard period between anxiety and depression he gifts her a basket full of goodies, like books (she loves to read), fluffy socks, candles and she thinks it's a joke but he ends up confessing

Fall

Pairing:Matt Sturniolo X Female Reader

Synopsis: Matt is blind to the readers true feelings as he’s so focused on his own. It takes some separation and an Instagram post for him to realize he messed up🎈

Warnings⚠️: None, hope you enjoy though because I’m hating my writing as of lately 🥹❤️

Song for the imagine: I Wonder- The Willowz

I’m laughing, but you’re laughing at me

And I think “oh how could this be?”

And I wonder if it could be the same

He kept looking at me the whole night, and it was starting to annoy me. His face made my blood boil. Like what do you want? It was like he was grilling me

Matt hated me, and to be honest I wasn’t sure why. I didn’t even care really, but he made hanging out with Chris and Nick boring. He was such a Debby downer, and he ruined my already shitty mood constantly.

Nick always told me to ignore him which I did for the most part, but honestly his weird attitude has been making my anxiety worse.

“What do you want?” He asked him finally getting fed up

“Nothing” he said getting defensive

“Well then quit staring” I said rolling my eyes

“You wish” he said scoffing

I started to hangout with them more because my at home life had become difficult. I was slipping into a depression I’ve never been through before. With that came my anxiety, and I just wanted to be away from my room

Of course Nick and Chris didn’t mind it. I was actually shocked Matt found it to be annoying since he struggles with anxiety, but I ignored it.

I often sat with them reading. I didn't mind that they didn’t have plans. I just wanted to be in their presence. It made me feel better.

“You come here almost everyday, and then you just sit around reading” Matt says laughing

“I like to read” I said flipping the page

“Yeah I know” he said shaking his head

“What’s it to you anyways? Not like I’m bothering you” I said laughing at him

“It’s just why not stay home if all you’re doing is reading” he said

“Well Matthew maybe it’s because some people have a difficult time at home, and want to get away from it” I said looking up at him

“Doesn’t mean you have to come here” he said rolling his eyes

“You’re such a dick all the time” I said to him

“The doors right there” he said shrugging his shoulders

“You just don’t get it, do you?” I responded slamming my book shut and scooting away from the table harshly

“Oh come on” he said rolling his eyes

I ignored him and grabbed my stuff, and decided to head home. Matt was such a fucking dick, and I was so over his prissy attitude.

He made me feel like shit, and it was getting harder to be myself and try and have fun. I never wanted to see him again.

I really tried to ignore him, but I really couldn’t. His over analyzing me made me super self conscious, and I was beginning to hate myself.

After that day I had decided to stay home and not really bother them. I truly didn’t want them to think I just used them or anything. Slowly this made me slip into a depression.

Chris and Nick had been texting me daily, but I would rarely ever answer them. Too embarrassed to tell them that Matt had made me hate going to their house. I knew this would make them upset with their brother

I had been sitting in my living room reading Where The Wind Blows when suddenly I heard a loud knock at my front door.

I was a bit concerned as to who would be knocking at my door at 9PM on a Thursday night. However I shut my book and decided to answer the door.

Shock plastered on my face at who was standing in front of me.

“Matt?” I questioned raising my eyebrow

“Uhh can we speak?” He said holding something behind his back awkwardly

“I guess” I said moving out the way to let him in

He walked in, and I shut the door really confused as to why he was here.

“I’m sorry, can I help you with something?” I said shaking my head

“I got you this” he blurts out and turned around to hand me a gift basket

There were flowers, candles, candies, and books. I grabbed it and looked at him still confused

“Matt what is this?” I said blinking at him

“Well I got you roses because they’re your favorite, and then I got you candles and here’s the thing I couldn’t pick just one because I know you love the vanilla candle, but you also love Mahogany Teakwood, but then you also love the peppermint one; so I got you all of them. And then I know you said you loved Twilight but never read the books. So I went to get you the first one, but then I realized you’d have to read all of them, so I got the complete series. And when I was buying candy I remembered all the candies you listed to me like a year ago that you liked, so I had to get them all and-“ he was rambling until I cut him off

“No Matt I mean why are you giving me this?” I said placing the basket down on the table next to us

“Oh….I wanted to say I’m sorry” he said looking down

“Sorry?” I said cocking my head to the side

“I’ve been such an asshole to you lately, and it was wrong. Most of the time I’m joking, but I realized you’re sensitive, WAIT NO not like that I just mean I joke the wrong way with you. And that’s my fault, so I’m sorry. But also I’m a really dry person and I like to people watch. And I also realized that that comes off mean and weird. It’s not what I meant” he said talking fastly

“Matt, calm down. It’s okay” I said getting flustered

“And I should’ve realized what you were going through sooner. I hadn’t realized how bad you had gotten” he said shaking his head

“What do you mean?” I asked

“Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind” he stated

“I’m sorry?” I said furrowing my eyebrows

“Well you see I remember you told me you only watch that movie when you’re super depressed, and you posted it on your story a few days ago. It made me open my eyes” he stated

“Matt how do you remember all this” I said letting out a nervous giggle

“Can’t you see? I’m madly in love with you” he said blinking

“You’re what?” I said my jaw dropping and heat rising to my cheeks

“I just wasn’t sure how to go about it because I don’t know how to open up about my feelings and I realize I was actually pushing you further away from me because I just don’t know how to act around you and once again I’m sorry” he said stepping a bit closer

“Matt, it's okay. You were an asshole to me, but I also wasn’t the nicest in trying to understand you” I said

“I mean no it’s not okay. I’m not sure why I couldn’t just open up to you and tell you how I really feel without completely destroying it.” He replied

“I’m just shocked you remembered so much about me” I said looking over at the gift basket

“How could I not? You’re the most interesting person in my life” he replied blinking softly at me

“You’re really throwing me for a loop here” I said laughing

“I know, and it’s because I’m an idiot who can’t get my shit together” he said signing

“It’s okay Matt. I appreciate all of this. I’m truly grateful” I said pulling him in for a hug

“I just really like you and I’m sorry that I just couldn’t figure out how to reciprocate that properly” he said letting go of me

“ I mean yes you did go about it horribly but I’m glad you let me know I mean hey it’s better late than never” I said offering him a smile

“Do you….do you like me too?” He asked

“You could say something like that” I said blushing and looking down

Matt gave me a smile and pulled me in. Our lips crashing together in a sweet yet passionate kiss. My heart flutters at the action.

That night Matt and I bonded over everything you could think of. Laying in his arms as we laughed about anything and everything.

It’s so weird what communication can do. It can really make or break you.

And it made us.

The End

Yalllll I’m hating everything I write. I tried to make this one decent. I'm sorry yall LMAOAOA. But anyways I hope you enjoyed it and I love yall dearly🥹🖤🖤

-J💅🏽

#sturniolo triplets #sturniolo x reader #matt sturniolo fanfic #matt sturniolo x reader #matt sturniolo imagines #matt sturniolo

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updownlately · 11 months

Text

make me yours my love (cause you’re nobody to me, yet somebody to me)

| alessia russo x reader | fluff (tooth-rotting fluff) | 4.5k | a/n: heard a song from another language, got obsessed with it, translated it to english, and wrote a fic. ended up losing the plot half way through and bs-ed the rest over the course of a week. anyways, i hate it, here you go.

~~~

You had never thought you’d leave North America. It was where you grew up. Where you’d had your best and worst times. It was home.

And when you had moved to Seattle from Vancouver to join the OL Reign, you thought that playing in the NWSL would be your greatest achievement, never expecting anything outrageous to occur, never daring to entertain the idea that you would ever venture any farther away from home. Thus, you clearly didn’t account for your hard work to actually pay off and for you to attract the attention of European clubs with the likes of Manchester City, Aston Villa, or Manchester United.

Even with your hesitance on leaving the continent, you had accepted United's offer almost as soon as it had come through, only waiting to double check with Sue and Megan on what their thoughts were. Of course the two women you saw as parental figures had freaked out on your behalf. They didn’t need to say it verbally but with the way they supported you as you virtually signed the contract and got ready to move showed you how incredibly proud they were of you for not only continuing to rise to a higher level in your career, but for pushing yourself out of your comfort zone.

But when the offer to extend your single year contract into a three year came, however, it wasn’t Sue, Megan, or anyone else back home who played a role in your decision. Surprisingly, or unsurprisingly as some of the training staff would say, it was your United teammates that unknowingly convinced you to stay.

In the single year you had spent with them, they had welcomed you with open arms, taking you in as one of their own.

Zelem and Mary had become your unofficial team moms, making sure you never got into too much trouble whilst Tooney, Millie, Leah, and the other girls had practically become your sisters. And of course, you had Alessia. Sweet, clumsy, back heel queen Alessia had become one of your closest friends in the new city, her being one of the only few people your introverted self had felt fully comfortable around.

You never understood why or how you were able to so quickly feel so relaxed around the tall girl, you typically being quite shy and reserved with new people, but you definitely weren’t complaining.

Moving countries, much less continents, was never easy, but with Alessia beside you since day one, it had never been too difficult.

Since the day that you had awkwardly waved hi to the United girls and attended your first official WSL practice, Alessia hadn’t left your side once. In fact, within the first few weeks of you being in England, the rest of the girls had established that wherever Alessia was, you were and vice versa, one rarely being found without the other.

Through the homesickness, loneliness, anxiety, and at one point, even depression, she had been there next to you. Be it picking you up and dropping you off from practice, bringing over home cooked meals, or tours around the city, she’d been your rock as you struggled but finally adjusted to being alone again.

And when city tours turned into trying new restaurants together and her dropping off home cooked meals led to bi-weekly movie nights with Alessia’s heavenly dinners or take out, you both never acknowledged how much you cared for each other. Really though, you didn’t have to. A blind person could feel the love that you both radiated for each other.

It was spoken through the way Alessia had become less clumsy over the months, with you now there to catch her. To pull her aside before she could crash into a defensive training dummy. To ensure that her laces were tied and she was aware every time the ground was raised or there was a kerb to watch out for.

Alessia told you she cared when she’d hold you tightly against her chest, after every hard game, practice, or just day. The height difference between your 5’3'' and her 5’9'' was near comical but neither of you minded. If anything, in your opinion, it just made the hugs better since you could bury your face in her neck and block out the world for a few minutes. If Alessia minded, she surely didn’t say a word to you. You didn’t know it but if Alessia was completely honest to herself, she truly loved when you’d hug her. She absolutely adored the way you’d hide your face as you’d hug her, you standing on your tiptoes to comfortably rest your head in the crook of her neck, letting only her see you break, trusting her so easily, warming her heart each time.

You’d whisper the depths of your care when you’d let her lean on you during your movie nights, carding your fingers through her hair when you knew she was on the brink of sleep. In the way you’d slowly manoeuvre both yourself and her into a more comfortable position, her often ending up curled up on top of you, not that you minded at all, welcoming her warmth. How you’d ignore the inevitable stiff neck you would always wake up with since you’d always watch movies in the living room. In your eyes, the pain was always going to be worth seeing the blonde hugging you tightly whilst she slept on your chest.

The star striker would whisper her care ever so softly, staying on call with you during the nights where you missed Seattle a bit too much. When she’d bring you your favourite coffee the next morning, knowing that you’d be tired from your mind running the night before. When she’d drive you to practise, putting on your favourite playlists for the fatigue ridden ride, without you so much as having to ask, her knowing you almost as well as she knew herself.

You both had eventually become so close that even Tooney joked that she should move out and retire from being Alessia's best friend now that you were here for the title. You had simply laughed in response, knowing that at the end of the day, at the end of the month, at the end of the season, even though she was just your teammate at United, she was also simply your favourite person in Manchester (and possibly England, and maybe, just maybe, even in the whole world).

You weren’t someone to really believe in love, having had to witness almost every romantic relationship around you crash and burn, save for Binoe (bless them). So when Alessia clumsily toppled into your life, you didn’t expect that she’d make a home in the cracks of your broken heart. You didn’t expect for her to line the streets of your heart with cosy buildings of every delightful colour known to mankind. You didn’t expect for your heart to flutter like a butterfly each time she was near, the euphoria of having her close nearly causing your feet to grow wings, placing you on cloud nine.

She had your heart and you had no idea when she had taken or how she had taken it, but she had. The way her eyes would crinkle as she laughed had wrapped its threads around your soul. The way she’d have to lean down to hug most of her teammates, you included, and she’d never complain, doing so without being asked, restored your faith in the world. The way her smile would rival the warmth and brightness of the morning sun on your worst days had you smiling softly by yourself as you couldn’t help but stare at her, the only star that you would gladly let damage your eyesight.

While to everyone else she was just your teammate and friend, to you she was so much more. She wasn’t yours but she was something to you, somebody to you, and you hoped to god that you’d never lose her.

It’s funny looking back at when you first realised you were in love with the blonde. It had taken you almost half a year to register that you wanted more than a friendly relationship with her. You remember the exact moment so vividly, having replayed it over and over again in your mind as you lay on your bed, gently begging whatever higher deity existed to make your dreams a reality.

You both, as well as the rest of the team, had just finished a gruelling late training session and Alessia had somehow managed to convince you to let her come around so both of you could make pasta from scratch. You were unbearably tired, not having slept well the night before and the request to postpone the plan was on the tip of your tongue. However, you had made the mistake of looking up from your training bag and right into the bright blue eyes of the taller girl just as you were about to say no, and instead, you (embarrassingly easily, might you add) were persuaded to do nothing but hum in agreement to Alessia’s request.

So once she had picked up the necessary ingredients whilst you waited, trying and failing to nap in the car, and you both had made it to your flat, she had begun flitting around your kitchen, already at home in your house.

You were sitting on the counter, banned from helping due to your tiredness, contentedly watching the partially-Italian woman as she stirred the pasta sauce she had made, that the thought of this scene being ever-present for the rest of your life had briefly crossed your mind. However, you had waved it off at that time, blaming the exhaustion in your bones for your delusional feelings. It had worked and you had forgotten about your yearning for a few seconds, until Alessia had switched the stove off, turned to you, and had taken in your drowsy appearance.

Wordlessly, she had bridged the gap of a few feet between you and gently pulled you towards the edge of the island, pushing apart your legs and bringing her arms to gently wrap around your midsection. It was as she slotted herself perfectly in the space she had created, nudging your head to rest comfortably in the crook of her neck, that you inhaled a deep sigh and let yourself relax, sinking into the hug. As your mind finally began to slow down, the circles Alessia was rubbing on your back calming you quickly, the whole situation hit you.

Here you were, in the arms of your best friend, after she had just finished cooking you dinner, and was holding you so gently, reading you like a book, providing you with the comfort you needed to finally rest. If you didn’t know any better, you would say that Alessia was currently peak girlfriend material - hell even possibly wifey material. Tired and relaxed, this time when the thought of being the only one who Alessia would treat so perfectly like this for the rest of her life came across your heart, you let it warm you, indulging in the loveliness of being cared for.

You had known then, that the blonde irrevocably had your heart, and you were helpless to do anything about it. You were nothing but putty in her hands, your fate lying in hers.

From that point on, you had made it your goal to love Alessia the best you could, regardless of whether she loved you back or not.

As days and months went on, you two got even closer, if that was even possible. If you had thought that both of you were close before, the present put the past to incredulous shame. Your morning routine now definitively consisted of picking up Alessia before morning training and other team events and driving the proud ‘passenger princess’, as you liked to call her, to grab breakfast and head to practice, Tooney joining you two once in a blue moon. Bi-weekly movie nights had become weekly occurrences, and her dropping off home cooked meals turned into you both cooking together in your tiny kitchen most nights.

Telling Alessia you had extended your contract had been one of your favourite moments of the postseason. With her due to play for United another two years too (totally not a deciding factor in your renewal at all), the idea of her getting to spend the remainder of her contract playing not only with Tooney, Mary, and many of the other close friends she’d made, but with you as well excited her unfathomably. The blonde hadn’t stopped smiling for a week straight, and you had a feeling that if she had gone even a single day longer than she had, her face would’ve frozen with her blinding smile stuck permanently.

You knew then, you were a goner for her, for that smile, for the comfort she gave you, her hugs that healed you. You knew you’d give her all of you without taking anything in return, and you couldn’t find it in yourself to care either. You’d give her the world if she asked, all it would take for you to do so is her saying the words, no qualms on your end. You knew that be it as a friend or a lover, you wanted to be the cause of her smiles, her laughs at everything stupid, and the reason her eyes would sparkle with joy. You knew that you wanted her, you just didn’t know she wanted you too.

So caught up in your own head, in your own yearning for the taller girl, you never noticed the longing stares or the blush that would coat her cheeks each time you were near. You never questioned why she’d hug you significantly longer than anyone else, even Tooney or her own mother. You completely, almost idiotically obliviously missed the way she’d go out of her way to make you comfortable, how she had made it her priority as much as you had made it to ensure that her smile would stay.

The two of you danced around each other for months without knowing, two threads dangling from the sky, tangling so effortlessly, yet making no move to separate. You two were bound together unknowingly, without a title, without it being something, without a label. You both were each other's nobody’s, the “no-one special”, yet both of you were silently craving to be each other’s somebody. All you needed really was for the other to make you theirs, the pair of you too scared to accidentally overstep and risk losing the other completely.

At the end, it only took the two of you just over a year and a half before the two of you made any move towards dating.

It was a chilly mid February day. You had gotten injured that morning, hurting your ankle quite severely and Alessia had so graciously offered to crash with you for a few nights to help you out. You had once again, familiarly, found yourself situated by your island, slumped on the counter, painkillers from the hospital coursing you through your veins, as Alessia cooked for you.

While the sight had become more common to you over the past handful of months, it never got old. The way she’d (for once) gracefully move around, opening your cabinets and rummaging through your pantry and fridge with familiarity and ease, in her element, swaying gently to yours and hers shared playlist you had playing on your speaker. The way her hair was tied back yet a few strands always seemed to spill through, framing her face perfectly. How the heat from the stoves had her cheeks tinted, ever so slightly strawberry red. How absolutely breathtakingly gorgeous she looked bathed in the soft golden lighting of your house, a house that turned into a home whenever she was there.

This time, instead of shying away from watching her as you usually would, you let yourself indulge, eyes tracing the way her arms would flex as she chopped the necessary ingredients, as she used the bench scraper to toss everything into the sizzling pan. You admired the way your old oversized hoodie fit her absolutely perfectly, your last name sitting prettily on her back, as if that sweatshirt was meant to be hers.

You’d been so caught up in your unabashed staring that you didn’t realise Alessia had turned to face you, ladle in hand, the other on her hip, a single eyebrow raised in amusement.

“You didn’t hear a word I said, did you?” she teased.

“Definitely did. Something about dinner and it being ready?” You jested, hoping that your obvious guess was at least somewhat close.

“You’re lucky you’re attractive, and half a decent defender…otherwise I wouldn’t be cooking for you y’know.” The way Alessia smirked as your cheeks heated up told you that the striker knew exactly what she was doing, winking at you before laughing and turning around. “Anyways, like I was saying, the doc said you’re probably going to feel really drowsy once the meds wear off, though the pain should definitely be gone. I’m thinking once dinner’s done, we can just go crash in your room, put on a movie or something so I don’t have to carry you around when you knock out? I’m clumsy enough on my own, I don’t need to be holding another person to test it,” she continued.

“Good with me. Plus, at least you’re self-aware enough to know that you are a walking Bambi. It’s honestly a miracle that you aren’t constantly wrapped in bubble wrap at this point.”

“Okay just for that comment, I’m picking the movie and I’m not giving you my hoodie.”

“That’s not fair, I’m drugged up right now. If anything, that’s abuse. You’re torturing a helpless individual,” you mumble as you lay your head on the cool surface of the island.

“Definitely torturing you by cooking you supper and not giving you my hoodie… and as I let you rest since you’re injured and doped up, right?” You could only groan in response to her logic, pouting at not being able to come up with a response.

As Alessia continued to move around your kitchen, finishing up on dinner and plating the food, you went back to observing her. You studied the way she tried the stir fry, taking a bite before scrunching her face adorably and adding more ingredients to fix whatever she thought was lacking. You watched her as she finally decided everything was ready, as she sweetly plated food for you first, handing it to you, before doing so for herself. You smiled, fascinated with the way her body moved as grabbed waters for the both of you, entranced by the ease in her movement.

You were distracted throughout the whole dinner, mumbling responses, missing questions. You blamed it on the medications and fatigue when the forward beside you asked if you were okay, but in actuality your mind couldn’t help but constantly wander to imagining what it would be like if this was your life. If dinners with Alessia could be your future. If movie nights in your bed, you in her hoodie could be a regular occurrence. You knew you’d thought it before, the ideas were nothing new to you, but you had never craved it this bad before, never wanted it more than right now.

You’d been so lost in your thoughts you hadn’t noticed Alessia grabbing your dishes or her own, nor her loading the dishwasher. It was only when she had stepped in front of you that you snapped out of your reverie.

“You sure you’re okay? You seem really out of it…you know I’ve got you right?”

When you fail to meet her eyes immediately, she cradles your face in her hands, one on either side of your jaw, gently tilting your head back to meet her eyes. Her worried eyes scan your face and then the rest of your body, trying to pinpoint something, anything that could have been the cause of your dip in mood.

“Seriously, what’s going on? You were fine just a little while ago. Is it your ankle? Is the pain back? The doctor said the medication would wear off around midnight but if it’s wearing off right now we can call the hospi-”

Shaking your head amusedly at her worried rambling, you cut her off before she forgot how to breathe. “Less I’m fine.”

“Bull. You haven’t said more than 5 words ever since I asked about watching a movie. Oh my gosh, is this about how I said I’m picking the movie? ‘Cause if so, you can totally pick, I swear. I was just teasing. And… and of course you can have my hoodie too. I promise I was just joking. I didn’t mean t-”

“Alessia,” you stated firmly, a slight frown returning to your face when it was her who now couldn’t look at you.

Sensing her anxiety, you reach out for the blonde, hands finding home on her hips, squeezing gently, just enough to get her to finally stop scanning your body for injuries and instead look at you.

“I’m fine, I promise. Just been thinking, that’s all.”

“About? What’s got you so distracted? If it’s the injury, we both know you’ll be back in no time. I don’t mind sticking around to help around while you’re recovering. I’d be happy to help you know? I don’t mind. Plus-”

“Less, it’s not the injury. I don’t care about the recovery. I’ve already accepted that I won’t be playing for a few weeks. Stop worrying, okay? It’s not a big deal.”

“Not a big deal, yeah right…” she scoffs, her hands moving to your shoulders. “Are you actually not going to tell me what’s going on? What’s bothering you? Was it something I did? Is that why you’re not telling me? If I messed up I’ll fix it okay? I'd rather fix it than lose you. Please. Please tell me what’s going on so I can fix it.”

It was in the next few moments that you contemplated whether it would be worth it. Whether potentially destroying your friendship with the blonde that you’ve been in love with since you met her over a year and half ago would be worth the risk of telling her and outing yourself. You considered pretending everything was fine, to make up some excuse using your newly acquired injury or something about the fans and the pressure, but you couldn’t. You couldn’t lie to her. You couldn’t be dishonest. Not when you looked up and saw the care and concern etched in her face, wrinkles scattered across, creases from distress that you had caused.

You figured that if anything, if, no when, when she told you she didn’t feel the same, you could take the next few weeks you had off for healing and rehab to get over her. It wouldn’t be so bad right? You could take those three weeks to heal your ankle and your heart, and then you could go back to being Alessia’s best friend again.

“Hey, I promise I won’t judge alright? Whatever it is, it’s safe with me, I swear on football,” came the gentle voice from the girl towering above you.

You waited a second before looking up, taking a deep sigh in, revelling in the peace before the chaos that you knew was going to come after. Looking in her eyes, you audibly swallowed, before closing your own.

“I’m in love with you. Have been for ages now, and it’s killing me. It’s killing me to see you in my kitchen, at my house, making it a home. It’s killing me to have you cuddle into me when I know I can’t pull you closer at every chance. It’s physically breaking me when I can’t walk up to you in my kitchen and kiss you to thank you for cooking for me, for taking care of me. It’s hurting me when I know that there’s probably going to come a day where you find someone else and I’m left here with your ghost. It terrifies me that I’m nobody to you but you’re somebody to me.” Your voice cracks in the last sentence and you pray to whatever God existed that she couldn’t hear your heart quietly cracking too.

When a minute passes in complete silence, and then another, you dare to open your eyes. Taking a shaky breath in, you don’t know what to make of the sight in front of you. There, Alessia stands, in all her glory, your hands still on her hips, her head tilted back, eyes glazed over, on the verge of tears.

Your heart’s breaking further with each second that passes and you mentally prepare yourself for the rejection that’s incoming.

“Please say something. Please…”

A beat passes. Then two, before Alessia finally looks back down at you, a lone tear falling from her eyes, one that she quickly wipes away, a smile on her face. “Took you long enough to catch up.”

You couldn’t believe what you were hearing. The possibility of your dreams becoming a reality never seemed plausible to you. “Less, don't play. Please,” you beg.

“You were never nobody to me idiot. You weren’t ever nothing to me. You’ve been somebody to me since I met you y’know? You’ve had my heart since you walked onto the training pitch, looking like a lost kid.”

“Honest?” You asked, just to make sure you weren’t hearing things, that she actually liked you back, that you weren’t dreaming. When Alessia nodded in return, you couldn’t help but smile, your grin stretching from ear to ear.

Wiping the few tears that had made their way down your face, you moved your hands to wrap around the other girl, pulling her close to you, hugging her tightly. You tucked your head into the chest, her arms wrapping around your neck, your beaming smile hidden in the cloth of her sweatshirt.

“Let me make you mine? Go on a date with me?” The blonde quietly asked, kissing the top of your head.

This time, it was your turn to nod. You did so energetically, practically vibrating with happiness, twin grins adorning both yours and Alessia’s face.

You couldn’t ever fathom the idea of leaving Canada as a child, yet now, all grown up, on your own, you’d never been more glad you had left. That you had allowed yourself the opportunity to find a new home, one that you found here, in the arms of Alessia Russo.

You’d spent months thinking you weren’t anybody to her, and now? Now you knew you were somebody to her. That you weren’t alone this whole time. That she wanted to make you hers all along.

#woso imagine #woso x reader #alessia russo imagine #alessia russo x reader #woso fanfics #fluff #x reader #reader insert #my writing #fic #mmyml #alessia russo

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