Yesterday I felt about as strong as an overcooked noodle, and it looks like my baby biceps are flatlining.
Trying to remind myself that I haven’t been in class for a few months and it’s gonna take a minute to get my groove back.
I’m not discouraged, just aware!
A/N: Wow! First of all, I’d like to personally thank everyone who’s liked this story, I just started writing it one day at work while I was bored and decided the other afternoon to post it, and never thought I’d get a response, let alone a positive one - so thank you!
I honestly had so much fun writing this chapter, it made me nostalgic for hockey practices with my teammates when we used to fool around and try and get each other in trouble. (I miss playing so much).
Hope you enjoy!
Practice gets off to a hectic start. Firstly, you can’t find your neck guard while getting dressed (it’s stuck to the inside of your jersey, which you didn’t notice until after you put it on and felt something weird touching your ribs). Because of this, you’re late getting on the ice, and miss your chance to warm up before the coach calls everybody over to explain the first drill. One of your favourite parts of practice is having a nice long warm up skate to stretch out and loosen your muscles from the day before.
You try not to let it frazzle you, but you can’t seem to focus properly. You keep losing the puck and making bad passes, and your entire body feels tight and uncomfortable. Steph notices, and skates over to you while you wait for your turn in a passing drill.
“Hey, everything alright?”
“Not really,” you confess. “My muscles are all super sore and I missed warm-up because I couldn’t find my neck guard in time.”
“Relax. Everyone has an off day. Plus, it’s only day two. They understand that we’re all still adjusting to how hard the camp is on our bodies.”
You nod, actually trying to take in what Steph is saying instead of denying it and having a negative attitude like you always do. “Thanks, Steph.”
The coach blows his whistle, and you grab a puck, racing around the circle. You take a wristshot, nailing the top left hand corner. It’s the first time you’ve scored all practice.
But there’s no time to celebrate - the drill isn’t over yet. You stop in front of the net, fighting for position with the defenseman and trying to block the goalie from seeing the puck. You manage to shift to just the right spot and create an effective screen, as you hear the puck fired by your defenseman hit the back of the net. Two for two.
You maintain your screen as your forward partner rounds the other circle and takes the shot. He snaps it quickly with his stick, sneaking it past the goalie’s outstretched pad and hitting the lower left corner of the net.
“Breakout, breakout!” The centre yells. He’s been waiting off to the side until the first part of the drill was over. He picks up another puck. You and the other winger switch lanes, and the centre sends the puck hurtling hard towards you.
But you’re ready.
You receive the pass with soft hands and look up to see a defender already on top of you. Normally, most people would panic, but you know you’re faster. You flick your head to the right, faking the defender out, and then chip the puck off the boards to the left, skating around her before picking up the puck.
With a quick look, you make a saucer pass over the other defender’s stick to your centre. He receives it and dekes the goalie out, neatly tucking it in the top right corner. Four for four.
“Nice one!” the centre skates over to you and gives you a high-five. You’re surprised by how youthful he looks. He must be around six feet tall, but his gangly build and pre-pubescent face make him look like an adorable oversized puppy.
“Thank-you,” you say, smiling at him. “Nice shot you’ve got there.”
“Thanks!” he replies brightly, his positive energy contagious. “You’ve got some great passing skills. I’m Mitch, by the way.”
“Y/N.” You nod your head by way of greeting.
Mitch opens his mouth to say something else, but is cut off by the coach blowing the whistle. “Two laps, then take a break for water!”
Everyone abandons the drill and begins to skate hard around the perimeter of the rink. You finish your two laps, among the leaders of the pack, and cruise over to the bench to grab some water.
You’re about to pick up your bottle when somebody nudges you.
You turn and look up to see Mitch’s smiling face.
“Oh hey! We meet once more.” You pour some water into your mouth, and Mitch does the same.
“Practice is real tough today, huh?”
“Yeah,” you agree, nodding. “And it’s only day two. Next thing you know, they’ll be making us bag skate.”
Mitch’s eyes widen, horrified. “Don’t say that too loudly, or they’ll get ideas.”
“I thought I was fit before I came here. My, did I have a rude awakening yesterday. The only person I know that isn’t dying right now is him.” Mitch points to a tall guy with his back turned to you. “Total hotshot,” he says sarcastically, and proceeds to poke the blade of his stick into the guy’s armpit.
“What the-!” the guy yelps, turning around. “Mitch, what the fuck, dude?”
Mitch laughs and you take a closer look at the guy. Of course.
“Oh, hey Y/N,” Auston says, his eyes lighting up. He smiles at you and your heart jumps a little.
“You two have met?”
“Yeah,” you explain quickly. “We’re acquainted.” You immediately want to slap yourself. Who even says ‘we’re acquainted’? You sound like a grandmother.
The coach blows his whistle sharply. “Auston, Mitch, and Y/N. Since you are all obviously more concerned with chatting than listening like everybody else, perhaps you three would like to demonstrate the next drill?”
“Sure coach!” Mitch says enthusiastically. You and Auston exchange a look.
The coach frowns. “Get yourselves in positions,” he barks. “I don’t care who’s normally centre or left wing or whatever. Decide fast. I want you guys to break out of the zone quick, weave at least twice before you hit the red line. Then you can worry about stickhandling around the defender. This drill is all about passing, positioning, and teamwork.” He turns back to the group of players kneeling on the ice. “If only two out of three forwards touches the puck in this drill, you can forget about shooting. There is no excuse for not being able to make at least three passes before you get to the offensive zone. Got it?”
Everyone else nods.
“I need an answer.”
“Yes!” the group responds.
“Alright.” The coach blows his whistle loudly. “Y/N, Auston, Mitch. Take it away.”
Since you and Auston both shoot left-handed and Mitch shoots right, Mitch moves over to right wing, while you take your regular left wing position, and Auston gets centre.
Without any hesitation, Auston picks up a puck, loops around the net, and fires it over to Mitch, who’s already picked up a considerable amount of speed. Shit, they’re really fast.
You hustle over towards the centre of the ice, and Mitch does the same. You get so close to each other, for a split second you think you’re going to crash, but then Mitch side-steps an inch to the left and makes a drop pass. You pick it up with ease, and in no more than a second, you’re on the right wing, ready to pass it to Auston. You fire the puck low and flat across the ice as hard as you can, but Auston receives it so softly, he makes your pass look weaker than it is.
He and Mitch weave in and out with each other, appearing completely at ease. The way they’re so aware of each other’s position on the ice without having to look makes it obvious that they have played together for a while.
You end up with the puck as you cross the blue line. You consider taking a shot, but the goalie’s far out in his crease, making for an easy save.
Then you get an idea.
You pick up speed, pretending like you’re going in to shoot. The goalie backs into his crease correspondingly, covering less of the net. You wind up but then stop halfway, quickly using your backhand to drop pass it back to Auston, who you know is directly behind you. You barely have a second to jump away before Auston wires a slapshot into the right side of the net.
“Yeah baby!” Mitch whoops, bringing you and Auston in for a celebratory group hug. His long arms wrap around both your shoulders. “Great job team.”
You smile widely and Auston rolls his eyes.
“Mitch, please stop touching me. Your gloves stink and the smell is gonna make me puke.”
Mitch feigns obliviousness. “What, my gloves?” He shoves both his hands in Auston’s face. “They smell like roses!”
Auston smacks Mitch’s hands away, but Mitch immediately tries to shove them in his face again. The two begin play-fighting, and much to your amusement, Mitch manages to get Auston in a headlock, trapping the taller and stronger boy under his birdlike arms. Eventually they end up on the ground, laughing so hard they can’t move anymore.
You stare down at them, shaking your head. “You guys are idiots.”
Mitch scrambles to his feet, pushing his helmet back down on his head. A goofy grin is plastered across his face. “Why thank-you. I take pride in being an idiot.”
As Auston stands up, he reaches over and smacks Mitch on the back of the head.
Mitch turns around to face him. “You wanna go again bro? You wanna fight? Huh? Come at me,” Mitch taunts Auston, throwing his gloves down to the ice. When Auston doesn’t respond, he shoves his chest. “You scared? Why’re you so scared of me, huh?”
You all turn your heads to look at the coach.
“Why are your gloves off? Stop fucking around and get back in line, or you’ll be doing laps after practice!” He glares at the three of you and mutters to himself before turning around.
“Yes sir!” Mitch grabs his gloves and salutes the coach’s back.
“Ooh, someone got in trouble,” Auston teases.
“You started it.”
“Your gloves started it, actually. If you washed them for once in your life, we wouldn’t have this problem.”
“But washing your equipment is bad luck!”
“Guys, c’mon,” you beg, laughing. “I don’t really feel like doing any more laps today.”
“Yeah,” Auston agrees. He elbows Mitch in the ribs.
“Listen to the girl, she’s got a point.”
“‘Listen to the girl, she’s got a point’” Mitch mocks Auston. “You’re just saying that because you li-”
Mitch is cut off as Auston clamps his glove over Mitch’s mouth, muffling his words.
“I swear to god Marner, if one more word comes out of that big mouth of yours I’ll-”
“Alright, that’s it!” the coach bellows. “You three - I want 10 laps, now! Everyone else is free to leave.”
A group shot of my mischief. Sadly, we lost Blue earlier this week. Blue had come to us malnourished and sickly. I did my best to keep him going with ensure and tlc. Blue seemed to have a disease that didn’t allow for him to put on any weight and slowly ate at his muscle mass.
I will miss my Blueberry for his gentle and calm demeanor. I will miss him for his cuddles and the rare kiss or two. Blue was small, gentle, and sweet.
Okay but the gay feels when an attractive girl wears a crop top so short it shows the bottom of her bra and your like ‘damn she’s hot’ but you’re also like ‘stop objectifying her you’re not a sixteen year old boy’
Yesterday my mile was 10.46. Today it’s 10.03. I pushed myself but I know I could have pushed harder. Looking forward to what the time is tomorrow! I’m amazed at how well my muscle memory is for running. I missed it.
Sole is slowly losing their voice and after a while, they become mute. Can you also add Maxson (if you want tho)
Well, it’s about five minutes to 9:00 which means I will be making that 12 hour deadline I set for myself by five minutes. Yay for procrastination!
So this one’s been sitting in my inbox for a while, and I loved it, so here we go! I did the reaction a little different this time. Everything is in first person relative to the companions, and all romancable (by my standard) companions automatically have romanced reactions. Not sure how much I like it, so I’ll probably go back to the old format. But hey, where’s the fun in sticking to a formula all the time?
I’ll add Maxson later for you anon! I just didn’t have the time to do it in one sitting.
Curie: “Oh Sole,
I am so sorry. I wish there was more
I could do, but I am afraid zhat I- I cannot- I- I,” Ergh, I cannot even finish
my sentence! Stupid, stupid tears! And my hands cannot wipe them away fast
enough. They just keep coming. I wish I couldn’t cry; It’s Sole who should be
upset! Out of everyone in zhe whole
Commonwealth it should not have to be Sole who loses their voice.
Oh, now look, Sole is
“Thank you Sole, but it should be me that is comforting you,
no?” I feel their chin rub back and forth against zhe top of my scalp; they’re
shaking their head no. I start smiling as I cry into their chest. Is zhis
supposed to happen, do humans sometimes smile when zhey cry?
Sole pats me on the back while placing a gentle kiss on the
top of my head, and I know just what zhey are saying, even without the words.
It’s okay Curie. It’s
not your fault. You can’t fix everyone, and I still love you, no matter what.
“Thank you Sole. I love you too.”
Deacon: After all
they’ve done for the Railroad, for me, only to find out that their son is the
Father of the whole damn Institute. And then to kill them too? That’s gotta be
harsh. In fact, I know it is. They… they haven’t talked to me… to anybody
really, for days. It started with short, sweet answers, “yes,” “no,” etcetera,
and Sole would only speak when spoken to. Then they stopped verbalizing altogether,
and their responses were short, almost undetectable nods. And they haven’t even
smiled in, what…
They’re sitting on their bed when I walk in, facing the wall,
knees drawn in. Wow, those dark circles look rough. Have they even slept since
the big bang? Wait, what? I’m uh, not… moving anymore, and I can’t seem to to
get my legs working. C’mon Deacon, let’s go.
I give up on walking to
watch them for a while instead, and I know they know I’m here. But then I’m
there, holding them. Why are all my muscles quivering?
“Sole, I miss you. I understand, but I miss you. Come on
back now, yeah? How about it pal? I can’t talk all the time you know, as unconvincing
as that sounds.” So much for playing it cool. My voice is warbling in my
throat, and I’m pretty sure those are Sole’s tears soaking through my t-shirt. I
lean out of the hug to press my forehead against theirs. “I love you Sole, and
I’ll wait for you, but please, please hurry.”
And then I kiss them. What else can I do?
Cait: Oh shite,
oh shite, this is serious! I just feel like- Augh! Ack! Ergh, it sounds like a
knuckle cracked! Damn wall. Oh shite, Sole. I just…
Maybe Curie’s wrong. Maybe it isn’t actually permanent, but…
it is some sort of miracle that kept Sole alive after that dog chewed their throat
out. It’s been months though and Sole still isn’t able ta talk to me at all
through those disgustin’ red welts across their neck. If I had just been payin’
more attention, I could’ve s-stopped it. I’m just- I’m just…
I’m just so scared of forgettin’ their voice. I already have
hard time rememberin’ the way they used to say “I love you.” Oh… Oh no…
I bury my head in me hands and press down, hard. As long as
I’m pressing against my eyes the tears won’t come out; Sole doesn’t need this
right now. You’re always talkin’ yerself up Cait! C’mon and get together!
Here they come outta Curie’s little infirmary. The scars don’t
look any better, and Curie seems like she’s about to spill some tears: Sole
does too. I run up and grab them by the shoulders, starin’ straight into their eyes
before crushin’ ‘em to me chest. If I can’t hear them anymore, I’ll make up for
it by holding them as tight as I can.
“Oh Sole. Everythin’s gonna be just fine. I promise.”
Nick: “Oh darlin’,
I’m so sorry.” I hold Sole’s face in my good hand, wiping away the tears from
their cheek with my thumb. Today was the first day since the accident that Curie
made them try to speak, but when Sole opened their mouth… there was nothing. Nothing
at all. I wish I could forget the look of absolute despair on Sole’s face. I
wish they could forget about it too.
They’re still weeping, silently, into my palm, but now they’ve
stopped to look up at me. Rapidly blinking the tears away, they start motioning
with their hands in a zig-zagging fashion.
“Ah, you wanna notepad kid?”
They nod silently, and I notice their trembling lips.
“Here ya go sweetheart.”
I hand them the paper notepad and a pencil to write with. They furiously
scribble a message down. When they hand it to me I notice the smudge puddles
from where Sole’s tears had dripped onto the paper.
I miss singing with
you .It read.
“C’mere.” I tell them, and they collapse into my chest. I wrap
my jacket around them, holding them, and hum one of their favorite tunes. Maybe
we can’t sing together anymore, but don’t worry Sole, I love you, and I’ll sing
enough for the both of us.
Danse: “He was a
good hound soldier.” The comment doesn’t really seem to affect Sole. This is
the fourth month they’ve come to visit Dogmeat’s grave, and they haven’t spoken
a word since the burial. I ran a hand through my hair; I’m not entirely sure
how to deal with the situation. It would be best to just talk it out, but Sole
insists on bottling everything in, and that’s not healthy. Believe me, I’ve
seen plenty of fresh-faced squires do the same thing.
“You’ll have to talk to someone about it sooner or later
Sole. Why not just go ahead and talk to me, please.
“I implore them to give up their vow of silence, but they just stare at me vacantly.
But now they’re leaning their face into my chest. I sigh,
but don’t hesitate to put my arms around them.
“I understand Sole. Really, I do. I just don’t want you to tear
yourself apart on the inside for too long because… I’m afraid it won’t be the
old Sole that comes back, the Sole I fell in love with.”
I feel them nod into my shirt, and then I kiss their hair
because I know they love that, and because I want them to know that I love
them, no matter what.
I understand your distress, but this has gone on for months. Don’t you think it’s
time to start talking again?” I’m sitting across from Sole, watching them
through my sunglasses. They’re looking at me too, but I’m convinced that, for
the most part, they aren’t present. Sole consistently refuses to tell me why
they’re doing this, and I’ve given up on trying to figure it out. I’ve just had
to accept the fact that they’re grieving.
When did their hands move to my face? Fingers wrap around my
glasses, and I let Sole slide the shades off of my nose. Now there’s nothing
between us; I feel exposed. Maybe that’s why I say what I do,
“I miss you. It’s time to come back.”
They nod slowly, agreeing, even though no words come out of their
mouth. I’m not usually the affectionate type, but I feel like it needs to be done.
I take their hands and hold them. They look both relieved and confused, then
mutter out a small, “Okay.”
Am I… smiling?
MacCready: Irreparable damage.
That’s what Curie’s report said anyway. I mean wh- what hell!
Can’t she at least try! Ugh! I pull
at my hair and use the pain to try and distract myself. I can hear choked
breathing coming from the other room; Sole is crying. I’m pacing and feel
absolutely useless! I have to bite my fist to keep from sending everything on
the dining room table right through the window.
Finally everything boiled over inside me, so I marched straight
into Sole’s bedroom and picked them up from the bed, just loving the feeling of
holding them in my arms. I press my face into their shoulder as hard as I can
stand, and I let them sob into mine.
“I love you Sole. I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry this happened,
and I wish I could do something to help. Oh my g- Sole. It-It’s gonna be okay.
I promise. I promise.”
I pull back, grab their face, and kiss them hard, harder
than I ever have before. I’m going to convince them everything will be alright,
and then I’m going to make it that way. For Sole.
Sole, you’re killin’ me here. Just talk
to me.” I pleaded. Hell, I’ve even begged. I understand Sole is grieving, but
it’s been so long, and all I want is to hear their voice. Maybe it’s selfish,
but, damn, I’d sell out Goodneighbor to hear them laugh again.
They’re giving me a hurt look, and now I feel awful, watching
their eyes spill over with tears. Their mouth gapes open for a few seconds, but
no words come out. I understand perfectly though; they’re trying to apologize: typical
“I’m sorry sunshine. Forget what I said okay, no need to
apologize. You’re hurt, so take your time healing. Hey now, don’t cry sweetheart!
I pull them into a hug because I know it comforts them. Not
to brag or anything, but they even told me once that it makes them feel safe
when I hold them, and I think feeling safe is what they need now more than
anything. I’ll be sure to provide it for them in spades.
Piper: “Oh Blue,
oh blue I’m so sorry.” I can’t believe it. Never hearing Blue talk again, ever. They don’t deserve something like
this. All they’ve ever done for the Commonwealth is make it an easier place to
live in, and how does it repay them? It takes their voice. Typical. Too bad no
one, not even a great reporter like myself, can bring the cosmic forces of karma
“Well, at least if you had to be paired with someone, it’s
the only person in the Commonwealth that can make up both sides of a
conversation. Heh.” Sole gives me a half-hearted smile. “See! That’s the
spirit! Glad to see you haven’t lost your sense of humor Sole.”
All joking aside, I am really proud of Sole and their un-crushable
spirit, so I smile too, and lean forward to give Sole a quick kiss. “Love you
since Curie broke the news to Sole, I’ve been sitting here with them all day.
They’re taking it really hard, and if I’m being honest… I am too. I loved
hearing Sole wake me up in the morning with an “I love you,” and the way they
laughed when Dogmeat played with the kids, and to know that I’ll never hear
those things again…
No, I can’t think about that. Sole needs me now.
“You know I love you, right Sole? You’re gonna make it
through this. You’re such a strong person, to make it out of the Vault, to lead
the Minutemen. You’ll make it.” I squeezed them a bit harder to my side,
I feel their fingers lace together with mine, and I look over
to kiss Sole on the lips. I intended for a sweet, simple kiss to comfort them,
but Sole lingers, and I am more than happy to stay there with them. Whatever
they need, I’m here, and I let them know that every day.
hasn’t talked to me in a while, which is strange. They always tell me they love
me when they pat my tummy, in that funny, squeaky voice. Now they just smile
when they pet me, although sometimes they cry too. I can tell that something is
wrong; dogs are good at that kind of thing, didn’tcha know? I don’t know what’s
hurt my human so much, but I make sure to give them extra kisses and extra
cuddles now. I think they need it, and I hope that they understand just how
much I love them, even if they don’t say they love me back.
Codsworth: I know
it doesn’t help much, but caretaking is what I was programmed to do. Today I’ve
flitted to and fro about Sole after hearing the news about their… injury. In
hindsight, perhaps keeping them home today to recuperate was not the best
choice. All they’ve done is stew in their misery, and who can blame them?
“Sir/mum, I’m so sorry. I-I shouldn’t have kept you here
today. Perhaps a day full of distractions was just what the doctor ordered.”
Sole looks at me with pity, hah! Me, pity! I should be giving them pity. How mysteriously this world
“Don’t look so down sir/mum. Come on! I bet the local pub
already has a drink poured for you!”
Ah, there’s that smile! I guess after 200 years I still
haven’t lost my touch, and what better way to use it than to brighten up Sole’s
not understand why human stop talking. Seem stupid to Strong. How we communicate
in battle when you no talk?”
Human gives me a funny look, not one Strong usually see on
them. Whatever. If human want to be
quiet then Strong not care. Human tough enough without voice, can scare enemy
with just looks.
Requested?: No, but feel free to request more Daddy! Ash, because yes
Word Count: 2,847
A/N: Honestly, I started seeing this new guy and he’s so into the cute domestic stuff that I can’t help but be so into the idea of children and grocery shopping, and then really hot sex
Small streams of light flow into the room from the thin grey curtain his mum had bought us last Christmas. The soft cotton under my head rustles softly as I turn onto my back. Across the room our bathrobes are hung up on the back of the ensuite door. A glance at the alarm clock shows that it’s barely past six.
And, as if on cue, I can hear the pattering of two tiny boys’ feet.
Our bedroom door flies open and in comes our twin boys. Nicholas and Fletcher screech into the room, wreaking havoc on my husband’s clothes on the floor and his discarded wallet while trying to find out if their parents were awake.
I shut my eyes and try to even my breathing, hoping that they’ll get bored and play with toys in their room on this sleepy Sunday morning.
No such luck.
Nicholas launches his body on my husband and he flies up suddenly, nearly launching the toddler into space. The two have matching shocked expressions.
Ashton is everything I could want in a life partner. As a husband he is attentive and sweet, willing to work through the good and the bad. As a husband he is loving and involved, never missing a game or important event. And as a drummer, he knows he always has his family there for every performance.
His dirty blonde hair is scraggly from too many missed haircuts. He raises a hand to smooth it over, but it only makes the top frizz. Bleary amber eyes are rubbed before he reaches to the nightstand for his glasses. When Ash can clearly see he holds the toddler to him and shakes him lightly, scolding for the rude awakening with a signature laugh.
Great. Now, he’s done it. He returned the very thing that would bring you to him. It sounded ridiculous but he wanted to make things right with you without apologizing. He was too prideful, his jealous conceived the situation you were both in.
He looked at his mug, reminding him of one morning with you. You were tired, your lazy steps disrupting the quiet morning he was having. You yawned, arching your back a bit and covering your mouth. You took his cup, taking a sip of his coffee and make a gleeful sound.
“Mm.” He sipped from the cup when you handed it back to him, sharing an indirect kiss with you but he didn’t care.
“What do you want for breakfast, Bambi?”
He took off his beanie, ruffling his hair and tried to get you out of his head. A walk, won’t that clear his head? He went into his closet, seeing a rolled up poster sitting in the back.
His curiosity tempted him to open it to reveal the drawing he made of you on your first date. Everything was right on that day, your smiling face, your hair perfect framed your face, the sky painted beautifully behind you. He couldn’t keep his eyes off you that day, his feelings for you put in plain sight.
Walking. He should be thinking about going for a walk.
“Taehyung? What are you doing here?”
“I came to see you. I missed you.”
“I missed you too…”
“How’s your lone wolf?”
“He wanted to be alone again. He kicked me out yesterday.” How could you spill that to him so easily? He remembered when he heard you squealing his name in one of your drunken nights. The very thought that you were in his arms before, squealing that sidekick’s name like you had squealed his. He clenched his fist, unwillingly but listened to the rest of your conversation. You laughed, indicating a smile on your face and chatted with him like you two were old friends.
He put on a cap, covering his ears and slipped in his earbuds. You downloaded music on his phone for him, putting all your favourite artists who eventually became his favourite artists. He listened to the sweet voice of IU, her perfect pitch sonorous in his ears. He jogged along to the beat for her songs, getting a few blocks away from the building before getting back late.
“Shouldn’t you be sleeping?”
“It’s not that late.”
“Still, you usually fall asleep around 10.”
“I was worried about someone.”
“Just call Jimin or something. I’m sure you two share things with each other, that includes kisses as well?”
“I’m going inside.”
“Can’t you at least talk to me?”
“Why don’t you just talk to Jimin? Oh wait, you two will be too busy kissing each other to talk.”
“We’re talking, aren’t we?”
“This isn’t what I meant.”
“It’s better this way, isn’t it? You’re free to kiss whoever you want and not tell me until he comes knocking on my goddamn door, wanting to see you.”
“Is this what you wanted?”
“Is this what you wanted?”
“I was right all along. You really are a jerk.” He heard the faintest crack in your voice and you looked at him with glossy eyes. He pushed you too far again.
“I know where I stand with you, now.”
“Why should I listen to what you have to say when you can’t do the same for me? Do I have to carry the fact like a sin? What do I have to do, Jeongguk? Will I always be undeserving of your kindness? Why do you treat me like this?”
“No, Jeongguk. This is my fault. I’m the one with the guilty conscience. Don’t worry, your secret’s safe with me. The last thing I want to do is be more of a nuisance to your life.”
“You’re not a nuisance, Y/N. I’m just..”
“It’s okay. Jeongguk, it’s okay.” You touched his cheek before going back inside your apartment. He immediately knocked on your door, he couldn’t lose you like this. His heart yearned for you, every waking hour he could hear the sound of your name in his heartbeat.
“I’m an asshole. A jerk. A dick. Just please, just open the door.”
“I was angry. So angry that I said things that fucked us up.”
“But I need you like oxygen. Last night felt like I was suffocating. Your honey scent calms me to sleep, your hands on my chest relaxes my muscles. I miss stroking the delicate strands of your hair. When you would stir in your sleep and cuddle closer to me, grabbing fistfuls of my shirt.”
“Goddammit. Y/N, come back to me.” He sobbed your name into his hands, hoping that you were listening and would open the door. Even if you were threatening to call the police or tell him to go inside his apartment, he would be okay. Just as long as you hadn’t shut the door on the two of you.
But you were already gone. So far before he could pull you back.
“Why are you so shy, baby?”
“What if I do this?”
He stopped listening, stuffing earbuds in his ears and went to work on new pieces. This was how he paid his rent, selling his artwork under an alias and his work usually sold well. The pieces matched his mood, dark reds, deep blues and pure black.
He picked up his phone, calling his hyung to pick up his pieces and selling them for him.
“Hey, where’s your little kitten? Did she stray away from her master?”
“Your cat jokes are old, hyung. Just like you.”
“Look, just because she’s not with you doesn’t mean you can take it out on me.”
“She’s with someone else that she kissed once. They probably kissed more now. I don’t care.”
“Sure you don’t. You have jealous labelled on your forehead.”
“I’m not jealous.” Was he seriously that prideful that he was going to lie through his teeth to feel like he doesn’t feel like an incomplete painting without you? He felt like the days were as enjoyable as watching grass grow. He was angry when Jimin came over, a stupid smile on his face while he held you close in front of him.
o snap did I miss this being answered earlier. Soft muscle boys are my JAM. everyone always tells me the guys I like are jerks except touchier boy and I'm just like >:3c both guys are trying out for the jazz choir and I think we're all tenors. lets get some musical GAYS up in here. I know one is bi and my friend is like "I'll put in a good word for you" lmao. I'm so hype for next year's musical and the jazz choir if I get in. There'll be no junior boys so I might get a bigger role! :0
Soft!! Muscle!! Musical!! Gay!! Boys!! are honestly Peak boyfriend material
Request: “4, 13, and 35 from the prompt list with Warren please. Also, if it’s not to much to ask, can it be long? Thank you, if not, it’s totally okay!!”
Warnings: Fighting, some blood
A/N: I hope this is long enough! I know I said I would post this a few days ago, and I feel horrible for not. My mom decided to go on a cleaning spree, then my iPad decided to act up and crash. But here it is!!! Also, part two for Of Lighters and Pianos will be up tomorrow!
“This should be a basic mission,” Professor Xavier said, watching the X-Men suit up. “In and out, we don’t want any trouble.” He looked pointedly at Warren, who shrugged, turning away to fit his uniform over his wings. You sighed, buttoning the sleeves of your suit. Warren was known for disobeying orders, even from the Professor himself. He was slowly getting better, especially ever since you had become close friends with him, but there was still the odd incident.
Everyone piled onto the airplane, Hank going up front to fly it. You sat down, buckling the straps securely. Warren preferred to stand next to you, his wings free of an restraints. Jean gave you an encouraging nod, you returning the gesture gratefully. Though this wasn’t your first missions you were still rather unexperienced. Your powers of elemental control had a way of getting away from you.
You winced as the plane took off, your stomach jumping around. It was supposed to be a simple mission; investigate the whereabouts of a strong mutant who could control energy. But you had a feeling that it was going to get out of control fast, especially with a group of young, relatively inexperienced mutants.
The plane ride was tense beside the odd comment from Peter, or a small argument between Scott and Jean. Kurt held his rosary in his hand, silently ticking off the beads as he prayed. Warren shifted beside you uneasily, his wings cramped in the small space. Your knee bounced up and down anxiously as the minutes flew by until the plane finally landed, Hank giving all of you one last pep talk.
“This mutant has been known to be hostile, so if he doesn’t want to talk to us, back off and let me handle it,” Hank said, opening the plane’s door. “We don’t want to start any unnecessary fights.”
Everyone nodded, Warren falling into place beside you as you walked off the plane, everyone else going in front. You shivered when you walked into freezing air, your feet sinking into tall grass. The plane was in the middle of nowhere, a small barn to your left. You were standing in a field of tall grass, a low mist hanging over everything. Hank looked back at the group, making sure everyone was there before heading off to the barn.
Your breath clouded in front of you as you breathed, the only sound the crunching of the dry grass under feet. As you neared the barn, your felt the hairs on the back of your neck prickle, an uneasy feeling making your stomach turn over. Something was off.
You reached over to get Warren's attention, when suddenly the barn exploded, sending wood several feet into the air. Everyone froze, preparing themselves for a fight. You frowned when you heard what you thought was faint screaming, coming from the exploded barn. A dark group of people were running over the grass, coming right for you and your friends.
“Looks like he has some friends,” Peter said, snapping his goggles on.
Everyone responded at once, your training coming back to you as the enemy mutants converged on you. You gathered the water in the mist all around you, freezing it into chunks of ice to hurl at the enemy. Warren flew out in the air, using his wings to knock over a couple of the enemy mutants. Kurt teleported all around, using his tail to sling mutants to the ground or teleport them into the sky. Flashes of red from Scott lit up the mist. You put a hand to the ground, tearing it up and exploding the dirt up to cover the enemy, burying them quicker than they could react.
You winced when you felt something scratch your arm, turning to see a mutant with knives lashing out at you. You closed your eyes, concentrating on the earth inside the metal of the knives. It was a trick Professor Xavier had been trying to teach you, even Erik Lehnsherr helping when he visited the mansion. But you’d never been able to pull it off.
You grinned when you held your hand out, the knives flying into your palm. The mutant stared at you with surprise, falling to the ground as they tried to hold onto their knives. You threw them into the mutants chest before he could get up, successfully dropping him.
The battle seemed to go by in a flash, the mutants easy to take out. They obviously hand then formally trained, and fought sloppily. They were no match for you or your friends.
When the grass was littered with dark-clothes bodies, you finally relaxed, breathing heavy. Warren landed beside you, wincing.
“Are you injured?” You asked, checking him over, but seeing no obvious blood. Warren jerked away from you.
“I’m fine,” he said shortly, walking over to Hank. You sighed, following him. Warren could be so stubborn sometimes.
“He’s not here,” Hank told you as you neared him, Jean frowning. “So what happened to him?”
“I don’t know. But we should get back to the mansion. No sense in going after him now. We took care of his people,” Hank said.
“But-” Scott protested, Hank cutting him off.
“No. We’re not risking a wild trip to find him. Come on.” Hank clapped his blue hands, rolling over a collapsed mutant body as he began to walk back to the plane. You shared a quick look with Warren, narrowing his eyes at the look of pain in his face. He ignored you, pushing ahead to catch up with Hank. You shook your head, rolling your eyes. If Warren wanted to ignore you, whatever. The ride back to the mansion was as quiet as the trip to the barn, everyone looking over themes leaves for serious injuries, cleaning up with what medical supplied were on the plane. You didn’t have any injuries besides a few scratches and the cut on your arm. You took the bandages from Jean gratefully, cleaning your arm and wrapping it snugly. Once it was in place, you held out the leftover bandages for Warren.
“Do you need this?” You asked, raising an eyebrow.
“I’m fine, I told you,” Warren spat, turning away. You threw the bandages back to Jean, glaring at Warren.
“I know you’re hurt. Come on,” you said. Warren shook his head. “I’m not.”
You ignored him for the rest of the trip home, knowing he wasn’t going to relent anytime soon. When the plane landed, Warren immediately left, most likely heading for his room. Jean poked you in the shoulder.
“You should go after him. I know he’ll listen to you,” Jean suggested. You sighed. “I hope he will.”
You left the hanger after changing back into your clothes, making sure your bandage was still on securely. You headed down the hallway to Warren’s room, knocking on the door softly when you reached it. You heard just a grunt in response to your knock. You took it as a cue to enter.
You cracked his door open, feeling your heart drop when you saw him sitting on his bed, still in uniform, his back a bloody mess. His new metal wings were held out awkwardly.
“Warren…” You breathed, walking in. He looked down at the red-stained towel in his hands.
“Why didn’t you let us help you on the plane, you idiot?” You asked, sitting next to him gently on the bed.
“I didn’t want to bother anyone. I don’t deserve it after Apocalpyse,” he muttered.
“Yes, you do.” You said, taking the towel from him. “Are you scratched up? Are your wings bothering you?”
“It’s not my blood.” Warren gestured to his shoulders. “My wings are just really heavy. If I fly too much, they stretch out my muscles. I miss my old wings.”
“Take off your uniform,” you instructed, adjusting to sit behind him. Warren shifted away from you.
“No, I can take care of myself.“
”You heard me. Take. It. Off,“ you growled. Warren relented, pulling the uniform shirt carefully off, leaving his back bare. You felt your heart jump at the sight of him shirtless, immediately blushing. You ducked behind him, wiping off the rest of the blood. His back was red and strained. It looked painful.
“My back just hurts so bad,” Warren groaned.
“Do you… Well… I mean… I could give you a massage?” You asked carefully. When Warren didn’t protest, you began to rub his shoulders, his muscles tense under his hands. He couldn’t stop the moan that left his mouth, tightening his fists. You felt him slowly relax under your fingers, your heart pounding in your chest. When he thanked you softly under his breath, you leaned back, meeting his soft blue eyes. You blinked slowly, Warren’s mouth parted slightly.
“Kiss me?” He asked softly, looking straight into your eyes. You nodded, leaning in slowly. Your lips connected, softly at first then hard, Warren pulling you into his lap. Your hands rested on his face, your fingers tangling into his curly blond hair. His hands gripped your hips, pulling you closer. When he broke the kiss, a small grin appearing on his face, you spoke hesitantly.
“If this is what’s going to happen every time you’re going to get hurt, I wouldn’t mind.”
Warren laughed softly. “I don’t think I would either.”
hi caretaker, I offer the shame from a missing muscle in my stomach which causes me to throw up a lot of my food if I overeat. does she like be back in the way I think I like her? or is it not meant to be?
If its not too personal can I ask about the cancer treatments like what kind and when it start showing and how are you dealing with it?
Oh nah, not too personal at all. Take a seat, I’ll spill my guts.
Now in June of 2015, I was at my local xsport. I was resting between sets, and I happened to glance at my right knee. And fuck if there wasn’t a gumball sized bump directly above my left patella. I was understandably unnerved, but I finished my workout, headed home and opened up Google.
Tangent: if you can, always go to a doctor. The Internet is generally wrong and unhelpful.
Anyways, I google bump on the knee and I figure I have fluid collecting in my bursa. A little water on the knee is all. So I grab a knee wrap and continue on with my life.
And over the next couple of months, it grows.
From gumball to golf ball to racquetball.
And in September, I get cast in a musical. I was so excited. So fucking happy. But I’m gonna be wearing short shorts in the production. So I head to general practitioner, she pokes it, calls it bursitis and refers me to a local orthopedic doctor to drain. I make the appointment, get some x-rays, chat with the doc, and he pulls out the biggest fucking syringe and jams it into Frankie (I’ve named the bump) and drains…
No fluid comes out.
The doctor stops. Removes the needle. Carefully applies a band aid to the tiny spot of blood. He tells me that he’s going to schedule an MRI for me tomorrow. He says not to worry. Sometimes lumps happen. It’s not attached to anything, so removing it won’t cause much damage. But they’ll biopsy it afterwards. Just to be sure.
I get the MRI. I schedule the surgery. October 17th. I go under, I come out. I’m able to walk out of the hospital, albeit with crutches. And I heal. Pretty quickly actually. A week later, I’m practicing the riverdance number, and it’s great! The next day I head to my post op appointment.
That’s what she says to my question ‘what’s a sarcoma?’ It’s cancer. And I’m being referred to RUSH university medical center, an orthopedic doctor who specializes in soft tissue tumors. It’s cancer. I get scheduled for another surgery, October 22nd, less than two weeks from the first. It’s cancer. They need to excise more tissue, skin, muscle, tendon, bone, make sure they get EVERYTHING out. It’s cancer. They lay out my treatment plan. Surgery, recovery, tests, radiation, recovery, tests, chemo, recovery, tests, chemo, recovery, tests, chemo, recovery, tests, chemo, recovery, tests, recovery…
It’s cancer and I am so angry. This is a betrayal on a level I can barely comprehend or not even begin to explain.
I go in for the second surgery. It, at least, goes well. I have to drop out of the musical, because even lying perfectly still hurts so much. I’m pretty much confined to bed while my body heals. It hurts so much I can’t sleep. I think for that first week after the surgery I may have gotten 4 hours of sleep total. I couldn’t use the bathroom without help. My leg was wrapped in a bandage, wrapped in a Bledsoe brace. After 3 weeks,(maybe 4? 5? It’s all a blur really) I’m able to move enough to start physical therapy…
JESUS FUCKING CHRIST.
It hurt. And I was always exhausted. But it worked. I learned to bend my knee, learned how to walk again. I’m not so great with time, so bear with me. It was a little before Christmas 2015 that I finished therapy. And met with the radiation doctor.
Radiation itself? Not so bad. It itched like mad though. Daily doses to my knee. Slowly baking it, a terrible sunburn that never got the chance to heal. I’m pretty sure the skin on my right knee aged 20 years in the months I was undergoing radiation. The nurses and technicians at the radiation center are amazing and kind and made a scary thing bearable.
A couple of weeks of recovery, for the itching to subside. Then- Chemotherapy.
There’s a bunch of tests I need to undergo before chemo starts, just to get a baseline of the “healthy” me. So they can compare it during and afterwards. I have a port put in, because I’m terrified of messing up the picc line. Another surgery, simple, in and out. Two weeks later the actual chemo starts.
The nurse tells me stories as she accesses the pet with a wicked looking needle. “This goes almost directly into your heart” she says. “We get people who try to use them for recreational drugs”. I cannot fathom that.
Tangent: I am terrified of becoming addicted to any controlled substance- legal or illegal. After my surgeries, I maybe took 2 of the heavy duty pain meds they gave me.
Chemo was awful. In a way I can’t truly describe. You’re always tired. No matter how much you rest. Your mental battery never gets charged past 10%. You get mouth sores, and nausea, smells are overpowering and Jesus Christ you just want to poop! Seriously, there’s a whole regimen just to keep your bowels working correctly. Your bowels are super important to your health and we need to stop being ashamed of the fact that we piss and shit. Everyone does it.
But back to chemo. I had 4 rounds of it. 3 days of infusion, 18 days of recovery. Repeat. One of the medicines gave me constant hiccups, so I was prescribed a muscle relaxer. Every day begins and ends with a saline flush.
I can’t stand the smell of saline anymore. It and old fryer oil make me nauseated.
My hair falls out, of course. I try to shave it off my head, so I’m not surprised. But you forget things. Eyebrows. Leg hair. Stubble. There’s a big difference between having shaved hair and having no hair. I’m unearthly pale, because my body isn’t producing as much blood as before. I’m scared of getting sick because my immune system is basically non existent. I get nose bleeds because my platelets are minimal. And they take so long to stop. Tissue after tissue soaking with blood. Blood I don’t have to lose.
For 4 months, I get out of bed. Every day. I make my way through the day as best I can. I rest when I need to, and I need to, a lot. I eat what I can. I even manage to make it to the gym regularly. My blood counts are low, but surprisingly good for someone undergoing my treatment. I attribute it to my working out. My body has always worked efficiently, stupid goddamn slow metabolism, is actually working in my favor.
Tangent: that’s the funny thing about your metabolism. People with fast metabolisms run hot, burning through calories and fat like no one’s business. They’re the ones who can eat pizza everyday and still have a six pack. Is slow metabolism people? We run cold. Our bodies do everything with as little energy as possible and clings to fat like a lifeline. It’s why we struggle to lose weight. But it’s also why we survive the harsh winters and lean times.
After 4 months of being exhausted - I’m finally done. My last chemotherapy infusion was at the beginning of May. My recovery is going to keep going up now, and not immediately get knocked down by another round of chemo. I started to be myself again. To bake again. To sleep without nosebleeds. To actually rest.
Mine was not the worst case scenario. At the same time I was diagnosed, the mother of a friend of mine was diagnosed with luekemia. She underwent 24 hour infusions for 7 days straight. So no, my experience wasn’t the worst it could have been. But it was bad enough.
There was no reason for my tumor. No genetic defect( I got tested), nothing environmental, no fucking reason. I was told by multiple doctors “you got dealt a bad hand”. That’s all.
I am forever changed by this experience. Literally. I’m scarred in 2 places, and you can see where I’m missing muscle in my lower quadriceps. I will have to undergo regular tests and scans for the rest of my life.
I feel so weirdly shaped now I kinda miss being big but that’s mainly because I lost all my muscle mass when I took 3 months of soooo we’ll see how I feel when I put it back on (80kg in May / 76kg in September)