#(turns out being disabled means making a LOT of phone calls. which feels stupid)

[mars-ipan]

a friend called me :D yaay

[noblest-roman-of-them-all]

You're Still Mine

A ficlet inspired by this post from @sleepyvirgilprompts

Thomas sat upright on the couch and made himself take a deep breath. Ideally, he'd be able to get up and head to the grocery store in just a few minutes. It wasn't for anything needed urgently, but it had been the plan for about a week now to get a few food items for the next few weeks.

Now that the day was here though, he'd had a pit of unease growing in his stomach since he'd looked at the phone calendar and remember that was the plan for today. He'd gotten through breakfast and morning coffee, hoping the routine would help him feel a bit more motivated to follow through to no avail; writing a list to help him remember what he needed only seemed to worsen the dread that felt like it was crawling up his throat.

He glanced around the room, silently naming all the blue items he could see around him, hoping to get himself grounded, reminding himself of where he was and that he was safe.

He was feeling a bit more present, a bit more aware, but no less worried. He sighed and rubbed his chest. It was just the grocery store. He'd been there hundreds of times and nothing bad had ever happened. It was a perfectly safe and necessary trip to make.

Virgil appeared standing next the couch without warning causing Thomas to startle. Without a word, he waved Thomas's arms out of the way then sat on his lap.

"Uhh." Thomas leaned back against the couch as Virgil pressed himself into his chest. "Virge?"

"I'm fine," he mumbled in a near whisper and tried to snuggle closer.

Thomas nodded. "Okay. Alright. Hang on a sec." He held onto Virgil and turned his body, so they could stretch out on the length of the couch. "There we go."

Virgil shifted and squirmed a moment, trying to readjust himself to one of the optimal snuggling positions and nestled himself under Thomas's chin. Ideally, he would have gotten himself snuggled into the crook on Thomas's neck, which offered more security, but the couch had limited space for the both of them and he'd take what he could get.

A hand carded through his hair and lightly thumbed back and forth. "We don't have to go anywhere today. We can just...try again tomorrow."

"Sorry," he mumbled.

"It's okay, Virge," Thomas assured and kissed his head. "We're allowed to have bad days, you're allowed to have bad days. Everything is gonna be okay. I know you're just trying to look out for me and I appreciate that."

"Sure I'm not just keeping you from doing things again?"

"There's no shame in that, no moral failing; Generalized Anxiety Disorder is just that, it's a disorder. It's going to be debilitating some days and sure, it's something we work on, but...it's nothing to be ashamed of. We're allowed to have bad days, we're allowed to need to try again, it's okay to be disabled by our disability."

"Doesn't this just reinforce it or whatever?"

"It definitely can, yeah," Thomas agreed. "I feel a lot better at the idea of not needing to go out. But I think, for me, taking moments like this are important too, because it helps me unlearn a lot of shame I feel about feeling bad. I mean, think about it, a couple years ago I would have been frustrated and angry about this situation, I would have been calling myself stupid and being really mean to myself over it and...I'm not now. That's still a win, Virge. Even if we don't get out of the house at all today, the fact that we can have this conversation is a win. It means the world to me that you felt safe enough to be able to come to me and lay down with me like this. It shows how far we've both come. The goal isn't to get rid of you anymore, it's to work with you."

"Doesn't make me less of a disorder," Virgil mumbled.

"Maybe not, but you're still mine and I'm proud of how far we've come together. You are no less important to me as a piece of me because we fit some diagnostic criteria. Get some sleep, Virge," he encouraged. "I can tell you're tired and that's not helping how you're feeling right now. I'll stay right here the whole time."

Virgil nodded against Thomas's chest and let out a breath, trying to get himself to relax. "Thanks."

Thomas smiled and kissed his head. "You're welcome, bud. Thanks for looking out for me."

[gotnofucks]

Loving Dodger

Pairing: Chris Evans x Reader

Summary: Your journey of overcoming your fear of dogs to loving Dodger.

Words: 3.6k

Warning: mention of smut, language. Loads of fluff

A/N: I obviously don’t know Chris Evans, this is just a story.

MASTERLIST

+++++

Everyone was packing up and you rushed to get things in order. Your coffee had gone cold hours ago, and some poor intern would be responsible for throwing it away from wherever you had left it. Working in the film industry could be rough, and this was just backstage. You went through the set, automatically putting things in order as you moved and waved goodbye to others. Stuffing the last of your things in your overstuffed bag, you left to find a taxi. You were glad you weren’t working tomorrow morning, for you planned to have a long hot shower and an undisturbed sleep after a long time.

It was late at night and no taxis came your way. You hated taking an Uber this late, but desperate times call for desperate measures. You had only just taken out your phone when a car stopped in front of you. The driver’s side door opened, and a smiling Chris Evans greeted you.

“Can I give you a ride milady?” He asked and you snorted.

“You have the worst English accent. If you do that in London, they’ll smell the imposter in you” You said. “And it’s cool, I’m calling an uber.”

Chris frowned, leaning against the door with arms spread, his few sizes short, too tight shirt stretching over his broad frame. You felt like he needed to be arrested for the cardiac arrests he may cause.

“At this time, and even when a handsome, chivalrous man is offering a safe ride? You wound me sweetheart.” He grabbed his left boob, faking a pained expression and you sighed.

“God, you’re awful Chris. You sure it’s okay, a little out of your way isn’t it?”

“Y/n, there is not one place in the world I wouldn’t go with you”

You let your hair form a curtain to hide your blush, clearing your throat awkwardly and stepping in his car. His car smelled like his cologne, the heady scent sticking to your clammy skin. You went for the radio, soft country music running in the background.

“So, what are you doing this weekend?” Chris asked.

“I live a boring life man. I’m probably gonna clean my shit and stock my kitchen with as much instant food as I can.”

“Well, if you want, we can go somewhere. Make your boring weekend interesting.” Chris suggested, glancing at you as he maneuvered around the traffic. You fidgeted, playing with your fingers as you avoided his eyes. Saying no to him was getting difficult every time. You wished the radio was turned up louder so this conversation could be avoided.

“Oh, you know me. I like to lay in, be a lazy girl.” You tried to say nonchalantly, and Chris’s hands clenched around the wheel. You stared out the window, watching the city breeze past as things got awkward inside. You didn’t speak until he pulled up in front of your home, and you reached for the door before the car even stopped, a farewell on your tongue when you were pulled back by the seatbelt.

You blushed, hands frantically trying to undo the clasp and Chris’s hands covered yours, releasing you. You breathed deeply as he was leaning into you, face just a few inches away. You could count his lashes this close, see the exact shape of that mole on his cheek and feel his breath on you. You pulled back, quickly opening the door and almost stepping out before you were pulled back again, this time by Chris’s hand grabbing your upper arm. He tugged you back into your seat and came close enough to touch your nose with his.

“You know you can’t keep blowing me off,” He muttered. His hand tucked your hair behind your ear, blue eyes intently looking in yours. “I can’t take your no because I know you don’t mean it. Why do you keep running away?”

You gulped uneasily, wiggling out of his grip and getting out of the car. He was still looking at you, waiting for an answer. You shook your head slightly, feet kicking the ground at your feet.

“Thank you for the ride Chris. Drive safe.”

The door swung shut behind you and you walked away without another look, hiding away inside your home and trying to calm your beating heart.

+++++

You remembered disabling your alarm last night, so what the hell was that awful noise. Burrowing your head in your pillow, you tried to go back to sleep until the pounding continued. You growled, ready to rip out a new one to whoever was stupid enough to disturb your sleep. Uncaring of your attire, the t-shirt barely reaching midthigh over your panties you marched to your door, a scowl on your face.

You ripped open your door, already mid-triad before noticing who it was.

“Look, you need to shut the hell up. I work 14 hours a day, barely eat and sleep and you trying to break my door down is not –”

Chris smiled at you, amusement glittering in his eyes which raked over your bare legs. Your mouth parted for an embarrassingly long amount of time before you remembered you bed hair, morning breath (more like mourning breath) and the ratty t-shirt with holes. You pulled down on the hem, aware that you weren’t wearing a bra and it was too late to hide.

“What the hell are you doing here at this ungodly hour?” You asked Chris and he held up his hands to show he had food.

“Ungodly? Its 10 am miss, and your loyal subject is here to feed you.”

He moved past you into your house without invite, putting down the paper bag which had grease stains on it. Despite your shock and anger, your stomach grumbled, and you shut the door behind you. You rolled your eyes at his cheek, but that stuff looked too tempting to say no to.

“Since you’ve decided to intrude on my morning, make yourself useful and put on some coffee. I’m gonna change” You said and walked towards your bedroom.

“Like the way you look!” Chris shouted from behind you and you flipped him off without looking, ignoring his chuckle.

Why the hell was he here? After the way you guys had left things last night, you would have thought he would be too pissed to talk to you. You sighed as you pulled on a bra and something other than a 10-year-old t-shirt. You found him setting the table, laying down breakfast as the smell of coffee filled the kitchen. He smiled when he saw you had pulled your hair into a messy bun and winked at you.

“Here, larger portion for you.” He said handing you a plate of your favorite food. You took it, feeling like a guest in your own home as he served and poured you a mug of coffee, made perfectly as you like it. You both ate in silence for a while, the sound of cutlery the only thing to be heard. Finally, you pinned him with a stare, pushing away your plate.

“Chris, what are you doing here? Seriously.”

He chewed the morsel in his mouth before leaning his hands on the table and clasping his hands. It felt like an interview and you wished you had something better on, like an armor, to deal with whatever he was going to say.

“Well, if you want an honest answer here, I’d say I am here because I wanted to see you. I didn’t want you having some instant meal for the 10th time this week, so I got you some breakfast.”

You looked away from him, chewing on your lip. You wished he wouldn’t be so sweet. If he were a sleazy bastard, saying no to him would be so easy. Yet, here he was getting you food and being all domestic, making your life more difficult.

“Look, I appreciate this but I – Chris, we can’t happen. You need to stop this.”

It seemed like he was contemplating you, trying to guess what went on in that head of yours. He reached across to take your hand in his, lacing your fingers and stroked.

“I can’t stop. I tried, trust me I did. I can’t. I see you on the set and I want to whisk you away in the vanity away from prying eyes. I see you anywhere at all, with any other man I want to punch his face. Y/n don’t tell me I am imagining things. I’ve seen the way you look at me. You want me too, don’t you?”

The chair made a screeching noise as you snatched your hand away from his and got up, pacing the room. You were shaking your head, trying to think of a way to make him understand.

“Chris, we won’t work, you and me.”

“Why the fuck not? How can you even know if you won’t give us a chance? And I am the one who’s supposed to have fucking commitment issues.”

You wrung your hands, sitting in front of him again. He looked angry and frustrated, not knowing how much you wanted to say yes. But you knew in your heart of hearts that a very basic thing will never let you be.

“I won’t give it a chance because we’re different. We like different things, and well, sometimes they can be too much to compromise.”

“Like what, huh?”

You looked down in your lap, playing with the lint that stuck to your leggings. It was an embarrassing thing to admit, but you knew it would hold a lot of importance to this relationship. Taking a sharp breath, you told him the truth.

“I don’t like dogs. In fact, they terrify me.”

Chris lurched back as if it was the last thing he expected to come from you. He probably expected some tale of family drama or relationship trauma, but your reasons were simpler. You had cynophobia, the fear of dogs. You couldn’t be in the same room with them without getting shit scared. Chris blinked at you, like it was the dumbest thing you could have said.

“Excuse me? You refuse to go out with me because you don’t like dogs?”

You gave him a critical look, raising a brow.

“Have you seen your social media accounts? You love Dodger probably more than you love any human being. You’re a self-proclaimed ‘huge dog guy’. And me…I can’t be in the same room with one. We won’t work out Chris, and I would rather save myself the heartbreak.”

This was clearly not something Chris was prepared for. He looked baffled, not knowing what to say. You wished it were a small thing, but it wasn’t. Everyone who knew Chris could tell how much he loved dogs. His Instagram page was basically a Dodger fan page. He had the name tattooed on his body. You could never work out simply because Chris would always be choosing between you and his doggo, and you would be too busy being scared of him to enjoy your time with Chris.

He released a deep breath, straightening his shoulders.

“We’ll make it happen. A lot of people fear things, and they get over it. It can work out. When you meet Dodger, you’ll forget you’d ever been scared of a dog. He’s a good boy, trust me.”

“Chris” You said shaking your head, “You don’t understand. I like dogs but only from afar. They terrify the living daylights out of me. I just – why don’t you understand? This is already so embarrassing”

He got up and sat next to you, his hand on your shoulder. “Look, just give me one chance. I know we can be great, okay? One chance is all I am asking. If it gets too much, we end it. I promise, it will be like nothing ever happened.”

You didn’t want to believe him. You shouldn’t have, but he was the man you’d been crushing on for nearly a year now. He was smart and kind and funny, he worked for the good causes and god he was such a treat to look at. You should have said no, had your coffee and left it at that. But there was only so many times you can say no to Chris Evans, especially when he’s pursuing you like the proverbial hound of hell.

“One chance Chris.”

+++++

This was a bad idea and you were regretting it already. You were practically hiding behind Chris, bunching his shirt under both hands as your head peeked over his large body. You were not ready to meet Dodger, at least not without a bomb suit.

“Hey, relax, he’s a right love. I’ve been showing him your pictures on my phone and he loves you already.” Chris tried to placate you and you replied with a pathetic whimper.

The door had barely opened before the golden brown doggo ran towards you and you squeaked. He bounded on Chris and you, Chris laughing and rubbing him behind the ear while you backed away. Dodger kept trying to come towards you and Chris had to hold him back by the collar while offering you a hand.

“Come on Y/n, he doesn’t bite. He’s a cutie.” Chris called but you shook your head, your knees vibrating. You edged away, taking deep gulps of breath as fear overtook you. It was pathetic really how scared you were since Dodger wasn’t even a huge dog, but it still took every last bit of your willpower to not just run away.

“Chris I can’t. Please.” You begged and he must have heard the fear in your voice. He pulled Dodger inside the house, the barks getting fainter as they moved in and you stayed frozen in your track. He came out after a couple minutes and immediately took your shoulders, rubbing softly.

“Hey, hey look at me. He’s inside now, okay?”

You nodded and buried your head in his chest, feeling more embarrassed than ever. Chris hugged you, shushing you gently.

“I am so sorry Chris, I just can’t. I told you this won’t work” You said, and Chris pulled away to look in your eyes. His blue eyes were determined as they stared in yours and you blinked up at him with watery eyes.

“No, it’s my fault. I shouldn’t have sprung this up on you like this. We’ll start small, okay?” He urged and you bit your lip, uncertain. Chris rubbed his nose to yours, pressing a kiss on your lips and both your cheeks. “Please Y/n, just give me more time. We’ll work it out.”

You wanted it to work out too. The dates you had gone on had been nothing short of amazing. When you were with Chris you laughed like never before, the conversation so unrestrained. You didn’t worry about hiding your flaws, feeling so comfortable in his company. And then there was the sex. It was so good. In fact, it was spectacular.

“I don’t know how we’ll make it work.” You admitted softly and Chris smiled at you, cupping your face in his huge hands.

“We’ll do it together baby. Don’t give up on us just yet please.” You pressed your forehead to his and breathed in his scent, letting it wash over you. Nodding your affirmation, you let him lead you inside his house, Dodger locked inside the bedroom.

“I feel terrible for locking him in.” You said and you did. Just because dogs scare you doesn’t mean you hate them. You just feared going near them. You watched those cute puppy videos on YouTube to help relax yourself, only you didn’t want any dogs around you.

“Don’t worry about him. He’s with his stuffed lion.”

You cuddled on the couch, watching some 90s movie and you wished with everything that this would somehow work out.

+++++

It took you a while to decide if this was heaven or hell. You were awing and yelping simultaneously, and Chris laughed from behind you, his hands wrapped around your waist. Nuzzling his nose in your neck, he bit your ear softly uncaring of the people around you.

“Oh my god” You must have said this a dozen times already, but you were simply in awe. When Chris said you’ll start small you didn’t think he meant literally. In front of you were some of the cutest, softest, smallest puppies and you finally decided this was heaven.

“I figured we’ll begin from the beginning. Go up slowly, get you used to being around canines.” He bit you again as he said that and you giggled. Turning your head, you captured his lips in an elated kiss, touched that he was going to go through this with you.

“This is amazing.” You said and the corners of his eyes crinkled with his smile. He led you to the corner where a small black puppy with spots on his toes was wagging his tail at you. You awed, not afraid of him in the least.

“You wanna tell me about your phobia a little?” Chris asked as you cradled the pup in the crook of your elbow, the little darling loving your finger running over his small belly.

“It’s kinda silly but when I was four, I was chased by my neighbor’s dog. I ran like hell and it almost bit me before they got it back in control. I’ve feared them ever since.”

Chris hummed, kissing the pup in his own hands and giving you a soft smile.

“This helps?”

“This helps.” You agreed.

Chris and you must have petted a dozen puppies, holding them in your hands, cooing to them and kissing their small noses. You clicked pictures and fed them from your hands, a cacophony of kissy noises and good boys flowing from you both.

“I’m gonna have to hide these pics or Dodger is gonna get jealous.” Chris said and you snorted, snuggling into his side. It was a beautiful day at the shelter, and you were surprised at how fun it was. Tired as you were, you were also acutely aware of Chris’s hand creeping up your thigh in the car. You looked out the window, suppressing your smile.

“So, we made some progress today” He said, and you hummed. “And you had a lot of fun” You hummed again.

Chris pulled you to him roughly by your collar, his tongue poking out to just lick at your bottom lip.

“I think I deserve a reward…” He trailed off and you finally let a smile spread on your lips.

“I think you do Mr. Evans” You agreed and pressed your lips over his, hoping the driver will overlook the noises in the back.

+++++

Baby steps worked, and over the course of the next few weeks you got more comfortable around dogs. You spent a lot of time with pups of all breeds, slowly moving on to the bigger dogs. It wasn’t all easy, few visits ended in tears and hopelessness, but Chris stayed by your side. He let you set the pace, accompanying you every time and praising you for every obstacle you crossed. He didn’t mind spending most of the time at your place and waved off your apologies about Dodger.

“We’re doing this for him too, so he can get to know you better. It’s okay with me.” He assured you after a passionate round of love making. You traced Dodger’s name on his bare chest, finger roving over the other scattered tattoos. He loved it when you traced them with your tongue and bit his nipples.

“I think I’d like to try another visit with him.” You finally admitted, peeking up at him from under your lashes. Chris grinned, pulling you closer.

“Are you sure? I don’t mind waiting.”

“I think I’m ready Chris. I want to meet the good boy who’s sharing your heart with me.”

Rolling over you, Chris pressed kisses over your collar bones and chest, hands squeezing your curves. Your lips mashed together in a sloppy kiss and you felt him smile against you.

“There is no one else I’d rather give my heart to other than you and him.”

+++++

This time when the door opened you were not hiding behind Chris. You held a soft chew toy in your hand, a gift and an apology. Dodger ran towards Chris, tail wagging aggressively as he licked and nipped at every exposed bit of skin he could find. Chris giggled as he rubbed and scratched his baby, and you were very proud of not making any distressed sound or running away. When Dodger finally turned to you, you tentatively came towards him with the toy.

“Hello Dodger, you sweet sweet boy.” You greeted. You’d been with dogs almost as big as him now and felt little apprehension touching his soft coat. He whined under your touch, leaning into you and rubbing against your legs. Chris joined you, his hand finding yours in Dodger’s fur.

“Look buddy, mummy is ready to meet you. You like her, eh?”

Dodger barked in agreement, rolling over for belly rubs while you stared at Chris coyly.

“Mummy eh?” You teased and Chris blushed, kissing you softly.

“Well, only if you’ll have Dodger’s dad.” He said.

You playfully sat down on the floor, letting the cutie climb on your lap and scratching behind his ears that made him purr in satisfaction.

“What do you say Dodge, should I take him?” You asked and he wagged his tail, rolling around in your lap. You gazed lovingly at Chris, softly touching his bearded face.

“Well, only because Dodger says so.”

+++++

Taglist:

@shooting-star-love @what-is-your-wish @stanmysoul @littlegasps @bluemusickid @sweeterthanthis @scentedsongrebel

[thr-333]

Mismatch- Part 23

Bio dad Bruce Wayne month 2020

.............. (:

First< Previous > Next

-------------------------

“How long were we gone?” Marion asks her, as they run through the halls back to class.

“Ahhhh,” The Akuma hadn’t been that hard but it still took time, “forty-three minutes,”

“It’s not that bad,” Marion shrugs, slipping as they turn the corner.

“Not that good either,”

“Now what would make you say that?”

“Marinette! Marion!” Lila’s shrinking greets them the second they open the classroom door, “Why would you leave me to do all the work?”

“Oh I see,” Marion whispers to her, she gives an ‘I told you so’ look.

“They had already completed more work in the three minutes they were here than you have in the past forty,” Damian sneers, Marinette watches with amusement as Lila visibly forces down the snarl.

“It’s meant to be a group project,” Lila’s lip quivers as they reluctantly take a seat at the table.

“Is that why you’ve spent the whole time talking to others and stealing their ideas?” Damian raises a brow, and hot damn if only she could film this.

“I wasn't stealing them, they wanted to help me out since my group abandoned me” Lila turns ‘innocent’ eyes to the tables near them, “Right guys?”

“I never said you could use our ideas,” One of the Gotham students looks upset as she talks.

“Plus you didn’t actually talk about the project only yourself,”  The other says, focusing on the worksheet in front of them.

“You could have at least tried to join another group,” Damian points out, gaming back Lila’s attention as she tries to defend herself, something about not wanting to upset the twins.

“Do you guys not like Lila?” Mylene, who was put with the students asks.

“Not really,” The second one shrugs, looking up from his worksheet for Mylene, “all she does is talk about herself and try to guilt you into feeling sorry for her,”

“Huh, I guess” Mylene shrugs, Marinette doubted they could break her out of Lila’s web, “Well Lila has a lot of achievement even with her disabilities,”

“Yeah, I don’t know,” Mylene looks shocked at the first Gotham students' tone.

“Mm, you get kind of good at reading people growing up in Gotham,” The other says, leaning back in his seat, “I would avoid her when walking down the street,”

Marinette looks away from their conversation, not wanting to see that look on Mylene’s face any longer. Instead, she focuses back on Damian and Lila still locked in a heated argument.

“Someone looks like their about to murder Lila,”  

“Oh sorry, I’ll reel it in,” Marion says deadpan, not looking up from his paper.

“Not you, him,” Marinette nudges him, making him look towards the pair.

“Oh,” Marinette can only sigh as a grin splits his face, “You want me to handle it?”

“Are you going to diffuse the situation or focus the blood lust on yourself?” Marinette asks instead.

“Hahaha, don’t be ridiculous,” Marion’s grin widens as he bounces over to the pair, leaning against Damian’s head, “Hey Dami,”

“Cheng-Dupain,” Damian tries to glare at him, giving Lila the chance to escape, naturally going crying to Rose and Alya, “Why do you insist on clinging to me?”

“Ummm, cause it annoys you why else?” Marion leans over to get in his face, not shrinking away from the scowl.

“Dupain-Cheng can you explain his behavior?” Damian turns to her, even under the weight of Marion.

“No, but he backs off if you hit him hard enough,” Marinette slides into the chair across from him, curiously his group members nowhere to be seen.

“Nette how could you!” Marion places a hand on his heart, “I am insulted you would think so little of my dedication,”

“So I cannot remove him by force?” Damian asks despondently.

“No, he’s like a leech-”

“Hey!”

“-He’ll fall off when he wants to,” Marinette shrugs, fiddling with her backpack.

“Everyone is so mean to me Dami!” Marion collapses against him, although he doesn't sag under the weight, “Don’t you feel sorry for me?”

“I do not,” Damian tuts, focusing on his book, “Do not call me Dami,”

“I’ll stop calling you Dami when you call me what I want,”

“And what would that be?” Damian asks with disinterest.

“Big brother,” Marinette gives him a warning look, just getting a wink in return.

“Absolutely not,” Damian snaps, trying again to push him off, not that Marion will budge, “We aren't even related, Dupain-Cheng tell him-”

“Big sister, call me big sister,” The look of utter betrayal on his face was completely worth it.

“I thought you had more sense than to feed into this rumor,”

Won't be a rumor for long

“Think of it as reverse psychology then,” Marinette shrugs instead, that news would come later today.

“That is unlikely to work,”

“What if we called you little brother then?” Marion leans back over into his line of sight.

“ No ,”

“No fun,” Marion shakes his head.

“No fun at all,” Marinette agrees.

“Cheng-Dupain you are an idiot,”

“Is that so?” Marion grins, getting up but not before ruffling Damian’s hair.

They watch as he practically skips to the front of the room handing a stack of papers over to the teacher with a flourish. They read over it with a frown that slowly melts into approval. Even if they can’t hear they can tell Marion is being congratulated, confirmed by him walking back seconds later with a smug grin. While the rest of the class rushes to finish off the project.

“What now little brother?”

“Impressive,” Damian's tone doesn't betray any sense of being impressed, “Of course I finished it in the first fifteen minutes of class,”

“Dami, I haven't even been here for fifteen minutes!” Marion cries out, taking a seat at the table instead.

“Tt” Damian reluctantly admits, “... that is true,”

“Are you conceding defeat?”

“ No ,”

“I think that's a yes,” Marion nods wisely under Damian’s glare, pointing to Marinette, “Nette write this down,”

“I hereby officially declare Marion the winner of the first challenge issued,” Marinette recites, doing her best loopy handwriting in her sketchbook, “As such he has the ability to bring this up every time Damian calls him an idiot, this will be valid for three years,”

“I never issued a challenge,” Damian’s face twists up, still looking betrayed that Marinette would go along with Marion’s game, but it looked like Damian needed some fun in his life anyway.

“Is that really how you want to spend your objection?” She asks instead, rolling up the paper and handing it to Marion.

“... Three years is excessive,” Damian corrects, just as the bell rings.

“Ops too late, bells going!” Marion jumps up before he can protest further, “Alright let’s go!”

With that Marion starts pushing Damian out of the classroom. They get halfway out of the building before Damian breaks off to grab something before leaving. The twins loiter around in the empty halls while Damian takes his sweet time.

“Uh-oh, Satan's envy approaching,” Marinette doesn't need to look down the hall to know Lila is headed their way.

“Hi Lila, can we help you?” She asks politely, but not polite enough to look at her as she does.

“Just because these stupid Gotham kids don’t believe me don’t think anything has changed,” Lila finally release all the spite that had built up over class into her tone. At this point, Marinette was willing to bet they were a form of stress relief for her.

“Are they stupid?” Marion considers, leaning against the wall, “They don’t believe you, I would guess that's the bare minimum of intelligence,”

“Everything will go back to normal at the end of the week!” Lila shrieks, “Well leave Gotham, I’ll make up some lie about you and everyone will hate you again!”

“Lila, what makes you think we care anymore?” Marion drawls, honestly they had much bigger things to worry about today than Lila, “It’s been so long I have no desire to be their friend again,”

“Then I’ll have to step it up!” Lila smiles nastily, Marinette catches Damian at the end of the hall phone out and has to keep the smile off her face, “Everyone will hate you so much they’ll really bully you and make your lives miserable! Do all the things I say you do to me!”

“Like push you down the stairs?” Marinette raises a brow, subtly nudging Marion to look at Damian.

“Yes,” Lila crosses her arms, looking smug.

“And destroy your property?” Marion catches on, even braving a little wave to the camera.

“Yes,” Lila scowls like they’re stupid for not understanding.

“Spread nasty rumors about you?”

“Yes!” She snaps at Marinette.

“Every time you’ve ever lied that we were mean to you?”

“Yes!”

“Great,” Marinette claps her hands, looking over to Damian. “You got all that?”

“I did indeed,” Lila pales as he comes up behind her, “I suggest you keep to yourself and not influence my decision on what to do with this footage more so,”

“I- you can’t- wait!”

“Get out of my sight,” Damian scowls, it being a lot more effective on her than Marion as Lila scuttles away.

“Dami have I told you that I love you?” Marion grins, giving Damian a side hug.

“Don’t be melodramatic,” Damian tries to push him off but Marion just latches on tighter.

“I loooovvvvveeeeee you soooooooo much,”

“That's it I’m no longer sending this footage to your class,”

“Dami nooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo,”

Marion somehow, somehow manages to keep it up until they reach the car. Alfred promptly forces Marion to drink a glass of water much to Damian's relief. Since Marion had ruined his voice with his little stunt there wasn't anyone to fill the silence. Marinette kept trying to distract herself, looking out the window and fidgeting with her clothes, they were in for quite the show, which would be great if they weren’t the main attraction.

Marinette can see Damian keep glancing over at her. She can see how he goes to say something several times before stopping himself. It breaks her heart to see him become more downcast the longer they ignore him. She looks to Marion for support, but he just taps his fingers to an erratic beat. He meets her eye just grimacing, she nods relieving the pressure from him. The atmosphere in the car grows stifling on the too-long journey to Wayne Manor. Marion practically leaps out of the car before the car even rolls to a stop.

Marinette follows Damian out of the car, watching as he walks more stiffly to the manor. She follows without the easy silence they usually have. They are guided to a room where everyone was waiting, technically family or not Bruce had given them a brief of every last one, and had likely done the same for them.

“What's going on?” Is Jason's immediate question, Selina slips into the room behind them.

“Is this about the rumor?” Tim asks, papers in one hand coffee in the other.

“Yes!” Marion points at him, nervous energy coming through his erratic movements, “And no,”

“It's really less of a rumor and more a very lucky guess,” Or unlucky depending on how this goes , Marinette adds privately.

“…. What?” Dick asks confused, everyone else either in thought or with dawning realization/horror.

Bruce slides a sheet of paper forward, on it a genetics test she isn't going to ask how he got a hold of.

“WHAT!” is chorused across the room, making Marinette flinch at the noise.

“Welcome to the family,” Dick pulls the two into a group hug, and is this what Damian feels like when Marion hangs off of him? The big brother hug?

“Wait... but who…” Tim trails off, looking far too tired for this conversation.

“Selina,” Bruce looks uncomfortable with all eyes snapping to them.

“Of course,” Jason mutters with a surprising amount of venom, knuckles white.

“This is unacceptable!” Is Damian’s outcry hands slamming onto the DNA test, she can feel Marion flinch beside her.

“How long have you known?” Dick turns hurt puppy dog eyes to Bruce, the hurt behind it making even Marinette’s stomach churn.

“What about-” Jason cuts himself off, glancing at the twins mysteriously.

“Excuse me” The twins jump at Alfred’s voice talking quietly to them, they get released by Dick who goes to Damian, getting brushed off, “But it may be best to give them all some time to process,”

They nod, slipping out of the room with the butler, leaving behind a mess of yelling as the door closes. They stand outside in silence for a moment before Marion breaches it.

“Well… that went well,”

“Ah Patrol the perfect place to ignore feelings and take them out on other people,” Marion stretches, looking over Gotham city. Marinette shakes her head at his antics, focusing instead on the fight in the alley below.

“Seems like we’re not the only ones,” She watches as Robin tears through the goons one by one, alone with violence she hasn't seen from him yet. Marion looks down as well, being the first willing to get in between the angry Robin and his angst.

“Hey there little bird,” Songbird drops down into the alley, Robin doesn't even spare the two a glance, “Let's try not to give the doctors a harder time than usual kay? I mean it’s Monday no one wants to deal with that,”

“It’s Tuesday,” Robin smashes another face in as if the date was the main complaint about what he was doing.

“Right, regardless, what's up?” Sparrow moves forward to take down the last thug in a much… nicer way.

“Nothing,” They both match him with equal stares of disbelief until he caves, “... my position is being challenged,”

“For Robin?” Songbird asks, something in Robin’s posture gives him away, “I know we joked about the name but we weren’t-”

“Not you,” He snaps, grappling hook taking him out the alley.

“Civilian life then?” Sparrow guesses, following him onto the rooftops, “We know a thing or two about that,”

Robin ignores them speeding up to run across Gotham. They let him for a while going to a spot that had a great view of the city. Marionette nods at Songbird when Robin lands on a gargoyle.

“I don’t know who they are, so I can’t speak for them,” Songbird lands in front, cutting off the best exit for Robin to jump to the next building, ignoring his look of irritation, “But I know you’re amazing and skilled enough not to be replaced,”

“Doesn't matter, that's just the way things go,” Sparrow lands behind them, crossing her arms as Robin seems to debate with himself, “Besides... it’s not just regarding skill,”

“Did you talk to them about it?” She asks, he pivots around to look at her, or rather glare, “Do you even know they want to take your place?”

“... No,”

“Alright then, just consider that maybe they’re not trying to hurt you,” Songbird rests a hand on his shoulder, which he surprisingly allows. He guides Robin to sit down as they do, looking over the city from atop the gargoyle.

“... This is how all the other Robins have been replaced,” He says after a time.

“And what? After that they all went ‘oh well guess it’s time to live a quiet life’,” Songbird’s comment lessens Robins frown, it might even be able to be classified as a smile for him.

“No, of course not,”

“Then there's no need to worry,” Songbird shrugs, kicking his legs no fear for the street far below him. “If you do get replaced, and I don’t think you will,” Sparrow adds quickly, “I have no doubt you will become something even greater,”

“... I’m meant to become Batman, it’s my birthright, and now it’s being challenged,” Robin reveals likely fatal information in the wrong hands, she prided herself in the trust that he thought they were the right hands.

“Again, talk to them about it,” Marinette suggests, rubbing a small circle into his shoulder.

“... They don’t even know?” To that Songbird bursts with laughter, offense crossing Robin's face.

“They don’t know then why are you panicking?” He laughs, lessening the tension in the air, “You’re worried they’re going to claim a title they don’t even know about,”

“....” Robin goes silent after that and they let him mull it over for some time. Marinette can tell Marion is judging when it’s best to pull him out of his spiraling thoughts.

“Heard you beat Sparrow on the swings,” He says randomly, looking out over the city, “Bet I could top you,”

“Yeah right,” Robin scoffs, relaxing a bit as he is broken from his thoughts.

“Well you see I have a secret,” Songbird conspires in a soft tone, despite literally no one being around to hear.

“And what would that be?” Robin sounds condescending, but she picks up the hint of keenness underneath it all.

“Singing,” His grin gives Robin pause.

“First of all that's a horrible strategy, putting energy towards singing instead of swinging,” Robin decides after a minute, “Second you’re horrible at secrets,”

I’ll have you know I’m an excellent secret keeper,” Songbird stands, ruffling Robins hair despite the look of indignation he gives,  “So rest assured this conversation stays between us,”

“... All of Gotham is going to know by the end of the night aren't they?” Robin gives Sparrow a flat look, she smiles.

“Yep,”

“HEy!”

--------------

Taglist:

@technicallyburninggarden @fusser90  @misslenamooney @superbwhispersconnoisseur @biodad-bruce-month @nalu-ismyjam @the-one-woman-army @rosesandsailboats @blackmagicforever @zeneralla @ivymala07 @tired-butterfly @Ranger-gothamite @A-star-with-a-human-name @enchanted-nerd @trippingovermyfeet

[pocminiseries]

At Midnight|4

❤︎

"You've heard of the name Rodrigo before, yes?"

Nodding his head, Leo casually leaned back against the counter with his arms folded. "Yes,"

"Then I imagine you know how dangerous he is,"

"Depends on who you ask," Leo replies. Even before he stepped foot into Seattle, he has heard Rodrigo's name a few times through word of mouth. He was a known figure because of his ties with the Mexican Cartel.

Before Leo had decided to part ways with the life he once lived, Rodrigo along with his poor excuse of a son was amongst the list of names his counterparts wanted to be eliminated. In a way, Leo felt like all of this was an interesting play of events.

The one woman who managed to pique his interest happened to be engaged to the very son of someone he was ordered to kill.

Sitting on one of the bar stools, Imani found herself eyeing Leo's muscled back and the large colorful designed tattoo that graced the entirety of it, including parts of his arms. Its Asian themed influence sparked curiosity inside of her as her fingers itched to touch it but she was quick to remind herself that wouldn't be wise to act upon her urges.

"My father used to work for him back in the day as a dealer in the streets and he made a lot of money from it which is how he met my mother. His illegal activities provided them with a lavish lifestyle and it became addicting to the point that they went into debt with Rodrigo..." Imani explains, turning her glass filled with water in her hands.

"And when people are in debt with someone like him, it usually means death because he knew no matter how much people pleaded, they'd never be able to repay him what is owed...and that's where I come into all of this."

Licking her lips, Imani let out a deep breath as she shook her head. "Rodrigo told them that he'd let them live under one condition...that they would promise me to be his son's future wife. I was only three when they agreed to it. I've never had a say so in anything I've done Leo. I was raised to be the perfect spouse because of my parent's foolish ways and now I'm stuck,"

"So you've tried to run before?" He guessed out loud, glancing at Imani over his shoulder.

"Of course. I did when I was twenty-one when I had found out the truth about what they had done. I was so close but Jayden had found me hiding out at my aunts and Rodrigo decided to use them as an example...I still remember the look on my mothers face when she saw her sisters limbs hung throughout the tree in our front yard along with her husband and their children,"

Squeezing her eyes shut, Imai tried to push the unwanted memory away but no matter how much she tried, the image would always be at the back of her mind. "Rodrigo had promised if I ran again, he'd do worse to not only my parents but my siblings and their families too - but I shouldn't care. My own flesh and blood gave me up as a pawn and my brother and sister left me out to dry...and I'm the one who has to suffer just so they'll be safe..."

Just thinking about it made her angry. "It's the guilt that's making you stay isn't it?" It was easy for Leo to see what was holding her back because he understood. "They don't deserve your compassion Imani...no matter which way you look at it,"

"Maybe they don't but I have a three old niece now and knowing what Rodrigo is capable of scares me," Plus running would also have her life on the line. Seattle wasn't the only city the Torres controlled.

Turning around to face her, Leo looked her over, taking in her stressed state. The slight bags under her eyes, her bruised cheek, her damp hair hanging over her shoulders, and mix-matched attire showed him just how tired she must feel. It was a problem he wanted to fix.

"Is that why you were hoping your heart would give out before your wedding day?" Leo questions, immediately catching Imai's attention. "You haven't been taking your medicine as you should, hoping that it would speed up the process...am I right?"

Imani's eyes snapped towards Leo in surprise, a bit taking back at his words. "It's sad isn't it? To choose the easy way out but...I just want peace and I can never have that if I stay here," She confesses, sounding defeated.

"Is that what you want, a way out?"

"There isn't any so it doesn't matter," If she ran, her loved ones would surely die and the guilt from that alone would bring her to an early grave before her heart could, and if she stayed, she'd be miserable being married to someone as toxic as Jayden knowing she wouldn't last long. Either way, she looked at it, it was a lose, lose situation.

However, that couldn't be the furthest from the truth and Leo knew this.

"I can help but only if you allow me to," Leo softly offers, silently wishing she'd say yes. The moment she showed up on his doorstep was the moment Imani unknowingly became his top priority.

Whatever she needed...whatever she asked he would oblige.

Traveling around the world because of his old profession, Leo has seen his fair share of women. All shapes, sizes and ethnicities. The type of women that men would kill over just to call them their own. However, that night at the gala when his eyes landed on Imani made him believe that maybe there was a God because only he had the ability to create the type of beauty in front of him.

He was hers and she didn't even know it.

"No Leo. Me coming here is already bad enough. I can't put you in harm's way because of my reckless decisions. You even letting me come here is enough. I really appreciate it," Imani thanks him, grabbing ahold of his hand and giving it a gentle squeeze. She watched as he looked at their hands before meeting her gaze, sending a shiver up her spine.

The way this man looks at her sets her body on fire. A sense of warmness flows from the top of her head to the bottom of her feet. It was a feeling she's never experienced before.

Until him.

"No harm will ever come to you while you're with me...trust me," While Imani wasn't aware of who Leo is or what he was capable of, she had no clue how true his words were.

Imani softly smiled as she shook her head. "You don't understand Leo..." Imani mumbles, letting her words trail off while unknowingly squeezing his hand tighter. "When he finds me, I-..."

Leo carefully watched Imani visibly shake as thoughts of what Jayden would do once he found her ran rapt through her mind. Especially if he were to find her alone with another man. "I shouldn't have come here. It was stupid. Fuck was I thinking?!" She said to herself standing up, knowing she had to leave before her psychotic ass fiance came searching for her.

Leo was quick to pull her to a stop, gripping her hand to get her attention. "Don't be foolish Imani. You going back to him tonight will only make do much worse. You know this. Stay here tonight and you can leave in the morning,"

"Bu-"

"You'll be safe with me, I promise," Leo reassures her. Still seeing hesitancy in her eyes, he pulled her closer making sure to leave no room between them. Dropping her hand, he cupped her face, forcing her to look at him.

His brown eyes wandered over her face, admiring features he considerate nothing short of perfect. "I got you...alright?"

Imani could only nod as her arms found comfort around his toned waist. This moment reminded her so much of their encounter at the restaurant. The way he held her as she cried. How good it felt when he held her close making her feel safe even for a few seconds.

This man had the ability to easily soothe her soul that has been aching for so long that she knew this feeling was going to become addicting.

Needing to feel more of him, Imani's hands ran up his back and pulled him closer as she laid her head against his chest, breathing in his scent. She felt him place a kiss against her forehead before he held her tightly like he knew she needed, what she deserved.

Imani knew that tomorrow was going to be hell once she came face to face with Jayden. Before she had arrived at Leo's she had disabled her location on her phone but she just couldn't shake the feeling that he'd still find her. He always did.

But for now, she didn't want to think about it. All she wanted was to enjoy being held by a man she knew nothing about but who made her feel so much.

"Come on," Leo says after a few minutes, stepping back and grabbing ahold of her hand to lead Imani upstairs. Turning off the lights behind them, Leo walked up the steps with Imani following close behind. She was quiet and he knew her mind was probably thinking of every type of scenario possible but he was serious when he said that she'd be safe with him.

"I have two guest rooms," He states once they reach the top. "Choose whichever one you'd like,"

Imani eyed the two doors before shifting her gaze towards his opened bedroom door. She knew exactly where she wanted to lay her head tonight. "Your room," She answers hoping he wouldn't question her decision and thankfully he didn't.

As soon as Leo closed his bedroom door, Imani pulled off her sweats and slid underneath his cool sheets with Leo sliding in right behind her. Wrapping his arm around her waist, Leo pulled Imani close instantly feeling her relax against him as he placed a small kiss on her ear before whispering words that would come save her in her most desperate times.

"When you need me, come find me,"

[sleepless-in-starbucks]

The Stuff of Dreams

Ao3

Summary: Of all the ways to spend the morning of his day off, Remy really hadn’t thought he’d be dying on his kitchen table. But sometimes that’s just what happens when your roommate and crush of roughly two years kisses you on his way to work as if he’s been doing it every day of his life. Warnings: Repeated mentions of someone making/almost eating a toothpaste sandwich, sleep-deprivation, some minor self-deprecation, not actually unrequited love Pairing: Romantic creativisleep

    Remy watched as Roman hurried about the kitchen. A late night well wasted with a mix of Disney and action movies had led to him sleeping in an extra half an hour, and now he was rushing through his morning routine to make sure he wasn’t late for work. As he watched his roommate brush his teeth with Crofter’s and make a sandwich with toothpaste, Remy, personally, felt he had never picked a better day to call in ‘sick.’

    It didn’t help that Roman was clearly exhausted. He had been working a lot of late nights recently. Last night had been one of his earliest nights off in two weeks, and even then, he had been back around eight pm. The movie night had been Remy’s attempt to get him to relax and, hopefully, tire him out enough he slept in long enough Remy could call in ‘sick’ for him too. He needed the break.

    But in disabling his alarms, Remy had missed Roman’s secret one, and his plan to get Roman a proper day off had failed. Now, the exhausted dreamer stuck in a retail job he was not getting paid nearly enough for was going to go to work anyways, and he was going to do it running on all of four hours of sleep.

    That plan really worked out well.

    Roman zipped his lunchbox up with easily more force than he needed to use, still rushing as he shoved it in his bag alongside his keys, his phone, an egg, some gloves he definitely wouldn’t need halfway through May, his wallet, and a pinch of salt.

    “You sure you don’t want to just call in sick, hun?” Remy asked, Roman shaking his bag as if he was mixing the contents together. Given the salt and egg, Remy was starting to think Roman was trying to bake a cake in his bag. “You look like you could do with a nap. Or just a whole day spent catatonic.”

    Roman shook his head, finally pulling his bag over his shoulder, looking ready to head out. “I need the money. I’ll be fine.” He explained. Remy sighed and leaned on his hand as Roman hurried past him, towards the door.

    Before getting there, however, Roman back-tracked, coming back into the kitchen as he said, “Oops, almost forget.”

    “Forgot what, some sugar-”

    Remy’s snark died on his tongue when Roman came up beside him and, without thinking, as if it was the most normal thing in the world, leaned over and kissed him right on the forehead.

    “Have a good day, dear.” Roman murmured, not seeming to notice that Remy’s jaw had dropped or that he was now staring off at some far off point, completely unresponsive. He left, then, the sound of the door opening and closing just barely reaching Remy’s ears.

    It wasn’t until a solid fifteen minutes had passed that Remy finally reacted, and even then, all he did was scream. The screaming was quickly followed by his head dropping onto the table, where it rested as he looked searchingly at the plastic surface.

    Roman had kissed him.

    Roman. His roommate of two years. Crush of one year and 50 weeks. Absolute prettiest man to exist. Very possibly a shooting star personified. Had kissed him. On the forehead as he left for work. Like they were a married couple in an old black-and-white movie.

    That was it. Remy was going to die.

    What else was he going to do? It was obvious to him that Roman, tired and probably distracted in his thoughts, had kissed Remy on accident. Maybe he briefly thought Remy was someone else, Virgil or Patton or another one of his coworkers. Goodness knows Remy had listened to him talk about them all enough. Chances had it he liked at least one of them.

    The one person he definitely hadn’t been thinking about when he kissed Remy was, of course, Remy. Remy had come to terms with it a while ago that Roman was bright and big and beautiful. The whole world wasn’t just a stage but Roman’s stage and Roman was going to put on the best performance anyone had ever seen, Remy knew. Roman needed someone who was just as amazing and wonderful as he was.

    Remy was a coffee-guzzling IT tech who was going to die young, pretty, and alone. Him and Roman? In his dreams and his dreams alone.

    Except one of his dreams had just skipped off the sleepy-time screen and played out in real life, leaving Remy feeling completely shocked and a tad bit giddy. And even if he knew it was nothing more than an accident, a mistake made in a haze of sleep-deprivation on Roman’s part, it had still happened, and his heart had still fluttered, and his entire life had still just fallen to pieces because, really, was he ever going to do any better than that?

    Nope! He was not! The highest moment of his life would forever be when Roman accidentally kissed his forehead.

    Of course, that meant that the subsequent lowest moment of his life would be that night, when Roman got home and likely refused to talk to him for a week or so, because as amazing as that single mistake had been for Remy, it was likely just as embarrassing for Roman.

    For a moment, Remy wondered if the consequences were worth it. But then he thought back for a second to when Roman had kissed him, so quickly but still so gently, calling him ‘dear’ like he was the most important person in Roman’s life, and as he simultaneously melted and died some more, he decided that any consequence the world could throw at him would be worth it so long as he could treasure that moment forever.

    After all, things couldn’t get too bad from here, right?

    ~~

    Turns out, things could get really, really bad from here.

    Because Roman had been home for over an hour now (he had been sent home early at five pm, saying that his manager had deemed him a ‘hazard’ to supplies and others; given that a moment later he was telling Remy about how he almost actually ate his toothpaste sandwich for lunch, Remy was inclined to agree with his manager) and he hadn’t acknowledged the incident. Not once. There were no awkward glances at Remy or random apologies or general weird tension in the air. He was just acting like nothing had happened.

    And it was driving Remy insane.

    He thought living with it would be hard, but living as if it had never happened? 

Somehow a million times worse.

He had spent the entire day preparing for every possible scenario, from Roman being too ashamed to admit it happened to Roman being angry that he had been stupid enough to do something so foolish. But ignorance? Acting as if nothing had happened? He had no plans for that.

He managed to stand it, at first, figured that this was overall better. After all, Remy didn’t want to acknowledge it, so if Roman didn’t want to either… well, that all worked out, didn’t it?

Except two hours passed, Remy couldn’t stop looking at Roman and thinking about that moment, and it was becoming very quickly apparent to him that this was NOT working out.

It finally came to a head right where it had begun: the kitchen. Remy was leaning against the counter, distractedly sipping a coffee as Roman slapped together a sandwich (a proper one, this time) for dinner. He was watching Roman (which was nothing new), but now, every time that Roman would glance over at him he glanced down, focusing on his coffee instead.

Eventually, Roman cleared his throat. “Something you’d like to share with the class?”

Remy glanced up from his coffee, raising an eyebrow. “Something you want me to share with the class?”

Roman shrugged. “You’ve just been acting a little odd, that’s all.”

Remy couldn’t stop himself from snorting. “I’ve been acting odd?”

“Yeah, you keep looking away from me- what, did I say something? Is there something on my face?” Roman asked, hands quickly brushing over his cheeks as if he might find a bug on it or something.

Remy just stared at him in bewilderment. “Oh, sugar, you can’t be serious.”

Roman just stared back at him in confusion, however, and Remy sighed. “I can’t believe you’re making me say this…” He bemoaned before waving his free hand at Roman and continuing, deadpan, “You kissed me.”

“...What?!”

Remy nodded. “Yep! You kissed me! This morning! Right before you left for work! Right smack dab in the middle of my forehead like we’re some sorta of nineteen-twenties domestic couple!” He said, punctuating every statement with a gesture of his hand. “So, y’know. There’s that ‘odd’ behavior.”

“Oh.” Roman said, suddenly much more calm than he had been a moment ago. “Just on the forehead?”

“Well I wouldn’t say ‘just,’ but on the forehead, yes.”

Roman shrugged and turned back to his sandwich. “My apologies, then. Mustn’t have been thinking.”

“Mustn’t have been-” Remy’s eyes widened. “That’s it? That’s your reaction?!”

“Well, yeah.” Roman said, once more looking at Remy. “It was just a minor slip of the sleep-deprived mind. If I seriously overstepped your boundaries, though, please, Remy, know that I do mean it when I say I’m sorry-”

“No, that’s not-” Remy stopped himself, pinching the bridge of his nose and shaking his head. “I need you to treat this as importantly as it is.”

Roman raised an eyebrow. “But it’s not important…?”

“Actually, it kinda is.” Remy snapped, though he sighed immediately afterwards, regretting the tone he knew just came from the stress. “To me, anyways.”

Roman frowned, confusion replaced with concern. “Why?”

Remy watched Roman’s face for a moment before he finally shook his head, looking up at the ceiling. “Because you are beautiful and wonderful and amazing and, honest to god, perfect.” He admitted, still refusing to look at Roman. Part of him felt stupid for saying all of it, for giving up the ruse he had been pulling for almost two years, but at this point he didn’t know what else to say to make Roman understand why the kiss was so stupidly important. “And I have had a crush on you for too long for you to just- just do that and act like it’s nothing. So, yeah. It’s kinda important to me.”

For a minute, he was met by nothing more than dead silence, and every second it dragged on made him feel worse and worse. He was beginning to contemplate the benefits of just running away, right then, and never coming back, when Roman finally said, so quietly Remy almost missed it, “You have a crush on me?”

Remy looked back at Roman at that, finding his roommate wide-eyed, expression shocked. He held his gaze for a moment before he looked to the side. “Yeah. For a while. If it makes you feel better, I never meant to let you know, but… yeah.”

Once more, the silence stretched, Remy’s mind wandering to how far he could get from the apartment in a minute when Roman broke it again, this time with, “Do you know why I kissed you this morning?”

Remy half-shrugged, still looking away. “You were tired. Maybe thinking about your own crush. Virgil, maybe? I don’t know.”

“I was thinking of my own crush, yes.” Roman confirmed, sounding closer, somehow. “I do that, sometimes, when I’m bored or tired. Think about him. You know what I think about, when I’m bored or tired and thinking about my crush?”

Remy bit the inside of his mouth, feeling more than a little hurt by everything Roman was saying. Why did he have to hear this? Was this Roman’s response to Remy’s stupid crush? Cruelty? “What?”

“I think about slow dancing with him at two pm, and distracting him when it’s his nights to make dinner with smooches, and listening to his heartbeat while I fall asleep holding him, and kissing him goodbye every morning before I go to work.” Roman said, slowly, drawing out the last one extra long and making Remy feel extra worse. He was definitely closer now, and Remy was certain if he looked over he’d find Roman right beside him.

“You must’ve been really out of it, then, to get me mixed up with someone you think about so much.” Remy said, subdued, crossing his arms and wishing for all the world he could just disappear.

“Remy, look at me.” Remy didn’t, finding he was relatively sure he preferred the sight of their cluttered table to whatever anger or disappointment or other negative emotion he’d find in Roman’s expression. His choice, however, proved to be pointless, Roman’s hand coming up to cup Remy’s cheek and forcing him to look at Roman.

To his surprise, Remy found that Roman didn’t look angry or disappointed. Instead, he was smiling, just a little, mouth quirked up a bit and his eyes bright and his expression almost what Remy would’ve called fond. “I didn’t mix anyone up.” He said, softly, gently, in a tone that would have made Remy melt in any other circumstances. “You can’t mix one person up.”

“You lost me.” Remy said, which wasn’t entirely true, because he was fairly certain he knew that Roman was trying to say, but the problem was that that was impossible, absurd, the stuff of dreams and dreams alone-

“You’re my crush, Remy.” Roman said, still softly, still gently, his smile growing a fraction as he did so. “And in almost two years I don’t think I’ve gone a single morning without thinking about how lovely it would be to kiss you goodbye like it was the most commonplace thing in the world.”

Remy just blinked at Roman at first, not having immediately processed what he said. Once it sunk in, however, he could feel his cheeks colouring as he let out a little gasp, hurt and confusion being quickly replaced by shock and joy.

“You sap.” He gasped, and before Roman could so much as widen his smile Remy’s arms were wrapped around the back of his neck and pulling Roman in for a proper kiss.

“You’re going to skip work tomorrow.” Remy said when they finally pulled apart, breathlessly, leaning his forehead against Roman’s and still holding him close. “I don’t care if you say you’ve got the plague or if you quit, but you’re staying home tomorrow and we’re going to sleep until two pm and we’re only going to wake up then so that you can show me how to slow dance like a proper domestic couple.”

Roman smiled, and they were close enough that Remy couldn’t just see it but feel it against his lips. “Only if you promise that we’ll be sleeping together.”

“I wouldn’t have it any other way.” Remy responded easily, though he pulled back a smidge when Roman tried to kiss him again. “But I’m taking your pj pants. The fuzzy ones with crowns on them. And if you think I’m not stealing your biggest shirt then, really, lover boy, you don’t know me.”

“For the prettiest boy in the world? You can have my whole wardrobe.” Roman answered. “Now can I have another kiss?”

“For the prettiest boy in the whole damn universe?” Remy said, raising an eyebrow as he smirked, tugging Roman closer to him and whispering against his lips before he fulfilled his request, “You can have a million.”

[belladonnabear]

Tomura Shigaraki X Reader: Love At First Sight

Scenario: The title speaks for itself. Tomura falls in love with you at first sight and wants you.  Sorry this is pretty OOC but November and December have been pretty rough so I wanted some fluff.

~~

Tomura couldn’t stop staring, his coffee could have spilled all over his lap and he wouldn’t have cared. He was staring at the most beautiful girl he’s ever laid his eyes on. Her soft (h/c) hair that was flowing from the fan, her bright (e/c) eyes that sparkled like a diamond and unlike his own skin, hers looked as soft as freshly clean bed sheets.

    She was in line waiting to order her coffee, a blissful smile was stretched on her face as she looked at the board for specials. Tomura felt his face begin to warm up and he had a slight urge to start scratching at his neck again. She looked like an angel, while he was a ghastly demon from the underworld. He’s never felt this way about any girl before and it was suddenly beginning to irritate him. Why was he feeling this way towards her? He’s never even had a conversation with her before. What was going on with him?

    He suddenly saw her up front and turned to the cashier. With a beaming smile you made your order.

“Can I please have a medium Mocha Coconut?” you asked.

However, the cashier looked down at her head to toe with a very intense gaze. He suddenly had a very cunning smirk on his face. 

“Sure, that’s going to be ¥400 and your phone number.” he winked.

    Tomura was starting to feel his irritation turn to rage at the cashier’s attempt to flirt with you. Why was this NPC trying to get with you? He’s not even in the same league as you. Tomura was starting to see red as you began to look uncomfortable at this man’s sudden request. You held out your card for him to take.

    “Um, no thank you.” you politely declined.

    “C’mon sweetcheeks, there ain’t no harm. Let me take you out sometime.” the man ignored the card and kept on trying to woo you.

    Tomura could feel his bloodlust rising at this prick’s insistence. He wanted to murder this man. No. That would be too kind. He wanted to rip off every limb from his body and leave him disabled for life. This disgusting scumbag didn’t deserve something as merciful as death. 

    “Please don’t call me that sir.” you shake your head.

    “Sir? I like it. You should call me that after I’m done with you.” he chuckled.

    Tomura stood up from his spot with feral eyes and ill-intent for the creepy cashier. He slammed some money on the counter top and looked at the man with a deadly gaze.

    “Give her the drink asshole. She’s not interested in you.” Tomura glared.

    The man looked intimidated by Tomura’s stare and quietly took the money while getting the young woman’s drink. The girl looked over at Tomura with admiration glistening in her eyes. Tomura suddenly felt bashful by her look and tried not to make direct eye contact with her. 

    “Thank you so much. You didn’t have to pay though, I can pay you back for the drink.” you offered.

“Don’t worry about it.” Tomura shrugged.

Internally, Tomura was jubilant about talking to the girl. She was looking at him with a very happy expression on her face. She received her drink from the creepy cashier and she turned to the man.

“If it’s not too much to ask, can I sit with you please?” she wondered.

Tomura felt his head spin from her request. She wanted to sit with him? Did she not notice the scars and dry skin on him? Or did she just not care? A part of him wanted to say no but one look at her hopeful express made him weak for her.

“Sure.” he nodded.

With a grin on her face, she sat herself at his table while Tomura glanced back at the  cashier from before. He looked at Tomura in envy that he was going to be sitting down with the girl he was creeping on earlier. Tomura shot him a wicked smirk which made the man flinch before Tomura sat down to talk to the girl.

“My name is (Y/N) by the way. Sorry I didn’t introduce myself sooner. But thank you for sticking up for me.” she introduced.

Tomura felt her name ring in his head repeatedly. (Y/N) became his new favorite word.

~~

Tomura and (Y/N) exchanged numbers and the two met up often to hang out together. He loved spending time with her. She was very supportive and understanding to him. Giving him advice when he was frustrated or confused. Even though he never mentioned he was part of the League of Villains, she still respected his need for privacy in his life. She never questioned what he did for a living or what he does in his spare time.

The two often went to movies together, arcades and she even bought him some clothes that would fit him better. It didn’t seem to matter what the two were doing, he was having fun and enjoying his time being around her. 

She also used her regeneration quirk on his skin so that the scratched marks on his neck could heal. Tomura found out that day that she was a nurse who wanted to help heal those who needed help. Which ultimately brought up the topic of heroes.

“To be honest...I’m not the biggest fan of heroes....” she admitted.

Tomura’s eyes widened at this declaration. The two were eating ramen together when you brought up the topic. He almost choked on his noodles as he heard her statement. She didn’t like heroes? Most people would never admit to not liking heroes. But you did the opposite of that. He was intrigued.

“What do you mean?” he wondered.

She scratched the back of her head awkwardly. “Most of them are very...cliquey. I went to UA for the Support Course so I could use my healing abilities to help others. But the hero students were always stuck up. They saw me and others as lesser because we weren’t as ‘strong’ as they were. That didn’t change after graduation either. I’ve healed plenty of heroes as a nurse and most of them are brash. They demand you do things a certain way, when in reality, they don’t have a clue about what they’re saying. Lots of them use each other for popularity and money. So they’re not as heroic as the public receives them. Speak out about them and you’re ostracized from society. I wish that could change.”

(Y/N) realized that Tomura was staring at her with a strange gaze and with a flustered face she waved her hands sporadically.

“I-I mean, if y-you l-like heroes that’s fine! I’ll respect your opinion on the matter!” she exclaimed.

Tomura felt his heart beat rapidly as he saw her cute face turn pink from embarrassment. That’s when he realized he wanted to be with her forever. She wasn’t only the perfect girl for him but also, she was his player two. The person who would be by his side forever while he would break society down. She would be his pillar of support and his wonderful girlfriend.

“It’s fine...I actually agree with a lot of what you said.” Tomura softly said.

She looked taken aback. Like she was surprised that he agreed with her. Tomura figured that she’s been harassed because of her opinions on heroes. But he admired her resilience and how she thought for herself. As far as Tomura was concerned, she was amazing.

“R-Really?” she stammered.

“You’re not the only one who hates heroes or how society perceives them. I know change will one day happen. And then, things will be better.” Tomura declared.

(Y/N) saw a fiery passion in Tomura’s eyes that made her blush heavier. She had always liked his determination and passion about the things he wanted. Like when he wanted to beat high score record for the House of the Dead arcade game. And seeing it here only made it more obvious to her that she was falling for him. He wasn’t perfect, but she wouldn’t have had it any other way.

She leaned over to Tomura and kissed his cheek. His eyes widened as he stared at her in amazement. Her soft lips on his face caught his breath as he felt her right next to him. He was blushing red as she pulled away. In a small smile she said. 

“I think I’m falling for you Tomura.”

~~

Tomura and (Y/N) had started dating for about two months now. She was his candle in the dark that kept everything bright for him. Even when he was miserable, she always found a way to make him feel better. He was growing more attached to her everyday. But he was also fearful that she would leave him if he told her the truth. He didn’t want her to think any less of him or even worse, leave him.

Her finding out about his position in the League of Villains was discovered in a way he never wanted it to happen. He left his phone on the counter after texting with (Y/N) a couple of times. Toga and Dabi were curious to know who their boss kept talking to. So Toga quickly snatched the phone and looked at the contact he was texting. When they both saw (Y/N) they were surprised.

“Oh wow! I didn’t know he was dating such a cutie!” Toga squealed.

“Hm, seems to me like she’s unaware that she’s dating a murderer.” Dabi observed as he looked through the messages.

“We could always tell her if Shigaraki’s too shy!” Toga encouraged.

A part of Dabi knew that revealing that Shigaraki was affiliated with the League of Villains might backfire on them. But he also knew the boss wasn’t too stupid to reveal anything too personal if it would effect the league. Plus, he did want to push the bastard’s buttons.

“Hurry! He could come back soon!” Toga reminded.

Dabi shrugged and called the contact known as (Y/N). She picked up pretty quickly and answered.

“Hi there Tomura! Is that one asshole with no manners bothering you again?” you greeted.

Dabi knew she was referring to him. Which made him want to do this even more.

“Hey there, this is the asshole with no manners. Are you aware that you’re dating the leader of the League of Villains?” Dabi wondered.

No sooner had those words came out of his mouth, Tomura slammed the door open. A vicious look was on his face as he looked at the two culprits who were toying around with his phone. Dabi figured he must have just heard what he had said to you. Because Shigaraki looked like he was about ready to kill these two again.

“What the hell do you two think you’re doing?!” Tomura questioned hotly.

Toga pumped her fist in the air. “We just wanted to get to know your girl boss! She looks super cute!”

“He’s what...?” you said in a perplexed tone.

“You heard me.” Dabi merely said.

Silence dreaded the air as they waited for either (Y/N) to say something or Shigaraki to lose his cool in a fit of rage. Meanwhile, Tomura was thinking simultaneously about how to kill these two idiots and how to play it off as a joke when he tries to cover himself. 

“Give the phone to Tomura please.” you requested.

Dabi casually handed the phone over to Shigaraki stating. “She wants to talk to you.”

Hesitantly, he took the phone carefully and answered. “Hello?”

“Tomura, are you really part of the League of Villains?” she wondered.

He could feel his heart beginning to sink. He didn’t want to admit it to you but he also couldn’t find it in himself to lie to you. He loved you too much to do that. You meant so much to him. He doesn’t want to lose you. 

“....I am.” he quietly said.

“Why didn’t you tell me sooner Tomura? You know I care about you! I would have tried to support you! Are you guys doing okay over there?” you began rambling about how he should take care of himself.

Tomura however was stunned into silence. A slow smile began crawling on his face as he let out an elated laugh. She really was his Player Two. A wonderful, beautiful girl who cared and loved him more than anyone else has ever. He had no reason to worry about her finding out after all. She was loyal to him.

“I’m sorry. It wasn’t my intention to deceive you.” he chuckled.

Toga and Dabi were confused by the dastardly smile on his face. Dabi realized she probably was just as insane as him and realized this isn't fun anymore. He walked off shrugging his shoulders. 

“Do you guys have a healer there? I wouldn’t trust underground doctors if I were you!” you pointed out.

Tomura sheepishly smiled at his beloved’s concern. “Now, that you mention it, we really could use a healer.”

~~

It was past midnight as Tomura was in his room playing the Walking Dead when he paused the game to look at you. In his bed, you were sound asleep in your cute pajamas. It has been three months since you found out Tomura was the leader of the League of Villains. Since then, you had moved in with him to help him and his comrades. Today was quite an eventful day for you. Twice had accidentally dislocated his wrist, Toga had twisted her ankle and you helped Dabi with the burns from his quirk. 

Now you were resting after a hard day of work. Tomura could feel himself becoming drowsy from just looking at you. He really wanted to get under the blankets and cuddle you all to himself. So, he did just that. He shut off his game and got into bed and lay in right next to you. Even when you were asleep, you instinctively clutched onto him and nuzzled yourself into his chest. A tiny smile on your face as you slept in content. 

Tomura carefully pulled you closer to him and kept his arms wrapped around you carefully. You were still as beautiful as the day you two met. He placed soft kisses on your head as he too began to drift off. 

He’s loved you since the day you met and he’ll love you for much longer than that.

[bamon4bamily]

TVD 9x16 - What happens in Vegas... (part 2 of part 1) Enjoy! =)

Cut to – The hospital location.  As soon as they arrive, they figure they must have made some kind of mistake. It is in fact a Psychiatric Hospital, but it looks like it has been abandoned for years.

UBER DRIVER: Looks like you might have the wrong address…

KAI: It’s the right address, look (shows Damon his phone with last night’s route).

DAMON: Guess it is…

UBER DRIVER: Are you sure you guys want me to leave you here?

IKER: Trust us, man, after last night, it can’t get any crazier.

UBER DRIVER: If you say so. Good luck! (Drives away).

ALARIC: (Looking at the creepy place, already regretting whatever they did there the previous night) Why?! Why on earth would we come here!

DAMON: Guessing princess bride here (referring to Kai), had something to do with that.

IKER: There is no way that call came from here...

DAMON: Let’s check it out. We’ll do it fast, in and out; just to make sure Stefan isn’t passed out somewhere inside.

ALARIC: I’m getting too old for this shit…

DAMON: Oh, come on, Ric! Think of it as another one of your Indiana Jones adventures (mocking him for the photos he took in cosplay), the Last Crusade, if you like.

ALARIC: Shut up…

They go inside… the place is straight out of a horror movie.

 IKER: Okay, I’m officially creeped out.

DAMON: I say we split up; it’ll be faster and we can cover more ground.

KAI: Have you ever seen a horror movie? That’s exactly the kind of decision that gets everybody killed… Trust me, I would know.

DAMON: Fine, Michael Myers, you can come with me. 

We’ll look this way... Iker, you and Ric can search down that corridor.

IKER: Sounds like a plan. But, 20 minutes max, then we meet back here.

DAMON: 20 tops. (Teasing, as him and Kai are walking away) Oh, and watch out for the killer clown…

IKER: Yo, don’t play with that shit, man! You know I hate clowns...

ALARIC: So do you, Damon. So, if anyone is pissing their pants, my money is on you. 

(Damon and Kai walk towards one direction, Iker and Alaric, towards another).

KAI: Do you really think Stefan is here? I mean, I know he’s dark and gloomy, but this is a bit extreme… even for me.

DAMON: The only reason we are here is because your crazy ass is definitely responsible for dragging us here last night.

KAI: Yeah, probably… but still, creepy AF…

DAMON: Now you know how we feel when you’re around. But… what I am really intrigued about, is how the hell you joined our little party.

You must remember at least getting on a plane or something...  

KAI: No… Last thing I remember, I was taking a nap, and then… puff! I woke up here…

DAMON: You couldn’t have driven; so how the hell did you get here… Makes no sense.

KAI: Ooh…! What if I can do that Bonster trick?! That’d be freakin awesome!

DAMON: Of course you can’t, that’s stupid. Unless… No, no, I refuse to believe that…

KAI: What? You think Bonster...? Hey, it makes more sense than the alternatives…

DAMON: No way! Hell no! Let’s just drop this little mystery of ours and do what we came here to do… (they continue searching; suddenly, he stops dead in his tracks) Shhhhh, do you hear that?

KAI: What? No…

DAMON: Listen…

KAI: I am! I don’t hear anything…

DAMON: I thought you had vamp hearing…. Listen harder.

KAI: (Standing completely still and in total silence, trying to listen…)

DAMON: (Does a vamp speed trick, scares the shit out of Kai) Killer clown!

KAI: Jesus mother of Christ! (Damon cracks up) Not funny, asshole! 

I literally almost shit myself! And, I’m hung over, so that was a real possibility!  

DAMON: Ew, no, no, no… you’re disgusting.

KAI: Just being honest… don’t act like you don’t know what that’s about.

DAMON: Yeah, no... definitely not having this conversation! 

Come on, let’s pick up the paste; vamp speed our way through this place before we become the victims of the “based on a true story” Saw movie.

Cut to – Iker and Alaric

 ALARIC: Sorry we got you into this mess, man.

IKER: No worries. I’m used to it. These types of situations pretty much sums up what it’s like being friends with Damon.

ALARIC: Tell me about it. My life said goodbye to “normal” the day we became friends.

IKER: Ditto (they laugh in complicity).

ALARIC: He’s a good guy, though. I mean, considering…

IKER: He is… I’m really glad Bonnie gave him a chance; never seen him this happy… like, really happy.

ALARIC: Me neither… I think we both know he wasn’t truly happy with Elena. Don’t tell her I said that… but no matter how hard they tried; it just wasn’t going to work; too messy. Gotta say, it’s kind of ironic that when he “got the girl”, turned out it wasn’t the “right girl” … After all his love drama, it was about time he finally found “the one”.

IKER: It sure was… Hey, man, look…  (spots something strange ahead, vamps to it. It’s a black garbage bag; which wouldn’t be all that strange if it weren’t new). Check this out… (Alaric opens the bag, and starts taking memorabilia from iconic Britney Spears videos, which are clearly originals) What the…

ALARIC: I’m starting to believe Stefan wasn’t kidding…

IKER: Nah… you don’t think… Can’t be, right?!

ALARIC: When those two (referring to Damon and Stefan) team-up, anything is possible, so… maybe?

IKER: Oh, shit! This is getting crazier than I thought!

ALARIC: Straight out insane. Let’s go back. I’m pretty sure Stefan isn’t here, and this place is giving me the chills.

IKER: Me too… (they head back to the meeting point).

Cut back to Kai and Damon.

 KAI: We’ve searched everywhere, I really don’t think he’s here…

DAMON: You’re right. Another dead end; let’s go back. (Just as they are about to turn around, Damon spots something) Wait… do you see that?

KAI: Hell no! I’m not falling again.

DAMON: No, I’m serious. Look... (they see something shiny. Damon takes a closer look, picks it up) It’s Donovan’s badge.

KAI: So, they were definitely here with us…Anything else?

DAMON: Nop, just the badge.

KAI: Well, let’s head back, see what we all make of it. This place is really starting to freak me out… the vibes, you know?

DAMON: Yeah, I know… (they speed vamp back to the meeting point and reunite with Alaric and Iker).

ALARIC: Find anything? Cause we did…

DAMON: Stefan?!

ALARIC: No, this (shows him the bag with the memorabilia).

DAMON: What is all this?

IKER: (Teasing) You know perfectly well what it is…

KAI: All too well, sweetheart.

DAMON: At least I didn’t get married in a tutu, princess.

KAI: That princess thing got old like an hour ago. You really need to start thinking outside the box, Damon.

DAMON: That’s right! Yes! A box! I remember a box!

ALARIC: Great! And…?

DAMON: That’s it, that’s all I got.

ALARIC: (Sarcastic) Very helpful, Damon.

DAMON: Well, we also found this… (shows them Matt’s badge)

ALARIC: Interesting… still not a lot to go on, but that confirms we were all here. Listen, guys, I may have a theory…I still don’t know how, or why, but I believe we actually did go to Britney’s house, the real Britney; at some point during the night…Look at the props; they don’t seem fake… Which brings me to the conclusion, that we must have stolen them from her house. Now, as for why? … I have no fucking idea, and I can live without knowing…

KAI: The Britney Spears?! Nah, there’s no way we would be able to break into her house!

DAMON: But what if we didn’t break in… What if, and just hear me out on this, Sheriff Donovan pulled the cop card… and that’s how they let us in.

ALARIC: Matt wouldn’t do that.

DAMON: Maybe not sober, but…

ALARIC: Still, they wouldn’t have let a wasted cop and his pals in for some tea.

KAI: But if we sneaked in… let’s say, hiding inside a police car?

IKER: A police car! Yes! I told you I remembered something about a police car; it was one of those suv ones…

DAMON: We must have stolen one…

IKER: Wouldn’t be a long shot.

DAMON: Don’t those things have trackers though? They would have found us in seconds.

KAI: Not if you know how to disable a tracking device… which I do.

DAMON: Why am I not surprised…

KAI: I had a lot of time on my hands, figured I’d learn a trick or two.

ALARIC: Okay, this is getting even more confusing. I say we go back to the villa, for all we know Stefan might be back. We can check the hotel parking lot, see if we find a stolen cop car; work it from there.

KAI: Agreed. We really need to get out of this place; freaking me TF out. Uber’s on me. 

(They wait for a while, until their uber arrives. As they drive away, on one of the top floor windows, a freaky clown waves goodbye).

Cut to – The boy’s hotel villa. They walk inside, and hear the piano playing…

 DAMON: It’s that damn monkey! (They walk into the living room, only to find Britney Spears, in the flesh, playing the piano).

BRITNEY: Hello, boys…

KAI: Britney…the Britney Spears…?

BRITNEY: The one and only…

KAI: (Totally fanboying) Oh my god! 

DAMON: (Totally fanboying too) OMG! OMG! OMG! It’s Britney, bitches!

BRITNEY: Aw, you’re  sweet… 

(takes a gun out of her purse and points it at them). Now, shut the fuck up and tell me where the hell is the rest of my stuff!!

ALARIC: Wow, wow, wow… please, don’t shoot! It’s right here (hands her the bag, she looks through it).

BRITNEY: You’re lucky I like to handle somethings on my own. You’d all be dead if my security were involved…

DAMON: (Still fanboying) Lucky… I love that song!

BRITNEY: Now, where is Stefan? We need to settle this little feud of ours, once and for all.

ALARIC: Wouldn’t we all like to know…

BRITNEY: What do you mean? He was with you (referring to Damon), the cop, and the howling boy, at my house last night.

DAMON: Wait, so, neither of these guys were there with us?

BRITNEY: No… but if you had brought him (referring to Iker), maybe things could have turned out differently (winks at Iker).

Tell you what, boys, I’ll help you find him. As long as you help me get my long-awaited trophy win, on “Mr. Bon Jovi”.

DAMON: Wait… so that concert story; that was you? 

I thought Stefan was messing with me!

BRITNEY: Oh, that was me… Prick made me think he was Bon Jovi, I was totally fangirling, so embarrassing. That was before I got really famous, and I met the real John. Made me feel like a fool when I told John we had met before, and he was like: “uhm, no we haven’t”. So, as you can understand, it was only fitting that I would get him back for that.

DAMON: I’m with you, Brit, Stefan is a dick!

ALARIC: Can you give us any insight on what happened at your place? Might help us figure out where he is.

BRITNEY: I know from my security cameras that they used a police suv to gain access. Then you (referring to Damon), did some weird eye thing to my security team, and they just stood there, doing nothing. I also know from the cameras, that Stefan took my babies Justi and Kevi (referring to the baby elephant and the monkey). And you (to Damon), stole the memorabilia I had from my videos… My red leather suit better be intact, or I’mma kill you!

DAMON: Oops…

IKER: Don’t you dare say: “I did it again”...

BRITNEY: Wait… I think I might know where he is… Back when we first met, we were here, in Vegas. He took me to this spot in the desert he liked to go to; he’s such a weirdo… Anyway, maybe he went there? You know, for old times’ sake…

ALARIC: Maybe… but it’s gonna be hard to find a “spot” in the middle of the desert, and we don’t have much time; our plane is leaving in like 3 hours.

BRITNEY: Well, if you want to go back home with the rest of your pack, you really don’t have much of a choice.

KAI: There’s no way we are going to find him if he is in the middle of the desert.

BRITNEY: It’s Britney, bitch! 

Of course we’ll find him. Listen, you boys take the cop van and follow mine, I’ll lead you to the spot.

IKER: Except, we don’t know where it is…

BRITNEY: (Smirks) But I do… (shows them live cctv footage from inside the cop car) See, boys, I have eyes everywhere! It’s in the parking lot.

 (They go to the car and find Matt and Tyler inside, a cellphone in Matts hand, and a lot of empty bottles lying around. As expected, neither of them remember anything about the previous night; it’s a miracle they even know who they are. The only thing they keep repeating, and cracking up about is, Rawson Neal Psychiatric Hospital. They are clearly either still drunk or high on something. They decide it’s best they stay behind and get some rest in the villa. Damon, Iker, Alaric and Kai get in the cop car, and follow Britney to the site.)

 BRITNEY: Okay, boys, this is the spot.  (They get out of the car, start looking around. She get’s out as well, points the gun at them). Did you really think I was going to help you?! Aw, cuties…no one messes with the Brit! I gave Stefan his, now it’s time for yours …

KAI: But, Britney, what about us (referring to himself, Iker, and Alaric)? We didn’t do anything!

BRITNEY: Guilty by association… Now, give me your clothes, and the car keys… Quick, or I swear I’ll shoot! (They hand her the stuff; she gets in her car. Just as she is about to take-off, she opens her window) If you want to know where Stefan is; it’s easy, he’s exactly where he belongs… Good luck trying to find an uber to pick you up here… And, by the way, sweetheart (talking to Damon), there’s only one princess of pop, and it ain’t you. 

(Gives them the finger, and drives away).

DAMON: (Looking heartbroken) But… Britney…

ALARIC: (Sarcastic) Well, isn’t this peachy!

IKER: At least she left us our phones.

ALARIC: There is no way we are going to catch that flight, or find Stefan any time soon. I think it’s time to call Caroline…

DAMON: Shit! Shit! Shit!... Fine… I’ll do it… (dials). Care, it’s Damon… Listen ...The bachelor party got a little crazy and, well...we lost Stefan.

BONNIE: Uhm…think we might have a problem of our own…

DAMON: Bon?

BONNIE: It’s me, I think… Anyway; the bachelorette got a little crazy too, and, well… we lost Caroline.

TVD 9x16 (part 2) coming next! Hope you stop by, read and enjoy! =)

[calypsoff]

Thirty Two.

Wiping the tears that fell, I am eating breakfast and I am just randomly crying “what is wrong?” Tina asked, I am back at the home. I came here to sleep because I can’t stay in those beds, my back is hurting so I came here and Chris has done nothing but call me, continues to ask what do I do, what am I doing. It’s draining and then being in this house it’s weird, the home is cleaned. I went into the bedroom and nothing had changed, it’s just clean but I can’t go in there. I feel weird being here “it’s just hard, today is a big day for Chris. I told him he decides what he wants. Either he goes to VA, he stays here or I don’t know. But he’s asking me to stay, he calls me and asks me to be with him. Where am I, it’s making me emotional” Tina cooed out getting off the bar stool, I can’t believe I am crying like this “I am being stupid” I sniffled, Tina hugged me “no way, you’re not being stupid. This is all so hard for you too, why doesn’t he call his parents like that? Not in a bad way?” Tina moved back from the hug “I don’t know, he’s just clinging onto me. And it’s making my heart hurt, I had to come here to actually be able to sleep on a bed, that bed in hospital was awful. But anyways” taking in a deep breath “I need to do this, today is the day. I said to him I will sort it all out for him, to get him home. I want him to go to VA, I want that. I think he will need the help, but they are discharging him today, I need to take some clothes for him. I bought him something new but yeah, it’s been a few days since I’ve cried but it’s been overwhelming for me too” my phone started ringing on the counter “it’s going to be poppa” picking my phone from the counter “I knew it” answering the call “hey poppa, is everything ok?” I smiled at Mel, she is either laughing or smiling in awe “they took that line out of my dick” I chuckled “congratulations, you feel better about it now?” He can stop saying he pees in a bag now “yes but I don’t know how I’m gonna wipe my ass” I groaned out “I love you but no, I’m coming anyways. Just getting some clothes for you, excited to leave?” I don’t think he is “I guess, are you coming now? I’m waiting” he’s cute, where else is he going “yes I’m coming now, talk soon yeah? Love you” I mean I know he will be ringing back in half hour.

Zipping up his duffel bag “so rich, I want this to be smooth. I do not want anyone seeing Chris, we get him in the chair, wheel him out. Get him to the hotel and just decide on what he wants, can we please keep it just quick and fluid. I can’t deal with Chris and then the paparazzi and people watching, please” Rich bowed his head “do not worry, I will make it as fluid as possible for you. Are you all set to go” picking up the bag from countertop, I am nervous seeing Chris. I slept well but I woke up early because Chris was calling me constantly to find out where I am, what I’m doing. The nurses give his tablets early, he then falls asleep and then wakes up early so it’s on me I guess “ladies; I will see you both later, once I dealt with Chris. But pray for me” rolling my eyes “I know you’re nervous about him and his decision making but just say it to him, you want him to go to VA so he is cared for, realistically he can’t come on tour because you can’t look after him. It’s not happening, and it can’t” Mel is so upfront unlike me, I am just so quiet about it like I want him to say I will do it “thanks, but I will update you. Do I look cute, thought I would do my hair and makeup. Look a little pretty, my man is out of hospital with an ugly attitude. Chile pray for me” walking off laughing, if I don’t laugh I’ll cry so yeah let’s do this.

My phone screen lit up as the car jerked on a bump, smiling at the picture of Chris and I that appeared, I love him to death. Speaking of Chris, answering the call “hey poppa” see I knew he would call “where are you? Like how long?” He is in a rush “just like five minutes away” I think anyways “I need you to shave my stubble please” he asks me, he has his friends there “why can’t dumb and dumber not do it?” I asked “I want you” taking in a deep breath “so you can have a tantrum and cry about things, you can’t do this Chris. Have you decided on what you’re doing or not? I am being patient with you and letting you decide but you’re giving me nothing?” I need to be strict with him “I want to be with you, I don’t want my mother doing things like that. I want you to help me, I want you and I told you this, but you are jumping for a tour. You’re running because then you don’t have to deal with me” here we go “who washed you? Who cleaned up your sick, Chris don’t do it. When I come there you better fix your attitude. How dare you” disconnecting the call, he’s going to cause an argument. He’s going to do it because he does this a lot, more so now he can’t move anywhere. His leg is stuck in the air, he’s going to hate it. I fucking bathed him, I cleaned him and fed him, held his hand and was there for him and he says that, I will not cry but that man will do it to me. I get it, he’s hurting, and he hates it but don’t take it out on me when I just want to love you and care of you.

I came just in time actually, Doctor Simone is here “hi” she said “hi” placing his duffle back on the side “I was just telling Chris that we mentioned four to eight weeks, but we are pushing on eight weeks. The damage to his leg, he will need be in rehabilitation. He will get to a point where he will be back to normal and he is walking on his own, but he needs patience in himself, getting annoyed won’t help yourself or your recovery. Medication is important, keep to them all and at the same time with food. Keep your leg elevated, and please I can’t stress this enough. I have seen your leg and it needs time. I don’t want to see you until eight weeks, I am saying eight weeks. It was that or losing your leg and we didn’t want that so yes, discharging you. The tablets for another week, the feeling in your leg will start to come back. If you are in pain with it, which shouldn’t be that way just over the counter painkillers” Chris doesn’t want to hear it, I can see it on his face “will he be ok with flying? He is flying to VA and resting there, he will be back for his appointment” I have had enough of him, I decided “that is fine, just be careful with the leg, elevation. The cast can be heavy too, I told Chris bathroom will be easy for him. Disabled bathrooms will be best, much more space” Chris groaned out “I am disabled thanks, I am done. Get me out now” taking in a deep breath “thank you so much, you have been so great. He will be appreciative when he is better” she came over to me “pleasure is all mine, good luck and take care” shaking her hand “thank you” I have an argument coming, clearly I do because he is going VA.

The door closed behind me, the room is empty, so he has kicked out his friends clearly “you’re going to be lonely with the way you are Chris, she is not saying you are disabled she is telling how to make it easier for you. I have decided you are going to VA, you’re not being here. I have bought your stuff, get you changed, and we go” turning around, I am over his attitude. I just want him out of my hair now, he can annoy his parents. I think he annoyed me earlier with what he said, I am going on tour and I am jumping or whatever. Unzipping the duffle bag, I put his boxers on top, I am not stupid now “let’s do this then” turning to him seeing him cry, he is crying again “why are you crying Chris? I am doing everything I can for you, I am trying my best here. I am sending you to VA and getting you a place that fits you, there is no stairs. It’s nice and peaceful for you to heal” I hate him crying “you’re just hiding me away” stood at the side of the bed “I don’t need your help” he took his boxers from me “and how you suppose you get ready? Ok you don’t want your parents taking care of you, then who? And don’t say me. I am not shaving you until we get to the hotel” he rested his head back, not looking at me, of course not because he has a face on now “eight weeks though, you might as well be single. I am useless, I am in the way. You are paying for me; I can pay for myself. Dressing me like a child, I am fed up yeah. The guy should have just killed me, I am being degraded in front of you!” he spat, staring at Chris feeling myself give up “what do you want me to do? You want me to go and someone else do it for you?” I turned my head to the TV as I heard my name on the news, oh god look at me “they charged him” I said but then snapped out of it, I don’t want to hear or see it. I grabbed the remote “Rihanna huh” turning away from him.

I needed some air and also I called Joyce, I needed to just tell her that Chris will be going to VA so expect him “it has upset me to know he is being that way with you, he is highly emotional. I see it in his eyes, he tries to now expose it, but he is sad, my baby is sad, and I get it. He has been through so much; I can thank you enough for everything you have done for us Robyn. Your love is is pure for my son and I understand how he is right now. So I will wait for him, tomorrow?” looking at my phone “Joyce I will call you back later, I have someone calling me” it’s her own son calling me “ok sweetie, call me back” answering the call “hello” he took his time “I need help” he mumbled “please” he added “you want Rihanna’ help?” he calls me that so I thought I would say it “I want to talk to you too so please” he wants to talk, he wants my help too “ok, I am coming” disconnecting the call “let’s go back in” I said to Rich as I turned back to go inside, I only came out here to get some air. I just want to get alone with him, I hate how he calls me Rihanna because he is seeing me like that, I am Robyn to him, and I want him to call me that but here he is calling me Rihanna. He is being this way because I will not take him on tour with me.

Walking over to Chris’ bed “did you try?” I asked, I don’t think he did, Chris just laughed “no, I can’t even reach. I’m sorry, I always said I will probably always be sorry to you because I do dumb shit. It’s just a lot you know, I am crying a lot. It hurts me so much, I nearly died again. And to know people like that are after you, I am just. My mind is everywhere, I hate that I am like this and then I can’t be a man for you. It hurts” placing my hand on his arm “Chris you are a man to me, you are the love of my life. Looking after you comes natural to me because I know you would do the same for me, I know you would Chris because you have been so affectionate to me. You have scrubbed my back in the bath and then massaged it, massaged my feet. Taken care of me Chris. Nothing is hidden between us, I do not think any less of you. I will be here for you Chris throughout it all, rehabilitation, and everything. The reason I want you in VA is because you can rest quietly and safely. LA is lonely, you have family there. I have told your mother and she is happy; I am sorting you out a home where you can stay for a while. I wish I weren’t on tour; I wish I could be with you. This is hard on me too Chris, I miss you so much, I promise you” rubbing the back of his head as Chris sniffled, he has been so emotional throughout this “promise you will be safe” holding back my tears “promise Chris, I love you. You know that” resting the side of my face at the side of his.

Thank god Rich is strong “you ain’t even that heavy, you skinny” Rich laughed, he picked Chris out of the bed and put him in the chair “not that bad was it” pulling his jacket down “no” Chris smiled, I did the hard work, dressing him was long and slow. It didn’t bug me, but it was a long process “ready to leave” I smiled touching the top of his head, I am so happy to see him alive and well, that is what I want “I would push you but I can’t” lightly stroking his head, Chris looked up at me grinning “you weak like me” Chris leaned into me, his head resting against me “we both weak, Rich push him. Let’s go to the hotel, spend some time together” lifting his hood up on his head “I would like that” he seems a little happier “oh we are spending a day together, like we sleep in a bed together” grabbing his duffle bag “yes poppa, me and you. Before you go VA, I love you” Chris held his hand out to me, grabbing his hand as we started to walk out of this place.

[whump-town]

Shattered Hearts, Fractured Lungs

(Chapter Two; Warnings for: school shooting, violence, language, and heart failure; you can find the first chapter here)

Emily Prentiss just wants to do her job but a messy case sends her sprawling into the arms of a dying man with a toddler and his weird, broken family.

“It’s been very rare to have known you, very strange and wonderful” --F. Scott Fitzgerald

She comes back the very next day.

It’s about noon and she’d seen the blonde one-- the happy one, uhm… Penelope! Emily had watched Penelope pull up in the driveway at about eleven thirty. So, she knows someone’s home over there but when she steps out on her porch she’s not expecting him to be sitting in that rickety old rocking chair. 

Idiot-- because she’d seen, from her kitchen window, Penelope helping him outside. The woman was talking his poor ear off.

The icing on the cake, of course, is that she was creating a dialogue for what to say when she got over there. 

Out loud.

So, he definitely heard her talking to herself like a crazy person. 

“Hey,” she says lamely, stopping in her tracks. Now she’s in a really bad spot. He looks like he didn’t sleep last night and definitely not in a talking mood with the oxygen mask over his face. 

Of course, she can’t really know that he didn’t sleep last night. Spent the whole night breathlessly fighting with Dave over his own health and how he was feeling. Of course, like shit is the truth but he’s fighting the clock and he doesn’t want to go to the hospital over a little labored breathing. Now he’s paying the price. He couldn’t even stand on his own this morning. He’d laid in bed until Garcia got here and been forced to ask her to help.

Life is slowly becoming unbearable. 

“I need...” she blows out an unsteady breath. She has to clench her hands to stop them from trembling.  “Do you have any bananas?”

Idiot. 

Stupid fucking idiot.

But he nods. It takes him a moment but he reaches up and pulls the mask off his face, pinning it against his chest. “Just go…” he curses himself, mentally for his inability to do something as simple as breathing. Why should heart failure come with not only a permanent ache in his chest but also the double hit to the lungs? Anatomy is so stupid.

“Ask Pen,” he rasps, gesturing with a head tilt that he means for her to go inside. “She’ll get you one.” He knows there’s bananas in there because Garcia always brings him some from the store. He used to eat one every morning with his coffee. Now he can’t even stomach the thought. 

Insult to injury is the awkward silence that passes between them as Emily steps into his house. 

She comes out a moment later, Penelope trailing her. She shows him the bananas from last week. They’re pretty brown but she’s smiling. “Actually,” Emily says, stepping out and smiling between Garcia and Hotch, “the recipes Derek’s mom’s. She, uh, sent it my way to keep me from getting bored.”

Garcia nods and Hotch rolls his eyes fondly. He’d spent the last half an hour listening to Garcia go on and on about Emily’s sexy little partner Derek Morgan. And, as insufferable as it had been, he had seen the signals the two of them were sharing. The good thing is that he was visibly not the only person unsettled by Garcia and Morgan’s flirting.

Reid really hated it. 

“She’s making banana bread,” Garcia tells Hotch, bumping her hip against him. 

Emily blushes, “yeah but…” She twists her shoe uncomfortably in the dirt. “I’m not that great of a baker.”

Garcia shakes her head, “don’t be so hard on yourself! I’m sure it’ll be great.” She grins, “besides if you need any help Hotch and I are more than willing to be unbiased judges or helpers.”

Emily could laugh at the face Hotch makes. He most certainly does not want that. She shakes her head, “I’m gonna go throw these in. If they’re good, I’ll send you a piece?”

Garcia nods and they watch in silence as Emily goes back to the house. 

The banana bread must not turn out so great because she never brings a piece over but the next day she knocks on his door with a plate of pancakes. 

He’s in a sweatshirt-- Georgetown’s logo slapped on the front and worn with age-- and a pair of grey sweats that make her cheeks flush a little. Nice, idiot, she thinks as she explains she used the leftover bananas to make pancakes and wondered if he’d like some. Mercifully, he either ignores or doesn’t see her making intense eye contact with the floor so she doesn’t look anywhere near his hips. 

After that, they form a strange pattern of her showing up with various baked goods or other types of gifts and such. 

Otherwise, they’d both sit in their homes all alone with nothing but the silence. Or, rather, he’d have the silence because she is very loud. He likes to sit on the porch and listen to her blasting music through her house. Occasionally, he knows a song but mostly he just likes the way the rest of the neighborhood scowls at their houses. 

It’s about nine in the morning when Hotch hears the knocking at his door. For a solid moment, he considers not even answering the door. There’s about a ninety percent chance whoever it is he doesn’t want to talk to. The number of people who have sent cards, and food, and made weird phone calls is numerous. So, if they don’t have the key to his front door or the familiarity to just come busting in-- it’s not worth his time.

Besides, he’s feeling grumpy and he’d like to just wallow for a moment… in peace, alone. 

But then the door does bust open. 

He’s trying to read the paperwork either the hospital or the school sent-- obviously, he hasn’t gotten very far into it if he can’t even tell what the papers are for. All that he knows is there are vibrantly colored sticky notes where his signature should be. But he isn’t just going to go singing his name willy-nilly. He’s not that far gone. 

He looks up and Emily Prentiss is blindly-- her hands are over her eyes for some reason-- trampling through his living room.

“Can I help you?”

At the sound of his voice, her head jerks up. Two paired fingers separate and she looks just like one of his students as she lowers her hands and grins at him. It’s an awkward little grin but it’s not bad. “Uh,” she motions behind her to the door. “Sorry about that… Dave, he, uh, he told me that you’d be home all day and you are home all day and if I needed anything to just--” she grimaces as if she’s just considered how strange this is. “You didn’t answer and Dave said you always answer and you do and I didn’t want something to be wrong…”

She stops talking. 

Mercifully.

Hotch grunts, “I do, normally.” 

Somehow, the only good thing to come out of the last month is that Hotch gets to spend his days at home. Besides the drastic rise in homeschoolers in their town, the school had been gracious enough to handle his disability checks. Of course, everyone had smiled and thanked him for what he’d done to save his kids but Hotch is still very aware of the lawsuits and trouble David Rossi would cause if everything hadn’t gone smoothly. 

Being the semi-famous author of a very successful line of children’s books earns Dave that power. Although, Hotch has seen him use it for good and for… well, mostly sex. 

The downside is he gets pretty lonely at the house.  

Jack goes to his aunts. Haley’s sister Jessica has been a huge help over the last few weeks. Reeling from the loss of her sister, she’d been more than happy to keep her only family close. Even if it’s just her ex-brother-in-law and nephew. Not that Aaron and Jessica’s relationship was severed just because of Haley and Aaron’s divorce. 

It had been painful but not ugly. It had never been about the devotion they felt for one another or even the love.

Life just gets complicated. 

A few teachers had still managed to get some more leave time and with Hotch’s heart actively failing, Reid, Garcia, and Rossi are on the receiving end of lots of understanding when it comes to asking for time off. They have a schedule set into place now: Garcia brings him lunch, Reid picks up Jack, and Dave brings stuff to make dinner for all of them. 

It’s simple but affected. Daily and boring.

“Now this is going to make me sound like a dumbass--” 

He’s known Emily Prentiss for all of week. He excludes the school thing from memory and the timeline. It’s better for his mental health-- which isn’t doing much better than his physical health if he’s being honest. The problem is, the woman is kind of crazy. It’s in an endearing kind of way but still. 

Now he’s sitting in her living room. She’d come barging into his house just thirty minutes before, a hand over her eyes. He’d had to listen to her awful explanation for that while slowly and painfully making his way across the whole five feet separating their houses. The hand over her eyes had been in case he was naked because she may invade his personal space but she really doesn’t want to see his junk. 

He’s not entirely sure where this comfort of hers is coming from. All he does know is that Dave has swindled his way into every aspect of Hotch’s life and now Hotch has his neighbor’s phone number. It’s for “emergencies”, of course. In case Hotch, God forbid, needs help and his only contact is his batshit neighbor.

“I mean it, Aaron,” she’s standing right in front of him with two spices in her hands. “It’s really going to make me sound like a dumbass here but what exactly is the difference between Cinnamon and Nutmeg?”

God, she’s crazy but she’s funny and hasn’t passed any judgement on his inability to get dressed. Just like now while she’s standing in a simple, well-loved tanktop and work jeans and he sits in his flannel pajama bottoms and a Hanes t-shirt that’s seen better days five years ago. 

But they kind of passed lots of mile markers for judgment a long time ago. As in, last week. 

He’d watched in silence as she emptied the contents of her stomach over the railing of his porch and she’d put pressure on the bullet wound that tore through his side. It’s why it was so easy for her to, after that night on the porch, to bring over a plate of pancakes and offer to grab him stuff from the store. Of course, he’d told her he was good and he, mostly, was.

Which is in direct consequence for why he’s here now. 

“Nutmeg tastes like Christmas,” he explains because he has no idea how he’s supposed to explain this to a grown woman. “What are you making?” He’s suddenly very worried for whatever dish she’s making. Especially if she put nutmeg where cinnamon is supposed to be. It’s freaking September and, if he’s being honest, he really hates Christmas. That might make him too biased to figure out if she’s really messed up though.

She grimaces at the containers in her hand. She pulls her lip into her mouth and mumbles, “apple pie.”

His grimace is too much and if she weren’t so bummed with the aspect that her apple pie is most definitely ruined she might laugh. His accent is thick enough for her to comfortably assume he’s from the south not to mention he’s got a lot of that southern gentlemen charm. 

“How much nutmeg did you use?”

Her face says it all.

He places both his fist on the sides of the chair and forces himself onto his feet. If Emily weren’t standing in silent horror that he might fall over or pass out or a hundred other things she might lend a hand. Then again, they haven’t established those boundaries and she can’t flawlessly just know like Dave does. 

“Let me see the damage,” he grumbles but she can see that he’s not actually mad; he's just wary of what she’s done. He’s strange in that way. For a man who has made a career around working with children, he’s got a horrible resting face. 

She lets him set the place, pointing him in the direction of the kitchen. It’s only a few feet but they make it two-steps before she decides she can’t do this silently watching thing. “Do you--” she offers him her forearm, the same way she’d seen Dave do the other afternoon. 

He scowls at her arm but after a moment, he takes her hand. His skin is startlingly cold and his hand trembles until he settles his grip. It’s surprisingly easy and she doesn’t think much of it. At least he’s not dead weight to lug around. She’s had plenty of people hang onto her, she doesn’t even mind this. 

“I think I might have used too much nutmeg,” she concludes before he can see the damage and rule her incompetant. It’s a warning.

He glances at her out of the corner of his eye… too late for the incompetant thing, she decides. He already thinks she’s a moron.

Rightfully so but still…

She’d known he was tall. It’s not that hard to see but as she’s standing beside him, his body pulled in and hunched over, he’s still towering over quite a bit. He’s a big man and he smells nice so he’s got a lot going for him. Too bad about the heart thing because he’s kinda cute.

“That’s all…” she moves him to the kitchen table and brings the pie to him. She really doesn’t want him falling in her kitchen. Dave likes her and she’d like to keep it that way. Besides, there would be so many awful and weird questions to answer if she had to take him to the hospital. 

And now he’s sitting in horror at this pie in front of him.

“That’s all…” he repeats himself, shaking his head in disbelief. The pie is covered in a brown powder and he’s slowly processing that it’s all nutmeg.

She grimaces and nods.

He looks up at her, mouth open but disbelief making it impossible for him to say anything. He’s seen a lot of weird things. Preschoolers are… they’re a piece of work but this is testing every bit of training he has. 

“It’s bad, isn’t it?”

He nods, “definitely.” 

Huffing in a way that he recognizes from dealing with one too many headstrong four-year-olds, she places her fist on her hips. She scowls down at the pie. It’s cooked and it smells okay but if she’s been too generous with the nutmeg there’s no way that’s going to taste good. After a moment she hums and turns around, pulling out two forks she comes right back to the table. 

“Well,” she says with a tilt of her head, “christmas apples can’t be that bad, right?”

He takes the fork being offered to him with no interest whatsoever in eating this pie but it's kind of funny and he’s having a good time. Together they break the baked dough and get a bite- sized piece. He’s fairly adamant but somehow it’s got nothing to do with his tricky stomach or the fact that he hasn’t been able to keep down much besides water and saltine crackers. It’s going to taste like shit and it’s exciting.

Emily chokes on her bite coughing and grimacing as she rushes to spit it out. To his credit, Hotch swallows his bite. “That was honestly the worst apple pie I’ve ever tasted,” he tells her, honestly. 

She laughs and that feels so good. She hasn’t laughed in a long time. 

He shrugs, “I’m not gonna lie to you.”

She tosses her fork on the table and shakes her head at the pie. So much for that.

“How exactly--” he bites down on the wave of pain that rocks through his body as he forces his legs underneath him. He stands, trembling and waving slightly with the effort it takes. “Why were you making apple pie so early in the day?”

Emily is still frowning at the pie so she doesn’t even look up at him. “Bored,” she mumbles. She’s upset about her pie. Damn… this whole nutmeg vs cinnamon thing is stupid. They look exactly the same so they should taste the same, right?

“Maybe you should try something else,” Hotch says, one hand still keeping his balance on the table. “Baking just doesn’t…”

Emily frowns at him, “I like baking, though!”

Hotch looks away, tilting his head and raising an eyebrow. “Baking doesn’t like you,” he mumbles. 

She smacks his shoulder and he chuckles-- this isn’t the first failed attempt of her’s he’s tried. There was the cookies from Monday (that were burnt on the bottom and raw on top) and the banana bread he’d only seen but-- they could have killed a lesser man let alone him and his broken heart. 

“Maybe I can try cooking,” she proposes. 

He shakes his head, “are you gonna make me eat that too?”

She clicks her tongue, faking offense. “What, are you afraid?”

He smiles and it takes her breath away. He’s got high, sharp cheekbones and when he’s not carrying so much tension in his shoulders it’s so much easier to appreciate just how soft his dark hair looks. Her neighbor is hot. She’s not sure if he knows that though.

“A little,” he admits playfully, “but maybe you’ll be better at cooking than you are baking.”

She crosses her arms and scowls down at her pie. “I don’t think it’s going to take a lot to be better at cooking than baking.” 

He makes a soft sound, “you said it, not me.”

She shakes her head at him but there he is smiling again. She can’t even be mad. “Maybe I’ll make dinner,” she proposes, tucking her hands under her armpits as she thinks. “Are you interested?”

Honestly, no but he doesn’t want to pass up on hanging out with her. So he nods. 

“Six o’clock should be enough time to cook something, right?”

Jesus, she’s going to kill him. 

“Why don’t I come over and help?”

Oh, she hadn’t thought of that. She nods, “okay. You wanna come over at three, then?”

It’s dangerous, without a shred of doubt there, but his heart does this little flutter. “Uh,” he has to clear his throat. “Yeah, sounds like a plan.”

Except three rolls around he’s a no show. Three turns into three-thirty and she’s not trying to be a buzzkill but the recipe calls for caramelized onions and she has no idea what that means but she hopes it doesn’t mean what she thinks it does. Carmel on onions? Sounds disgusting.

“Knock, knock?” She’s already barged into his house once today so it really shouldn’t be that big of a deal but something doesn’t feel right. She can’t shake it and she certainly can’t just… leave. “Hotch?” God, she hopes he’s just in the bathroom.

He isn’t.

“You okay?” she falls to her knees beside him. She’d never been this far into his house. Mostly, she’d never passed the living room but now she’s kneeling in his hallway and can see his bedroom from here. As much as she’d like to evaluate that-- because the space is strangely neat and God, who knew the bare minimum of a clean room was such a perfect green flag--

Right--

He shakes his head. 

Oh.

“Should…” she knows he hates the hospital, who doesn’t? But… he’s gasping for breath on the floor, his pale hand clutching at his chest. The sight is very overwhelming and hurting her deeply because it’s bringing feelings back that she thought were getting better. “Do I need to call--”

To the school and to the blood pooling between their bodies. 

He nods. He’s terrified but just seeing Emily brings some strange comfort. Her and her awful cooking might just get him through this. He won’t die on this floor. Not on this ugly ass rug Dave made him put down. 

The ambulance comes, bounding the sirens shrill sound up and down the block. Making a spectacle out of an awful experience. 

He winces when the IV goes in and she just stands, bouncing from foot-to-foot awkwardly watching. It’s not until he’s on the gurney, fighting the drugs rushing through his system. “You can come,” he rasps but no one can hear him clearly from behind the masks. Reaching up to pull it away, several hands swat his hand away and he makes a grunted, annoyed sound at hte back fo his throat.

An EMT leans over and calms him back down before Hotch starts trying to fight his way back up into danger. “Easy, buddy.” The EMT pushes on Hotch’s shoulders and it's not a lot of force but Hotch isn’t strong enough to fight it. “The pretty lady can come, okay? Just settle down.”

She stays with him and tells herself it’s because she doesn’t want him hurting himself but she really doesn’t want to leave his side until she knows he’s going to be okay. There’s no hand holding because they’re still at the point where they smack shoulders and stand feet apart but they’ve only known one another for a week and-- Emily can’t fathom what she’s supposed to do if he dies in the back of this shitty ambulance. 

“Can you--” the EMTs give him something that nearly knocks him out on the spot but his breathing gets better and he stops gasping and wheezing. He just lays supine on the gurney. Limp. “Dave?” He can’t keep his eyes open but he hears Emily make what he thinks are words of confirmation but his sentence didn't exactly make sense so maybe she didn't understand him.

He’s pulled under by the warmth spreading through his limbs before he can repeat himself or worry with it.

“You can’t go back there, baby.”

Emily blinks and there’s an older woman stopping Emily’s zombie-like march beside the gurney as they rush Hotch off to the side. She can’t tear her eyes off of him. Watching numbly as they cut his shirt down the middle and start to attach to electrodes to his alarmingly pale chest. 

Her hands are trembling as she pulls her phone out of her pocket. “Dave?” she’s breathless with the anxiety swelling in her own chest. “I’m so sorry--” and she’s crying. Why? He’s not her friend? He’s her neighbor who she’s known for a whole freaking week and yet-- And she can’t deal with Dave being mad either. But he isn’t. 

The minute he steps into the hospital, he comes right up to and pulls her into a hug. She sobs into his arms and he lets her because he’s seen Aaron this bad before. He knows it’s unnerving. 

“Do you have any news?” Dave asks her and she shakes her head. He squeezes her arm and smiles at her tear-stained face. “I’ll be right back, okay? They know my face, I might be able to wrangle some news out of one of the nurses.”

She nods her head and watches dejectedly as he walks away. 

Aaron had told her that Rossi had slept with many nurses while he was in the hospital. She’s thinking about the way he’d smiled when he told her that when she falls into the waiting rooms stiff chairs.

[polyamorous-selfinserts]

case #0091104 - almost dead

trigger warnings: mentions of death, drowning, suicide, cutting, explosions, fire, depression

jon finds a tape in the archives that looks familiar...what will he learn about the archive’s resident teenager?

tagging @astralshipper @shippin-in-the-rain @grimms-heart @ghostlyvenus​ cause i’m super proud of this! 

this takes place during season two, but there’s not any major spoilers. just jon being paranoid, plus mentions of michael becoming the distortion.

Recorder clicks on

Jon: Found this tape under a box in the archives. It’s, uh, it looks like one of Gertrude’s tapes, but the handwriting....that’s Charlie’s I think. I guess I knew sh- they were here before I was, but…

Jon: Could they have killed Gertrude? I suppose it's possible. They would’ve been, what? Thirteen, fourteen?

Jon: I found this about a week ago, and I’ve been watching them. They spend a lot of time in the archives. I don’t think they go home. Come to think of it, I don’t even know where they live. I tried asking Elias - I couldn’t find the information in any of our records - but apparently they don’t work at the Institute. Which is, uh, alarming, to say the least.

Long exhale

Jon: God, I…

Recorder clicks off

Tape player clicks on

A low voice with an American accent. Probably 16-25, female?

Voice: Uh, hello? This is Charlie Finn. I uh...well I guess I’m kind of an archival assistant? Not officially though. Over my dead body, Elias.

Exhale, snort of laughter

Charlie: I’m uh, I’m making a statement, I guess? I think I’m already in more of these than Ger- uh - Gerard, but uh, I’ve never actually made one so…

Rustling of papers

Charlie: Statement of Charlie Finn, regarding...um, their life, almost-death, and subsequent paranormal existence.

Deep inhale

Charlie: So, uh, I uh, I tried to kill myself when I was eleven. Jumped into the Thames tied to a cinder block. Guess I should’ve tied the rope tighter, or maybe skipped swim team, cause the knot came undone. It was cold. Late February. When you’re drowning, you go into a panic - but there’s this point, at the end, where it’s so peaceful...you can almost see it - the end. I don’t remember not dying. I had almost reached that point, where I just...wouldn’t be. And then I was breaking the surface of the water. I - I tried again. Tied the rope tighter. But my hands were shaking so much. I couldn’t tie it fast enough, and dawn was coming. People had started to wake up - I guess one of them saw me jump in this time.

They take a shaky breath

Charlie: I could barely see - the edges of my vision were going - but I fought against his hands. He was an EMT, going in for the early shift. White guy, college age. When he pulled me to the bank of the river, I realized he’d - uh - (humorously) he’d pulled the cinderblock up with him. Couldn’t get the knot undone, I guess, so he just pulled me out, and the block came with it. I think he gave me CPR - not sure, I was kinda out of it. There was a crowd around me when I came to - of course there was, but, uh, they looked so concerned - (huff of laughter) - the ambulance arrived, and they asked all the questions - finally it came to the one I was dreading - my parents.

Charlie: I guess I should back up a bit. Some background info. That’s how these usually start. Um, so my parents are both teachers - we had moved to London when I was maybe ten? Not long before this happened. I hated changing schools, but my parents got really good jobs at some schools - my mom was offered the principal position at a private school - and my dad was offered a position as a child psychologist at some elementary schools. My sister was too young to really get it, but I hated my new school. All the kids were rich - and honestly, I preferred American homophobia. Anyway, this school was maybe five blocks from the Magnus Institute. Or, is. (humorously) It’s not like it’s just gone and disappeared, now is it.

Charlie: Peter Lukas doesn’t like me that much.

Charlie: So, um, yeah. My relationship with my parents has never been great. My mom’s downright emotionally abusive, and my dad...well he just… he doesn’t really have a backbone. My mom’s always been high strung, and I know she wants the best for me, but...the best to her isn’t something I can do. My dad tried his best to defend me against my mom’s criticism, but, I mean, he had his own critique for me.

Charlie: I’ve uh….I’ve never been the skinniest of people. And I’ve got narcolepsy - which means I sleep a lot. My dad - he’s one of those people who, just, well. He doesn’t understand disabilities. Like, I mean, he understands them, obviously, but he doesn’t really get that sometimes, I just can’t do stuff. So he pressured me a lot into exercising and not eating a ton.

They take a shaky breath

Charlie: So, I um, I was depressed, obviously. And therapy in central London isn’t exactly easy to come by. I was cutting, but that was - that wasn’t because I wanted to die. It was more for control. I could control that. (inhale) I um, I made the decision when my friend, um - I had a crush on him. His name was Nathaniel. He um, he stopped talking to me, just after my birthday. He just...never texted me back.

Charlie: I somehow got it into my mind that he - um, that I’d like, done something? To make him leave me. Which, I mean, I think that’s dumb. Sometimes people just leave, but my brain decided it must be my fault. So I, um. I jumped into the Thames.

Charlie: So yeah. Um, the ambulance people asked for my parents phone number and I just - I couldn’t deal with that right now. I just - (humorless laugh) - I told them my parents were dead. They didn’t know how to respond for a second, but they asked if I had someone else to contact. At this point, I’d visited the Institute a few times and met Gertrude. I was doing a school project on, like, local businesses, and I thought it would be cool to do the Institute. Gertrude had helped with a bit of the project - she was head Archivist after all. Looking back on it, I think she probably did it cause she has this sixth-sense about people who’ve been marked. I probably walked in that first day marked up to the wazoo for the End, and she took an interest in me.

Charlie: Whatever it was, I knew she would at least cover for me. So I told the ambulance staff to call the Institute, ask Rosie for Gertrude Robinson. They looked alarmed, but maybe half an hour later, I was sitting in a hospital room, Gertrude Robinson acting like she was my grandma.

(laugh)

Charlie: She’s rather convincing, when she needs to be - had a whole act about being a kind old lady. She was all (imitating an old woman) ‘my sweet little Charlie’ (laugh) Knowing what she’s done now, I’m not sure if I should’ve been impressed or afraid…

Charlie: Probably afraid.

Charlie: Anyway, she got me out of there real quick. Since we were in Chelsea - and my parents lived and worked in central London - I wasn’t much afraid of them finding out. It wasn’t in the news - (sarcastically) lucky me - and as far as I know, they never found out. Gertrude walked me home, which was...nice? I don’t know why she did it. Maybe she was actually worried for me. Probably not though.

Charlie: I stopped really going home after that. Or to school. I told my parents I’d got a job, and I was living with a friend. Both sort of true. I emailed my teachers, told them I was in a ward and I would pick up the work I needed to do at the beginning of the week and drop it off on Fridays. People aren’t exactly keen to pry into that sort of stuff, and as long as I got the work in, no one really cared. So I effectively moved into the attic of the Magnus Institute. Elias said it was fine, as long as I wasn’t disruptive. I became a sort of assistant - I took statements, filed them - I was one of the only ones who could understand Gertrude’s system - and looked into some cases for Gertrude. But my real job was in artefact storage.

Charlie: I know people don’t love it there, but I’ve always been interested in them. Gerard says it’s stupid teenage curiosity, but...he’s not my mom. Even if he was, I wouldn’t listen to him. Anyways, my job was to look into the objects that really messed people up. Not gonna go into super specific detail, cause the really bad ones are technically, like, classified or something, but lets just say there’s a reason I hate bugs.

Charlie: This was all fine, and I kind of fell into a routine for a few months. But I started to notice something. When people came in to give statements, I could, kind of, feel something about them. Like they were still going somewhere. The statements I took were always unfinished somehow.

Charlie: It got to a point where Mikey had to stop an interview because I wouldn't stop asking the woman if she was sure that was everything. I didn’t know what was going on, until one day I was walking home from the store - there’s no real food in the Institute fridge so I lived off of microwaved meals mostly - and I felt this pull. It wasn’t, like a literal pull. More like - (sigh) - you know when you’re walking back to bed in the dark and you feel like something’s about to get you, so you, like, throw yourself into bed and pull your covers up. Yeah, well, it felt kinda like that, except...except I was the thing in the dark. I don’t know how long I walked for, but it was after midnight by the time I came to an apartment complex.

Charlie: The women before, who I had been interviewing. She said there was something wrong with her gas pipes, but whenever she asked the landlord to check it out, they said there was nothing wrong. But she kept smelling gas. I could certainly smell it, as I walked up the stairs in a daze. I came to a door, 407. The door was locked, and when I put my hand on it, it burned. But I didn’t flinch - instead I turned the nob and I could hear the lock snap.

Charlie: Inside the apartment looked normal. I walked into a side room and the woman was asleep in her bed. She looked terrified. She asked me why I was here, was I going to kill her?

Charlie: I shook my head. No. I wasn’t going to kill her. But she was going to die. And -

Charlie: And the building, it exploded.

Charlie: I don’t know why I didn’t die, but she certainly did.

Charlie: (laugh) Jude was pretty pissed about that. Said I ‘took’ her sacrifice. Like everything doesn’t already belong to death.

Charlie: It doesn’t happen a lot, anymore, but I could tell when it would happen. I don’t know why the deaths are important. It didn’t happen when (shaky) when Gertrude left Mikey. Though I suppose he’s not really dead...is he.

Charlie: I don’t know. There’s a couple statements that mention me, but I don’t like to read them. It makes me feel guilty. I guess it’s not really my fault - they would’ve died anyway, but…

Charlie: Yeah, so. Um. Statement ends.

Tape player clicks off.

Recorder clicks on

Long, shaky exhale

Jon: Well, that’s, enlightening. I’m going to be honest though, I have more questions than answe -

Door opening

Charlie: Jon! Hey, I’ve got a question about this case, I think you might’ve misfiled it cause Martin said - 

Jon: Um, actually I was -

Charlie: Oh, are you recording right now, sorry! What’s this statement about?

Footsteps, sounds of shuffling papers. Charlie’s voice is much closer to the recorder now.

Charlie: Is that a tape? One of Gertrude’s? I thought the police had taken them all?

Jon: (fumbling) No, um, it’s -

Charlie: Wait, is...is that my tape Jon?

Jon: I mean - well - yes - but I - oh god - I just, I didn’t think -

Charlie: (cruelly) No, you didn’t think, did you Jon. (voice breaking) I hope you’re happy, now you know. I defended you, you know. Tim’s been so pissy and I - (voice cracks) I wanted to believe you weren’t that type of person but…

Jon: Charlie--

Charlie: No. I’m… don’t talk to me Jon. I don’t want to hear it.

Loud footsteps, door slams

Jon: Shit.

Recorder clicks off.

[whindsor]

gbbo au, part 1

i’ve been thinking about this for a whole year and now the au idea got even better so you know what, i’m just gonna do it, cause i miss mika and bucky A Whole Lot. this is completely self indulgent and unedited and just for fun. So here we go!

note: i’m not gonna add like, the real contestants on this season. cause like, they’re real people. and that’s a lil weird. 

another note: i have no idea how the competition is run, how the baking bubble works, or really what’s going on. i’m winging it and having a great time.

week one: cake week

This was, no doubt, the longest two weeks of her life.

Mika wasn’t sure how she, an expat from a little town in Romania, had gotten chosen for The Great British Bake Off. Or Bake Off, as everyone called it. Apparently, being in the UK implied the Great British part. 

Thanks to the stupid plague running rampant around the world, the contestants were invited to actually live at the Bake Off this year - at least, until they were removed from the competition. She hadn’t actually got to meet any of the contestants yet, since they were stuck quarantining in their little flats. They’d tested her when she’d first gotten there of course - negative, thank God - and every couple days since. She’d seen a few people leave under the cover of night, a car taking them away from the Baking Bubble. She wondered how many people were in the building, and if one day they would come in and tell her that sorry, you’re still negative for coronavirus, but you actually placed thirteenth in the ranking so you need to leave now. 

But then, she got an email. A wonderful, glorious email. 

Congratulations, Mika! You are a final contestant on The Great British Bake Off!

She wasn’t quite sure what it said after that - something about logistics and contacts and services and what not - all she knew was that she had to get to work. Now.

The next few days were a flurry of flour and frantic phone calls and internet searches, and as slow as the quarantine period had been, those few days flew by fast. She began to see inklings of other people then; one man got up and went for a run about the time she was sipping on her first cup of coffee. The woman next door practiced yoga on the balcony. At one point, a distinct burning smell emanated from the floors below her. They were all here, and all ready to bake.

She chose her outfit carefully. She needed to feel confident, but also comfortable. So she slid on jeans and boots, and eventually decided on a printed top her sister had given her, hoping it would remind her to just have fun. After all, Nicoletta was the one who signed her up for this in the first place, and was also the inspiration for her first Signature Challenge. 

Interviews were first. It was chilly outside, and just a little breezy, so she slid on a leather jacket. Her mother would hate that she wore it, but it was her favorite, and made her feel much cooler and more hard core than she actually was. Down the lawn, Morning Jogger was also in his interview. He looked rather calm and collected, with his flannel and man bun and hand tucked into his pocket. Lucky duck. She turned her attention back in front of her. The interviewer asked a few introductory questions to get her acclimated to the camera in her face; it helped if she just talked to him, rather than to the lens. He assured her that was just fine. 

“So, how are you feeling about starting the Bake Off?” he asked, finally getting into the nitty-gritty.

“Terrified.” she said immediately, giggling nervously after that. God, she hoped she came across as endearing rather than annoying. That road was a dangerous one to go down, so she took a sharp left. “But I’m so excited to finally get in there and see if I’m any good, or if my friends and family have been lying this whole time.”

That would be the nugget they used for her introduction. As expected, her mother wouldn’t care for it. But her sister thought she was cute and that her hair looked extra glossy, which was always a plus. 

She finally got to go into the tent, glad she’d chosen to wear sturdy shoes instead of heels because her legs felt like they were made of jelly. And not even the good jelly like she made - the jelly her friend Elena made, which usually ended up being more of a soak for toast. Morning Jogger was also there, stationed at the back right bench, tapping the fingers of his right hand against the butcher block surface. 

His left arm, however, was suspiciously missing.

Mika caught herself staring, her eyes flicking up to his before dropping with her chagrin. Get a grip, girl. It’s not like he was the first amputee she’d ever seen! Just the first on the Bake Off. She kept her eyes down as she went to her bench, which of course was right next to his. Dammit.

“Back of the class kids, huh?” he said. When she gave him a hesitant smile, he added, “It’s okay, I know it’s a shock.” His voice was quiet, but somehow still confident. She instantly knew that he was way tougher than she would ever be. 

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to stare.” she said, looking at him again and owning up to her mistake. He shrugged.

“It happens.” he said. He didn’t sound sad, or angry. It was just matter-of-fact.

“I’m Mika,” she said, changing the topic. “What’s your name?”

“Technically, James Barnes.” he said, then added, “But my friends call me Bucky.”

“Are we friends, James Bucky Barnes?” she asked with a perked eyebrow, amazed that she was able to flirt with someone at a time like this. Arm or no arm, he was very handsome. He smirked, apparently happy with her response.

“Perhaps not yet.” he said. “I guess we’re enemies for now.”

“Then are you ready to battle?” she said, trying to be extra dramatic in an effort to make his smile bigger. It worked. 

“I think I’m ready, but I feel like I’m forgetting something.” he said, glancing down at the place where he used to have another hand. She snorted in laughter once before covering her mouth with her hand.

“I feel like I’m not supposed to laugh at that.” she said, her voice muffled. 

“Please laugh, otherwise I’ll be too embarrassed to bake.” he said, his expression making her give in to the humor. Nerves also helped that, but she would never admit it. He gave her a conspiratory smile that she returned; now she understood how the contestants all seemed like allies. 

The other contestants trickled in, and Mika felt a weird sense of protectiveness every time people spotted his arm, or lack thereof. He took it all in stride; she wondered how many times a day he got looks like that. Of course, she didn’t have time to ask, because before she knew it, the judges and hosts stood in a line at the front of the tent, welcoming them all to the competition. She hadn’t realized that there would be a new host this year, and she was grateful that the hosts managed to break some of the tension in the room. Then, it was time for their first challenge.

Battenberg cakes.

Mika was not ashamed to admit that she had to Google what a Battenberg cake was. At first glance, it didn’t seem that difficult, but then she remembered that she was baking for two of the most respected chefs in the UK, and that she had literally no margin for error. That made it a little more difficult. 

They told her to bake, so she baked. She started whipping her butter and sugars, then added her eggs and flour and flavorings. She could see the judges and hosts making their way down the line, talking to the contestants and asking about their bakes. She tried to stay calm and collected, like Bucky next to her. His easy tone when talking to them helped to soothe her, especially when they brought up his obvious disability. There was no way their conversations would be the same, so she didn’t have to worry about comparisons.

“Hello there, Mika.” the female judge said with a grin. Mika gave the best smile she could manage, reminding herself to stay calm and somewhat focused. 

“Alo, how are you?” she said. Her accent was extra thick with her nerves. Dammit. 

“What have you got for us today?” the male judge asked after exchanging pleasantries. She took a deep breath, willing herself not to stumble over her words. She glanced over to Bucky, who gave her an encouraging smile. 

“Well, my sister has been my biggest champion, so this is for her.” she explained, dumping ground up freeze dried strawberries into half of her batter. “She loves strawberries and cream, so that’s what I’m making today.”

“Simple.” the male judge said, a little bit of surprise in his voice. Her stomach dropped to approximately her knees. It must have shown on her face, because the female judge patted her hand in a comforting manner. 

“As long as it’s done perfectly, it doesn’t matter how simple it is.” she said, winking behind her thick, bright blue glasses. Mika managed a hesitant smile.

“Right. Just perfection.” she said nervously, making them laugh. They bid her good luck and moved on to the next bench, the taller of the two hosts putting an arm around her shoulders and leaving an encouraging word before moving on. Okay, so all she had to achieve was perfection. That was fine. She shut out all the other distractions, barely hearing the time calls as they came. She focused on getting her cake in the oven, getting her marzipan nice and pink marbled, and making her filling. The cakes looked good when she pulled them out of the oven, and thank God they were done. Everything seemed to be going to according to plan.

“Twenty minutes left!” one of the hosts called. Shit! 

She quickly pulled her cakes from the tin; they were still warm, but they would have to do. She pulled her secret weapon - dental floss - out, and tried not to sweat as she cut the squares. She put them on the marzipan, put in her filling, and started the careful process of rolling it. When she managed to get the marzipan just right, she finally let out a sigh of relief. She glanced over at Bucky, curious as to how he was getting on. His movements were carefully coordinated and meticulous, and she noticed he used every square millimeter of his hand (and a little bit of his torso, which had a distinct line of flour and food coloring) to get things to move the way he wanted. Impressive. She turned back to her own work, whipping and piping some cream and artfully fanning out strawberries. With a minute to spare, she finished. 

Now for the judging. 

It was so stressful to watch the judges go from table to table, sampling the cakes and giving critique. Most of the contestants got glowing reviews, and only a couple had negative feedback. She held her breath when they got to her buddy in the back of the room, amazed that he could look so calm.

“Rosemary and lemon,” the male judge announced, nodding towards the cake. It was covered in a simple yellow marzipan, a few rosemary sprigs tied with a gold ribbon and placed on top. 

“An unusual flavor combination for a cake.” the female judge added, watching as the first judge cut a large square from the cake. The colors were a distinct white and yellow checkerboard, which was one of the requirements. Bucky shrugged.

“I wanted to try something different.” he said. 

“Bit simplistic on the decoration.” the female judge said, pushing the rosemary sprigs. Mika had thought it looked elegant, but she supposed that’s why she wasn’t one of the judges. 

“Decoration isn’t my strong suit.” he said, his grin widening at the vague look of discomfort they gave him. “I’m not particularly artistic. All left brain, I’m afraid.” That seemed to assuage their fears a bit, and they turned to the plates in front of them while Mika tried not to giggle at his jokes. They took a bite from the cake, both of their eyebrows raising as the flavors hit them.

“Wow. That is...surprising.” the female judge said. The male judge nodded. “The texture is just a touch tough, but for me the flavor makes it worth it.”

“Rosemary is very floral and usually does well with more savory applications, but it works really well with the lemon here. Well done.” the male judge added. They bid farewells, and Mika was so distracted by Bucky actually displaying an emotion (relief) that she forgot for a moment that they were coming for her. 

“Alright, Mika, your turn.” the female judge said. She had a very kind smile, despite her position.

“Remind us what we have here.” the male judge said. His gaze was very intense, and much more intimidating that when they spoke earlier. She cleared her throat, holding her hands together so they couldn’t see them shaking.

“Strawberries and cream, for my sister.” she said, keeping her answer short in case her English failed her. The female judge gestured to the bushels of strawberries and whipped cream all over the cake.

“This is a bit much.” she said. “I would have done the marbled marzipan or the strawberries, but to have both is a little...over the top.”

Mika’s stomach turned to stone. Now that she looked at it, it did seem a bit garish. She forced a smile and nodded. “Okay, yes, I see that now.”

“I like it. I enjoy extra snacks with my cake.” the host said, reaching out and pulling one of the strawberries off, making sure to take a large dollop of whipped cream with it before popping the whole thing - green and all - into his mouth. She was grateful for the humor, and for the bit of validation.

“Right. Let’s get to the cake then.” the male judge said, cutting a slice. Thank goodness the pink and white squares were perfect and distinct. First box ticked. She held her breath as they ate it, her vision starting to swim slightly when they finally looked at her.

“That is beautifully soft.” the female judge said, adding, “and the flavors aren’t overdone at all.”

“It’s very difficult to add freeze dried strawberries to a recipe and avoid a granulated texture in it.” the male judge said. “But you’ve managed to pull it off. I like this a lot.”

“I think I’ll have another bit before we go.” the female judge said, taking another forkful. Mika visibly sank in relief, her smile genuine this time.

“Thank you, thank you so much.” she said, slouching as soon as their backs turned. She glanced over at Bucky, who gave her a thumbs up. The gesture made her cheeks warm, and she returned the gesture before settling back on to the stool. Once everyone was judged, they were instructed to take a two hour break. Mika couldn’t help but hop over to the bench next to hers, a slice of cake on a plate.

“I’ll show you mine if you show me yours.” she said with a grin, making Bucky choke on a laugh. He cut her a slice as well, handing it over.

“I actually don’t really care for sweets. But I do want to hear what you think of this.” he said with a self deprecating smile. Her eyebrows shot up.

“Don’t care for sweets? How did you make it then?” she asked, taking a large bite of his cake. Dammit, it was really good.

“I have a few reliable critics. What do you think of the cake?”

“It’s terrible. You should drop out.” she said, mouth full of another bite. “I’m definitely not terrified of you.”

He laughed again, and Mika thought that he had a very nice smile. She would have commented on it, but figured that would probably be weird after meeting just a couple hours before. So she just let herself be ushered out of the tent and into an open area, with lunch plates all waiting for them.

All of them were carefully spaced around an empty fire pit. Some of the other contestants had grouped up a little, but Bucky was sitting on his own, his plate carefully positioned on his lap and a book perched precariously on his knee. Mika chose the seat next to him, giving him a warm smile when he looked up before turning to her own lunch. She was sure the other contestants were nice, but she was drained after the morning, and the thought of having to smile and socialize was not particularly enticing. She pulled out her phone, scrolling through recent news and reading the articles that interested her. Bucky continued with his book, though she realized it had been a long moment since he’d turned a page. She glanced over to catch him looking at her, his eyes dropping quickly once she caught him. She couldn’t help but grin...and also make sure that there was nothing on her face.

All too soon, they returned to the tent for the technical challenge. This was what Mika was most excited about; she could follow vague directions (one of the few helpful skills her mother developed), and had decently good instincts. Usually. The judges and hosts lined up, and when she looked over at Bucky before they spoke, she made sure to throw another smile his way. He grinned back, which was a better confidence boost than the well wishes from the judges and hosts.

Pineapple upside down cake? She’d seen it once, on an episode long ago. She remember thinking it sounded delicious - and then promptly forgot everything about it. She could figure it out, right?...Right? She glanced to Bucky out of the corner of her eye, and the man was still grinning like the Cheshire Cat. Dammit, that was the look of someone who’d made this before. 

Whatever. She was smart! She had a degree! And she watched a lot of television! She could do this!

She started on the sponge, the easy part. It was the caramel she was worried about. The cameras stopped on her, the interviewer asking, “Are you familiar with this technical challenge?”

“I’ve heard of it, yes.” she said, giving them a nervous grin. It was still awkward to talk to the camera, so she instead focused on the man asking the question. “Have I made it? No. Have I eaten it? Also no. But it sounds good.” 

They gave her sympathetic smiles, moving on to talk to Bucky. She let out a breath of relief, knowing that now she could focus on the caramel. All she had to do was watch it. And pull it off at the right moment. And not let it crystalize.

Which is exactly what it did.

“Fuck a duck.” she muttered in Romanian, glad that she both hid in her native language and that the cameras were far away. 

“Watch your tongue.” Bucky said, also in perfect Romanian. She nearly dropped the pan of crystalized caramel, looking at him in shock. The cameramen noticed the movement, and carefully slid back to them.

“You speak Romanian?” she asked, shock evident in her face.

“Yes, I do.” he replied, and just hearing the language helped calm her in a weird way. The piece of home was exactly what she needed. He nodded toward her bench. “Fix your caramel.”

“Dammit!” Mika said, back in English now. She weighed out the sugar and water, putting it back on the stove. The cameras were still there, and the interviewer asked, 

“What was that about?” 

“He speaks Romanian! It’s very exciting.” she said, this time giving them a genuine smile. They quickly panned over to Bucky.

“How do you know Romanian?” they asked. He had a long knife in his hand, carefully resting the pineapple on the bench and managing to slowly, but expertly, cut it. 

“I’ve done a lot of traveling. I actually speak eight languages.” he replied casually. “Well, conversationally at least.” he added. He flipped the knife, laying it aside a safe distance away from them. The camera man gulped, and decided not to ask any more questions. Mika, realizing she should probably get back to her bake and not worry about Bucky’s life story, quickly turned to find, thank God, her caramel looked good. Pale, maybe, but good. It would darken in the oven for sure.

She carefully placed the pineapple and the cherry in the bottom of the greased tins, using a spoon to add in the still hot caramel. She had a fair bit left over, but she didn’t want to risk drowning the cake. So, she followed her gut and ladled in the sponge mix, putting them in the oven before she could think too much about it. Bucky, of course, was already pulling his out. Damn him. 

“Thirty minutes remain!” one of the hosts called, balancing a rolling pin on his head. She appreciated the humor, she really did, but she was very stressed right now and seeing a rolling pin in such a precarious position was not exactly helpful. She checked her oven; the cakes were probably halfway finished. There was no way they would be cool in time for her to put the cream...but she’d have to try. 

The last few minutes the cakes were in the oven, she whipped up the cream. If she was honest, she nearly overwhipped it into butter, but caught it just in time. As soon as the timer went off she got the tray from the oven, nearly sliding the tins off the edge. She gasped, nearly choking on her heart in her throat as she caught it just in time, placing the tray on the counter before putting her hand over her heart. 

“Slow down, Mika.” she said to herself, shaking her head for a second. Of course the cameras caught the moment - she could feel them pointed towards her - but she refused to look up at them. Her stress was through the roof, and if she was honest, she was trying very hard not to cry.

She started fanning the little tins, trying to get them to cool down enough to remove the cakes. “Fifteen minutes!” the host called, and she actually, verbally eeked and grabbed the closest cake. The cup was still ferociously hot, but she didn’t have time to think about burning off her fingerprints. Instead, she focused on getting the cakes out and onto the platter. The caramel didn’t darken like she hoped, but she didn’t have time to care. She was back to furiously fanning, trying to get it cool enough for the cream. She made the mistake of glancing over to Bucky - he was already putting little rosettes of cream on his, cool as a cucumber. Dammit!

“One minute left!” the host called. It was the moment of truth. She prayed her cream wouldn’t melt, swiftly piping it onto the little cakes. They smelled delicious for sure...would they be allowed to try one afterwards?

“Time’s up!” the call felt like a knife through her gut. They all had cream on them, but it was very hasty work, and definitely not her best. She let out a frustrated sigh, the little hairs that escaped her braid floating around her face. There was nothing she could do now, except wait to get judged. This time, the judges would not know who made which one...which could make their feedback all the more honest. 

“Well, well,” the male judge said, clapping his hands together. His eyes ran over the plates in front of him, his face already giving away his feelings. The female judge’s eyebrows rose over her thick glasses, as if she were surprised. Whether it was a good or bad surprise remained to be seen. “Right. Let’s get started.”

Mika watched in abject horror as they ripped apart every plate in front of them. The good ones were good, and the bad ones - luckily hers didn’t quite fit in there - were, well, bad. Bucky, of course, got glowing reviews. When they stopped at Mika’s, she held her breath.

“Caramel is too light.” the female judge said, poking at it with her fork. The male judge cut it in half, and even from a few feet away Mika could see that the cake was held together only by her dreams.

“It’s baked. Barely.” he said shortly, chuckling to himself. They took a bite, mulling it over for a moment until he added, “Not bad. If the caramel was a little more done on the stove and the cakes in the oven a couple more minutes, it would have been pretty good.”

Not bad. She could work with “not bad”. Hopefully. 

Out of the twelve bakers, she ended up placing seventh. Almost top half! Though she would have much preferred to place first (which was where Bucky placed), she really deserved to be much lower than her rank. At that point she seemed to be sitting in the middle of the pack, which was just as well with her. She just needed to get past the nerves of this first week. As long as she wasn’t the first one to go, she could do better. At least, she hoped so. Really, her goal was to make it to bread week. If she made it there, she would consider this adventure a success, and could go home happy.

The dismissal was such a relief that she forgot about the Showstopper challenge the following day. The bakers gathered their things, returning to the big house and heading for their apartments. Mika looked forward to a shower, some comfier pants, and one single stiff drink. She hanged back a little, waiting for Bucky to catch up to her. 

“Do you know where they keep the key to the liquor cabinet?” she asked, making him raise his brows.

“No, but I can pick a lock pretty well. And if that doesn’t work, I do have some whiskey in my rooms.” he said. He stepped back slightly, holding his hand out in a placating gesture. “Not that I - I mean, we can meet at a neutral place to share a glass, if you would like.”

Mika, not expecting him to get flustered that easily, busted out laughing. “You can relax. A drink would be nice, then maybe I can sleep a little before tomorrow.”

“I’ve got just the thing for that.” he said with a grin. He nodded towards the fire pit, where a groundskeeper was building a fire. “There, after supper?”

“Sounds good.” she said. A friend! She had an ally! She smiled, going to her rooms and rinsing off the day, cooking up a good enough microwave meal to keep her from dying and making sure any last minute preparations she needed for tomorrow were finished. Once she felt she’d waited an appropriate amount of time, she pulled on a jacket and went back downstairs. 

Bucky was already waiting at the fire pit, as were a couple other bakers. They were busy talking about the next day, and gave her a warm welcome when she arrived. Bucky looked up from his book, trying to hide his relief that she actually came to this little meet up. When she sat down in the chair next to him, he reached down and got a glass, handing it to her. He then retrieved his own glass and set it on the arm of the chair before getting the all important bottle of whiskey. She thought to offer to open it, but he wedged it between his legs and removed the cap with practiced ease. Clearly his injury was not new.

“Four years ago. War accident.” he said in Romanian, answering her unspoken question. Her eyebrows shot up and her cheeks warmed in a way that had nothing to do with the fire, but he didn’t seem to be bothered. He just reached out, filling the glass that she dumbly held out. 

“I’m sorry.” she said, not knowing what else to say. He shrugged, filling his own glass before recapping the drink and setting the bottle down.

“It’s fine. I’ve adapted.” he said, taking a sip. She did as well, if only to have something to do with her hands. “I’ve also learned over the years to just address it, rather than wait for people to be brave enough to ask.”

“Do a lot of people get brave enough to ask?” she said, genuinely surprised. Thanks to his easy going demeanor, she was able to relax into the conversation as well.

“Nope. But I do play this fun game with myself where I count how many times they glance at my shoulder during a conversation.” he said. With that admission, she had a strong desire to glance down at said shoulder, but stifled it. Luckily, the way his blue eyes danced in the firelight was distracting enough.

“Who’s the highest scorer?” 

“The guy at the local coffee place. Every time he looks up from the order it’s not at my face. It’s pretty impressive.” he said. “Kids are the best though. They notice and just screech about it.”

“Oh no!”

“Oh, yes. The parents are...” he paused, swishing his glass around and taking another sip for dramatic effect. “...so embarrassed.”

The whiskey, while not making her tipsy yet, certainly made her feel a little warmer inside, and she couldn’t help but giggle. “You’re terrible.”

“I’m short a limb, I have to have fun with it otherwise I’ll lose my mind.” he said, smiling even though his statement was completely true.

“Well clearly you’ve got a handle on it, so I think you’ll be okay.” she said, gesturing to the tent. A second later, she realized that he might think her choice of words intentional, and her own hand flew to cover her mouth. “I didn’t - that wasn’t -”

Thank goodness Bucky thought her reaction was funny. “Don’t worry about it. It happens so much more often than you would think.” he said. He settled back into the chair, and decided to change the topic before they got too in depth about his lack of an arm. “So what made you apply for this?”

“My sister. She actually sent the preliminary stuff in for me - without telling me.” she replied. After a few years living in the UK, it was nice to talk to someone besides her mother in her native language. “You?”

“Best friend. He did the same thing.” he said. Mika scoffed appreciatively.

“They’re made for each other, the meddling assholes.” she said, making him laugh again. 

“You said it, not me.”

“I guess I shouldn’t assume your friend is an asshole.”

“Oh no, it’s completely fair to assume he’s an asshole.”

“Then what does that say about us?”

Bucky paused at her question, then shook his head. “Dammit. I guess we’re assholes too.”

His tone was so dry that Mika couldn’t help but bust out laughing. Of course, the whiskey also helped with that. She was a little over halfway through her glass - not enough to be tipsy, but still feeling it - and knew that she would have to stop after the one. Bucky was almost finished with his, but he held on to the last few drops, if only for an excuse to stay and talk with her. 

“But we’re assholes who can bake.” Mika said, toasting him with her glass. He tapped his near-empty glass against hers, taking just the smallest sip so he still had some left.

“Allegedly. We may find out tomorrow that we can’t.”

“You’ve already beaten me in both challenges. How in the hell did you make such good pineapple upside down cake?” she asked, putting just the right amount of incredulity in her tone so he would think she was kidding.

“I dated a girl from the South once, in America. You’d be surprised the crazy things they can cook up.” he said. Mika leaned onto the arm of her chair, resting her chin on her hand.

“Oh, that sounds like a story.” she probed. He shook his head.

“Nah, we had a good run and then it ended amicably. We were just in different places in life.” he said. “But way to pry about my love life on the first day.”

“It’s a gift, what can I say.” she replied, though she could feel her chagrin creeping up the back of her neck. 

“So how did your last relationship end?” he countered, noticing too late that he’d accidentally finished his drink. But that didn’t mean he had to leave. Mika let out a bark of a laugh, followed by taking a gulp of her drink.

“Terribly.” she admitted. His face dropped, and then it was his turn to be embarrassed.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t-”

“Don’t apologize, it’s all good now.” she said, just a touch too easily. “Cheating bastard is off in...Greece I think now, after being dumped by the other woman. And I’m participating in the biggest baking competition in the world, so I think I’m winning the break up.”

“That you are.” Bucky agreed. He eyed his own empty glass, as well as Mika’s. Were this any other time, he would offer another one. As if Mika read his mind, she gave her empty glass back to him.

“Speaking of which, we should probably sleep well before said competition, right?” she said. She didn’t want to go inside. She wanted to stay out here and chat with her back row buddy. But they did technically have a competition to worry about.

“It’s not a bad idea.” he agreed, taking the glass from her. He made sure the cap was tight on the bottle before pressing it and his book under his arm, holding the two glasses in one hand. Mika thought she should offer to help, but again he did everything with such ease that she figured he would not see the offer as help, but pity. And perhaps, at this point, it was. 

“Not my worst by far.” she said, standing up with him. They bid goodnight to the other bakers still out there, then went back inside, splitting off to their separate rooms. Now that she was alone, all she could think about was the next day. She should have just stayed out there, she probably would have been better rested than the meager sleep she got that night.

The Showstopper challenge was the hardest thing she’d ever done. Art was not her strong suit, so creating a bust of her favorite celebrity hero was something of a nightmare. The preparation required many trials, many failures, and many crying FaceTime calls to her actual artist sister, asking for help. 

But now she was in the tent, with no access to her cell phone and halfway through a challenge that might be her undoing. She’d claimed that she was making the likeness of Lady Gaga, and she’d chosen her both for the wonderful message she sang and for the good she was trying to do in the world. And also because the woman loved to dress differently and abstractly, which would maybe give her a bit of artistic license. Maybe. Hopefully. 

The cake part was easy enough. It was her favorite chocolate mocha cake recipe, with mint buttercream frosting. It was something she’d made a hundred times before, and since it went smoothly, it lulled her into a false sense of security. But now it was the time to decorate, which was no doubt the very worst part of all of this. She didn’t know how anyone else in the tent was doing; at this point, she was doing her best not to break down and cry. 

“How’s it going?” one of the hosts said, coming over and putting an arm around her shoulders.

“Well, it could be worse,” she said, her voice wavering and her accent thick. “But it also could be a lot better.”

“Mix the optimism with the reality, I dig it.” he said. “So far, it does look like...a human.”

“That’s a good start.” she agreed, laughing slightly.

“Which human is it supposed to be?” he asked lightly.

“Lady Gaga?” 

“Ah yes, I totally see it.” 

“No you don’t.”

“Well it doesn’t matter if I see it.”

“But if you can’t see it, how will the judges see it?”

“Stop being smarter than me and work on your cake.” he said. They stared at each other for a second before she gave in and giggled, shaking her head.

“I’ll do my best.”

“That’s the spirit.” he said, giving her a brotherly punch on the shoulder before wandering off. Okay, maybe she could do this.

“Half an hour left!”

There was no way she could do this.

But she was sure as hell gonna try.

She tried to remember everything her sister told her, and while she could definitely see the difference between what she was making and what it looked like in her mind’s eye, it was kind of, almost, slightly reminiscent of the pop star. When they called the time, she wasn’t completely happy with her cake, but she had to admit it went better than she thought it would. Of course, all that optimism went right out the window when she was called to bring her cake up to the judges. The silence as they took it all in threatened to smother her, and she took a deep breath to try and hold herself together.

“Well, I can see the Lady Gaga.” the female judge said, though she didn’t quite sound like she believed the statement.

“Or someone like it.” the male judge had to say, taking what little was left of Mika’s confidence and throwing it right out the window.

“She’s very eclectic, so I tried to emulate that.” she said, gesturing with her hands until she realized they were shaking, then clasping them in front of her so they wouldn’t notice. They laughed appreciatively, admitting that she wasn’t wrong. “I promise it tastes infinitely better than it looks.”

“Infinitely, eh?” the male judge said, piercing her with her eyes before piercing her cake with a knife. “And this is mint chocolate mocha, correct?”

“Yes.” she said, taking in another sharp breath before she passed out. It seemed to take them a thousand years to eat it, both of them raising their eyebrows in surprise.

“I expected it to taste like coffee and toothpaste, but it’s very pleasant.” the female judge said, taking another bite for good measure. The male judge nodded in agreement.

“It’s not something I would normally expect in a cake, but you’ve managed to pull it off spectacularly. The cake is tender, and the buttercream isn’t overly flavored. Very well done.”

“Thank you, thank you so much.” she said, honestly lightheaded after the whole thing. She collected her cake, going back to the back of the room. Only then did she look up at Bucky, who gave her an encouraging smile and nodded towards her cake. She sent back an exaggerated relieved face, though she still wasn’t sure if she would make it past the first week.

Bucky was next, and though she didn’t know the person he’d chosen, she had to admit that his artistry was much better than hers. She supposed she should feel bad that he had clearly beat her in that category, but after their moment of friendship the night before, she found herself rooting for him. 

“This is impressive.” the male judge said, with an unspoken even despite your disability. She was glad they left that bit off. 

“Thank you.” Bucky said softly. He still exuded his quiet confidence, but she could see his thumb picking at a thread on his shirt. 

“And this is fondant?” the female judge asked.

“Marshmallow fondant. It’s a little more forgiving.” he said with a wry grin. They seemed to appreciate the joke, but not for long before cutting into the cake. It was a spice cake, he said. With cream cheese frosting. Since he didn’t care for sweets, Mika wasn’t surprised that he went for something like that. She also really wanted to try it whenever they got finished.

“Hm. I’m getting too much of...something.” the male judge said.

“Allspice.” the female judge agreed. Bucky’s shoulders dropped the tiniest bit, though his face hid any emotions. 

“The texture though is spot on, and the icing goes very well with it. Decoration was great. Just watch your spices.” the male judge said. Bucky nodded, picking up his sculpture and bringing it to the back of the room. 

“You’re fine.” she whispered, waving him off like of course he was. Then again, they liked his signature and he won the technical, so he really was fine. He gave her a twitch of a smile, settling back onto his stool to watch the rest of the judgements. They thought they might chill out when the judges went off to deliberate, but everyone just seemed more tense.

“Relax.” Bucky muttered, watching Mika pace up and down the back of the tent.

“Relax? How can I relax?” she asked. “My cake was decent, but I can’t decorate for shit and my technical was terrible!”

“You’re fine.” Bucky reiterated. “I’m not losing my back of the room buddy. I paid them off to pass you through.”

“Asshole.” she said, making him laugh. She paused. “Did you really?”

“I can’t afford that, I’m sorry.” he said, making her groan.

“I’m gone. I know it.” she said. She wanted to think that she was the middle of the pack, that she could make it, but she was also deathly afraid that she missed something.

“Well, let’s find out.” he surprised her, drawing her attention to where the producers were lining up their stools. Mika gulped audibly, following Bucky on numb legs and sitting down. She crossed her legs, pressing her hands in between them to hold them still. Next to her, Bucky positioned his leg so his knee was gently touching her thigh - a bit of comfort as they awaited judgement.

In the end, she was neither Star Baker, nor sent home. Relief immediately washed over her, her shoulders sagging as exhaustion from the past two days piled onto her. “Holy fuck.” she muttered, covering her face with her hands. 

“And we’ve got to do it again next week.” Bucky said. She dropped her hands, looking him dead in the eye.

“What in the hell have we gotten ourselves into?”

[duckbeater]

Courtship, pt. 2

Writing about happiness is very difficult and boring. The below are some small attempts I’ve made to write through my happiness. My small, important readership deserves an update, says my brother, whose sensibilities have only rarely steered me catastrophically wrong.

I AM BUYING CHAMPAGNE TO CELEBRATE MY LOVER

Today’s the last day of his job and he’s throwing himself a little party. In September he begins med school and in the next month he’ll put his affairs in order, readying for the big move. I have the sense that tonight begins our diminuendo, despite his staying over last night and spit-fucking me, and I’ll surely stay over tonight, after the many champagne toasts to his prosperous life ahead. 

We’ve started sleeping as two spoons embracing chest to chest, with our faces tucked awkwardly in a neck or an armpit. Of course I wake up gasping, my mouth sucking after a less hot pocket of air, and turn, and enjoy that he pulls me tightly back to him. He’s a heavy sleeper and I’m a light sleeper, and our bedding situation resembles something like a rock in a tumbler with my rolling over and over and over again, arising too early, wildly underslept, shining with sweat, but ecstatic that we’ve touched all night long. I’m attending his celebration in a sleep deficit that I’ve covered with caffeine and a long, soulful run beside the lake. I’ve been thinking about us a lot. 

He wouldn’t call himself my lover, I think, but I’m hoping the expensiveness of the champagne I’m bringing will convince friends in attendance that that’s what we are. I’m hoping my largesse goes noticed and commented on—that it’s interpreted as my being in love with him, and that his peers compel him, by either fretting over my largesse, or pitying me for it, or anyway finding it impressive or amusing or tender or charming—that they tell this young man I’m adoring him and I’m adoring him well. That my adoration seems steadfast and considered. And despite the riskiness of the circumstances (our differences in age, the widening gulf in distance, a sometimes depleting lack of shared cultural references), when we are together I feel comfort and joy. This must be obvious to him without the expensive champagne. I’m always saying it out loud, or anyway variants on the theme of “comfort and joy,” like a seasonal blessing, a profusion of blessings, needing remarked upon. I’m seriously afraid I mother him.

“Let us take in the scene,” I have said before, “let us only observe for the moment my sitting in your lap, your hands on my neck, my constant kisses. What joy!”

He’s done something to my sense of my proportion, and also my prose style. I can’t seem to describe our relationship without slipping into the sardonic, recursive, mildly-institutionalized voice of Robert Walser, a writer I find too cute by half. I’m finding my life too cute by half, I fear. If this is what happiness feels like, I don’t really want much more of it. It’s making me stupid. “People will think that pain has made you stupid,” wrote Walser, a statement that comes back to me when I can’t distinguish between the good times and bad times making me an idiot.

AFTER THE SPIT-FUCKING

We stayed up late talking about what it means to say goodbye to people who don’t know you’ve cared for them. I don’t pretend this conversation had subtext. For the last two years, he’s worked with profoundly disabled people, first as a case worker and then, after the pandemic closed the campus and made that job “nonessential,” as a nursing assistant on the same floor. 

He spent months feeding, changing, bathing and bedding non-ambulatory children and adults. Most cannot speak, a few cannot see, and none can walk, of course. It is a world I’ve rarely thought about—indeed, a world many of us rarely consider, because in its theater of human need are scenes of unremitting hopelessness. It is a languageless suffering and it perdures. I can become very mystified, very shallow-breathed thinking about his care for these souls, however quick he’s been to dissuade me from romanticizing or elevating his ministrations. “One of my verbal residents tells me to fuck myself all the time,” he’s noted. Still, I would point out that birth defects and accidents account for a small percentage of his caseloads’ impairments, and that active neglect and abuse perpetrated intentionally by former guardians (or unwittingly by the American healthcare complex) have hobbled his charges for life. I don’t like hearing stories about choked babies and toddlers left so long in beds their soft bones grow slab-wise, so I’ve asked him, coward that I am, to please skip origins if he’s entering an otherwise benign workaday anecdote.  

His most patient complaint: using his iPhone to FaceTime parents who want to see their son, then listening to one-sided conversations, burbling, giggles, tears, even story-time. His campus closed to all guardians—a devastating precaution. “Don’t send anything xrated today,” he’d text, and I’d know he was hosting a reunion. So I’d keep my clothes on. And he’d answer the phone from an immediately weeping seventy-year-old mother saying, to her forty-year-old son, “Why good evening, Max, good evening. This is your mother. Hi, baby. Hi. I love you. I am your mother. I will always be your mother. I am sorry I cannot touch you, I cannot hold you, I cannot be with you in this time, but you are my Max, and I am your mother. And I love you always. You can hear me and I’m gonna tell you all about my week, okay? And then I’m gonna ask Scotty here how you’ve spent your week, okay?” He said he usually cries on these calls and when I asked why, he said, “Because it seems polite?” And I pressed harder and he said, “Because I get to—I get to connect these people who have missed each other so much, and it’s so sad. They haven’t touched in months. They might not touch this year. My phone sometimes runs out of battery. It’s so weird.”

I’ve asked him whether families are happy to be rid of their incredible dependents and he said that by and large families are miserable to give over members to the institution: that age arbitrates the giving. “A mother and father have a baby at twenty-five. They can care for him well into their fifties—their twenty-five-year-old, their thirty-year-old son. But when these parents enter their sixties? Their seventies? They can’t lift an adult male. They can’t bathe him or change him. Even basic nutrition gets hard. Meal prep is tiring. It’s long. They start to lose track of medications, and they have medications themselves, you know? So the situation gets very difficult and if they want to live, and if they want him to live, they feel like they have to give him up.”

We’re at the point now where intimacy is a given. He doesn’t swallow, but brings me to orgasm, taking me in his mouth and then dribbles it, I guess, my cum, back onto my stomach, apologizing with a flushed red smirk. “I hate that,” he says, “I really hate it.”

“Go ahead, eat it,” I say, joking.

He gives me dark eyes and showily palms the wad into the black pillowcase behind my head.

“Holy Christ!” I yell. “The nerve! The pluck! The audacity!”

There must be a phase in relationships when extracting intimacies—not only of the “terrible things I did in high school”-vein, or the “times I cheated”-vein, or the “unwittingly right wing ideologies I support”-vein—that close couples endeavor. Where you’re always compulsively revelatory, to seem as interesting as you did in early courtship, as erotically forward and emotionally captivating. We’re in that moment and we surprise one another with small tributes as befits that level of affection.

One of the intimacies I proffered is that I’m going through a religious re-awakening, a need for ritual and sacraments. He finds this funny. (I find it embarrassing.) Yet one of his duties has been wheeling charges to his building’s Tuesday Mass, and then helping to administer the Eucharist. I don’t think he in fact touches the host (I don’t think many in his care can safely take of the host; “I’m mostly there in case anyone seizes,” he said), but he did slip a large wafer away for me and now it’s in my apartment, among my candles, possibly growing mold. He asks me when I’m going to eat it and I tell him around Christmas. 

(That was a lie. I’ll eat it when our romance is over, to consecrate the time we had.)

“I eat it,” I say, and he glowers.

I TOLD HIM ABOUT A MYSTERY SURROUNDING MY FAVORITE AUTHOR

Norman Rush. For a decade and better I’ve wondered about the long dedication in Mating, whose last lines read, “...and to the memory of my father, and to my lost child, Liza.” The novel, set in Botswana and borrowing heavily from Rush’s time there as director in the Peace Corps, suggests that perhaps Liza died in Africa or was born still. She goes unmentioned in his Paris Review interview, in subsequent novels, short stories, and reviews. There’s no hint of Liza’s fate. (As I edit this, I recall a phrase in Mortals, the narrator’s idea that “children exposed you to hellmouth, which was the opening of the mouth of hell right in front of you.” Explaining further: “[I]t was the grandmother, the daughter, the granddaughter tumbling through the air, blown out of the airplane by a bomb, the three generations falling and seeing one another fall, down, down, onto the Argolid mountains. With children you created more thin places in the world for hellmouth to break through.” And then, in Subtle Bodies, Rush describes a wayward teen boy, whose angry and aggressive behavior corresponds exactly to Rush’s own troubled teen son. In fact, Subtle Bodies is about the decision to have children at all. Nina follows Ned to a funeral, to fuck him. So, Rush has indeed remarked on children and strife, as he has lived it. Anyhow—) Yet by accident I listened to an old Fresh Air interview where Rush is asked to comment on the aspect of family in his novels, and to clarify that inscription. 

“I have a daughter who is now thirty,” he says, “who was born with diffuse brain atrophy and has been institutionalized for many years. Um. But I think the rest is pretty self-explanatory.”

“What was her condition?” presses his interlocutor.

“She is uh profoundly retarded,” pauses, “and will be so.”

“So you feel she is lost to you?”

“Yes. There is no recognition possible between her and us.”

I reproduced this exchange from notes on my phone. Scotty replied, “I don’t think that’s right, actually. Maybe between her and—who—who was it?”

“Norman Rush and his daughter Liza.”

He said, “Maybe between Liza and her dad—yeah, maybe she was so disabled she couldn’t recognize him. I take care of men like that. But I recognize them.”

We were talking about important books at all (I mean that semi-seriously) because his co-worker had gifted him three works, including a volume of Yeats’ complete poetry.

“Why did Paco give you Yeats?” I asked.

“He thinks I need more poetry,” said Scotty.

(Frankly I have felt and still feel sexual jealousy against Paco, who recently got brilliant red and black knee tattoos of spider webs. Like, Spider-Man spiderwebs, covering both kneecaps. Every few weeks he cooks a large meal for Scotty, and they talk about life until 4 A.M. drunk on bourbon, immobilized by edibles, full and warm and caring, and it makes me mad. It makes me mad, because I can’t really see the point of staying up until the uncomfortable small hours between 2 and 5 unless there is sex involved, but Paco is straight, a father, an excellent chef, a dedicated friend, and so my grousing is a kind of unwarranted possession that baffles me into silence on the matter.)

I didn’t have anything intelligent left to say about Norman Rush. I groped along a narrow thought, however, a thin ledge. “You know—a novelist, especially a novelist as concerned with language and comprehension as Norman Rush, would feel particularly devastated by the condition of his daughter. He would see it as ironic and then as punitive and again as senseless—supporting his comforting regime of a militant atheism.”

Although very sober, I recited the first stanza of The Second Coming, tripping over two lines (but the best lines), saying, “The worst lack all conviction, while the best/Are full of passionate intensity.”

“What?” said Scotty.

“I just—that was Yeats.”

“Who?”

“Go ahead and tell your boy Paco that your hot fuck gave you a teach on William. Butler. Yeats.”

“What?” said Scotty. He grinned at me. He got up and ate a yogurt.

[na-klar]

“all answers! I OKAY with Lukas” translation (part 1)

Annika: So! We didn’t change clothes!

Lukas: Heh, what?

Annika: It’s a few weeks later but we’re still wearing the same clothes. And hello guys and welcome to this video. I already announced a few weeks ago that there will be an extra video about transgender in regards to the series Druck which is also by funk, it’s linked in the description. Its 3rd season was about...

Lukas: ...Matteo, a gay boy who firstly has to accept the fact that he is homosexual himself, and then falls in love with David. But as he realizes that Matteo is very much interested in David, he distances himself because he’s transgender and doesn’t know how to deal with it.

Annika: And we’ll talk about a few scenes I picked out. It’s best if you watch the show first, it’s linked in the info box--

Lukas: There’ll be spoilers here...

Annika: Yeah, here will definitely be spoilers, just now, in fact. I think we should stop rambling now and begin! 

Okay, in episode 25 David distances himself from Matteo because the point is drawing near that he has to come out as transgender sooner or later. Now I wanted to ask you if something like this happened to you in real life as well, i.e. that someone fell in love with you and you had to come out and it got worse because of that.

Lukas: Uhm, no, for me it was that if you’re trans -- this is my experience, I can only talk about my experience -- uhm, during that time where people start dating I had to spend a lot of time with myself, inevitably, because of puberty when things changed that made me not feel comfortable. Which is why during that time there was no place for a relationship or sexuality for me. And my first relationship was when I -- I wasn’t out, I wasn’t out to school -- but the relationship was from a youth club in Hamburg, a LGBT youth club, that’s where I met him and he was pansexual and then we were together. And yeah.

Annika: Yeah cool!

Lukas: But that was -- well, until now I never had this situation regarding a relationship where I really waited such a long time for it to get problematic, but I understand it very well; he came to school with the intention to just get through it, he was bullied at his old school... But I would advise everyone to be as open with it as you can, because at the end of the day you have to talk about it and if you’re really important to that person, then...

Annika: Yeah, I always tell men before they fall in love with me that I’m lesbian, so...

Lukas: Every man, really, right?

Annika: Yes it’s so exhausting!

Lukas: Hello, I’m lesbian, I know, I’m sorry.

Annika: Hello I’m lesbian!

Then there was also an iconic line in the show: “It’s not you, it’s me”

Lukas: Yes!

Annika: A classic, I’ve said it before, have you?

Lukas: Mh... Yeah.

(his phone rings)

Annika: Hey now! Mobile phones have to be turned off during class!

Lukas: My mom called.

Annika: Raise your hands if you said that line at some point. Nice.

Lukas: I think in that moment David says that as well...

Annika: But it’s so true!! I mean if you don’t have feelings for someone than it’s you yourself. Well, also it’s the other person because they’re not compatible with -- okay let’s move on.

So! Next thing I wrote down, episode 28, the outing.

Lukas: The outing. *dum dum dum*

Annika: I wrote this down because... Matteo, in that moment, was really overwhelmed by the information.

(cut to druck clip of David coming out)

Is that-- does that happen often, that people are really overwhelmed with the situation when you tell them that, yeah, I was a woman, I mean-- uh, that’s also reprehensible, isn’t it?

Lukas: Yeah yeah yeah, a woman, ah??

Annika: I mean physically!

Lukas: Physically!

Annika: Phew! It’s so hard, I’m sitting here and have to struggle...

Lukas: Me too, hello? Even I can say something transphobic. But, that’s the thing: when I say something transphobic it’s always like “No. He’s transgender, he can’t be transphobic, that’s complicated”.

For me it’s like that by now, yes. When you’re not passing, when people look at you and are still like... have to think about it then it’s mostly like... “okay, huh, what does that mean?”, which pronouns, which names and stuff, but by now, since I’m very passing fortunately--

Annika: Passing means you are,,,

Lukas: That you’ll be recognized as the gender you feel.

Annika: Learned something again.

Lukas: Exactly. These are the terms. And then it’s mostly just “Huh? Okay?”... But I honestly have to say that I don’t run around and say hey I’m trans when I meet someone.

Annika: Hey! Lesbian!

Lukas: Yeah, like that! Even a lot of the cast -- background info -- a lot of the cast, even when we were in the middle of filming, thought I’m cisgender. They didn’t know I’m trans.

Annika: Awesome. I also thought, I really would have liked to watch this without knowing that you’re a trans man. If I would’ve checked that or not. You can write in the comments how that was for you.

Lukas: Yeah, if one of you didn’t know that spoiler already.

Annika: Yeah, and now a general question that might be a bit emotional, but... does rejection happen often?

Lukas: Rejection... naturally there are friends that come and go. When I came out pubically, in school, there were a few people who distanced themselves but that was okay for me because I don’t need these kind of people...

Annika: I always say you can sort out your friends really well like this. If people stay with you despite that information -- this sounds so stupid -- because you’re still the same person as before, then they are real friends and people who are like “oh my gooood nooo byeee” then you can sort them out, that’s what I always say, which is why it isn’t a loss.

Lukas: Yeah, with transgender it’s always like, “are you someone else now?” but you’re still the same person, it’s just the gender that’s now right and the way you feel and how you want to be addressed as.

I had a job offer with children that was denied because I’m transgender. And that, that was... that hurt a little. But that was in the moment that they told me “can’t you work as female here?”

Annika: What?!

Lukas: I mean, “start working here, that’s almost the same, we also had lesbian people here” and I was like yeah. Cool.

Annika: What is that even-- What even is the difference???

Lukas: Yeah... they were like, “we’re afraid the parents might have a problem with this and that you’re confusing the children”, so these classic statements...

Annika: Oh my god... Every kid that I touch turns lesbian. It is contagious.

Lukas: It’s difficult.

But then I declined with thanks to work there as a girl.

Annika: A scene that I found beautiful is when Matteo talked to his flatmate and the flatmate just said “hey, what even is your problem with David being transgender? What do you like about him?” and this question was so nice, what do you like about him, because I think the same thing. I love that person not because they’re a woman but because the way they are. I mean, that she’s a woman is an influence, but... the person themselves is important. That’s what I wanted to say and that’s what I found beautiful.

(cut to druck clip of Matteo talking to Hans about David)

Lukas: And that is what you have to decide for yourself, to say, okay, can I imagine being with a trans man -- I can’t force anyone to be into me?

Annika: I can.

Lukas: But in the show it was nice for me to have Hans ask what is the important thing.

Annika: Then it comes to the big outing in school. Because the PE teacher doesn’t want to grade David as a man but as a woman.

(cut to druck clip of the coming out)

Lukas: You can’t say that it’s not unrealistic. It is realistic.

The problem with school is always grading and especially regarding PE, boys and girls are graded differently, and...

Annika: I always got so upset because I wanted to be graded the same way as boys, they’re not better than I am! But at high jump I was kinda glad that girls were graded differently...

Lukas: That scene is only on the phone’s display and we started to act this scene in the changing room and Neuhaus says to David “but that’d be so positive for you, you’re getting better grades then!”. Mr. Neuhaus in our story -- that was important for us and the actor -- he’s not just evil. He’s not doing this to make David feel bad but he wanted to help him actually. David reacts accordingly, he’s like uh no? and that’s what makes him mad, he has his plan and that didn’t work out. And with school it’s difficult, there are a lot of things that you have to be aware of. Before I was out I talked to my school for about a month what you can do, with names, on certifications and such, all of that has to do with your ID and burocracy, uh, pretty boring stuff. And toilets, for example, too. In one scene, David comes out of a toilet which is actually a toilet for the teachers. At my school I got the key for the disabled toilet, which is of course a bit... critical... transgender isn’t a disability. That wasn’t what that meant. It draws attention to you, which isn’t convenient but... you have to find solutions so that everyone can deal with it.

I think what you have to say is that the reactions of the students on that staircase are a first reaction. It’s not something where they group up because they’re standing there a bit like chickens on the roost and are like “okay. now you’re over. You’re out of this school”...

People react to a new information that they didn’t expect and that’s the big thing in that moment.

Annika: Especially at that age there’ll be big gossip.

Lukas: When I came out to my school, my classmates reacted really positively and were really nice and I don’t want anyone who’s transgender and watches this show to think this is what will happen, I mean you can also see in the following episodes that--

Annika: That everyone stand up for him because that’s something normal.

Lukas: Exactly.

Annika: Often it’s better to be self-confident, because then people think “okay, I won’t say anything then”. When they realize that you’re an easy target then they attack you.

Lukas: Right. You shouldn’t be ashamed of who you are or what makes you different but be proud because that’s what makes you to the person that you are.

part 2

[thechildoflightning]

Tectonic Plates- Ch3

Title: Tectonic Plates [Masterpost]

Fandom: Sanders Sides

Pairings: None

~~~

Chapter Title: Transform

Summary: 

Everything over the past few weeks comes together

Warnings: Memory Loss, Borderline Passive Suicidal Thoughts, Tics, Chronic Pain, Gender Dysphoria, Deadnaming, Fatphobia, Ableism

<strong> TW: Memory Loss, Borderline Passive Suicidal Thoughts, Tics, Chronic Pain, Gender Dysphoria, Deadnaming, Fatphobia, Ableism </strong>

I don’t currently have the spoons for in depth tws at the end of the chapter rn, so message me if you have any questions about tws

[ao3 link]

~~~

Chapter Three: Transform

Patton wakes to searing pain that courses through his entire body, pain strong enough that it makes his breathing hitch and stomach curl with nausea. He squeezes his eyes tight as if that would do anything to help. Maybe this is all a bad dream he’ll wake up from. He’s not hopeful. He doesn’t dare risk moving, the fire in his body so unbearable that Patton doesn’t risk doing anything. He takes small shallow breaths and wishes for it to be over.

He fades in and out of consciousness. He’s not sure if thats due to pain or exhaustion. He remembers glancing over at his clock at one point and finding it significantly early, though Patton can’t remember what time it read. He doesn’t know if he forgot from pain, or if it’s just his memory failing him once more.

He wants to cry, but he doesn’t risk it because heavy loud crying will make his body shake and that will just make everything worse.

He briefly wishes he had no bones, just a puddle of human goop that doesn’t ache, before realizing that would only help so much. A lot of the pain is in his joints, but it’s also in his nerves and getting rid of bones wouldn’t help that any.

So maybe he gets rid of his bones and nerves.

He wouldn’t feel anything that way.

He could go back to sleep forever without pain.

He almost wishes for it.

Almost.

He’s not quite sure what stops him.

He floats in a haze, not quite awake, not quite asleep. Tiredness seeps into his body, dragging him to sleep, and the pain fights it, demanding Patton’s awake to feel the torture it performs on him.

His alarm goes off at some point, and he barely pays any notice to it. He’s in too much pain to think of anything but the pain, and thinking of the pain makes it worse. It’s a vicious terrible cycle, so terrible, that Patton doesn’t even notice that his door has been pushed open until his ma is settling at his side.

“Hi honey,” she whispers soothingly.

“Hi,” he croaks out, the single word taking more energy than expected.

His ma looks at him and she radiates love so strongly that Patton just wants to curl up in her arms and break down crying. But both of those actions will cause him to hurt more, so he settles for lying on his bed, head facing his mother, pushing back tears.

“I… I don’t think I can go to school today,” he says.

“That’s okay,” his ma dismisses immediately and Patton breathes a small sigh of relief. He never thinks that his parents would make him go- knows they understand, knows they wouldn’t push it. But well- he gets worried sometimes. He misses a lot of school, he takes a lot of energy to care. He knows his moms love him but he can’t help worry about his place in their lives occasionally.

“Do you need anything?”

“Heat,” Patton replies immediately, “And meds too please. And… and can I get some water? Is that okay?”

“Of course hon,” she soothes, “You are going to have to eat something with the pain meds though.”

Patton knows that. He knows that he doesn’t want to because eating takes so much effort and his stomach is already swirling in displeasure.

“Okay,” he says.

“Can you rate the pain? And tell me where it hurts?”

“9,” he says, “and everywhere. It hurts everywhere.”

“Okay. If you can’t, that’s okay, but can you try to be a bit more specific?”

My legs, hips, back, neck, shoulders,” he says, “Back especially. All along it.”

“Do we need to go to the ER?” is her next question.

Patton’s in enough pain that he considers it for a minute. It’s always a challenge debating on what he does and doesn’t need, when the pain is enough to warrant medicine, hospital admittance, and anything else.

“No. Not yet,” he settles on, but keeps it as an option. His meds don’t take away the pain entirely, but they do work decently well. Hopefully with the assistance his body will stop torturing him.

“Okay. Do you want me to stay? I can ask your Mom to get everything.”

“Can you?” he asks hopefully, not wanting to let her go.

“Of course,” she says, pulling out her phone to call his Mom and explain what’s going. She finishes quickly and turns her attention back to Patton.

“Can I hold your hand?” she asks.

“Yes. DOn’t touch my shoulder.”

She nods easily and carefully takes his hand in hers, smoothing over the back of his palm with her thumb. He gets heat, meds, water, and chokes down a little bit of food. It’s a slow, painful process. But the heat and meds help enough that Patton slowly drifts off once more.

-

He wakes to an empty room. He takes observance of his body, feeling out where it does and doesn’t hurt. It’s still flaring brightly with pain, so hot it burns. But it has subsided somewhat from a torturous pain to a heavy, burning violence. 

His back aches and he reaches for his phone at his bedside table, shooting off a quick text to his moms.

A moment later his door opens, and Blythe is slipping into his room, TENS unit in hand.

“Ma is picking Liam and- tehch- Dani up from school, Mom’s at work,” she explains their absence as she approaches Patton’s bed, “Do you know- hu- the intensity, frequency, and- hu hu HU- and the duration and all that? Because I don’t but I’m sure Moms have it. I can ask them.”

“It’s in my notebook,” Patton says, “but it can also really vary.”

“Okay,” Blythe agrees, walking over to his desk to grab the blue notebook and flipping to the pages about pain treatment- specifically for the electrical nerve stimulation the TENS unit will provide.

“Let’s just start with what it says in there and then I can adjust it,” Patton tells her.

“ACK- sounds good,” she agrees, finding the page. She picks up the notebook, before immediately throwing it with a tic.

“Yeet,” Patton mutters as she picks it up, rolling her eyes at Patton’s commentary.

She comes back over to Patton’s bed.

“Okay,” she says finally, “You’re going to have to turn- tehch- over.”

“I know,” Patton says miserably, not moving.

He breathes a few times.

“Help me?” he requests.

Blythe nods and sets down the notebook and TENS unit.

“What do you want me to do?” she says.

“Help shift my hips when I turn,” he instructs.

Blythe nods and begins the painful process of flipping to his stomach. He wants to go fast to get this over with, but he also wants to move slowly and carefully. It’s a balancing act- and Patton’s balance is notoriously awful.

They get there eventually, Patton gritting through the pain.

Blythe helps with attaching the electrodes to his back and then the TENS is switched on, providing welcome relief.

“Hey, wanna watch a show with me?” Blythe asks, once Patton’s settled for a minute.

“Sure,” Patto agrees, welcoming an easy distraction.

“Okay, I’ll go- ACK hu-  grab my computer,” she tells him, “Don’t move.”

Patton snorts, “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

She gives him a look and races out of his room.

-

The next day is better, but that isn’t saying too much. It’s a glass half full, half empty sort of situation. Patton can get out of bed, can even get to school, but his body still thrums in pain. But he gets through, and it’s not too bad even though it hurts and Patton- well he doesn’t quite count it as a win but it’s certainly not a loss. 

He isn’t binding because there’s no way he’d put his binder on right now with his current back issues, but it does mean he gets misgendered more which sucks. The dysphoria creeps back in and more people deadname him and Patton wants to transition so bad, but right now he’s just stuck.

He’s ready to go home.

Luckily enough, his last class of the day rolls around.

Unluckily enough, the teacher announces they will continue working on their group project.

Shit, Patton forgot about that.

His group shuffles together, and Patton sighs in grits his teeth as he joins them. Part of it is from pain, part is from annoyance with the project in general.

“Okay,” one of the girls said, “Can everyone get their stuff out? To see where we all are?”

Patton forgets her name, but does remember she’s been consistently rude to him and unwilling to listen when he’s explained his accommodations.

The group starts pulling out computers and papers. Patton himself only pulls out one measly paper of a short outline. It’s all he has done so far. The girl’s gaze turns angrily towards him when she realizes that all he has, and Patton sinks in his seat. His other two teammates look at him in pity, but don’t jump in to help.

“That’s all you have?” she asks.

“Yes,” Patton mumbles.

“Eileen! This project is due next week.”

“M’ name is Patton.”

“Okay- Patton, whatever. This project is due in a week and you’ve barely started! We’re being graded as a group here. And I need an A in this class. I get that you don’t care about school or are trying to sabotage the group because you don’t like me or- or whatever, but it doesn’t matter. You need to do your work. Stop slacking off and get it together. By the due date.”

It’s been a long day, a long week, a long year.

Patton’s so goddamn tired and his spoons are running low and he doesn’t want to deal with this stupid project or this stupid partner of his who’s name he doesn’t even remember. Patton’s trying okay? He’s been trying so damn hard, so damn hard for everyone. Being disabled isn’t easy, and people act as if it makes it so hard for their lives, but how do they think Patton feels?

He’s the one with the memory that doesn’t work, with the body that acts constantly, with being scorned for being overweight, who’s judged for using a mobility aid, and who everyone thinks is faking. Patton’s the one dealing with this, not them. It’s not fair. It’s not fair.

Tears prick in the corner of his eyes.

He can’t cry. He can’t. There’s no way they’ll take him seriously then and they’ll probably call him a girl and-

“I told you at the beginning,” he says, voice shaky but loud, “That we got three extra weeks.”

“Yeah!” she says, “If we need it. And we’re probably going to need it now because you can’t do one stupid assignment. But taking extra time is failing.”

“I do need it,” Patton snaps, and he’s loud enough that he gains the attention of some of the groups near them. “I’ve always needed it. That’s why it’s given to me. Maybe you don’t, that’s fine. But I do.”

“I don’t get why you can’t just do it?” she argues back, “Are you just fine with failure?”

“Yeah,” Patton says, “Yeah I am fine with failure. I fail all the fucking time. Life is a series of failures when you’re disabled and it sucks. Do you think I want to be in pain? Do you think I like forgetting almost everything? Do you think I enjoy struggling to keep up in a project with some annoying ableist teammate who’s not listening to me? No. I don’t. It sucks. But this time- this time I’m not failing. I’m demanding the time I need, and that’s not failure, that’s success.”

“You shouldn’t need to push for extra time,” she says.

Patton laughs, effectively gaining the rest of the class’s attention as they all tune in on their argument.

“You know what” he says, “You know what, for once you’re right. I shouldn’t have to push for extra time. I should be able to just tell you I need three extra weeks and you should accept that. I shouldn’t have to push for accommodations, that shouldn’t be my responsibility. The world is ableist and it sucks, so it’s either push for accommodations or let myself suffer. It just depends on how much energy I have.”

“Look I get that you’re disabled or whatever,” she snaps, “But it’s pretty hard to work with you when you demand extra time without even telling us why. You should at least share with us about how you’re disabled.”

“Share with you?” Patton asks incredulously, “Share with you? It’s my disability, I can share whatever I damn well please. It’s up to me and only me what I disclose and you-”

Patton forgets the rest of the argument, coming back with a rush as he takes a bite of his chicken, and stares across the table at his family at dinner.

Once he realizes what happened, he springs up from his chair. His hips and back shriek in protesting and he almost falls over. He catches himself on the table, hand clutching the wood, before racing off to his room, tears streaming down his face. He ignores the worried calls from behind him.

He crashes onto his bed and dives under the covers, wrapping them firmly around him even as he continues to sob. Seconds later and his moms enter the room. His ma crouches by his bed and his mom sets his cane against the bed stand table before joining him.

“Darling,” his mom whispers, “What’s wrong?”

Patton shudders through the tears and wonders how to respond.

“We have a group project in school,” he starts.

“Okay,” his ma says, taking his hand to rub soothingly.

“And- and there’s this girl and she won’t listen to me about my accommodations and it sucks because I can’t meet the normal time but I also don’t have the energy to push for my accommodations and it’s- I don’t want to push for extra time I just want her to be okay with it. And she’s been really rude and I yelled at her today and the whole class was paying attention and I don’t even remember what the end result was because I forgot and I-” he sighs, tears slowing, “I just hate it,” he sighs, “Like I’m disabled. For life. Some things might get better, some might get worse. Okay. I can deal with that. I’ve been dealing with it all my life. It can suck at times and be hard, but I mean- I don’t remember when I wasn’t disabled, I was a baby. It’s part of my life. But it’s just-”

Patton breaks out in a fresh wave of tears, pausing for a minute while he sobs.

“It’s just that I have- I have to prove it everywhere I go. I have to push to get my minimum needs met and nobody understands and nobody listens and it sucks and I don’t know if that’s ever going to improve and I hate it. And it- I even worry about you guys. Cause like- I know you love me. I know that, okay? But when I see how everyone else refuses to even meet the bare minimum of my needs and the two of you being the best moms I could have ever asked for, I start to wonder if it’s too much, y’know? Like if I’m too much.”

“Patton-”

“And it’s like, I know that's stupuid. I know that’s the internalized ableism talking, that I do deserve you and I deserve my needs being met. I know that. It’s just hard to remember when there’s so much external ableism pressing down hard on me. Y’know? And that- that sucks. And it’s- it’s been a rough few weeks and I do not have the spoons to deal with this.”

“We love you,” his mom says.

“Yes, we love you very much,” his ma says.

“I know,” Patton says, “I know. I love you too.”

He sniffles and wipes at his nose.

“Can we do anything to support you?” his ma asks.

Patton shrugs, and it pulls at his back painfully. He relaxes his shoulders.

“I don't know,” he admits, “I do feel a bit better now.”

“Sometimes we just need to get it all out,” his ma agrees.

Pat nods.

“I’m tired,” he admits after awhile. “I think I’m gonna go to bed. Worry about the project tomorrow. Thank you. Love you.”

“We love you too,” his moms say together, his mom setting a kiss on his forehead and his ma with a kiss on his hand and Patton feels so intensely, purely, loved.

He turns in his part of the project four weeks later, on the extended date he was given. The girl who’s been on his case scowls at him as he turns it in, and he ignores her. The teacher accepts the project without complaint, only stopping Patton briefly to ask if the time was enough.

“Yes,” Patton says, “Yes it was.”

The girl’s still mad at him. Patton’s going to continue to face endless ableism. It sucks. It’s going to suck. But he has his family, and he has their support and he’s just going to keep stumbling forward because really, what other choice does he have?

And maybe along the way, the world will slowly change into a place Patton no longer has to demand to be accommodated.

~~~

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[imaginetonyandbucky]

Tony Stark’s Guide to Being a Functional Adult

Imagine Tony getting disowned by Howard before starting his second PhD and start working at Bucky's mechanic shop part time. Getting together shenanigans ensue. 

Step 1: Move Out And Get Your Own Place (AO3)

“Anthony Edward Stark, what in the hell do you need another PhD for?”

“I don’t think the program at MIT was complete enough, I didn’t get nearly enough experience in mechanical engineering," Tony said as he followed his father into his office, catching the door as it almost closed on him. "There’s a program at NYU-“

“No, absolutely not.  I need you to start working in R&D yesterday  - have you seen Hammer’s most recent line of missiles?”  Howard slammed his briefcase on the desk and opened it with rushed, jerky motions, tossing out a pile of photos that slid across the desk towards Tony. “Stark Industries doesn’t have anything like this, and I’m too busy keeping the business running to do it myself.”

Tony spared a brief glance at the photos but they didn’t look like anything special. “Look, Dad, it should only take me a year, eighteen months max-”

“I said no. If you don’t want to be a part of the family business, then fine.” Howard straightened and pointed towards the door.  “Get the hell out of my house.”

Tony took a deep breath and tried not to roll his eyes at his father’s dramatics.  “Well, it’s not like I could live here anyway, I’ll live near campus-”

“No!” Howard shouted, face growing red. “I’m not going to let my son be a lazy bum freeloading off my hard work to screw around with a bunch of undergrads and claim he’s working.”

Tony reared back like he’d been slapped. “I’m – I’m not-“ He’d put in twelve to fifteen hour days six days a week to get his degree a year early; going out on Saturday nights and sleeping it off on Sundays had only seemed fair.  “You don’t know what the hell you’re talking about. I worked my ass off-”

“Cut the shit, Tony.  Playtime's over, it’s time to start pulling your weight around here.  Report to Stark Industries on Monday or I’m cutting you off.”

“Cutting me off?” Tony repeated numbly. “What-”

“You heard me. I’m done. Start working, or stop spending my goddamn money like it’s water.”

Tony blinked for a long moment as Howard’s meaning sunk in.  “Ok. Well. Then fuck this,” Tony said, turning on his heel. “I don’t need you or your goddamn money.”

Infuriatingly, Howard barked out a laugh.  “Right.  You won’t last a week out there without me. I’m the one who pays your bills every month, remember?  The one who puts money in your account and pays off your credit card?”

“Fine, then don’t,” Tony snapped.  “I’ll pay my own fucking bills and you can design your own goddamn missiles.” Tony slammed the office door on his way out, half expecting Howard to come storming after him. But he didn’t, the office door stayed closed and the whole way to his car he never heard the voice calling after him that he expected.

“Because he doesn’t care,” Tony muttered to himself as he got in his car. “No, it’s because he doesn’t believe me,” he said, rubbing his temples and relaxing his jaw, that just realized had been clenched so hard it was giving him a headace.  “He thinks I’m going to run back to him in a few days, begging for help.”  As he threw the car in gear and roared down the driveway he swore the only way he would come back to Howard for anything would be if the old man begged him to.

(More after the break!)

Of course, the first person he called was Rhodey, because, duh, Rhodey.  It was only after the phone started ringing that he remembered that he was currently stationed in Alabama working for DARPA. “Well, dammit,” he said out loud right as Rhodey picked up.

“Tony? What’s wrong?”  With a sigh, Tony told him the story.  “Oh, shit, Tony.  That fucking sucks, I’m sorry,” Rhodey said.  “How can I help?”

“I just…” Have no fucking clue what I’m doing, Tony thought with a sigh. “Needed someone to talk to,” he answered instead.  He was a grown ass man, he didn’t need help figuring out how to survive without his dad’s money.  That’s what the internet was for. “How are you liking Alabama?”

“Well…the job is cool,” Rhodey said.  “Can’t talk about it much though.”

“Yeah, I understand.”  They chatted for a little while longer until Rhodey needed to get back to work.  As Tony hung up he realized that he was driving and had no idea where he was going, so he pulled over to the nearest gas station and fished out a scrap piece of paper and a pen from the mess in the back seat.

“Ok, so, first. Place to live.” Tony wrote that down and then wrote a question mark beside it, then he grabbed his phone and googled ‘apartments near Tandon School.’  He scrolled through the hundreds of listings before admitting to himself that he had no idea what he was doing.  What was considered a good location? Was four thousand a lot for an apartment in the city? He rubbed his eyes and checked the balance in his bank account, since that would have to last him until he got a job.  “Right. Job,” he said as he wrote that down on the list. He tapped his pen against the steering wheel as he thought. “Or figure out how to pay for school.”  Since that was the whole point.  But school didn’t start for a while so he would need something in the meantime.  He still wrote that down though.  

He looked down at his list.  House. Job. School. Three words, like it was going to be that easy. He might as well write down “fall in love” and “live happily ever after” on this stupid list.

“I’m gonna need some coffee for this,” he sighed, tossing the list into the passenger seat, and got back on the road to the nearest coffee shop.

Four hours and as many cups of coffee later, Tony had a short list of rooms for rent that would fit his budget.  No progress on the job front, but first things first, right?  He needed a place to sleep before he needed a job.

He didn’t even get past the front door at the first place.  The woman who answered the door took one look at him and said, “I’m sorry, I’m not renting out to guys.”

“What? Why? I didn’t see that on the ad for the room-”

“Well, no, I can’t just say that,” the woman said, rolling her eyes. “It’s like against the law or something.  But I’ve lived with dudes before and I’m not doing it again.”

“Um…ok then.” Tony didn’t know what to say to that so he just turned on his heel and left. The second place turned out to be a place where three guys were sharing a two bedroom apartment, and when Tony took a look at the kitchen and bathroom he got an idea why the first lady didn’t want to have a guy as a roommate.

When Tony pulled up to the third place, he was confused to see a garage instead of an apartment building.  “Hello?” He called out as he got out of his car.  The building was an old two story brick building that said JB Automotives across the top; there were two bay doors but only one of them had a car in it. “I’m here for the room?”

“One moment,” someone called out from inside the building.  Tony shoved his hands in his back pockets and waited, rocking back on his heels. Mechanic, Tony mused. He’d been working on his dad’s old cars since he was big enough to pick up a wrench. How much did mechanics make?  Would it be rude to ask?

His thoughts scattered and his eyebrows climbed skyward as the sexiest man he’d ever seen came out of the garage to meet him on the sidewalk.  Cool grey eyes studied him and Tony’s eyes dropped to the full lips as the man approached. A stained white T-shirt stretched over broad shoulders and a muscled chest and Tony’s eyes were somewhere around the man’s belly button, about to head into creeper territory before he jerked his gaze back up, face hot. The man wiped his hand on a rag tucked into his pants pockets before he held it out and that’s when Tony’s brain registered that one of the sleeves of the shirt was empty.  Tony stared at the long fingers and broad calloused palm for probably a second too long before he shook it.  His eyes flew up to meet the grey eyes again and his brain suddenly turned back on, replaying the last five seconds of conversation.

“Hey, uh, Bucky was it? I’m Tony, Tony Edwards,” he lied, knowing from experience that saying ‘Stark’ was a fast track to ending up in the tabloids.  He realized that he was still holding Bucky’s hand so he let go quickly, feeling the tips of his ears burn.

“Nice to meet you,” Bucky said easily, somehow apparently unaware that Tony had been ogling him, or at least willing to pretend as much. “You said you’re here about the room?”

“Yeah, I sent you a text earlier?”

“Yep.  Follow me.” Bucky tilted his head back towards the garage and led him through the empty garage bay.  Tony allowed himself five seconds of checking out Bucky’s ass in his loose-fitting jeans before he dragged his eyes back up to the back of Bucky’s head, where it looked like a buzz cut was just starting to grow out.  It looked somehow soft and bristly at once; Tony’s hands itched to touch it.

“So is this your place?” Tony asked, looking down at the floor instead and trying to sound casual as he followed Bucky up a set of stairs on the side of the garage.

“Yeah, I grew up here and bought it when my parents retired. Between the repairs and my disability checks, I manage to pay the bills, but a roommate would certainly help.”  He opened the door at the top of the stairs and stepped out of the way for Tony to come inside.  Tony kicked his shoes off next to a messy pile already next to the door and looked around the apartment; the stairs opened into the living room, which was connected to the kitchen with just a short bar separating the two. A small table pressed against the wall made up the “dining room”, and then there was a short hallway that presumably led to the bedrooms.  Bucky led Tony past one door that was ajar, closing the door on the messy bedroom and muttering about needing to clean, then opened the door at the end of the hallway.

“This is nice,” Tony said gamely.  The room was small, small enough that the double bed sitting in the corner dominated the space, with a window and a long low dresser along the far wall. There was a sliding wooden door that opened into a shallow closet and a faded blue rug on the floor that matched the floral pattern curtains on the window.  “Perfect.” Well, what was perfect was the body on the man standing behind him and the fact that the Tandon School of Engineering was a reasonable commute away, but the room would do.

It took another few minutes to get the business part of the rental agreement out of the way and then Bucky went back to work while Tony waded through the mess in his car.  He was relieved to find that his backpack with his laptop and charger were under a pile of textbooks and that the trunk was full of dirty clothes that he had completely forgotten about, so that was nice.  Bucky showed him where the washing machine was and how to use it, and Tony loaded it up gratefully.  When he was finished, the sum total of his belongings made a pitifully small pile on his bed.  He lay down next to the pile and sighed, rubbing his eyes and wondering if it would be terribly irresponsible to just go to sleep right now.  Suddenly he felt exhausted all the way down to his soul.

He was trying to get up the energy to put his stuff away when the sudden buzz of his phone vibrating against the nightstand almost gave him a heart attack.  He grimaced when he saw the caller ID and hesitated for a moment before forcing himself to answer.

“Hey, Mom,” he said with a sigh, closing the door to his new room, even though the walls were probably thin enough that it didn’t help much.

“Tony,” she said with her characteristic mix of exasperation and concern, “what is this nonsense that happened between you and your father?”

“Did you ask him?”

“He said that he told you he didn’t want you to go back to school so you stormed out.”

“What? No.  He kicked me out,” Tony said, making a conscious effort not to raise his voice. “He said if I didn’t come work for the company, I wasn’t welcome in his house anymore and that he was cutting me off.”

“Oh, Tony, you know he didn’t mean that,” his mom said quellingly.  “He was probably just angry and letting off steam.  Just watch, if you come back tonight he’ll be over it.”

Yeah, Tony could just imagine that.  All of them sitting around the dinner table, the silence tense between Tony and his father even as his mother tried to keep up a light patter of conversation. The little jibes Howard would make whenever he could work them into the conversation and Tony gritting his teeth as he tried to ignore them.  That’s what had happened the first time Tony had mentioned getting a PhD, and that had been almost every family dinner since Tony had come out as bisexual. Howard had said he was ok with it – eventually – but man that was the first thing that usually got thrown in Tony’s face whenever they argued, ‘that hippie-dippie liberal free love bullshit.’  “I’m not coming back, Mom.”

“I’m sure if you just both apologize-”

“Mom, no.  Not this time.  I’m going to prove to Dad I don’t need his goddamn money so he can’t hold that over my head for the rest of my life,” he snapped, and promptly felt bad when his mother was silent for a long time.

"Okay,” she said finally, to Tony’s surprise.  “Can you tell me where you are? So I don’t worry? I can also have Jarvis come over with some of your things.”

“I’ll text Jarvis the address,” he said, a little guilty for the sidestep but really not wanting to hear a lecture from his mom about where he was living or risking that Howard would find out.  If his mom noticed, she didn’t comment.

“I love you, sweetie,” she said. “Please be careful, ok?”

“I will, Mom.  I love you too.”  As he hung up he felt his eyes stinging, so he sat on his bed and pressed his palms to his eyes until the feeling went away.  “You can do this,” he muttered to himself.   “Take it in steps.  Everything’s going to be okay.”   He took a deep breath, exhaled slowly, and started putting his clothes in the dresser drawers.