#exercise and fresh air will do me well... just gotta get some exercise and fresh air...

[orcelito]

the hilarious thing will be if me being back in school actually Improves my productivity with writing. bc i have so goddamn much free time rn, but what am i doing with it? fucking anime and crochet. i really do need to get my ass in gear for cleaning and also writing this reverse bang fic. but really. im probably going to be able to do more writing once im back in school

How, you may ask?

procrastination is a powerful drug.

[wildthingpoorboy]

CYOA - Adrien's Average Day Pt 5

The previous choices were less obvious but they lead into a completely different scenario. You guys voted and with a 2/3 victory, you all get to see what happens next.

*Adrien stayed awake for class. Bustier is not upset.

"I should really try to stay awake. At least until lunch."

Adrien pinched himself and with a little bit of effort was able to keep himself away until the lunch hour. The lecture wasn't too boring. The best part was Bustier reminding Adrien to see her after class, with a wink.

At lunch, Adrien sat with his friends but couldn't help but yawn once or twice. A sight that did not go unnoticed.

"Is everything alright Adrien?" asked Marinette.

"What? Oh yeah. I just had a...busy morning," Adrien replied. "I just hope I can make it through the rest of the day. I don't want Miss Bustier to give me another reason to stay after class."

"Especially after missing first period," Nino added.

"Yeah," Adrien shrugged.

"Well, there's actually still a bunch of time left for lunch," said Nino. "Maybe take nap or something."

"No way," Kim interrupted. "That'll make him even more sleepy. You gotta move around. Get the blood flowing. Do some kind of physical activity."

'Physical activity is what got me into this mess in the first place,' Adrien thought.

"That's a great idea," said Alix. "Come on, Agreste. How about a race around the gym? That'll set you straight."

"Adrien just needs some fresh air," said Rose. "You could come to the park with Juleka and me."

"Totally," mumbled Juleka.

"No way," said Kim. "Swimming is the best exercise."

"Seriously?" Alya asked. "You don't have time for that."

"It's worth a shot. What do you say, Adrien?"

[bcdwhcre]

hiii hope your having an amazing day :) do you make headcanons? if you do and if you don't mind can i request headcanons for Izuku, Bakugo, and Denki about being in a secret relationship (i really love your stories about characters being in a secret relationship) and them accidentally outing their relationship because something happened (you can choose what happened) thank you so much!! also if you dont do headcanons you can choose one from the three on the imagine ❤️ I'm sorry if this is confusing 😅

“Secret Relationships,” Midoriya, Bakugou and Denki headcanon

YES IM GLAD YOU REQUESTED THIS UGH, I gotta do my sweet baby Bakugou first🥺

Summary: having a secret relationship with one of the guys and it’s get leaked.

Each section would probably be a little short, I apologize in advance🥺

Warnings: none!

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Bakugou:

The relationship between you and Bakugou was always strange but once the students had to move on campus in the dorms, it turned into a whole different story.

The secret meetups late at night in his room, turned into nothing more than a secret relationship. The way your sleep schedule was beyond screwed up from being up late in his room and having to wake up early to go back to your room before anyone noticed.

It had been going on for months so by now you were used to the secrets and sneaking around along with barely having any sleep the next day while in class.

The more the relationship progressed, the more Bakugou would steal quick glances at you and even when you were in the kitchen with the other students, he would purposely slide behind you and touching your back in the process.

One day in particular, the class had decided to have a game night and he wasn’t too thrilled about joining in. He had tried to convince you to come back to his room but you had told him it would make things obvious if only the two of you were absent.

He huffed, at this point he didn’t really care about the class nor their opinions on anything. He was a ball of fire afterall so when he saw you sitting with the class as they gathered up board games, he was over with keeping things a secret, he wanted it to be known that you were his and he wanted you upstairs in his room.

“I don’t wanna play this stupid game night.” Bakugou said in front of everyone but he was directing it towards you and you tried to ignore him.

“That’s fine, you don’t have to be here dude.” Kirishima patted his back, sitting down at the table and he huffed out a breath dramatically, standing there with his arms crossed over his chest.

“I’m not talking to any of you idiots.. Y/N.” He said your name sternly, like he was giving you a direct order by the look of his red eyes.

“Why are you so worried about Y/N being here with us?” One of the classmates mentioned and you had cursed under your breath, Bakugou was acting like a child.

“Because I want my girlfriend upstairs with me.” Bakugou angrily said, everyone growing quiet and you had gulped the lump in your throat, well there goes the secret.

Everyone’s eyes had landed on you and your cheeks turned a dark shade of red before you slide the chair back and stood up. You have never felt this embarasssed in your life, he could’ve done this any other time in a completely different way but of course the asshole had to make everything a big deal.

“No way,” Denki mumbled, trying to hold the laugh that was begging to come out.

You dismissed yourself, walking over to where Bakugou was and punched his arm as hard as you could, cursing under your breath and he smirked while wrapping his arm around your shoulders, winking back at the rest of the class.

“God, you’re so fucking embarrassing, Katsuki.” You muttered, following him to the elevator to go up and he tugged you closer.

“Oh shut up, you love it.”

As you two waited for the elevator, you couldn’t help the feel the classes eyes on the both of you. It was even more humiliating as you had to wait for the doors to slide open. You heard a few of them whisper about you two being a thing, some had mentioned how obvious it was and some mentioned had you two were complete opposites.

Bakugou obviously didn’t care, instead he liked to annoy everyone, especially you. So hearing people whisper about had fed onto the asshole ego he had, making his large hand grab your chin and give you a rough kiss on the lips in front of everyone.

The way your face was completely red at this point and all he did was give the classmates a evil grin before dragging you into the elevator and pushing the button for his floor.

“Why can’t you ever be casual?”

“Do you not know me? I’m far from casual.” He nudged you gently, laughing at your tomato red face and moved his thumb to brush across your cheek.

“Yeah, clearly.”

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Denki:

You had a crush on Denki for what seemed like forever. Since the first moment you met him on the first day of school till now. It was pretty obvious how much you liked him. Eventually you became bold enough to ask him to hang out.

Now you two have been dating for only a few weeks, you both had agreed to keep it private to enjoy the privacy and the time alone before the classmates end up finding out.

Of course you knew Denki a little too well at this point, you knew he would end up slipping up the secret sooner or later but it didn’t entirely bother you that it’ll happen.

And you were right, after a training exercise and having to go through some obstacle course that Aizawa had set up, he had sparked a fuse and as his brain suffered a shortage, his mouth had instantly opened and talked about you.

You couldn’t help but be over protective when he did go through that shortage phase, quickly taking care of him and making sure he was comfortable was a habit you picked up.

“So pretty.” He muttered as he reached for you in front of everyone and you froze in your place until he had wrapped his arms around you, clinging onto your body.

Your cheeks flushed, grabbing onto his body and holding him up straight so he didn’t lose his balance. He continued to mutter words like how you’re so pretty and he even slipped up how he was lucky to have you.

“Aww, Denki is in love.” Sero had laughed at his state, making you roll your eyes and become more protective.

“Nothing wrong with that.” You admitted, stroking your fingers through his hair and dragged him over to sit down.

His head had rested on top of yours, his tall frame giving you a tight hug and you had choked on the air you were breathing on from how openly clingy he was acting in front of the entire class including Mr. Aizawa.

“Is there something you’re not telling us?” Midoriya had teased, the smirk on his face made you grow embarrassed.

“No.”

“Yes, we are.” Denki cut you off, his arms still around yours and the goofy smile on his face only got bigger.

“Y/N is mine. Only mine, I don’t want to see- I don’t want to see any of you near... what’s mine.” He managed to stumble out, his face turning blank like he had forgotten what he was talking about.

“Jesus,” You laughed, putting your hand over his mouth, glancing at your classmates.

You stayed quiet, dragging him away from the rest of the class and forced him to drink some water and sit down on a chair to relax until he went back to his normal state.

You will admit that he was cute and the way he openly told everyone what was his, which was you, had made your heart flutter.

“You’re lucky you’re cute, Denki.”

“Am I?”

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Midoriya:

It had taken forever for Izuku to catch onto your hints on liking him and wanting to hang out with him more. Of course he was very oblivious and didn’t catch on for weeks, even months before you got frustrated and had been straight forward with him.

The both of you being completely shy balls made everything a lot more difficult, the hints he threw at you and the hints your threw at him had completely flew over both of your heads, it was quite ridiculous.

You knew Midoriya wasn’t going to make the first move, you knew he was too big of a anxiety nut to even be bold enough to tell you to your face that he likes you in ways that was more than friends. So you did it on your own.

It hadn’t even been a week of you two officially dating until Izuku slipped it up to Todoroki when ranting about how amazing you were and how much he loved watching your quirk in action.

Once he had revealed the secret, he had told Todoroki to keep his mouth shut and not talk about it again but later that day, Izuku slipped up to another one of your classmates, Ashido.

It wasn’t long until he had slipped up to the whole entire class and now everyone knew that you two were a fresh couple. The side comments the students would make to you both and embarrass the both you, making the shyness in you two grow and cause you to stutter to no end.

“I think you two are cute!” Ashido had mentioned, trying to assure you that it wasn’t a big deal that everyone already knew.

“You knew Midoriya can’t keep a secret for long.” She commented, making you laugh and agree to what she said.

You couldn’t blame him though, he was a little too excited to be dating his crush that he couldn’t help but talk about you constantly to all his friends. He couldn’t help but stare at you and want to talk about how pretty you are and the characteristics he liked most about you.

It was in his nature, he was proud and lucky that he just had that urge to tell the whole world about you and it made butterflies explode in your stomach and it also made you want to kiss him desperately but you decided to not do that in front of everyone.

“I’m sorry, I know you didn’t want to tell anyone right away.” He mumbled towards you, the look of guilt washing over his features and you shook your head, embracing him in a tight hug.

“Don’t be sorry! I’m glad you told people.”

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ANNND finished, I’m sorry it’s short. I usually go longer when it’s one character at a time but I hope it’s good🤧

PLSSSS send in more my hero requests!! I’m obsessed

• Main Masterlist •

• MHA Masterlist •

[artificialqueens]

Girls Interrupted, Chapter 3: Eat Your Heart Out, Pearl Liaison (Vatya) 1/2 - Maeve

A/N: Oh my god, I am back from the hecking dead. I wish that I had gone somewhere, but the truth of the matter is just that I couldn't push myself to write, to create in any way, shape, or form. I struggle with some physical and mental health issues, and they came for me. I'm doing a lot better now, though, and I am so glad to finally be ready to continue this story. I won't say this is perfect (it's pretty short, too, I'd like to call it a toe dip back in), but I've done my best to pick up where I left off with the characters and the plot. I apologize if anything feels a little clunky or off, I'm still getting back into Katya's clown shoes. I hope you enjoy the start of chapter three!

Previous Chapters:

Ch. 1, Pt. 1

Ch. 1, Pt. 2

Ch. 2, Pt. 1

Ch. 2, Pt. 2

Katya had never woken up in a lake, but she had woken up in a pool of her own sweat...on many occasions. Believe it or not, wet clothes didn’t do it for her. Katya groaned, Spending the night between these sheets gives a whole new meaning to the word wet. She peeled her bedding off her body and crept as lightly as she could to her bathroom. Her hair? Drenched. Her nightshirt? Soaked. She made an ugly face in the mirror. At least she could get in a walk before school.  

Katya didn’t like to exercise in the slightest, but it was a great way to get rid of excess energy and caused her body to release more of the chemicals it had decided to be stingy with as of late. Thankfully, it was still dark outside at 5:00 in the morning. Katya really only liked being outside when it was dark or dark adjacent. Call her a vampire, but the sun was an asshole in her books; the August weather wasn’t much less of a prick. 

Unfortunately, the fresh air that morning had done little to clear her head. Katya was still in a fugue state when she stepped back through her front door. The house was still dark, but Katya knew that her mom would be awake and waiting for her in the kitchen. 

Pam Zamolodchikova could best be described as an unshakable woman, a true force of nature. She was no fool, either, but that didn’t stop Katya from trying to rub the sleep from her eyes; she’d hate for her mom to worry. Katya kept her focus on her mom’s flannel robe as she moved to explain herself. “Sorry if I woke you on my way out,” Katya apologized.

“It wasn’t you,” Pam assured her, “It was that damn dog of yours looking for lizards again.” A shit-eating grin spread across Katya’s face. “Yekaterina, don’t you dare,” Pam warned as her daughter failed to suppress a snicker. “It is way too early for your cackling. You’re going to wake your father up.”

Katya pouted, folding her arms across her chest. What was the point in having a dog named Goose if you couldn’t call it a silly goose? Her mom would say she didn’t know how to do so at an acceptable decibel level, but Katya had the sneaking suspicion she was jealous that she didn’t think of it first. “Fine,” she caved, “But I will be demanding payment for my restraint in the form of sustenance.” 

“Extorting your own mother, Katya? That’s low even for you,” Pam admonished. Katya stuck out her tongue before scurrying up the stairs on all fours to take a quick shower. 

“Are you okay?” Pam asked as Katya took up her usual perch halfway down the stairs. Katya, who was in the middle of toweling off her hair, froze in her tracks. There’s really no good answer, is there? Katy sighed. She gave her head one last shake and tossed the towel down beside her. She needed to come up with something. “Yeah. I’m fine. I just haven;t been sleeping well. It’s probably stress or something.”  She gave her mom a small, lopsided smile. Fortunately, hert mom seemed to believe her. Katya felt bad for lying through her teeth—she practically told her mom everything—but she wasn’t about to give her mom another reason to stress. Pam carried the weight of the world on her shoulders, and it was only fair for someone else to shoulder some of the burden at least every once in a while. 

“You’ve gotta stop living in your head, Chicky,” Pam repeated the words she’d told her daughter thousands of times before. “If you’re not careful,  you’ll miss the life you have right in front of you.” Katya  nodded. One of these days she might actually just take her mom’s advice. It sucked ass to be back on this ol teenage bullshit. But when did life not suck? “I need caffeine,” Katya declared.

“There’s Diet Coke in the fridge,” Pam informed. “Don’t forget to take your medicine.” Katya’s mom had made her french toast for breakfast; it was one of Katya’s favorites. She usually had cereal for breakfast. Maybe I wasn’t as convincing as I’d thought? Bummer, Katya chewed on her bottom lip.

Katya was quick to slam her car door shut. If you weren’t fast enough, your baby blue Volkswagen Beetle could turn into a mosquito breeding ground, and Katya didn’t have the time or the willpower to find an illegal market for the unwanted spawn and make some major bank. From the junior lot, Katya could see the cheerleaders conditioning on the track. Oh, to be a primadonna steeping in the ozone sea. Katya was sure that it had to get to a point where you weren’t sure if it were condensation or perspiration coating your skin. You’re just wet. Katya chuckled quietly to herself, hehe...wet...maybe I should pursue a career in comedy. If she were a comedian, she could drop out of high school. Even better, if she dropped out of high school, she might finally be able to stop thinking about two blondes, one sweet as sugar and the other a barrel of monkeys, and the she-demon of a brunette who stared her down as she walked along the sidewalk.

Katya was not brave, she was not mouthy, and yet she found herself sticking her neck out on the train tracks and opening her trap wide enough to stuff a watermelon down her gullet when she knew she shouldn’t. She was going to get herself killed, or worse, targeted. Lady loving made Katya a loon, but she’d be lying if she told herself she would snap out of it any time soon.

It was a B Day, and B stood for “biology” and “bitches”. An hour and a half of reshelving did nothing to quiet the pounding in her ears. 

Katya entered Mrs. Yonkin’s classroom like a lamb going to slaughter. No, not a lamb—too cute—like a pig, like a big-bellied sow going to slaughter. Maybe Violet was kosher, or at the very least, not coming to class today. Violet did come to class, though, fashionably late and waving a pink hall pass. The stench of self importance that trailed behind her might have put off casual onlookers, but up close and personal, Katya could see that Violet looked rough—well, as rough as a fashion-forward teenage influencer could look. Her white, retro cat eye glasses were a clear indication of a hangover, and Katya was glad that she’d only taken a bath in her beer if the alternative was unimpressed and undead. She wasn’t quite sure her abstinence had done her any favors, though, considering that she’d still managed to get herself into plenty of trouble. I should probably apologize to Violet...again...Katya sighed, if she’s out and about, she can’t be in too terrible shape, right? Wrong. One of these days, Katya might just learn that when it comes to Violet, she’s usually, if not always, wrong.

The black haired beauty cradled her head in her hand, elbow digging into the plastic of the table. 

“Hey, Violet,”Katya began, “Can I talk to you for a second?” No response. She tried again: “Please? I just need a minute of your time.”

 At that, Violet scoffed. “If I give you a minute, what’s to stop you from asking for more?” 

Katya wanted to pull out her hair. For Peter’s sake, can nothing in life be easy? She groaned inwardly and outwardly, “Look, Lady, I don’t get off on being belittled, would you please just let me apologize for—”

“For projecting your pedestrian feelings onto an unwilling hostage? I have more important things to do with my life than listen to your drivel,” Violet interrupted. 

Biting her lip, Katya did her best to produce a confident response, “Actually, yes,” She admitted. You’re entirely right, I shouldn’t have assumed what I did or pretended like I knew what you were going through or feeling. Did you ever listen to that TED Talk about how your brain wants to make the good and smart choices and but then there’s that little monkey that fucks everything up for a good time?” 

Violet set her jaw.

“I know, I know it’s like Brenda shut up, you sound like you’ve had six glasses of juice, but I’m going somewhere with this,” Katya plowed ahead. “That fucking monkey has been flinging shit at the walls of my bone palace for years, and sometimes even when things feel dumb, I do them or say them anyways because I need to. I don’t know why, and I’m sorry.” Clearing her throat, she admitted, “I think that I was just in my head a lot that night—that whole day, really. I think there’s just a part of me that feels alone in my struggles, and maybe I was hoping to not be alone, or at the very least let you know that you weren’t alone? It was dumb. I shouldn’t have projected. I’m sorry.” Katya sighed.

“Cry me a river,” Violet deadpanned, turning to face the whiteboard.

Katya whispered to herself, “That’s a good song.” The blonde didn’t know why she’d decided to bend over and show Violet her entire asshole; it didn’t feel great. There’s a particular flavor of emptiness that comes with spilling out the contents of your Hello Kitty purse in front of someone and having them stare pointedly at your protractor, and it tastes like sweaty balls. Oh, JT, Katya lamented, maybe it’s time to put this one legged show pony out to pasture. At the very least she had tried, right? She had done her best and been sincere, and if the she-demon couldn’t accept that, then that was on her, not Katya.

The blonde couldn’t have fled the science hallway any faster. She’d endured the rest of the lecture in uncomfortable silence, and now it was time for her to eat lunch alone. Again. It was almost relieving that she wouldn’t have to entertain anyone. For an hour, she would be alone with her thoughts, and maybe, just maybe, she could convince herself that she wasn’t on the verge of another mental break. 

That Monday it was particularly muggy, and that meant that her staircase cubbyhole was damper than usual. Katya scoffed, Well, if anyone is going to have a soggy bottom, it makes sense that it would be me. She pulled out her BMO lunch box and was ready to put a fistfull of ham in her mouth when heard descending footsteps and felt a looming presence stop at her back.

[gothicknightz]

SLAUGHTER CAMP — XAVIER PLYMPTON

PART FIVE; PARANOID

(warnings: mild swearing, ed mention, small reference of sex)

“’Where’s the beef?’” Trevor and Chet cheered in unison as the television went about screening it’s nightly tv programs, causing everyone else but Brooke to laugh.

Cassie took a seat by Chet, leaning into his side since Xavier wasn’t holding his promise as strong as she hoped.

She took his beer out of his hand easily, a complaint escaping from Chet’s mouth, “If you’re not sober enough to keep an eye on your own drinks, then don’t have them, Clancy.”

“Whatever, Cass. If you’re still not high the morning after, then you didn’t smoke it right.”

Trevor was caught up in the conversation, an amused and confused look on his face, Montana not hesitating on aiding him with that confusion. “Chet and Cassie went quick at Xavier’s apartment on his birthday.” 

“Oh. Oh.” Trevor realised as Montana chuckled.

“That wasn’t funny Montana, do you know how much those sheets cost me?” Xavier scoffed, “I- those were grade a linens, and you guys messed those up in five minutes!” 

“Don’t worry, Xavier, we get it, it wasn’t you with Cassie in bed.” Montana retorted, snickering.

Everything was going smoothly until the wicked witch of west Hollywood walked in, making a statement, “Boys and girls together after dark.”

“Ms. Booth, I think we’re in danger.” Brooke piped.

“Yes,” Margaret agreed, “We are in danger. From sin.”

Cassie rolled her eyes, and Xavier began to speak, “Brooke's just jumpy 'cause she got a prank call. It freaked her out.”

“Well, the locals think I'm crazy for reopening this camp to create a sanctuary of fresh air and exercise to purify the soul. But I refuse to let fear dictate my life. We've got a big day tomorrow. Lights out in exactly minutes.”

Cassie groaned, nearly catching onto something with Chet when Margaret decided to open her mouth again, “The boys will leave,” But that didn’t stop the pair, leading them to share a quick kiss, “And remove themselves from tempation.”

Ray sighed, as well did the others, the boys getting up and gathering.

“Hop to it. Let’s go.”

“You gonna make us pray the boners away?”

Cassie laughed, eyeing her boy-toy from earlier, “You might be late on that,” She snickered, “I think Chet’s already got one!”

Cassie’s words didn’t affect Margaret, as she continued to preach what she believed in, “A clean body is a clean mind. How many times do I have to go over the rules; boys shower at night. No exceptions.” She paused, “Now go wash the filth off so you can wake up pure and refreshed for morning prayer.”

The girls waved to the boys, and Montana even fit in a ‘bye’ for Margaret.

“She has got to get laid, otherwise it’s gonna be a long summer.” The blonde joked, chuckling afterwards before sitting besides Brooke, Cassie sitting across from them.

“Look, some dickhead broke into your apartment and attacked you. That's got to be super scary.” Cassie nodded in agreement with Montana, “Yeah, I know it’s the summer and all, but even I would like to have some privacy.”

Cassie crossed her arms, her mind going places and getting uncomfortable, “I knew somebody who got attacked by that guy, too. She was super shaked from the incident, went to a doctor for it and everything.” She sighed, running a hand through her hair.

“In conclusion, you’ve gotta be that low to be attacking someone by going in through their window; easy as hell. You’d think he’d have enough to go attack someone in the daylight.”

Brooke sniffled, “I can’t be making this up.”

“Trauma's a bitch.” Montana said, “When I was six, my mom sent me away to fat camp. I was a bit chubs but super cute.”

“I'd never been away from home before. I was so scared; every night, I'd huddle underneath my covers, praying for the sun to come up. Every sound was the bogeyman. Every shadow was a monster trying to eat me. But sometimes a shadow is just a shadow.”

“So the camp helped you face your demons?” Brooke asked, with Montana replying with a quick answer.

“Fuck, no. All they taught me was to nom and vom. But the point is, if you imagine the worst, that's all you see. You don't have to imagine the worst when it's already happened.”

—

“Wait, all you did was kiss?”

“’Course not.”

“That's what first base means.”

“Maybe for you.” “If he gets dibs on Montana, I get first shot at Brooke.” Ray interjected, joining Trevor and Chet’s conversation.

“Wait, who does that leave for me?” Chet asked, genuinely questioning the other two.

“I thought you knew already, man.” Xavier spat, “Cassie. You two know each other well enough, right?”

“Hey man, I get that you’re still mad about your linens and all, but you don’t have to go all crazy jealous on me.”

“Guys,” Trevor said, looking at the two before speaking again, “Let’s not kill each other before summer even starts.” He threw a towel over his shoulder, “I was promised a fifty buck bonus from Margaret if I kept you guys from showing claws.”

—

“What the hell, Blake?”

“That name is reserved for business associates and acquaintances; my boys never call me that.”

“Fine. What the hell, daddy?” Xavier exhaled out of frustration, opening his mouth once again to express himself, “You know, it's illegal to threaten someone over the phone. Not to mention stalking them.”

“You always underestimate yourself, X. That is your problem. But you are a goddamn Rembrandt. Do you think that I would give up a Rembrandt?”

“Look, I'm grateful for all that you've done for me...”

“I found you in MacArthur Park, a needle in your arm, your blue jeans damp from your own piss. I cleaned you up, inside and out.”

Blake continued to talk, “Little piece of advice, by the way: if you're trying to run away, don't leave a forwarding address for your paychecks at the aerobics studio.” He chuckled afterwards, “You are dumb as you are pretty,”

“And you are very, very pretty.”

—

TAGLIST: @bellaisasleep @sab-falco

[ssa-jupiter]

Summary: There is something so grounding and reassuring to Spencer that he doesn’t even have to ask for the things he needs so desperately, Aaron just knows. And of course, this wasn’t the norm and every day they got a step closer to Spencer being comfortable voicing his needs, however ridiculous he might consider them, but this is still nice. — Or the one where Spencer struggles with sensory issues and Aaron has a soft sweatshirt that could help.

pairing: Aaron Hotchner/Spencer Reid

warnings: general audience, fluff, allusion to autistic!spencer in case u don’t enjoy that

wc: 1000

a/n: once again, im projecting onto spencer

Spencer has been feeling off the entire day, the hot weather making his skin stick to his dress shirt in a way that makes him want to rip the irritating fabric off his body and douse himself in fresh water, slip into his favorite sweatshirt, his soft socks and let the world around him dissolve into nothing but an afterthought. But as the universe has it, he has to concentrate on this stupid case.

He had already claimed a smaller room next to where the team had accumulated to work on the geographic profile in peace, claiming to get it done faster if he wasn’t subjected to their distractions, but even now Spencer’s mind is whirring with so many thoughts he can barely pick one to focus on.

It gets to the point where Spencer snaps at everyone who speaks too loudly or questions his profile in a tone that’s too harsh for Spencer’s taste, every fibre in his being suddenly too agitated to react in a regulated manner. Even Derek can’t escape his sour mood, when he asks if Spencer was sure the Unsub wouldn’t leave the area.

“Maybe you should do it yourself, if you don’t trust me.” He huffs out before he can stop himself, the confused and disappointed look in Derek’s eyes immediately putting regret into the pit of his stomach.

“Wait, Morgan, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to-”

Derek raises a dismissive hand, effectively cutting the younger off and abruptly closes the file in his hands. “Look, kid, whatever’s going on in that head of yours, you gotta sort it out right now. We need you on the case.”

Spencer is left alone with Derek’s words still hanging above his head.

Frustration simmers hotly under his skin and all he wants to do is cry out, his mind so heavily overstimulated with emotions and the sensation of his clothes just dragging along his skin, little patches from sweat wet against his nape.

In an effort to calm himself down he remembers the breathing exercises he’s been practicing with Aaron in the safety of his or even Aaron’s home, but Spencer has trouble doing it here, where nothing and no one feels like home. The walls around him appear to be closing in on him, when his breathing picks up, bordering on panicking and before he has to spend another lonely second in that tiny room, he stumbles out the door in search of the only person who might be able to ease the icky feeling under his skin.

Said person is just a room to the right sitting at the round-table next to Emily, where they’re going through older, unsolved case files to find any more victims from the past that they might have missed. He looks up quickly when Spencer quietly calls out his name.

“Can I talk to you for a second?” Spencer asks cautiously.

He’s well aware that this crosses some sort of line that separates their love life from their dynamic at the work place and up until this point they’ve been able to uphold it so effortlessly, but dammit Spencer can’t do this alone.

“Yes, of course.” Aaron says, his voice just short of worried.

Aaron gets up from his chair without another word and follows him, recognizing the agony that seems to have Spencer’s shoulders strung tight and the subtle twitching of his hands.

The room he’s worked in for the better half of the case is just a mirror image of Spencer’s state of mind. The blinds are halfway shut, the windows all closed, stopping fresh air from filtering through the room, and Spencer keeps tugging on his tie and on the sleeves of his dress-shirt like something just isn’t right.

A thought crosses Aaron’s mind and before he can start to doubt himself, he just blurts out the words, “Do you want my sweater?”

Spencer stares at him, not even entirely sure what he needs himself, but before he can think of an appropriate response Aaron is already speaking again.

“I have one in my Go-bag, let me get it for you.”

And out he is, leaving a stunned Spencer to wonder how he managed to end up with someone who understood him so well, sometimes even better than he did himself.

There is something so grounding and reassuring to Spencer that he doesn’t even have to ask for the things he needs so desperately, Aaron just knows. And of course, this wasn’t the norm and every day they got a step closer to Spencer being comfortable voicing his needs, however ridiculous he might consider them, but this is still nice.

Aaron returns just under two minutes later, a soft-looking sweatshirt in his hands.

“Do you want to change by yourself?” He asks carefully, the tone of his voice softer now that he’s alone with the younger.

“No,” Spencer whispers and doesn’t dare to clarify that Aaron’s steady presence alone makes him feel more at ease. That’s a topic for another, less stressful day.

He swiftly slips out of his sweater vest and lets the dress shirt follow to the floor. The cool air prickles nicely on Spencer’s skin and before he pulls the sweatshirt over his head he just feels it. The fabric soft against his hands and reminding him so much of Aaron, it almost brings tears to his eyes.

A couple tears do escape when he’s finally engulfed in it, the familiar smell of Aaron and the smooth material flooding his senses in the most comforting way possible, pushing every other disturbance out of his head for a moment. The clarity is overwhelming, but very appreciated.

“Thank you,” Spencer murmurs and wipes at his eyes.

The tears stop quickly and he’s left with such a light feeling in his heart that he can’t help but beam at Aaron. A fond smile creeps up on Aaron’s face as well and he slowly reaches for the younger’s hand.

Their fingers intertwine easily and Spencer’s breath hitches in excitement when Aaron takes a step forward, closing the distance between them.

“Can I kiss you?” He asks so earnestly it makes Spencer’s heart jump.

“Yes,” he breathes out and not a moment later Aaron is in his space, a warm hand on his lower back, gently guiding him closer to Aaron’s chest and the other slowly letting go of Spencer’s hand in order to find the short hairs at the base of his nape.

Their lips slot together perfectly and Spencer’s heart does not stop jumping, his fingers now clutching at the fabric of Aaron’s suit.

“You look great in my clothes, did I ever tell you that?” Aaron mumbles against his lips, before peppering soft kisses down Spencer’s jawline.

Spencer giggles comfortably. “Once or twice.”

And the team surely notice the change of clothes when Spencer comes back into their shared space, going straight to make amends with Derek. Surely they notice that the sweatshirt hanging a bit too loose around Spencer’s thin frame is not his own but Aaron’s and surely they notice that Aaron can’t keep his eyes off of the younger for the rest of the day, but they don’t care to voice it.

Seeing their beloved Genius freed from his struggles, even if it only lasts momentarily, eases all of their hearts and catching the Unsub at the end of the day just puts the cherry on top.

[writtenvisionary]

Rooftop Riddles

Read on Ao3

WC: 5.1k

Summary: One riddle changes everything. Dramatic identity reveal, oneshot, ladynoir/adrienette | trigger warning - depression, self-harm, abuse/neglect

The breeze was nothing short of refreshing as she sat next to her partner in crime. He was silent for the time being, but she knew it was only a matter of time before he would start saying something stupid. So she took in her surroundings while there was still silence between them.

It was dark; street lights illuminated all of Paris. Shadows bounced from wall to wall as civilians took their nightly walks, either from work or just around the block to get some fresh, cool air before they go to sleep. There are also those pathetically trudging toward their place of employment for their overnight shifts, and Marinette felt for them. Being Ladybug was all too taxing on her, and she often felt like she worked 24 hours, but in reality it was just all of the extra exercise that made her so exhausted every day.

Looking over at Chat Noir, she takes in his appearance. His hunched back, drooped cat ears, slow breaths. He’s looking straight ahead, seemingly lost in his own train of thought. Her eyebrows furrow.

She opens her mouth to speak, but her partner beats her to it.

“Wanna hear a riddle?”

“Uh, sure.”

“Okay. What do you call a sad watermelon?”

Ladybug had to think. Biting her bottom lip, she pondered an answer.

“Um... I don’t know, what?”

“Melon-choly.”

A smile lit up her face.

“Oh!” She laughed.

“Here’s another. It’s kinda long, so get ready.”

She nods, shifting in her seat.

“A single father took care of his baby, and he was rich so the baby had a lot. Food, clothes, excessive stuff. What didn’tthe baby have?”

Marinette frowns, some weird feeling rushing through her veins. She sits up, narrowing her eyes at the boy clad in a black leather suit. He sits with his legs pulled up to his chest, looking straight forward. Not even a tiny upward lift of his lips, making her worry.

Something about the way he delivered that riddle was… ominous. It didn’t seem like he was disconnected from the story he was telling. It’s almost like he could relate.

She gulps.

“A mother?”

He nods, then hangs his head for a moment before pulling it back up and flashing an obviously fake smile in her direction.

“Bingo,” he says dryly.

Her frown deepens.

Why did that riddle sound like something personal? Is he rich?

That sounds like someone she knows. And the riddle boy’s mother was gone… that sounded like him too.

No, there’s no correlation. It’s just a random riddle.

“Alright, last one.”

“Okay,” she nods.

“I am twisted from what I was, to hold the weight of others. Yet tie a knot, and my use to this world is gone.”

Her heart plummets down into her stomach. She loses her breath and has to look back at the city of Paris to think.

If it was possible, this riddle sounded scarier than the last. Chat Noir must really be in a bad mood because normally he puns, not riddles, and the jokes he tells are stupid and funny. These are just... depressing. Her concern is growing by the minute.

She needs to give an answer.

Twisted… Hold the weight of others… Tie a knot… My use to this world is gone.

Tie a knot? What?

“I—“ she licks her lips and shakes her head.

“I’m at a loss. I don’t know.”

Chat hesitates before whispering the answer.

“A noose.”

Her eyes widen and she suddenly feels like she’s been punched in the face.

“Just kidding, it’s a paperclip.”

But he didn’t seem like he was kidding. She was officially scared.

“Chat, you’re worrying me.”

“What do you call a dead pine tree?”

“Chat.”

“A never-green.”

“Minou, I —“

“What do you call a broken pencil?”

“Chat Noir.”

“Pointless,” he laughs darkly.

“Chat Noir!”

Finally, he looks over at her and her mouth falls agape.

His complexion is so pale, lips are pressed into a thin line, and his eyes are glistening.

“What?” He asks, voice breaking on the word.

Carefully, she places her hands on either side of his face. She stares directly into his eyes.

“You’re worrying me,” her voice shakes. “Please tell me whatever’s making you upset so I can help.”

“… I-I’m not upset.”

“Kitty. You just told me a riddle about a noose.”

He shakes his head, scrunching his eyebrows.

“It was a paperclip, milady. Can’t you appreciate a good joke?”

“Chat, all of the jokes you’ve cracked tonight have been nothing short of depressing.”

Frowning, he pulls away from her hold, avoiding her gaze.

“So? New to dark humor?”

“No,” she shakes her head. “But that’s not normally the humor you have, Chaton.”

He’s quiet for a couple seconds before responding.

“Just wanted to try something different—“

“I’m not going to take these bullshit excuses, you know?”

Chat Noir raises an eyebrow, not used to such language coming from his lady.

“They’re not excuses—“

“YES they are!”

She softens her voice.

“Please,” she begs. “Talk to me.”

It’s almost as if she didn’t say anything, how he continues to stare into the distance, silently appreciating the view of Paris. She follows suit, not knowing what else to say. Instead, she decides to wait it out. Hopefully he’ll talk. Eventually.

And he does.

“My mother died about a year ago.”

Her jaw slackens, but she stays silent.

“Father has always been very… strict. But lately he’s been putting a lot on me. Stuff that… stuff that a normal, average sixteen-year old shouldn’t have to put up with,” he sighs.

He calls his dad father? The only other person who does that is…

Alarms go off in her head.

“He makes me take so many lessons beyond school. Chinese, fencing, piano— and he didn’t even let me go to public school until four months ago. I was homeschooled by my father’s assistant, I mean she’s a good family friend—“

Wait.

“And the only friend that was ever allowed over was the mayor’s daughter, and she’s snobby and hangs off of me like I’m her fucking property when I’m NOT and—“

Chloé?

“Father doesn’t even have dinner with me. I mean, maybe once every two months if I get lucky—“

Her eyes widen. He couldn’t be…

“But most of the time it’s just me and the family friend, and she’s not even eating! She’s looking over my schedule to make sure it’s as jam-packed as it was the day before. I swear I never get a break.

“Sometimes it feels like Father is always disappointed in me, no matter what I do. I feel like I’m trapped in his bubble, like I can’t get out. My house is like a fortress. Or a prison. Being Chat Noir is my escape but I just… It’s getting to be too much, milady.

“I don’t know how much more I can take.”

She feels like she lost her voice. Her brain is on overdrive.

If all the pieces are adding up, my akuma-fighting partner is also my crush who is also a world famous model and—

Focus, Marinette.

“It sounds stressful, A— uh, Chat.”

He intakes a sharp breath.

“Did I say too much?”

She bites her lip. Yes.

“No?”

It comes out as a question. He must suspect that she’s lying.

He tilts his head in admission, then looks down.

“Sorry.”

“Don’t be. Um… I’ll always be here for you. You know that, right?”

Slowly, Chat Noir—Adrien—meets her gaze once again.

His response was hesitant. “Yeah.”

She has to sigh; she doesn’t seem to be getting through to him.

“Minou, you are loved and wanted and I want to make sure you know that.”

Chat Noir chews his bottom lip.

“Thanks, bugaboo.”

They fall into a comfortable silence, just peering down at the streets of their city. She wants to ask him more questions because it seems like there’s more he’s not telling her, but decides against it. She doesn’t expect him to tell her everything, especially since opening up that much was already hard enough for him (and she really shouldn’t have been able to figure out his identity because danger! but she supposes she’ll forgive him since he’s literally the love of her life and he needs someone to be there for him either way).

A small movement in the corner of her eye catches her attention. She looks in Chat’s direction, noting how he’s holding a hand over his left wrist. Her frown deepens. It’s not like she wants him to notice that she’s staring, but she can’t look away. Warily, she watches his face twist in pain.

“Does your wrist hurt, kitty?”

He startles, but shakes his head.

“It’s good.”

“But,” she challenges, “you’re holding it. Looks like it hurts…”

Chat Noir clenches his teeth, turning to look at his lady with fire in his eyes.

“I said it’s good, Ladybug. Leave it.”

Marinette flinches at the use of her superhero name instead of one of his usual nicknames for her. His tone is uncharacteristically harsh, as well.

“I’m sorry,” she whispers.

The last thing she wants to do is upset him more.

She clears her throat, at a loss for words. The atmosphere had suddenly turned tense and she wasn’t fully enjoying his presence anymore. Of course, he wasn’t dangerous or anything, but she really didn’t want him to snap at her again.

Ladybug likes a happy kitten, not a bitter one.

She wishes she knew what to do.

“Well,” Chat speaks. “I gotta head out; get back home before my father’s assistant notices I’m gone and I get taken out of school.”

He stands, getting ready to extend his baton and hop from building to building for as long as possible in order to procrastinate his return to the large, lonely mansion where he resides.

Ladybug hops up so quickly that her head spins, but she ignores it in hope of saying one last thing before he leaves.

“Hey, Chaton?”

Said cat boy looks in her direction, letting her know that he’s listening.

Instead of speaking, she just leans forward to press her lips onto his cheek. When she pulls away, she offers a smile.

“You and me against the world.”

He plasters a (fake) grin onto his face, “Thanks, bugaboo. See you later.”

Then he bolts away, leaving his Lady alone on a rooftop.

Life had gone on as normal for both Adrien and Marinette. For the next two weeks, the superhero pair had not spoken about Chat’s home life or his internal struggles. She wanted to give him some space and he simply wanted to forget that he even showed so much vulnerability around her.

Granted, Adrien didn’t care that she knew. In fact, he was pretty happy that she had been willing to listen. Usually she never allowed rants from the either of them because she knew that it was easy to slip up and say something that could lead an unwarranted identity reveal.

Marinette wanted to talk to him, come to a mutual agreement, and then officially tell each other who they were. She knew it was unfair that she knew and wasn’t telling him, but in all honesty, she wasn’t even sure her suspicions are right.

(She’s ninety-nine percent sure).

Her eyes had been on Adrien for those two weeks, subtly checking to make sure that there weren’t bags under his eyes (there were), that his smiles weren’t forced (they were), and that he was eating enough (she had no way of knowing, but he hadn’t asked for a macaron in a few days and she was starting to get worried).

He was doing somewhat alright, from what she could tell. She didn’t expect to see anything different today.

Boy, was she wrong.

She had been passing out papers to the class regarding their next class trip, explaining that they needed a parent signature, as well as forty-two Euros by next Monday, in order to attend. When she reached Adrien, she paused.

He was rubbing at his left wrist — the same wrist that Chat had been holding in pain that night two weeks ago. His face was contorted painfully; familiarly. This brought about her worries.

Subtly, she placed down the papers in front of him, to which he looked up at her and sent an oh so fake smile in thanks.

As she walked away, Marinette just barely caught a glimpse of some red, scratch-like marks on his skin as he picked the paper up.

Her heart dropped.

She hadn’t realized that him holding his wrist earlier was a sign of self-harm. Apparently he was worse off than she thought. Now, it’s a whole different ball game — one that can’t have secret identities interfering with. She has no choice; she needs to stay in contact with him.

He needs to be okay.

Marinette tried to wait until patrol that night. Really, she did. But she couldn’t resist zipping over to his house and knocking at his window right after his fencing practice had ended.

He jumps at the sound, quickly ushering Plagg to hide in his shirt, before turning around to look at the super-heroine.

“Hi, Ladybug!” He greets with a smile. “Anything I can help you with today?”

She takes that as an invitation to leap into his room, then she allows her yoyo to snap close as she lands in front of him.

Her hands stay in fists as she brings them up to rest at either side of her waist. She grins brightly in his direction.

“Hi, kitty!”

It’s almost comical how his smile drops.

“What?”

In lieu of a response, she drops her arms to rest at her side. Then she takes a few steps forward so that she’s standing much closer to him.

“Your father is strict… he has an assistant… he makes you take piano, fencing, Chinese lessons…”

His eyes widen slowly as she speaks, his heart beating erratically.

Ladybug scoffs, “Honestly, Adrien? You couldn’t have been more obvious.”

He gulps in horror.

Then he narrows his eyes.

“How did you know that Adrien Agreste takes Chinese lessons? I’ve never once mentioned that in an interview…”

She stiffens.

“Uh. B-because you told me before.”

He raises an eyebrow.

“As Chat,” she supplies.

The model scoffs, “I’m not Chat Noir.”

Ladybug shrugs, beginning to stroll around his room.

“Okay. So why did I see you rub your wrist in class today, hm?”

Now it’s Adrien’s turn to stiffen.

“Y-y-you’re in my class? What?” He asks incredulously.

“Yes. I’m the class president.”

She says it so confidently that it scares her. He’s sure to figure it out by now. She can’t look at him as he comes to the realization.

“But my class president is Marinette— wait.”

He huffs, smirking.

“Are you Marinette?”

Finally she casts her gaze in his direction.

“In the flesh.”

She watches as his eyes light up. He approaches her with a smile.

“Oh my god. Wait, then I’m totally okay admitting I’m Chat Noir.”

Her eyebrow raises, “Oh yeah? And if I was, say, Chloé… would you have admitted it?”

He immediately shakes his head.

Ladybug doesn’t even try to stifle her laugh.

“Spots off.”

Adrien watches in amazement as a magical, pink light engulfs her entire body, leaving Marinette Dupain-Cheng standing in his bedroom.

When she’s out of the Miraculous, the first thing Tikki does is call Plagg.

“Plagg, get out here! I need to talk to you!”

Plagg phases through Adrien’s over-shirt and glares at his counterpart.

“Well hello to you too, Sugarcube!”

The other side of the room is then occupied by two magical creatures, allowing for Adrien and Marinette to have some time alone.

An awkward tension fills the air for the first couple moments, as the two recently-outed superheroes stare at each other, letting everything sink in.

Adrien is the first to speak.

“Wow, uh… wow.”

Marinette only nods, unable to comment on his reaction as she is overflowing with concern.

“Adrien, we have to talk.”

His eyes dim and his lips curve downwards. He nods, hanging his head.

“Yeah,” he whispers, “we do.”

He leads her over to the couch and gestures for her to sit down. Then he gets situated right next to her, positioning his hands on his knees. Marinette takes a deep breath.

“So… I saw the scars in class today.”

She shifts her eyes to his left wrist, uncovered and visibly scarred. He follows her eyes, frowning when he meets their destination.

Adrien simply hums, staring at the abused skin but not saying a word.

“Why?” Marinette whispers.

He shrugs.

“I’m fine. It’s just… Chat Noir gives me freedom, but sometimes it’s not enough. I promise I don’t do it that often.”

“The amount of times you do it doesn’t matter, kitty, it’s the fact that you do.”

“What do you care anyway?” He scoffs. “You weren’t paying me much attention before I was in a sour mood that day.”

“I’ve always cared, Adrien. Always. Just because I’m super level-headed doesn’t mean that I don’t pay attention. I notice when you’re sad. I do. This time you were really worrying me, though, so I spoke up.”

Adrien rolls his eyes, “And it didn’t occur to you that maybe I wanted you to ask how I was feeling all those other times I was sad?”

She quiets at that.

“I mean, I understand that you don’t want to get in my way, but I appreciate people caring, Marinette. It means a lot to me. I feel like, if I never gave away too much information, you would still be assuming things about me. Things like, oh he’s okay because he’s loud and cocky and cracks jokes all the time — maybe it’s just a bad day.”

He shakes his head, allowing a bitter laugh to escape his raw throat.

“Every day is a bad day, Mari. I’m just a good fucking actor.”

Marinette soaks in every word like a sponge, letting each and every one hit her right where it hurts, because it’s true. He is a good actor; she’s not good at understanding the script.

I’m sorry, she wants to say. The words dance on the tip of her tongue.

He’s not finished, though.

“I want the world to suffer some days, you know? I want everyone to feel just as pressured and exploited as I have been for basically my entire life. I want all my friends with a good family to see what it’s like to live in this large mansion, with their father closed away in his room, never to be seen again by his own son who just wants him to say I love you.”

When had he started crying?

Well, the tears are flowing and he can’t stop the river now. Not when he has more to say.

“I have the power of destruction wrapped around my finger, Marinette.”

His lip trembles.

“You should be glad that I haven’t tried to Cataclysm any houses, or street lights, or cars, or busses, or-or-or—“

He breaks.

He meant to keep going — to finish his sentence — but he breaks.

There’s not much more that Marinette can do, other than pull him into her arms and whisper soothing words of reassurance as he sobs uncontrollably.

She rubs his back, softly shh-ing him as he lets it all out of his system. She allows him to drown for the time being, all while reassuring that she’ll be there to pull him back to shore.

Each one of his sniffles was a subtle reminder that she was there for him; that no matter if his father comes around to finally paying him some attention, or not, he will always have her shoulder to cry on. Simultaneously, though, her heart twists at how unhealthily he’s been dealing with the trauma.

She had heard stories upon stories of teenagers resorting to self-harm because they had no other outlet, and she had been so thankful that no one she knew had taken those measures. Now, a statistic has become personal. She would be lying if she said that she knew how to handle it.

But she knew that no matter the circumstance, it had to be dealt with.

That meant getting her crush some professional help. A therapist, some medication, and plenty of cuddles. (Cuddles arescientifically proven to relieve anxiety, right? It’s a professional technique).

A quiet sniffle breaks her out of her thoughts. She glances down at Adrien as he slightly pulls away from her hold, eyes red and puffy.

Maybe that can all be dealt with later.

She ruffles his hair.

“Let’s go get some ice cream, yeah?”

Adrien peers up at her in confusion.

She just smiles and wriggles out of their position on his couch, then stands up with her hands on her hips.

“Ice cream always cheers me up. We definitely have to talk more about this later, among other things, but I can’t bear to see you sad any longer. So let’s go!”

The left corner of his mouth perks up, albeit only for a mere second.

“My father—“

“To hell with you father,” Marinette reaches down to grab his hand and hoists him up from the couch.

“We are going to get ice cream whether he likes it or not. You need to do what makes YOU happy, ‘kay?”

He concedes.

After ice cream, they return to the bakery and consult with Tom and Sabine. It had taken a lot of convincing on Marinette’s part to get Adrien to agree, but from there began the journey of his recovery.

They explained his home situation and mental health struggles in full, only leaving out the part about them fighting akumas. Both adults had immediately started searching for a good therapist (and lawyer) that would help Adrien get on the right track.

In the end, Adrien was glad that they had told her parents. Their concern for him and dedication to his cause filled his heart with long lost hope and parental love. It had been so long since he felt cared for. And now that he’s felt it once again, he’s not ready to let it go.

Thank goodness the Dupain-Chengs’ weren’t going to let him go so easily.

It was a unanimous decision that, until he feels comfortable going back to the mansion, he would stay. He didn’t want to burden them, but they insisted. So he had no choice but to accept the offer.

Before he even knew it, another two weeks had passed. A new routine was broken in by the members of the D.C. household — Marinette was getting real annoyed with Adrien’s constant comparisons of her last name initials to Marvel (her father had taken a liking to his puns, however, so now she just lived in constant pain) — and suddenly it was like he had always been there.

His first therapy session wasn’t great. He was riddled with anxiety (no pun intended) and Doctor Benson was too nice for his liking. Well, it wasn’t that he didn’t like it. It was just so off-putting, considering he wasn’t used to being treated with such kindness even by his own father.

Doctor Benson told him that a lot of the things he’s been experiencing aren’t normal, but his response to that trauma is. At first he had been confused when he was told that his father was emotionally neglectful and verbally abusive. He didn’t understand what his father was doing wrong. Once Doctor Benson explained that, “Abuse is a violent, repetitive behavior that has a negative mental, emotional, and/or physical impact on the victim,” it became more clear.

It’s still a concept that he’s getting used to — that he’s a victim of abuse. The thought makes his skin crawl and a shiver run up his spine because he never considered himself to be part of a statistic. Now that he knows he is, he’s not sure what to do.

Marinette keeps telling him, “Even agreeing to go to therapy is a huge step in the right direction, and I’m so proud of you.” Then she goes on to tell him just how special he is to her and how important him and his life is and all of this crap about how he’s worth more than he thinks.

He has to believe her, too, because she’s the one that found him at his worst and instead of judging him, picked him off the ground and took initiative. She’s the one that brought him to her parents, helped him hide from his father, and even got him a part-time job at the bakery. It’s only temporary until he is able to access his earnings, but he will admit that he likes it way better than modeling; that had just been because his father wanted him to, anyways.

Everyone tells him time and time again that he should not be living for his father. He wants to disagree, because that’s what he’s been conditioned to do for so long, but he ultimately chooses not to. Because they’re right; he’s a young adult who should have the freedom to make his own decisions.

In the end, if he’s not happy, there’s always more opportunities. He knows that now.

And there’s no better way to figure out what he wants than to explore, and reach out for help.

A black cat and a ladybug sat atop a roof.

Marinette has her head tucked into the crook of her partner’s neck, eyes closed as she feels the wind blow past her. Adrien’s head lays on top of hers’ and eyes are trained on the full moon above them.

It had been a long day; one akuma attack and three tests, plus their friends wanted to hang out. Exhaustion had taken over hours before, and sleep was creeping up on them. They cherish the view of Paris at night while it lasts, before they have to go home and do it all again the next day.

When she lifts her head to look at her favorite kitty, she’s relieved to see a soft smile resting on his features.

“Whatcha thinking about?”

He glances at her before turning back to the stars, then hesitates.

“Can I tell you a riddle?”

Her face pales and stomach plummets.

“N-no, I don’t want to play this game again.”

“I promise its a good one, nothing too sad.”

They lock eyes. She can tell there is sincerity within those dark green orbs, so she reluctantly nods.

Adrien licks his lips, not breaking his gaze.

“I visit you every night, even if you don’t call me. I’m lost every day. What am I?”

Jokingly, she wants to say “Chat Noir” but their identities are known now, and she sees him every day (so, admittedly, it wouldn’t be that good of a joke). Then she looks up at the sky and she has her answer.

“The stars,” she whispers.

She’s not looking at him, but she can almost hear his smile widen. So she looks back to him, because she loves to see her kitty happy.

Sure enough, a grin — genuine, not forced — is playing on his lips. It’s human nature to copy social expressions, so she lets her mouth curve into a matching grin.

Then she leans in.

Their smiles fade as they inch closer, focused on the next task at hand. His gaze drops to her pink lips, and she stares into his eyes. She can see the thirst, the want, but she can also see his hesitance.

Experimentally, she pauses to see if he’ll close the gap, but he simply stops in accordance with her. She wants this so bad, but he’s very shy when it comes to romance; despite being so outwardly confident as Chat Noir.

He had told her that it was a mask to hide how scared he truly was. His advances towards her were genuine, although deep down, he was afraid of rejection (to which she will forever feel guilty for putting him through). He wanted to break his façade sometimes, but he chose not to for the sake of not worrying her. The media might have noticed his change in behavior, too; granted, he never cared what the public thought of him anyways.

So, to save them both the trouble, she takes the leap and closes the gap, capturing his lips in a fluid movement.

It’s pure ecstasy; electricity pulses through his veins, but at the same time… he’s calm. He’s not sure how to describe the feeling, in all honesty. It’s just perfect.

Well, not perfect, he corrects himself. Enjoyable, but not perfect.

They don’t move in perfect sync and his lips are chapped so she’s probably wondering why the heck are his lips so dry?and her mouth keeps opening and he isn’t sure if it’s a mistake or if he should do something but he’s not ready for the tongue yet, and so their heads are tilting at an awkward angle trying to make sense of the situation —

— but she smells like pastries and her lips are so soft and he can’t help but crack his eyes open because she is so beautiful in every single way oh my god I love her and nothing makes this better than cupping her face with his right hand and feeling just how smooth her skin is which calms him immensely and he just doesn’t want this to end.

When they finally pull away, with heavy breaths and big smiles, little giggles and red cheeks… he’s happy.

Maybe he’s not perfect. Neither is she. Nobody is, and Adrien is just starting to understand that.

Years of conditioning is hard to unlearn, but he is so grateful to have a support system he can count on. Marinette’s parents honorarily adopting him as one of their own, Doctor Benson offering coping mechanisms he hadn’t even known existed, his bodyguard protecting him from the  father  sperm donor he’s still afraid to talk to (one day soon, he’ll have to, but he’s planning on crossing that bridge when he gets there), Ms. Bustier’s unwavering faith in his abilities, and his friends’ insistence that he is more than enough — all of this support is overwhelming, to say the least, but he wouldn’t have it any other way.

Most importantly, there’s Marinette. She has been his rock for the past three years and it’s more true now than it ever was. She is family, in every sense of the word.

“Hey, Mari?” He says quietly, breaking the silence.

“Yes, Chaton?”

The nickname rolls off her tongue in a teasing manner, and he has to laugh.

“Thank you.”

“Always.”

[txemrn]

In your hc, did Brynn have any strong cravings or aversions during her pregnancy from the mother's day fic?? How did Sam handle that??? I hope he wasn't a dickhead like with the other pregnancy when he cheated and gave her an STD. 😒

I was just thinking 👉👈🥺😇 that might be a cute little story. 😉

Btw I really enjoy reading about them!!! I'd L💗VE more. HINT proposal??? WEDDING?????

Hey, there! *big ol' hugs* thank you so much for the ask and the "hints". 🤣😂🤣 I hope you enjoy my interpretation of your suggestion! And yes, there is more to come from Sam and Brynn. Enjoy! 🍨🍓🍨

Warning: NSFW 🍋 (tiny little squirts; don't get too excited); language; angst; pregnancy-related stuff

***

The sparkle of fresh winter snow gathers along the window sill. A hint of gingerbread and fresh spruce waltz in the air. Melting with the smokey notes of kindled embers, the fireplace crackles in the darkened master suite--the only lively room left in the penthouse for the evening.

It had been an exhausting Friday. With Christmas and Brynn’s birthday next week, the Dalton family spent their day tirelessly getting things prepared before a very special winter vacation. Brynn attended Mickey and Mason’s holiday party at school, bringing her famous cupcakes and oven-baked Chex Mix, not to mention presents for all the teachers and faculty.

Because of the school’s early release, Brynn and the boys met Sam for lunch, where they served the entire company a catered, bountiful holiday meal, complete with generous congratulatory swag for another successful third year.

Sam spent the afternoon on phone conferences, which gave him time to pack up to work remotely from home; he wouldn’t be returning until the 28th. By the late afternoon, they had completed the grocery shopping, tidied up their home, fixed and ate dinner.

But for Sam and Brynn, the jam-packed day was far from over. There was still one more very important task to complete: sex. And lots of it.

Seductive whispers, tender giggles and lustful moans penetrate the quiet suite. Their exposed bodies hungrily intertwine together as their movements are kept rhythmically in time with the subtle creaking of the bed.

Sam grips tightly to his wife’s supple breast, brushing his thumbs over her erect pink nipples. With her left hand, Brynn sinks her nails onto the top of his hand, squeezing together with him; her other hand holds tightly to the headboard, straddling her thighs on top of her husband’s hips.

“Oh, God! Sam!” she exhales with each thrust onto his swelling, hardened girth, her voice becoming louder, more raspy. “Almost--! Almost--!”

“Brynn--! I--!” With one final buck of his hips, Sam spills over into euphoria. His fingers quickly drop to her voluptuous assets. He clenches savagely to her curves, pushing her drenched, tightening center to his hilt. Sweat drips off his brow as indistinguishable groans wail from his throat.

Watching her husband come undone teases Brynn’s own release. Tossing her almond locks over her bare shoulders, she is taken captive by the sensations tickling her voracious desires. She rocks her hips against Sam’s buried length, stroking her throbbing clit through her incessant waves of reckless ecstasy. Thunderous moans of pleasure escape her mouth as she gasps for a drink of air.

Almost too terrified to disturb the perfect moment, the couple savors the quietness of them simply being together, their hearts beating in-time, connecting as one.

“I love you, baby,” Sam whispers, breaking the silence as he gently massages Brynn’s thighs. His hands intimately roam, carefully finding their way to stroke her fully-blossomed pregnant belly.

A bright smile effortlessly spreads across her face. “I love you, too, baby.” Her delicate fingers meet his. She lifts his hand to her lips, peppering his knuckles with kisses.

“Hopefully,” he chuckles, “that’ll do the trick.”

She cradles her abdomen. “I can only hope so,” she titters, her fingers caressing her abdomen as she talks to their unborn child. “That was another eviction notice, precious one--”

Brynn and Sam had a preterm labor scare at 33 weeks, which landed Brynn in the hospital for a week being pumped with various medications to stop her contractions. She was discharged home, with the instructions to “take it easy.” Though it isn’t ideal to have a baby this early, her team of doctors agreed they weren’t going to do anything to stop her labor if it were to happen again.

Tomorrow, Brynn will be 41 weeks. For the past two weeks, she has been trying every trick in the book to go into labor. Her lab technician Meaghan swore by spicy food; that only gave Brynn ungodly heartburn. Lydia, the Dalton’s downstairs neighbor, gifted Brynn a bottle of castor oil; she spent a solid two days with uncontrollable diarrhea and belly aches. Carter’s wife gave Brynn a special tea blend; she would contract, but nothing painful; she actually fell asleep because of the delicious steep.

Then, there was her mother's advice:

“You’ve gotta have sex, Brynny--”

“Mom--!”

“--and I’m not talking about the mediocre, ‘are you done yet?’ , making-your-shopping-list-in-your-head kind. You need to orgasm--”

“Jesus Christ, Mom--!”

“You need his semen--”

“I can’t believe this is happening right now--”

“And fondle your breasts. Better yet, let him do it! Now you might leak a little, so if you have him suckle--”

*click*

“Brynny? Brynny?”

“I, for one, am not minding this eviction process--”

“Samuel!” she playfully slaps against Sam’s broad chest. Blocking her hits and laughing, Sam finally grabs Brynn, pulling her body down next to his. He wraps his arms around her, brushing his lips against her temple. He rests his large hands on her gravid belly, nuzzling his nose into her neck.

“Are you okay, babe?”

“Mhmm--” Brynn snuggles into Sam’s embrace, closing her eyes. “Just perfect, babe. G’night.”

“Night, baby.”

The delightful pops of the fireplace lulls Sam to sleep; Brynn, however, started having trouble. She turned to her right side, but soon flipped to her left side. When that didn’t get her comfortable, she sat up on the side of the bed, massaging her back and her abdomen.

“Brynn baby,” yawns Sam, “you okay?”

“I didn’t mean to wake you, babe.”

“It’s-k.” Sam fluffs his pillow under his head, keeping his eyes closed. “Contractions?” he slurs.

“Braxton Hicks. I’ll be fine. You go back to--”

Sam lets out a satisfied snore before Brynn can finish her sentence. Tickled, she tucks her husband into bed before she slips on a silk robe. Pulling out her exercise ball from the closet, she sits on top of it in hopes that rocking her hips will bring her some comfort.

She suddenly stops, clutching her chest. An all-too-familiar jolt of burning shoots through her belly leaving an unbearable sour sensation clawing at the back of her throat. Carefully balancing herself to a stand, she retreats to the bathroom for medicine. And to vomit.

“Brynn? Brynn?”

“I’m in here,” her pitiful voice echoes through the bathroom.

Sam slips on a pair of sweats, hurrying to her side in the water closet. Seeing his wife crumpled over the toilet, he drops to her side, pushing her hair behind her ears before rubbing her back. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” she whispers gravelly.

“No, you’re not,” he tenderly touches her clammy cheek. “What do you need, babe?”

Brynn leans back, sitting her rear on the cold tile. Embracing her body as another contraction subsides, she quietly states, “I need ice cream.”

Sam’s eyes widen with surprise at the request. “You want… ice cream?”

“Mhmm,” she nods. “That would feel so good against my throat.”

“Okay, baby,” he chuckles, brushing his thumb across swollen lips. “Is there a certain flavor--?”

“Strawberry,” she barks, “it needs to be strawberry.”

Sam kisses her forehead, and jogs to the kitchen in search of his wife’s favorite ice cream. Scooping up three massive balls into a bowl, he returns to the bathroom with two spoons.

“Strawberry ice cream, m’lady!” He sits on the floor with her, presenting the cold dessert like a trophy.

Brynn observes the creamy pink heap. She slowly takes the spoon, poking at the frozen treat. She watches her husband take a bite of it first before she reluctantly tries it.

“No,” she spits out her small bite, “I’m sorry. I can’t.”

Perplexed, Sam spoons another bite for himself. “Is there something wrong with it? Is it freezer burned or--?”

“No, no,” Brynn’s eyes begin to well with tears. “It’s just not strawberry enough,” she sniffles.

“Okay, babe, there’s no crying in ice cream,” he chuckles, wiping at her eyes.

“I think it’s because I want strawberry ice cream.”

“Honey, this is strawberry ice cream.”

“This is strawberries and cream.” She uses her spoon as a pointer, “See how there’s vanilla and strawberry with pieces of strawberry? I just," she sighs, "I need strawberry ice cream.”

Staring at the wall, Sam pretends to understand his wife’s request. “Of course, baby. I’ll go get, um--” he clears his throat to keep from laughing, “the strawberry ice cream.”

“Hey, Sam?”

“Mhmm?”

“I love you, baby.” She offers a toothy smile.

He chuckles. “Love you, too,” he shakes his head with a coy smile.

Sam returns with another heaping mound of strawberry ice cream. “Alright, baby, just what you asked for: strawberry ice cream.”

“Sam,” irritation saturates Brynn’s voice as it begins to tremble. “This has strawberry pieces in it.”

“It’s because it’s strawberry ice cream,” Sam bites his tongue, watching his words carefully as he gnashes his teeth. “It’s exactly what you asked for, sweetheart.”

Brynn hangs her head in her hands as she sobs. “I wanted strawberry ice cream, not strawberry with strawberries ice cream!”

“Babe, are you fucking kidding me right--?”

“Don’t yell at me!” Brynn begins to sob harder.

“Jesus Christ,” Sam sputters. He runs his hands down his face, letting out a sigh. He sits down next to his wife, taking her in his arms. “How can we fix this? Can you maybe eat around the strawberries?”

“It just,” her breath hangs tight in her throat as she tries to control her tears, “it doesn’t taste the same.”

“Of course, it doesn’t,” he mutters under his breath. He sighs heavily again. “What can I do, Brynn? Tell me what to do.”

“I just want strawberry ice cream--”

“No. What. Do. You. Want?” He grabs his cell phone. “Show me.”

She does a quick google search, pulling up a plain pink custard with strawberry flavoring--no pieces. “This. I need this. Please.”

“Brynn, we don’t have this here.”

“There’s a 7-11 two blocks away--”

“It’s eighteen degrees outside.” Sam shakes his head, as he walks back to bed. “No, this is getting fucking ridiculous.”

Brynn glares at the spot where her husband once stood, her eyebrows furrowing; warm streams of tears downpour on her cheeks. Red patches of skin grow across her neck and face as her breathing labors.

“Samuel!” When he doesn’t answer, she carefully balances herself from the ground and waddles into their room. “Samuel!”

“What?” his muffled words slur as he buries his head into a pillow. “I just need a little sleep.”

“Oh, you need a little sleep? You?” Brynn rips the duvet off of Sam, her small body shaking in anger. “I have given up my body for ten fucking months to grow a baby, an actual human being that will more than likely rip me to pieces just to,” she chuckles sarcastically, “look like you!”

“Brynn, I--”

“I’m not fucking done!” She breathes through another contraction, stepping closer to her terrified husband. “I have not complained once, and yet I have given up every ounce of my dignity. I can’t control my farts. I can't control my pee. I’m growing rolls and stretch marks in places that I never even knew a person could grow them!” She steps even closer, her eyes darkening. “I fuck you multiple times weekly--sometimes daily--where I hide the embarrassment that my hot, chiseled husband is staring at either my double chin or my fat, stretch-marked ass--”

“Baby, I don’t--”

Brynn holds up a finger. “I reverse cowgirl you until my legs cramp because you like it. I suck your dick off because you like it--”

“I thought that--”

“I just want some strawberry ice cream, Sam!” she sobs, “And then maybe you can get some sleep!” Brynn cradles her abdomen as another wave of discomfort grips around her belly.

Sam sits on the side of the bed, rubbing his eyes. “Fine”

“And I need to come with you.”

“Yeah, okay,” Sam sarcastically scoffs. He slinks on a long-sleeve shirt before grabbing his coat. He turns back to his wife who is grabbing her coat. “Um, no,” he chuckles. “I need you stay here and just relax--”

“No, we’re going together.”

Frustrated with the conversation, Sam darts his eyes around the room, trying not to yell. “Why, Brynn?”

“Because--”

“‘Because’ why, Brynn?”

“Because my water just broke.”

***

@ao719 @charlotteg234 @chemist-ana @forallthatitsworth @kat-tia801 @khoicesbyk @lovelyladyk88 @lucy-268 @neotericthemis @pixie88 @sfb123 @shannonsaid @shannonwrote @shewillreadyou @secretaryunpaid @thefrenchiemama

[willow-salix]

TAG MiniBang 2021

Because the combined bad influences of Flyboy and Sonata were at work here we also decided to bend the rules a little and post early...

I was privileged to work with one of my best friends on this project,  @misssquidtracy​ . We went a little rogue (seems to be a theme for us) and shared both parts of the challenge with both of us contributing to the art and the writing. Squiddy provided a beautifully done pallet knife piece as the background for my foreground art and we plotted the story together to ensure that it worked for both of us. We had been looking forward to sharing the writing but unfortunately, due to life constraints on her part she was only able to write a little of the fic but what she did add perfectly compliments the tone and style of my writing. 

Big thanks to @tagminibang ) @godsliltippy​ ) for organising this event.

So, here it is, our offering to the TAG Mini Bang. We hope you enjoy it. 

Ting ting ting

“Not again,” Virgil groaned, hauling himself up the stairs from the kitchen to the lounge. He regretted ever giving Gordon that bell, he really did. Yes his brother had gone through a tough time, yes he had scared the hell out of them when the Chaos Crew had left him at the bottom of the ocean in his mangled craft, yes they were incredibly grateful that he was alive and mostly whole, but if they had to hear that dinging one more time they might possibly murder him themselves. 

“Yes, Gordy, what do you need?” 

“I’m lonely, and I’m hungry, come and sit with me for a bit?”

“Sure-”

“But maybe make me a sandwich first?”

“A sandwich?” 

“Yeah, with extra cheese and a pickle on the side, not too large a pickle but not too small that it’s gone in one bite. I want to taste it, you know, but not be overwhelmed.”

“Sure-”

“And can you get me a drink too? One of my special milkyshakes, you know, with the ice cream and frozen banana in it?”

“Coming right up,” Virgil sighed, heading back down to the kitchen again.

“Gordon still demanding everything and anything?” Scott asked as he jogged in from the poolside. His T-shirt was sticking to his chest and his hair was damp with sweat but he still looked like he could do it all again. Not that they would have time, they were lucky if they got to do any planned exercise at all, usually they were forced to skip it and work out on the job when a call came in.

“Of course he is,” Virgil growled, slapping a slice of cheese on a piece of bread with far more force than necessary.

“What did the cheese do to you?”

“It’s guilty by association.”

“Ah,” Scott said, like that explained things perfectly. 

A few slices of chicken received the same treatment and Scott wondered if the meat had actually been dead when it arrived on the island or if Virgil had simply smacked it into submission so well that the chicken had flown clear into next week and arrived as sandwich filling.

“Can you fix his drink?” Virgil asked.

“Can’t gotta shower this off before Grandma accuses me of stinking up the place again.”

“Any excuse,” Virgil scowled. “It would only take you a second.”

“A second too long, bro, I’m escaping while I can and you’d be wise to do the same,” Scott said, heading for the stairs and freedom.

“How can I escape when Gordon needs help?”

“You’re forgetting one important thing,” Scott told him wisely. 

“I am? And that would be…”

“John’s home.”

Virgil snorted out a laugh. “He’s less likely to do it than you are.”

“No, you're misunderstanding me. If John’s home that means…” Scott let his sentence trail off into silence heavily filled with insinuation.

“Sel’s here,” Virgil finished triumphantly, catching on perfectly.

“Give that Tracy a prize,” Scott grinned, shooting triumphant finger guns his brother’s way as he headed up the stairs. 

And they said that John was the genius in the family, they hadn’t seen Scott at his most devious. Virgil wasted no time in yanking out his phone and texting the witch to come and take over.

“Here’s your sammich, Squidward,” Selene cooed, plonking the plate down on Gordon’s lap while smacking a kiss to his forehead. “Virgil started it but I finished it for you, Brains called him down to his lab with some kind of air filter emergency so I took over. I brought you some of those crisps you like from my private stash too.”

“The cheesy curl ones?” Gordon asked hopefully.

“Yep,” she grinned, waggling a family sized bag of Quavers in his general direction.

“Did you bring my drink?” Gordon asked around a mouthful of chickeny goodness. Say what you wanted about Virgil but he made a damn good sandwich, even if Gordon could taste that this was made with a little less love and a little more impatience than usual.

“No, sorry, did you want one? Virgil didn’t say that. I’ll go get you something, just wait right there.”

"Not like I can leave if the mood takes me," Gordon grumbled as he opened the chip bag. 

She was already gone, only to race back in a few moments later with a can of coke.

“What? What’s wrong, boo?” Selene asked when she saw the pouting look of disappointment on Gordon’s face.

“It was supposed to be one of my special milkyshakes,” he whined.

“Right, got it, my bad!”

She was gone again, taking off to the kitchen where, upon closer inspections, she did indeed find the beginnings of a milkshake. There were two scoops of ice cream already in the blender, melting in the warmth of the room. A half peeled banana sat abandoned on the counter next to a carton of milk. 

“Typical,” she groused as she set about breaking up the banana, pouring the milk and setting it to blend as she tidied the mess away. Once done she poured it into a tall glass, added a straw and a few slices of fresh banana to decorate the edges, just as he liked it, and delivered it to the waiting aquanaut.

“Great, thanks, Sel,” he grinned, handing her his now empty plate and swapping it for the glass. She put the plate on the coffee table and sat on the couch opposite him.

“Anything else I can do for you?”

 “Sit with me and keep me company?” he begged, looking so miserable and pathetic that she couldn’t say no.

“Of course I will.” 

Gordon swung his injured leg up and she moved to sit next to him on the couch, placing a cushion on her lap for him to rest his cast covered foot on.

Gordon settled down with a contented sigh, sucking happily on his straw, the milkshake level in the glass steadily dropping.

“I’m bored,” Gordon bitched five minutes later.

“That peace lasted a long time,” Selene laughed, putting her phone down on the side table to give him her full attention. “What can I do to help? Do you want to watch something or play a game?”

Gordon made a face. “You’re crap at games, Sel.”

One eyebrow rose in disbelief. “I wouldn’t exactly say crap…”

“You tried to play with Alan and died three times in two minutes, lost all your lives and were forced to float along behind him as a ghost for the rest of his turn.”

“Anything is crap when you say it like that,” Selene huffed. 

“Only when it’s true.”

“Tell me then, oh great games master, what do you want to do?”

“Nothing.”

“Then don’t moan you’re bored,” she pointed out.

“I mean there’s nothing to do. No one is around.”

Selene gestured to her chest. “Am I suddenly invisible?”

“No, of course not,” he scoffed. “That would be far too cool, why don’t you have witch powers like that?”

“Because I live in the real world, not a movie?”

“Lame,” he declared, dismissing it.

“Back to the original point that I am, in fact, right here. Therefore your comment that no one is around is redundant.”

“I meant no one I can do anything with.”

“Thin ice, bub, thin ice.”

“I meant like my brothers or someone. Alan is busy revising for his final exams, Virgil’s with Brains and I’ve no idea where Scott is but I think he’s avoiding me, which is just mean if you ask me. I’m a delight.”

“Yeah, you sure are,” she drawled, not sounding too convinced. “You’re also forgetting a brother.”

“Who?”

“John? You know, gorgeous ginger love of my life that’s chilling in his room right this minute? That brother?”

“John? No way.”

“What’s wrong with John?” she squawked indignantly. Her man was the most perfect of people, amazing and fabulous, just all round awesome. Although she might be a tad biased.

Gordon shrugged, scrunching his nose up in a ‘meh’ kinda way that said everything and nothing.

“No, come on, tell me what you meant,” she demanded.

“No offence, Sel, but John’s a bit…”

“A bit what?” she asked, her tone warning him that he was in very dangerous territory.

Gordon, with the grace of an elephant and confidence of a man that knew he was injured and therefore wouldn’t get slapped, plowed on.

“A bit boring.”

“Boring?!” she hollered, her voice travelling to the four corners of the island so effectively that Alan lifted his head, wondering if some distant God was echoing his thoughts as he slogged through his history homework.

“How very dare you!” Selene continued, working up a good glare that Gordon was completely immune to. He simply sipped the last of his milkshake, smacked his lips and raised an eyebrow, daring her to do something about it.

“He is not boring.”

“Matter of opinion,” Gordon shrugged, handing her the glass to put down on the table. 

“Right, that’s it, you can besmirch my fun factor but I will not allow you to do so to my man. That’s a step too far.” She gently, for which he was thankful, shoved his leg off her lap and dragged his hover chair over from its spot beside Virgil’s piano.

“Get the hell in, hoppy, we’re going for a ride.”

-x-

"You deal with him, he's driving me nuts and pissing me off at the same time."

"Me? I'm the very picture of perfection, I could never drive anyone nuts."

John declined to comment on that one for fear of never stopping, he had twenty-four years worth of stories after all. 

“The pissing you off is subjective too,” Gordon finished triumphantly. 

"He's your problem now," Selene announced, shoving Gordon's hover chair further into the room before making her escape, slamming the door shut behind her. 

John closed his eyes, praying for patience. His fiancée was well known for her legendary patience when it came to pampering and mothering his family whenever any of them were sick or injured. She'd spent almost every day with Gordon since his run in with the Chaos Crew and had done so with relentless cheer, for her to have given up now was not a good sign. 

"What did you do?" 

"Nothing!" Gordon protested hotly.

"Are you sure?" 

Gordon averted his gaze, suddenly taking great interest in a dust particle dancing across the shaft of sunlight filtering in through the window, "Yes, I'm sure. I wasn't doing anything. That was part of the problem."

"Ah," there it was. "Is there anything I can do to help?" 

"I'm so bored," Gordon wailed. "And your girlfriend is being mean to me."

"Fiancée," John corrected him, not looking up from his work. 

"It's not my fault I hate sitting around doing nothing all day. I’ve gone from a physically and mentally intensive, fifty plus hour a week job, to sitting on my ass from dawn until dusk. Can you blame a guy for getting twitchy?"

"Unfortunately, you don't have much of a choice at the moment," John reminded him, quite needlessly he thought. 

"Gee, thanks for the reminder," Gordon huffed, trying to cross his arms although the cast and sling he was sporting prevented it. That just seemed to annoy him even more. 

"I can't do anything right now! How do you do it?" 

"Do what?" John asked, squinting through his magnifier at the small window frame he was carving from a piece of polymer clay. 

"Just sit around all day."

John raised a disbelieving eyebrow. "I don't sit around all day."

"OK, float around then. It's not like you're actively running around like the rest of us are."

"I'll pretend I never heard you say that," John scowled, wishing Selene had dumped his brother into the sea instead of into his quiet, peaceful room. 

"You're sitting around right now," Gordon pointed out, gesturing to the desk John was  sitting at, which was currently doing double duty as a work table for his latest project. 

"One day you'll learn to appreciate the benefits of a quiet, occupied mind and a still body," John told him. 

Gordon sighed, propping his good elbow on the desktop, his chin resting in his upturned palm as he watched his brother fiddling with tiny things that seemed utterly useless to him. 

"What are you even doing?" 

"Working on a series of book nooks for Sel's side of the bookcase," John answered, sounding slightly distracted as he measured the finished window against its place in an intricately carved brick wall. 

"Why?" 

"Because she likes them."

"I mean why are you making it? Can't you just buy her one? It's not like you can't afford it."

"Where's the challenge in that? Besides, things are always more special when you make them yourself."

Gordon yawned and leant forward to rest his head on the tabletop. 

"Do you want to help?" John offered, although honestly Gordon's version of helping was always patchy at best. 

Gordon scooted closer to look over John's shoulder, eyes darting over the rectangular box that he was building the nook inside. About the size of two thick books sandwiched together, the nook already had a little cobbled street and two shop fronts in place. The tabletop was scattered with a selection of impossibly tiny screwdrivers, picks, scalpels and other instruments of possible torture that he couldn't hope to name. 

"Pass," he announced decisively, flicking the control of his hoverchair so he spun in a wide circle, pointing to the door. "I'm out."

"Peace at last," John sighed, flicking his magnifier back into place over his right eye as he set aside the window to be baked later and reached for a fresh blob of clay. 

-x-

"What ya dooooooing?" Gordon yodelled, slamming the bedroom door open so hard that it smacked into the wall and shook several picture frames. He scooted his way into the room without even waiting for an invite. 

"Gordon!" John huffed, clutching his heart where it was trying to leap out of his chest from the shock of his brother’s sudden, and very noisy, entrance. 

"Hi, I got bored, thought I'd drop in on my favourite big brother," Gordon grinned as he glided his hoverchair closer. 

"Are Scott and Virgil busy?" John asked, that would be the only reason Gordon would have promoted him to his favourite. 

"Yes," Gordon admitted, "but that's not the reason why I'm here."

John turned his head to shoot him a raised eyebrow of doom, clearly communicating without words that he didn't believe him in the slightest. 

"So, what are you doing?" 

"Working on this book nook," John replied patiently, holding up the small cauldron he was crafting. 

"The same one?" 

"Yes."

Gordon’s eyes nearly fell out of his head, "Still? It’s been four days!"

"Yes," John hissed out, starting to get frustrated by the constant questions. 

"Why?" 

"Because it takes a long time. If you're going to do a project you should do it right."

"At the speed you're going it's gonna take forever," Gordon snorted, casting an assessing eye over the work John had already done. 

"That doesn't matter," John assured him. "It's not really about the time it takes or the end result, it's about the process, the journey to get there."

"Sounds lame to me," Gordon yawned. 

"Obviously," John drawled, rolling his eyes. 

"What do you mean by that?" Gordon demanded to know, his eyes narrowing suspiciously. 

"Because it's you."

"Hey! Rude."

"Accurate," John said, placing the little cauldron down and selecting another piece of clay which he placed on a ceramic tile. 

"Why?"

"Because it requires a calm mind. It's good to slow down sometimes and just be still."

"Says the console jockey." 

Console Jockey? He did not just say that!

"So you don't think my job is stressful? Or as tiring and important as yours?" John snapped, wondering if it was bad form to smack your injured brother around the head with a partially constructed book nook. He glanced at the nook, he had put a lot of work into it… It would be a shame to waste it. That thought alone saved Gordon. 

“Well, yeah I get that it might be a bit stressful, but it’s not like you have to do much that puts you in danger, not like us,” Gordon continued, digging his hole even deeper, a hole that John was looking forward to shoving him into.

“We all have our specialities, you couldn’t do your job without me doing mine,” John retorted, trying very hard not to let Gordon’s comments get to him. Gordon would never understand what it was like for him to be stuck so far away from the action, away from his brothers when things were going wrong. 

Gordon, thankfully for him, had been unconscious from the moment he had activated his emergency code. He hadn’t heard the frantic calls going out over the comms as the family mobilized to help him.  He hadn’t heard the desperate scramble as Thunderbirds took off, racing to the scene. But John had heard it all. 

John had been the one to stay on the line with Gordon, talking to him the entire time, knowing that he probably wouldn’t hear it but feeling that he needed to say it all the same. He wanted to know that if his little brother regained consciousness for even a second he would hear a familiar voice, that he would know that they were coming, that they would rescue him. He would know that he wasn’t alone.

 He knew what it was like for people that were in danger, knew the comfort they got from someone talking to them, listening to their stories, being there for them verbally if not physically. John was often the one that spent the most amount of time with those they rescued, keeping their spirits up as much as possible until his brothers got there. 

His brothers were seen by their rescuees as the real heroes, the ones that leapt in and plucked them out of danger, but John was the one that got them that help, the one that made sure the rescue played out as best it could, liaising and coordinating until the job was done. But Virgil, Scott, Gordon and Alan were the ones that got the thanks , the ones that got the hugs after they dropped their charges off, not John. 

Not that he minded too much, he knew that his job was just as important as theirs, maybe even more so because, when someone put out that call for help, when they sent their desperate plea out into the world, they deserved to know that someone would always be listening out for it, that someone would hear and that help would come.

He knew all of this, and he knew that Gordon did too, it was just the frustration of inactivity that was making him say the things that he was. John just wished that that knowledge made it easier to listen to. 

“I might not be doing the physical rescuing,” John continued, feeling the need to push his point home. “But I work just as hard, when you’re home you’re off duty until a call comes in, you can relax, swim, watch movies and laze around until you’re needed. When I’m up there I’m on duty 24/7 and even when I do manage to catch some sleep it’s not deep or particularly restful. Any little noise, any call that triggers the system's keyword algorithm gets transferred automatically, I have to go from asleep to awake in seconds to take it.”

Gordon was quiet for once, watching him closely. John didn’t like it, it made him feel like an exhibit in a zoo. And here we have the little seen Tracy, see how he stays inside his hide and hardly ever ventures out… he knew how they saw him, why they likely thought he had the easy job. 

“These help, they give me something else to focus on. I need to keep my mind active and challenged while still trying to relax.” John paused, trying to think of a way to explain his thinking that Gordon might understand. 

“These are almost like a meditation,” he started. Gordon understood meditation and finding your zone. “Creating something out of almost nothing. It keeps my mind focused, helps with finger dexterity and hand eye coordination with the added bonus of it relaxing me. It’s good to slow down and take some time to do something creative, you should try it some time.” 

Gordon listened to his brother and he tried to take in all his words, he tried to understand the meaning behind them, he really did, but it just didn’t make any sense to him. He understood about wanting to be lazy, to sit around and do nothing sometimes. He loved to laze on the couch with his snackies and an Into the Unknown marathon playing out on the holoscreen, but that was watching something exciting, interesting, to him that was relaxing. This...whatever it was that John was actually doing, made no sense whatsoever to him. The idea of trying to relax by actually thinking...that was the most alien concept of all. 

Gordon knew, probably better than his family gave him credit for, what it was like to be mislabelled. Within every sibling pool, there were the mandatory roles: the serious one, the caring one, the smart one, the funny one, the calm one, the angry one, the one who sang in the shower, et cetera. He’d proudly embraced the role of ‘the funny one’, and had diligently flown the flag for the humour camp for as long as he could remember. If a brother came home from a rescue in a slump and needed a cheery pick-me-up, it was Gordon who stepped up to the task, irrespective of his own mood. His smile and laugh were infectious, and he had yet to encounter a frown he couldn’t (eventually) turn upside down.

But with every ‘role’ came misconceptions. Scott was serious, therefore people were quick to automatically assume that he was a killjoy.  Similarly, John’s intellect and preference for solitude often went hand in hand with him being branded antisocial, since there was apparently no possible way someone could enjoy their own company so much, yet still pursue and maintain meaningful relationships with actual people.

Gordon was no stranger to this treatment. He liked to laugh and be spontaneous, and consequently, was often regarded as the Tracy who didn’t take his work seriously, the Tracy who had the attention span of a gnat (albeit a very handsome one), and the Tracy who couldn’t be trusted with anything that required delicacy, be it physical or emotional. His affinity for making people laugh, though an exceptional quality, frequently acted as a double-edged sword. On the one hand, his relentless optimism made him the most effective of the bunch when it came to emergencies involving children and young adults. On the other hand, it sentenced him to a fate where the bad jokes he cracked would always be two steps ahead of the secret deep thinker that lay within.

“Let me see it again,” Gordon sighed, trying his best to be a supportive and understanding brother, since he did feel a little bad about the things he had just said. He hadn’t meant to say them, they had just come out. That was the trouble with being laid up from an injury, not only were you out of action but you were in pain, and pain made you grumpy and less likely to monitor the things that came out of your mouth the way you should.

He knew that John worked hard, hell he knew that what his brother had said was right, John was never truly off duty. They were all aware that he didn’t get enough sleep, enough down time, enough time to relax and just be. They knew that if John was on Five he would consider himself on duty, at work, and therefore he’d never allow himself to take time out. Things had changed since Selene had blundered her way into his life, now he spent a lot more time on the Island, which meant that he was finally taking some time out for himself. If one of the ways he chose to do that was by crafting ridiculously tiny things out of clay to stick in a hollowed out box that was his business. Gordon wasn’t there to judge, he was there to spend time with his brother.

John moved aside a little so Gordon could get a closer look, trying to resist the urge to smack his hand away every time Gordon reached for a tiny piece that had taken him hours to perfect. 

“These are really small,” Gordon mused, poking at a window that John had just finished painting, leaving behind a smudged fingerprint. “Woops, sorry, Bro.”

“Maybe you should try making something of your own,“ John suggested, carefully removing the window from his brother's possession and picking up a brush in order to attempt a fix.

Gordon nodded and John passed him a ceramic tile and a miniature rolling pin. 

“How about you try cutting me out a few shop sign bases?” John suggested.

“Do I get one of those scalpel things?” Gordon asked, a little too eagerly for John’s liking.

“Maybe we can work up to that,” John hedged, subtly moving the scalpel out of his brother’s reach and passing him a square cookie cutter. “Use this cutter for now.”

Gordon shrugged and spent a few minutes rolling and squishing the clay trying to get the thickness to the exact measurement that John insisted on. It wasn’t easy or fun.

“Nope!” Gordon announced, giving up and pushing the tile away. “It’s still boring. Pass.”

He swung his hoverchair around and headed in the direction of the door. “Later, Bro.”

“Oh...OK...later, I guess,” John stuttered, wondering just what he had done to deserve such a chaotic family as his.

“Oh, hey, boo, where are you go- WAHH!”

John’s head shot up as Selene’s yelp rang out from the hallway.

“Sorry!” 

“So you should be, you little shit,” she grumbled to his retreating back as she thumped into the room.

“What happened, love?”

“Let’s just say that if his chair had wheels I’d have lost a few toes,” she said, wincing in imagined pain. 

John scooted his desk chair back and patted his lap in offer, one that she happily accepted.

“So, why was Gordy doing his boy racer bit? What did you say to him?”

“Me? What makes you think I said anything to him?”

“Because I know you two?” 

“Fair,” he sighed, sliding his arms around her waist and resting his chin on her shoulder. “I don’t know what to do to help him.”

Selene turned her head to look at him, not liking the helpless look on his face.

“Babe, you are helping him, you’re there to keep him company or talk to him if he needs it, that’s more important than anything. What happened to make you think that you weren’t helping?”

“He was asking me about these again,” John nodded towards his work area on the desktop. “But he didn’t seem to understand, that or he just didn’t want to.”

“He’s Gordon,” she sighed. “You know what he’s like, he’s full on, he’s in your face and he’s not at all subtle. Taking his time with things just doesn’t compute with him.”

“It would do him good though, if he doesn’t learn to embrace it he’ll be exactly the same as he was last time.”

“Was he really that bad?” she asked, concern lacing her voice. 

John nodded. “He doesn’t do inactivity well. When he had his hydrofoil accident his therapist talked him into signing up for a virtual college degree in Environmental Management of Rivers and Wetlands. It was supposed to take him at least a year as a part time course with ANU in Canberra, but he blew through it in the first semester and earned himself a distinction for his insights on the impact of Anthropogenic Noise on Wetland Habitats. His professor was so impressed he offered him a fully funded PhD, citing his time with WASP and the time he spent in the bathyscaphe as practical experience that would make up for his lack of degree. Obviously he turned it down, but he still likes to rub our faces in it now and then.”

“Wow,” Selene breathed. “Forget his professor being impressed, I’m impressed.”

“He has a phenomenal brain,” John said, a small but very proud smile on his face. “When he actually decides to use it to its full potential, that is. There is nothing he can't do when he chooses to focus on something, he’s all in. It really helped him to feel like he was gaining something and moving forward even though he was sitting still.”

Selene nodded, understanding completely. She knew that all of her boys were wicked smart, but Gordon always presented himself as the least academic. He was more of a doer, wanting to be out in the field, learning as he went, diving in head first to every situation. 

But as Selene and John both knew, appearances could be deceiving.

“If that’s what helped him last time, then we need to find a way to convince him to try something new,” Selene insisted. 

“I tried, he’s not interested.”

“That was with your things, babe. We need to find something that’s a little more him, and I think I know just the thing.”

-x-

“I have arrived!” Gordon yodelled, announcing his entrance in his own unique way. He slid his hover chair in through the open door like the boss that he was, bringing his shining presence in to brighten up his middle brother's obviously dull existence. “Didja miss me?”

“Like a hole in the head,” John grumbled, turning to look at the grinning face of his brother. His eyes immediately began to water as they were assaulted by the far too bright colours of the shirt Gordon was wearing, a tie dyed monstrosity that Selene had made for him for his birthday. 

“A little more gratitude, if you please," Gordon huffed. 

“Grandma finally released you?”

“Yep,” Gordon stretched out his injured leg and patted the air cast on his now slingless arm. “Got time off for good behaviour.”

“I find that hard to believe,” John teased, then nodded to Gordon’s arm. “How’s it feeling?”

“Not too bad, my grip still isn't great but Grandma promised me that once the bone has finished knitting I’ll just need to exercise it and build the muscle strength up, then it’ll be as good as new.”

“That’s great, it won't be long before you're able to go back out with Virgil and stop, how did Sel put it, 'haunting the house like the ghost of Christmas future'?"

"Can't come soon enough," Gordon sighed, butting his chair right up close to John's, knocking his arm in the process. "What you do- you're still doing that? Still? It's been a week!" 

"It's not like I get a huge amount of down time," John pointed out. "I'm only here now because Sel said she'd dump me if I didn't make an effort to come down earlier in the evenings so I could actually eat a meal with you all."

"You actually believed that threat?" Gordon laughed. 

"Of course not, she'd never dump me, but I thought I had better humour her and let her feel like she at least had a little sway," John shrugged, pushing aside the little piece of doorstep he had been painting. "Honestly, it's nice to come down for a meal and family time, I hadn't realised how much I'd missed it until it was happening again."

"I guess we all got a bit too caught up in International Rescue after we lost Dad," Gordon admitted. 

"Like we had nothing else in our lives," John nodded, completely understanding. 

"Yep."

Gordon fell silent and John let him, concentrating on mixing the perfect colour acrylic to add a few highlights to his stones. 

"Can I have a go at making something? I bet I could do it quicker than you," Gordon asked, reaching towards what Selene called the sharps tub. John smacked the lid down on it just in time. 

"Actually, we got you a present."

"You did?" Instantly distracted, Gordon sat up straighter, excited by the prospect of a gift. "What did you get me?" 

This," John answered, opening his desk drawer and extracting an interestingly shaped bottle, upright with a thicker, rounded bottom and a thinner neck, ending a cork stopper. 

"Wow, is that an original?" Gordon asked, taking the bottle carefully and turning it to  study it from all angles. He knew exactly what this shaped bottle was, there had been a collection of them in Commander Shore’s office that he would stare at every time he got called in for some reprimand or another.

"19th century," John nodded. "Sel found it in a little shop in Mayfair. They assured her it was a genuine, used on a ship, captain's decanter from around the time of the civil war. They hadn’t fully traced it when Sel bought it but they think it came from one of the ships that fought in one of the smaller skirmishes around 1861.”

“This is really cool, thanks,” Gordon smiled, still turning the bottle over and over.

“It’s to hold this,” John continued, drawing Gordon’s attention back to him.

Grinning, John delved back into his desk drawer and pulled out a rather faded and quite dusty box. He brushed the dirt off the top and slid it over to Gordon. 

"A ship?" Gordon frowned. 

"Yep, Selene and I thought that you needed a little project of your own, so she had the idea to get you a ship in a bottle. You don’t see them a lot these days, but apparently her Grandfather had a couple and they always fascinated her.”

“So you put the ship in the bottle?”

“Yep, instructions are inside, go nuts.”

“Pfft, instructions,” Gordon snorted. “No one needs instructions, they’re a waste of time.”

-x-

“Ouch,” John hissed, hopping in place on one foot as he bent down to pick up what looked to be a tiny piece of mast that had attacked the sole of his foot. “Gordon, why are there bits of ship all over my floor?”

“Because I dropped them,” Gordon replied, his voice muffled due to the tongue of concentration that was peeking out from between his teeth.

Huffing, John gathered all the pieces off the floor, both pieces of ship and bits that they had been cut out of, and deposited them on the desk next to Gordon.

“How’s it coming along?” John asked, settling in his own chair. He’d only been gone a day but Gordon had managed to take over the entire bedroom, spreading his belongings, bottles, snack wrappers, his phone and a discarded hoodie, all over the place, as well as half the contents of the vintage ship box.

“It’s ridiculous. I think it’s missing pieces or something, it’s broken.”

“Well it was an old kit, but we were assured that it was complete,” John frowned, sliding the tray over that Gordon was supposed to be storing all the pieces in. “Have you checked the contents list and matched each piece to make sure they’re all there?”

Gordon looked at him blankly, like he was talking a foreign language.

“Did you check that everything was there before you started?" John elaborated.

“Of course I did,” Gordon promised, crossing his fingers and hoping his brother didn’t see. 

“Against the list?” John clarified.

“I eyeballed it, OK?”

“Not good enough,” John insisted. “That’s not how you go about doing things like this, you can’t just slap them together and hope for the best.”

“Why not?” Gordon whined. It worked for him in almost everything else he did in life. 

“Because this happens," John gestured to the mess surrounding them.

“Fine, I’ll read the damn instructions.”

Leaving Gordon to it John slid his almost completed book nook over and picked up his paintbrush to start adding some finishing touches before he started on the wiring for the lights. He’d barely done more than five minutes when Gordon started huffing.

John waited a little longer, trying his hardest to ignore the ever increasing sounds of frustration and impatience from his brother. In the end he couldn't stand it a moment longer, he had to ask the most loaded question ever.

“What’s the problem?” John asked, pushing his own work aside.

“These instructions don’t make sense,” Gordon bitched, flapping the paper in John’s face. “Look at the little picture here, you have to stick this little pole into that hole in the deck but the deck doesn’t want to stay together and that piece there keeps sliding and the pictures make no sense.”

“That’s because you missed around eight steps in between,” John told him, praying for patience. 

“No I didn't, I followed the pictures exactly,” Gordon insisted. 

“The steps aren’t in the pictures,” John explained. “See right there?” he pointed to the words above the pictures. “The pictures are a diagram of each finished stage, not how to get there. They are for reference only, not instructions.”

“Urghhh, this is going to take forever,” Gordon pouted, crossing his arms. “What’s the point?”

“The point is that by the end of it you’ll have something unique that no one else does, something you can be proud of and know that you built with your own two hands.”

“I’m not sure it’s worth the effort,” Gordon muttered.

“It is,” John promised. “I’ll help. How about I read out the instructions and you follow along? We’ll get through it quicker that way.”

Gordon wasn’t convinced, but John looked so hopeful that he didn’t have the heart to refuse him, especially since he and Selene had gone to so much trouble to get the things for him in the first place. He might be a miserable little sod, but he wasn’t that ungrateful. He knew that they had gone out of their way to get something they thought he’d like, the least he could do was make the thing, even if he knew he wouldn’t enjoy it. Maybe John was right, working together they could get through it quicker, and that could only be a good thing.

“Alright,” Gordon agreed, “let’s give it a go.”

Slowly, methodically, John read out each piece that was needed and Gordon located them, storing them neatly in a wooden box that Selene provided when she popped in to bring them drinks an hour or so later. She stayed just long enough to steal a kiss from John and drop one on the top of Gordon’s head before she beat a hasty retreat, not wanting to get roped into helping. She wasn’t the best at following instructions and didn’t want to get grumped at.

By the time they had all the pieces checked and catalogued they had discovered there were indeed two pieces missing, but thankfully they were easy fixes, just a small , round piece of wood to represent a porthole, which they could easily make a replacement for and a piece of mast. One snipped toothpick later and that was sorted too.

John started with the first set of instructions, reading them out patiently as Gordon found and fitted them together. 

“So, how’s work been?” Gordon asked, like a chatty hairstylist, as he carefully dipped the end of a thin dowel into a small pot of wood glue. 

“Same as ever,” John deadpanned, “a bunch of idiots that got themselves into trouble and needed help, and only half of them related to us.”

Gordon sniggered, glancing at John, seeing the sly smile on his brother’s face. He’d forgotten just how amusing John could be when he delivered something sarcastically witty with such a serious tone. Gordon hadn’t realised how much he’d missed it, wondering just what his more serious brother would come out with next. John was always like that, he seemed so quiet and reserved but, when he was relaxed and in company he was comfortable with he’d take you by surprise by letting loose a zinger that you couldn’t help but laugh at.

“Let’s not talk about work,” Gordon suggested, “we haven’t hung out properly in ages, you’re either up in Five or there are other people around.”

“Is that your way of saying you’ve missed me?” John teased.

“Maybe,” Gordon allowed, “but if you ever tell anyone I said that I’ll deny it and tell Grandma you want her to make your birthday cake this year.”

John held his hands up in surrender, although he couldn’t hold in the laugh that bubbled up as he reached for the instructions again.

“OK, let’s get this done before we stop enjoying each other’s company.”

They worked slowly but steadily over the next few hours, putting together the structure for the first mast. Once it was done they called it quits and abandoned it for another day, the smell of something tasty coming from the kitchen proving to be too much to ignore.

-x-

 “Gordon, that’s my finger.”

“Oh, sorry, can you just like… I don’t know, yank it off?”

“If I wish to leave half my identifying fingerprints behind, yes.”

“Do you really need them?”

John didn’t dignify that with an answer, the look he threw at his brother communicated his thoughts perfectly. 

“OK, OK, I’ll get some dissolver from Virgil’s studio, wait right there,” Gordon instructed him, grabbing his crutches and hobbling his way out of the room. 

John sighed, keeping his hand perfectly still, the hull of the boat dangling from his fingertip. He was still there five minutes later when Gordon clumped his way back in, Selene hot on his heels. She had the glue dissolver under one arm, a large bag of chips under the other and a plate of sandwiches in each hand. 

She dumped the plates on the desk, then the chips, before turning to see the state her fiancé was in.

“Do I even want to know?” 

“Probably not,” Gordon winced, dropping down into his abandoned desk chair and reaching for a plate.

“Can you at least help me before you start stuffing your face?” John asked, waggling his hand, which made the boat sway violently from side to side.

“Can’t, eating,” Gordon mumbled around the massive mouthful he had just taken.

“What did I say?” she demanded to know. “No hurting the hands, you know how I feel about that.” 

John wiggled his fingers again, drawing her attention to his plight. He looked so pathetic with the half built little ship swinging from his hand that Selene took pity on him, intervening when he looked like he was about to grab the thing and yank it off himself, fingerprints be damned.

“Oh for the love of the Gods, let me do it!” Taking his hand she used a paintbrush to smear glue dissolver around the area of skin it was stuck to. She took her time, rewetting and using the brush bristles to push the dissolver under the boat, trying to  ease it free from his skin with minimal pulling.

“Thank you,” he sighed, sitting patiently while she worked. Thankfully it didn’t take her too long, although it took a lot of cursing under her breath and the odd ouch from him to get there. 

“One boat,” she announced, placing it triumphantly on the desk. 

“Fanks,” Gordon said, spraying chip crumbs as he did so.

“Welcome,” she said, brushing at her leg which had unfortunately been in splatter range. Still holding John’s hand she bestowed a kiss to each of his abused digits before releasing him. 

“Right, I’m out of here. Play nicely, you two, I don’t want to have to send Grandma in to babysit you both.”

“It won’t come to that,” John assured her, reaching for his own sandwich. “We’ve not got much left to do now. We just have to attach the rigging to the masts, check that they fold properly then insert th-”

“I’m out, I don’t need to hear anything about insertion, not after you just glued a boat to your hand,” Selene declared, her exit swift and to the point, the door shutting firmly behind her.

“She has a point,” Gordon admitted, swallowing his last bite. He pushed the chip bag in John’s direction, although there was barely more than a handful and a few crumbs left in it. 

“But we’ll never admit it to her face,” John insisted, steadily munching through the large sub she had brought for him. 

“Never,” Gordon agreed. 

-x- 

Gordon sighed dramatically as he crutched his way down the hall from his bedroom. John’s bedroom door was open but his brother wasn’t inside. The ship, now fully rigged, sat beside the bottle on the desk, just waiting to be placed inside once some sand had been poured in as a base. Gordon had chosen all different shades of blue to represent the sea and had even watched a few videos on how to do sand pouring art, something he’d never expected to find even remotely interesting, yet he couldn’t bring himself to go in and make a start on it.

John had barely been home the past week and when he had it had only been for food and enforced sleep. Even then he had been known to sneak out of bed the second Selene was asleep, being discovered on numerous occasions sitting at their father’s desk until the small hours working on this, that or the other. 

Emergencies, and therefore the need for their services, had seemed to increase three fold, something Selene was blaming on the moon phase and mercury going retrograde and, for want of a better explanation, they were all inclined to agree. There was no rhyme or reason for the surge in idiots that were calling in at all hours of the day and night with trucks caught under a too low bridge causing a pile up, hands stuck down toilets, drunks climbing to the top of electricity pylons and repair men getting trapped inside ATM machines they had been fixing.

His brothers had been on the go near constantly, whether it was from rescue call outs or working on their plan to find their father,  but none more so than John. While Selene had always been good at what she liked to call Tracy Wrangling, none more so that when she was dealing with a stressed out Scott, even she had admitted defeat and left them to their own devices. Self preservation was key after all. 

John had been dealing with not only rescue calls and Chaos Crew sightings, but signal tracking, GDF liaising and general hoop jumping, all of which had kept him far too busy.

It had been over a week since they had done anything to their project and Gordon was feeling the loss. Not so much of the project, although that really had helped with his frustrations at his lack of physical ability, not that he would ever admit that to John, but in spending time with his brother.

Much to his surprise he’d found that he was reluctant to work on it alone, it had become their thing to do together. It was a time where they would hang out, shoot the shit, reminisce about childhood memories, times that they had spent together talking about their hope for the future where they would find their father alive and bring him home.

Both of them knew that it wouldn’t be easy, that if they did manage to find him there would be no telling what physical or mental state he would be in. Gordon knew from experience just how tough physical injury, limitations, and recovery could be on the mind and the body,  especially in someone who had been as active and viril as Jeff Tracy. 

They all knew, although no one seemed to want to talk about it, that as hard as it was going to be to actually locate him and hopefully bring him home, that would only be the beginning of what could potentially be an incredibly long and difficult journey of rehabilitation and reintegration into the family and the world as a whole. 

John had been right, taking some time to be quiet, to slow down and think while keeping your mind and hands busy really was a productive way to spend your rest hours and, stupid as it sounded, Gordon didn’t really want that to end. 

He was only a week or two away from potential cast removal and a return to physical activities like his beloved swimming and strength training in their home gym and, while he couldn’t wait to get back to it, he knew he’d feel the loss of his enforced quiet time. 

He glanced again at the abandoned ship on the desk and turned away, clumping down the hall towards the stairs. So it would take them a little longer to get it finished, Gordon was fine with that because for once he wasn’t feeling the need to rush.

-x-

“Remember to pour it slowly,” Gordon instructed as he held the funnel in place, its long pipe reaching right down into the bottom of the jar. “Start with the darkest one, that’s going to be our base colour.”

“I’ve got it,” John assured him, selecting the tub of midnight blue sand and scooping some out into a smaller pot to make things easier. At Gordon’s nod he began to slowly and steadily pour the sand into the open neck of the funnel. As he watched Gordon expertly directed the tube, allowing the sand to pour out to pool in the bottom of the bottle.

At Gordon’s signal John stopped pouring and waited while Gordon carefully removed the tube and used a long metal skewer to poke and prod the sand into something that looked vaguely like waves.

“The next colour up,” Gordon requested and John did as he was asked. They repeated the process four more times with different shades of blue, John pouring in a little at a time, Gordon directing the tube to deposit  more in one place than others, mimicking the movement of sea waves as best they could. In between each layer Gordon used the skewer to poke and mix the colours here and there, blending the layers into a smoother transition.

“That’ll do,” Gordon said confidently, twisting the bottle so John could see the full effect. 

John had to admit that he had been pleasantly surprised when Gordon had announced that he had ordered some coloured sand and looked up how to do sand art on the internet. He hadn’t really known what to expect, although he would admit, if only to himself, that he had thought that Gordon would be a little heavy handed and impatient, but once again he had proved him wrong. He really had done his research and the result was a beautiful mix of colours that really did give a perfect impression of a gently moving sea.

“That’s looking great.”

“I know,” Gordon grinned, modest as always. “Where’s that resin gone?”

“Here,” John answered, pushing it across the desk towards his brother. “Make sure you read the instructions and measure the amounts accurately or it won’t set and you’ll ruin the sand and the bottle.”

“Yeah, yeah I got this,” Gordon assured him as he did indeed read the instructions through properly. Once he had familiarised himself with the ratio of resin to hardener, he measured carefully and poured them into a mixing jug. Once it was fully mixed he slowly, gently, poured the mixture a little at a time into the bottle on top of the sand. With each little pour he waited for the resin to trickle down between the grains, slowly adding to it until all the sand was covered. 

“And now we wait,” John said, carefully placing the bottle in the patch of bright sunlight coming in through the window. 

“Wanna watch a movie?” Gordon offered casually, not really expecting his brother to agree. John hardly ever watched anything with just him, they had vastly different tastes in movies and John usually made some polite excuse to escape.

“Sure, sounds good.”

“Really?” Gordon goggled, his eyes almost falling out of his head. “You don’t have anything more important to do?”

“More important than watching a movie with my little brother? I don’t think so,” John grinned, retrieving Gordon’s crutches from where they were leaning against his bookshelf and tossing them to him one by one. “Come on, last one to the lounge picks the movie.”

“Hey, no fair!” Gordon yelled, scrambling to his feet as he fumbled with his crutches. “You’ve got legs like a giraffe and neither of them are broken!”

“Sucks to be you,” John tossed over his shoulder as he took off down the hall to victory.

-x-

“Careful,” John warned.

“I am being careful,” Gordon snapped. “I got this.”

“Your hand’s shaking.”

“Thanks for that, Captain Obvious.” He steadied his, only slightly shaky, hand by propping his elbow on the desk for stability. “OK, let’s do this.”

They both held their breath as Gordon maneuvered the body of the boat through the opening in the bottle, making sure each sail stayed carefully folded down and the strings remained untangled before he fed it down the neck and into the bottle.

“Phase one, complete,” John intoned in such a serious voice that Gordon couldn’t help the laugh that he snorted out.

“Pass me those long nosed tweezers?” Gordon asked, holding out a hand.

John slapped the requested instrument into his brother's hand like a nurse in an operating theater, provoking another burst of laughter.

“Thanks.” 

“Welcome.”

Making sure the strings of the sails were still dangling outside of the bottle, Gordon carefully moved the body of the boat further down into the bottle with the metal skewer until the stern touched the top of the resin and sand layer. 

“Now the sails,” Gordon whispered, hardly daring to breathe as John moved in to help, taking over the holding of the strings while Gordon reached in with the tweezers.

Gently, working together, they started the delicate process of tugging gently on each string, unfolding the paper sails and locking them in place.

“String one.”

“Got it. Watch number four sail.”

“Yep, thanks...OK… can you just give string five a little pull? Perfect.”

“Sail three is flopping!”

“Gah, hang on, just got to tighten that...yep that’s got it.”

“Maybe if I gather…”

“Yep, that’s good, do that again.”

“This next bit is going to require a delicate touch, maybe I should-”

“Hey! I can be delicate!”

“It’s not coming up...back sail two is stuck, release it...careful!”

“There, saved it.”

John gently pulled the strings a little more and there it was, their ship, sails proudly upright and everything. He kept hold of the strings, while Gordon held on to the boat with the tweezers as they carefully lifted the bottle from its side to its proper upright position.

Using the skewer John maneuvered around Gordon’s hand and nudged the boat into a better position before he carefully released the strings. They both held their breath, hoping and praying that the sails wouldn't collapse the second the strings fell. 

The boat, with its sails, stayed strong.

“Yes!” Gordon cheered, holding up his free hand for a high five, grinning when his brother’s palm smacked against his own.

“Scalpel,” Gordon joked as John handed it to him so they could lop off a little of the trailing strings. Then, using the skewer, they arranged the strings around the edges of the boat. 

With the boat finally upright and in place, they added another layer of light blue coloured sand with a sprinkling of white to mimic the tips of the waves. They finished it off by pouring in a little more resin, both to set the sand and hold the boat in place, using the tweezers to make sure it was correctly positioned.

“Phew,” Gordon breathed, leaning back in his chair and stretching out his cast covered leg. “We did it. Go team.”

“We did,” John smiled. “And it looks damn good.”

“It really does,” Gordon agreed, shifting his head to look at the bottle from all angles. 

“Nothing left to do but let it dry and put the stopper in,” John said. “How do you feel now it’s done? Was it worth the time?”

“I still think we could have done it a lot faster if you’d just let me skip a few steps in the instructions and do it my way, but it wasn’t that bad,” Gordon admitted. “I’m oddly proud of it.”

“You should be, you did good,” John leant back in his chair, crossing his arms as he relaxed. “Are you going to stop teasing me about my book nooks now?”

“Pssh, no,” Gordon snorted. “Ships are cool, yours will always be boring.”

He didn’t see the bottle of water coming until it was too late.

-x-

Gordon walked straight to John’s room from the infirmary,  feeling oddly free without his crutches and casts. Six weeks was a long time, after all.

The bottle with its little ship sat exactly where they had left it in the center of John’s desk next to the abandoned book nook that was still not finished. It took him very little time to insert the cork stopper and pour a little of Selene’s spell bottle sealing wax around the top, a bright, cheery yellow wax that matched his beloved Thunderbird Four.

He smiled as he thought of his little craft, waiting down in her dock for him, ready to be taken out when the next call came in. It had been a long and frustrating time but finally, blessedly, that time was over.

He poked an experimental finger into the wax seal, checking that it had set properly. It had, and he couldn’t help feeling a little sad about it. It had been a project that at first he’d had very little interest in, but slowly it had turned into so much more. Not just something to wile away a few hours but a chance for him to reconnect with the brother he spent the least amount of time with. 

Years ago, back when he had been small, John had been his everything. When Alan had been too tiny to be of any use and Scott and Virgil had been too old to be bothered with him hanging around, it had been John that had been there for him. It was John that had patiently listened as he read aloud from his sealife books, who had watched movies with him, played with him, and spent the most amount of time with him. Back then, their three year age difference had seemed like so little but so much at the same time, an older brother that made him feel wanted and included when the other two saw him as an annoyance.

Gordon couldn’t quite put his finger on when things had changed, when they had slowly drifted apart. John had seemed to grow up so much faster than he had, Alan had welded himself to his side, looking up to Gordon as he had to John  and things had never been the same again. 

It had been too long since they had been able to just hang out, to laugh, to tease each other without things going too far and one of them getting annoyed. It had been nice and Gordon had realised that he didn’t want to go back to nothing but hollocalls to Five when an emergency came in or the odd family dinner and movie night where he had to share with the rest of the family. John was the only brother that Gordon didn’t spend one on one time with as standard and he realised that, no matter how much he might blame it on John being so far away, in reality it was as much his fault as John’s.

Gordon picked up the bottle, leaving a box in its place. The model kit of the Mercury Project space capsule and its launch pad had been hard to find even with his junker contacts. In fact, he had almost given up and  admitted defeat before he'd thought to look at the label on his ship box and sent the shop owner an email.

Smiling to himself, knowing that there was no way John would be able to resist that challenge, he took the finished bottle, with its little ship, to his room where it would take pride of place on his bookshelf, a constant reminder that even in the worst of times, positivity could still be found.

“Thanks, Bro.”

[fawniewithorangejuice]

Nightmares - a comfort fic

The hurt/comfort komahina fic no one asked for 😌

Now with

✨breathing exercises✨

As much as Hinata Hajime tried, he couldn't remove his traumatized friends' nightmares. He would have to delete their memories, which he didn't want to do at all.

... but as he saw Komaeda wake up sobbing at 1:47 am, he wished he could just take it away from him.

"Want to talk about it, Pumpkin?"

The fragile boy held onto Hinata as if he was his lifeline.

The brunette didn't mind, he held Komaeda as well, rubbing his back in a comforting manner.

That was Komaeda's favourite pet name by far. Hinata always used it when he wanted the other to calm down, and it helped the lucky student get out of his head.

Sometimes your own head is your biggest demon, after all.

"Hinata-kun, I d-don't..."

The brunette furrowed his brows. As much as he wanted to tell Komaeda how wrong that was, he had to be gentle now.

Which wasn't really much effort, just something to keep in mind.

"You do. You deserve my care."

Komaeda seemed to be hit by those words in all the right places as he sobbed more, he could hardly believe Hinata even loved him - by this point, even he couldn't deny it...

That didn't mean it wasn't difficult for Komaeda to accept genuine care.

Except his parents and some doctors (including the nurse,  Mikan), he can't remember the last time someone was willing to take care of him without any hidden intentions.

"Shh, I've got you. You're okay. We're okay."

Hinata didn't know what exactly Komaeda had that nightmare about, so he hoped he was saying the right words.

And somehow, he usually was.

The white haired boy noticed this ability of his, and couldn't place it anywhere.

One day he even asked Hinata about it.

"How do you always know what to say?"

It was a rhetorical question, but Komaeda was genuinely curious.

He didn't even mean it as a compliment, just wanted to ask Hinata.

... the brunette blushed heavily at the sudden question, obviously taking it as a compliment.

And upon seeing that smile, that flustered face, the lucky student made sure to act like that was his intention... it wasn't at first, but now it sort-of became that.

"H-Hinata-kun..."

"Follow my breathing, okay? You needn't speak."

Komaeda held him tight, burying his face in the brunette's chest.

In turn, Hinata was stroking his back, and ruffling his hair on occasions.

The pale boy gave him a swift nod.

Hinata was always worried about Komaeda, although there were levels of that.

Whenever his boyfriend was upset, his breathing became frantic; Hinata is used to helping him with different methods.

The usual method is the 478, meaning breathe in for 4 seconds, keep it in for 7, and breathe out slowly in 8.

That usually helped Hinata with reducing the threat of his own panic attacks, and he was glad to know he also helped Komaeda with this.

Trying to regulate the lucky student's breathing, Hinata followed the technique.

Having Komaeda on his chest, having him listening to his own heartbeat and feeling how his chest raised and dropped made it three times more efficient than usual.

You can always scroll away, but I want to teach you something :)

          🌺How to battle anxiety ft.🌺

🌺 Hajime Hinata🌺

We're going to inhale for 4 seconds, keep the air inside

for 7 seconds, then exhale for 8 seconds.

I like this technique! But you can always skip to the end of this intermission.

So if you're ready, join me!

Sloooowly breathe in...

Just concentrate on your breathing. Nothing else.

1

.

.

2

Feel how the air flows inside your lungs, and also breathe into your abdomen too.

.

.

3

.

.

Now keep the fresh air in. It might help if you put one of your hands over your heart to hear it beating too.

.

.

4

You're doing great.

1

.

.

2

Really proud of you :)

3

.

.

4

Aaaand exhale slowly.

5

.

.

6

.

.

7

Now the air is slowly flowing out from your lungs...

1

.

.

2

Through your mouth...

3

.

.

4

Into your space.

5

.

.

6

7

.

.

8

Yay!

I'm really proud of you.

Thanks for being brave :)

Are you feeling a little calmer now?

Well, it's normal if you don't, you gotta do it a couple times.

"Thank you, Hinata-kun."

  🌺How to battle anxiety ft. 🌺

🌺Hajime Hinata🌺

Soon enough, Komaeda was calming down.

Repeating the breathing exercise helped him slow his heartbeat down, he wasn't shaking anymore, and after some further deep breaths, he squeezed Hinata gently by the sides.

He whispered out to the brunette.

Hinata moved himself a little bit, so he could reach over to his boyfriend, and plant a tender kiss onto his forehead.

"You're more than welcome, Pumpkin."

Komaeda nuzzled against Hinata, he loved cuddling him.

He loved holding him, as strange as that was to him.

When it comes to Komaeda Nagito, he could only dream about someone holding him so carefully, so... tender.

As if he himself was precious and special to someone... and he was.

He was special to Hinata Hajime, and the brunette would let him know that a thousand times if needed.

"We should probably sleep now, Hajime. I'm sorry to keep us up so late..."

Hinata shook his head.

"I don't mind at all, so don't apologize, please."

"A-all right... love you."

Komaeda moved the blanket over the both of them a little more. Now that he calmed down and his temperature regulated, he felt a little cold.

Hinata noticed, and he held him tighter in his embrace.

"I love you too, Nagito."

[arvandus]

Congrats on 500 followers! Could I perhaps request 8 from the fluff prompts with Present Mic, but platonic? Like he's the reader's unofficial metaphorical dad and something bad happens to the reader and the prompt line is what he says at the end? Sorry if that's confusing.

Thank you so much!  Ngl, I struggled with this one a bit. I’ve never written for Present Mic before, so this was new territory for me.  Also never written platonic before, which was also a good exercise. Really though, it’s because this was INSTANTLY the idea that had popped into my head with your request, and it WOULD NOT BUDGE.  Normally not a problem, but for some reason, I had the hardest time figuring out how to fit the dialogue prompt into it.  BUT I DID IT!  It only took me.... *checks* 1732 words to get there. 🤣🤣🤣

This makes it my biggest one yet for the 500 Followers Event.  I hope you enjoy it!  It’s a bit angst heavy in the beginning because of the nature of your request, but it does end on a happy note!

8. “You are my family.”

It happened. It actually happened.  You had hoped it wouldn’t, but here you were, sitting on a park bench with nothing but a backpack and a duffle bag.  Your mind replayed the sound of your family’s words in your head.  Harsh, cruel, heartless words.

‘Get out.’

Sure, there was more to it than that, but you didn’t want to dwell on it, to let it fester within you and take root.  There was already more than enough damage tied to their memory, and the last thing you wanted to do was carry it with you. After all, you had enough baggage as it was.

Of course, this was easier said than done. The ache sat heavy in your gut, your heart a black void. Questions flew circles in your mind like crows, questions you’d likely never know the answer to.  They mocked you, pecking at your resolution, tearing at your self-esteem. Tears soaked down your cheeks and you let them fall freely as you wrapped your arms around yourself, struggling to find a strength you weren’t sure you had.

You began to shiver as the cold night air made its way into your jacket.  You couldn’t stay here.  You knew you couldn’t; it wasn’t safe.  You looked at your phone for the tenth time.  A single contact stared back at you.

Hizashi Yamada.

Hizashi was your mentor, your guide… and quite frankly, the closest thing you had to a good father figure.  He’d helped you through your years at UA, both academically and emotionally, giving you the support you’d desperately needed, the support that was painfully absent with your own family.  He treated you kindly and respectfully, taking you under his wing so that you could flourish. He praised you in your successes and guided you through your failures, all while keeping a light heart that constantly reminded you not to take life too seriously.  It set up the foundation for a strong bond between the two of you that continued after graduation.  It was a bond that you still had, ever evolving with occasional check-ins and coffee shop meet-ups, where he often gave you professional and even sometimes fatherly advice.

Fatherly was what you needed right now, more than anything.  He was the only person you really trusted, the only one who knew about your situation. He’d even said for you to call him if you were ever in trouble.

This counted, right?

Still, you hesitated.  You didn’t want to inconvenience him.  And you’d never ever reached out to him in this capacity before.

But you didn’t really have any other choice.

You pressed the call button.

It rang once. Twice.

“Y/N?” His voice answered.  No doubt, your name came up on his phone.

You swallowed.

“Um… Hi, Mr. Hizashi…” you mumbled.

“Hey, kid! You okay?  What’s got you callin’ so late?” he replied.  You could hear the concern underlying his jovial tone, and you clutched your phone tighter to your ear, grateful to know that at least someone out there cared about you.

“I… I need some help.” You said.  “They… they kicked me out.”

There was a silent pause. When he finally spoke, his voice was somber.  “I’ll come get you.  Tell me where you are.”

You thanked him and gave him your location.  He kept you on the phone with him the entire time as he drove over, making you speak to him and describe your surroundings.  Any people who walked by you, specific landmarks, anything he might need to know if trouble arrived before he did.  When you finally saw his headlights pull up into the parking lot of the park, relief flooded you and you nearly ran to his car. He was a sight for sore eyes, his blonde hair pulled back into a casual man bun, his clothing simple.  He stepped out of the driver’s side door to put your things in his trunk before opening his passenger door for you.

“Thank you.” You said as he settled back into the driver’s seat next to you.

“I’m glad you called me.” He replied.

As he drove, he spoke to you.  “You don’t have anywhere to go, do you?” he asked.

Your vision blurred and you shook your head.

“Listen.  I’m going to give you a couple of options for tonight.  I can take you back to my place and you can crash on my couch.  Or, if you’re not comfortable with that, I can reach out Nemuri.  I’m sure she’d understand.”

You were grateful he didn’t offer to put you up in a motel by yourself or take you to a homeless shelter.  The tension in your spine eased slightly.

“Um.. your place, please, if that’s okay…” you mumbled.

You could see relief smooth the creases on his brow and he smiled at you.  “Of course it is.”

You arrived at Hizashi’s home and he helped you carry your things in.  He retreated to his hallway to grab a spare blanket and a pillow and set it up for you on the couch.  You looked at the space curiously, intrigued at his level of preparedness.

Hizashi noticed the questioning look on your face, and chuckled.  “Shouta crashes here sometimes.  Gotta be prepared.”

You gave a small chuckle at the mental picture.

“How about some tea?” Hizashi asked as he disappeared into the kitchen. You could hear the clinking of ceramics and the running of water. “Have ya had anything to eat?” He called out. “Are ya hungry?”

You shook your head, your stomach still twisted in knots. “No, I’m okay…”

“Well, if that changes, feel free to help yourself whenever you want.” He replied.

By this point, the dam of your emotions was beginning to crack, and you sat on the couch with your head in your hands.  You could feel fresh tears filling your eyes, sticking to your lashes.  You blinked at them, letting them fall into your palms.

A few minutes later, Hizashi returned with a cup of hot tea that he handed to you. You took it gratefully and sipped at its contents, letting the warmth coat your throat and fill your stomach.  It helped to slightly ease the knot of anxiety that you felt twisted up inside you.

“I’m so sorry to ask for your help like this.” You muttered. “I’m sure this isn’t what you had in mind when you gave me your number.  I just didn’t have anyone else to turn to.”

“It’s okay.” He replied.  “Like I said, I’m glad you called me.”

“I promise I won’t stay long…” you said.  “I don’t want to inconvenience you.”

“You’ll stay as long as you need to.  I’m not going to let you out back on the street by yourself.” He said sternly.  “I’ll start reaching out to people tomorrow.  I’m sure there are some UA graduates that might be cool with getting a new roommate.”

“Thank you.” You said again.  

Another long silence filled the space as you sipped at your drink.  He quietly sat near you, letting you acclimate to his space and this strange, new situation.  Once the mug was empty, you set it down.

“So… do you want to tell me what happened?” he asked.

You began to recount all that had transpired hours before.  The things your family did, the things they said… You tried to keep the emotions separate from your words, but it was impossible.  Within a matter of minutes, the dam finally burst, and you were openly sobbing.  As you cried, Hizashi offered you a box of tissues and put a comforting hand over yours. You clutched at it in return like a lifeline, his silent consolation tethering the broken pieces of your heart.

“I don’t know what to do now.” You whispered.  “Hizashi… what’s going to happen to me…?”

“It’s okay. We’ll figure it out.  Together.” He replied.

You stared at him and he stared back, a small reassuring smile on his lips.  He was such a good person.  Already, he’d managed to give you more support in the past twenty minutes than you’d received from your family in months.

You gave a sad, ironic laugh.  

“You’re like the dad I wish I had…” you muttered.

Hizashi’s eyes widened for a moment, and panic filled you.  You hadn’t meant to say that; the words had just slipped out, a small confession of tired heart. But then he laughed and scratched the back of his head.

“Haha, really?  Thanks! I guess we have gotten pretty close over the years…”

The tension in the room immediately evaporated.  You gave a small smile, glad that your comment didn’t have the dramatic impact you feared it would.  The man’s positivity seemed as immovable as the mountains.

Hizashi’s chuckles eased, and his expression softened.  “To be honest, I always knew you had family troubles.  When you teach long enough, you start to notice those kinds of things.  And back then, there really wasn’t much I could do about it.  But that’s part of why I wanted to help you, I think.  To give you a chance to grow past that, so it wouldn’t define you.”  

He stared at his hands as he continued.  “I guess, maybe in some way, I did sort of adopt you, in my heart.”  His eyes looked up at you again, holding your attention.  “So, don’t feel bad about saying that, okay?  If anything, it makes this old man’s heart happy.”

Your stared at him, your eyes freshly stinging as new emotions – happy emotions – bubbled forth.

“Hizashi….”

“Yeah?”

“Could I have a hug?”

He gave a chuckle and sat next to you before putting his arm around you. You leaned against him, soaking up the physical contact. It drove away the loneliness and replaced it with something you’d only ever really felt in his presence.

Love, strong and familial.

You had thought that you were all cried out, but you were wrong. Fresh sobs shook from your body like the boughs of a snowy tree, knocking loose all that you’d been carrying within yourself.  The anger, the fear, the self-loathing…

Hizashi rested his chin on your head as you cried. “You are my family.” He said softly.  “Only if you want to be, of course.”

You nodded fervently as a laugh bubbled from your throat, pure joy filling you.  You were safe.  You were loved.  And maybe… just maybe… you were home.

[hood-ex]

Could you do a fic where Dick is sick and vomiting and Jason gets stuck taking care of him and he is reluctant but also really good at it?

Read on AO3

Jason looked outside the window and scowled at the fresh blanket of snow that was piled up outside the cabin. He was so fucking tired of waking up in Norway. It was like living in a non-stop snow wonderland that stretched on for miles and miles around the forest. Jason was mostly miffed because it covered up the pathway he had cleared yesterday for Dick’s drive to the grocery store. 

The other thing Jason was annoyed about—other than how much of a pain in the ass it was to try and go anywhere in this kind of weather—was the fact that it was unbearably cold. The cabin that Bruce had gotten for them had a crappy heater that barely did its job. It left a persistent chill inside the cabin that made Jason wake up a lot earlier than usual. His ice-cold toes usually roused him awake, and after he took a hot shower, he always bundled up and started a fire in the fireplace. 

The fire he had already started this morning was roaring away and slowly spreading heat throughout the house. Jason turned away from the window and stepped in front of the flames, holding his hands near the fire to warm them. 

It was about that time that Jason heard Dick rustling around in his bedroom, finally awake for the day. Jason wouldn’t admit it, but ever since they’d been forced to stay in this cabin, he’d actually preferred Dick’s company rather than being stuck with his own thoughts. It had been a long time since he’d lived with someone else, and he’d come to find some comfort in the morning routine that he and Dick had fallen into. 

Jason would wake up and shower first, start the fire, and make them cups of tea. Dick would wake up a little later since he liked to shower at night, and then he would make them both breakfast. After they cleaned up their dishes, they would usually put on their heavy coats and boots before going outside to explore the area. It was one of their only options to get in some exercise in their current situation. After they got back, they would rekindle the fire and sit by it to warm up. Jason would read his book while Dick would slowly strum his guitar, trying to relearn many of the songs he hadn’t played since he was still living at the manor. 

The consistency was nice if a little boring at times. But, hey, it was all just temporary. As soon as they got the message from Bruce that it was safe for them to go back home, they would kiss their routine goodbye and go back to their normal lives.

Jason turned away from the fire at the sound of Dick’s door opening. He yelled out his usual, “About time, Sleeping Beauty. I’m starving.”

He turned towards the hallway just in time to see Dick stumble into the bathroom, the door slamming behind him. Jason barely had time to register what was happening before he heard Dick retching into the toilet. It wasn’t just a one and done ordeal either. He heard Dick heave and gag multiple times before the toilet was flushed. 

“You have got to be kidding me,” Jason muttered under his breath. “You good?” he called out loudly, not wanting to get anywhere near the bathroom and all its smells. 

“No,” Dick said, voice sounding shaky even though it was muffled by the door. He only managed to get out, “I’m gonna—” before throwing up again. 

There was a lot more going on in there than just throwing up. Jason crinkled his nose and turned on the TV to drown out all the sounds. The TV, a small flat screen that looked like the only newly updated appliance in the entire cabin, started playing some Norwegian show called Dag. Jason kept an eye on it while he sunk down onto the arm of the couch with a heavy sigh. 

Dick getting sick all of a sudden was just their shitty luck. Of course it would happen when Jason was the only one around to take care of him. He wasn’t sure how Dick had even gotten sick in the first place. They were pretty isolated and hadn’t been around other people except for when they went to the grocery store. 

The grocery store… which Dick had just gone to… yesterday.

Fuck. 

Jason heard Dick start dry heaving, and he shuddered in both sympathy and disgust. He really wasn’t feeling all that hungry anymore now, and he knew Dick definitely wouldn’t be eating anything for a few hours at least.  

Since food was out of the question, Jason tried to think of anything he had on hand that would make Dick feel better. The problem was that they really hadn’t come here with much other than clothes, some electronics, weapons, and a first aid kit. Jason knew for a fact that there wasn’t a thermometer in the first aid kid, and he was pretty sure he wouldn’t find a random hot water bottle or heating pad lying around the cabin. 

He was running through his options when the bathroom door finally opened up, revealing Dick in nothing but his black sweatpants. Jason looked him over from head to toe, and he frowned when he noticed that Dick’s arms were loosely crossed over his stomach. He also looked a lot paler than normal. Kind of clammy. His arms were shaking slightly like he was cold. Jason wasn’t sure if that was because he had a fever or if it was because the cabin was still a little frosty from the morning air. 

“It’s a stomach bug,” Dick said like he was delivering some kind of progress report. “‘M not feeling too good.” 

Yeah, no shit, Jason thought.

“C’mere and let me check your head,” he demanded, beckoning Dick forward with a finger. “And try not to fuckin breathe on me. The last thing we need is both of us getting sick.”

Dick must have been feeling pretty bad because he didn’t bother responding with one of his normal quips. He just nodded his head and dragged his feet forward until he was only a foot away. 

Jason placed the back of his hand against Dick’s forehead and watched how Dick’s eyes fluttered at the temperature differences between their skin. He tried to be thorough in his examination by cupping both of Dick’s cheeks, feeling his forehead again, and then feeling his cheeks one last time. The skin underneath was hot. Too hot. Fever level kind of hot. 

“Congrats,” Jason said, dropping his hands. “You’ve won yourself a fever, a shitty stomach, and a day of bed rest.” 

“I—fuck!” 

One second Dick was standing in front of him, and the next, he was back in the bathroom throwing up again. This time the door was wide open. Jason hurried over and used his foot to kick it closed. 

This became a pattern over the next two hours. At first, Dick kept going to the bathroom to throw up. The more he did it, the weaker and more uncomfortable he got. Jason quickly noticed this after Dick had left the bathroom door wide open once again. He’d seen Dick’s arms shaking as he tried to brace himself against the toilet, and it was at that point that Jason knew he had to make this easier for Dick somehow. 

He ended up moving the couch further away from the fireplace since the last thing Dick needed right now was to overheat his body. He did grab one of Dick’s hoodies though just because Dick wasn’t even wearing a shirt and because the cabin was colder than the average home. He also got Dick’s pillow from his bedroom and put it on the couch since it would be way more comfortable than the couch’s decorative pillows. The last thing he dragged in next to the couch was the big trash can from the kitchen so Dick could throw up in it. 

“Hey, Barf Wonder, your sickbed awaits,” Jason said as soon as Dick emerged from the bathroom looking even more clammy and wrung out than before. 

Dick eyed the trash can next to the couch, looking relieved. He quickly pulled on the light blue hoodie that Jason tossed to him, and then he eased himself down onto the couch in a curled up position. It made him look smaller than usual. More… fragile. 

“Thirsty,” Dick mumbled with his eyes closed. “Need to stay hydrated.”

“I know,” Jason sighed, scratching the back of his head. “I’ll get you some ice to suck on if you don’t throw up in the next hour.”

Dick scrunched up his face, clearly unhappy about that.

“You feeling any better?” Jason asked while heading towards the closet for his big coat, gloves, boots, and hat. He needed to go chop some more firewood up and put it away to dry. Might as well do something useful while Dick wasted away on the couch for the rest of the day. 

Dick hummed and signed, “Sort of,” with his hands. 

Jason slid his red beanie over his head, hoping it didn’t fuck up his hair too much. “Done throwing up?”

“No sé,” Dick yawned. “Hopefully.”

“Got any more diarrhea cha, cha, cha?” Jason smirked. 

Dick gave him an unimpressed look. “Beavis and Butt-Head? Really?” 

“You’re just lucky I wasn’t yelling, ‘Mama mia, papa pia, Dickie’s gotta diarrhea!’ while you were running around,” Jason said, shoulders shaking with laughter at the idea of it. He ended up laughing so hard that he nearly fell into the closet. He could tell Dick was trying not to laugh with him, probably not wanting to give him the satisfaction. 

“You’re the fuckin worst,” Dick said instead. He shoved his face into his pillow, and Jason just knew he was smiling into it. 

“Hey! I get points for all of this!” Jason said while gesticulating from Dick to the bathroom. “And you owe me for taking care of your sick ass!” 

“Owe you what? A bottle of Mr. Clean?” Dick asked once his face wasn’t mashed into his pillow anymore. His eyebrows were all screwed up from it, and because Jason was the best brother in the whole world, he was just going to let Dick live with it. 

Jason couldn’t resist when he said, “You mean you're just gonna hand Lex Luthor over to me on a silver platter?” 

This time Dick barked out a laugh before he could cover it up, and Jason wouldn’t admit it, but it was nice to see Dick feeling good enough to laugh like that. It felt even better to have proof that he was funny and that Dick couldn’t deny it in front of anyone from now on. 

Jason was going to make it very clear that what happened in the cabin in Norway definitely wasn’t going to stay in the cabin in Norway.

Dick would just have to deal with it. 

[lu-undy]

Un-alone, Chapter 19

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“C’mon Marty, we gotta go.”

The German Shepherd brought the stick he had found back to Mundy and sat down, his eyes pleading. 

“Alright, last throw and then we gotta hit the road otherwise we’ll never get there before the sun sets, ok?”

“Woof!” The dog went to his four paws in a flash and wagged his tail frantically.

“Alright, go!” Mundy threw the stick on the parking lot of the hotel and the dog ran to fetch it. 

“Micky, you’re ready, son?” 

“Yeah, oh, let me help you, Uncle Phil.” Mundy went to his uncle and helped him hop on his seat in the car. 

“Ah, thank you, son, that’s perfect… Thanks.”

“It’s nothin’, here, gimme your cane, I’ll put it behind ya.”

“Micky, you sure you didn’t forget anythin’ in the hotel?” Caroline popped out of reception and into the parking lot.

“I slept in me van, Mum, you should ask Uncle Phil. “

“Phil?”

“Nah, we’re fine, c'mon Carrie!”

“Alright, alright.”

There were another few hours of driving and the landscape changed as the family neared the coast. Mundy followed his mother and uncle driving the car in front of him and soon, Marty became restless on his seat. 

“Recognise the place, mate?”

The dog barked enthusiastically, his tail wagging against the passenger’s seat. He was turning left and right.

“Yeah, you know it, good boy… Oh, that’s where Mum’s parkin’, hm… Guess I'll have to park on the sidewalk… Here… There we go."

A few hours later, all their belongings were moved inside Philip's vacation house. The family had had dinner and Philip was on the sofa, following whatever game was on that night with Marty laying beside him. 

"Thanks for helpin' me with the dishes, Micky." 

Caroline and her son were in the kitchen. She was washing and he was rinsing. 

"You're welcome, Mum."

"I'm sure a few days with the sea breeze will help Phil as much as it will you." She said and Mundy raised an eyebrow. 

"What d'you mean?"

"Y'know…" Caroline cast a glance at the kitchen door and saw that it was open. She quickly rinsed her hands and went to close it before resuming her position next to Mundy. "Your breakup…?" She hesitantly added and Mundy nodded, not because he agreed, but because he remembered. His mother was thinking that the reason why he was avoiding talking about his feelings, was because he had broken up with a woman and his heart was aching...

Well, aching his heart was. 

Not because of a heartbreak, Mundy simply felt like in the end he would be alone because he had nothing to offer, nothing but road trips, hunting animals, people, puttin ghis supposed loved on in danger through that and oh, yeah, a very poor ability to actually talk to people, verbalise what he felt outside of the confines of his own head…

He sighed.

“I don’t wanna pry or anythin’ but uh…” Caroline’s voice pulled the Aussie out of his daydream. “When we were in New Mexico, had you found someone else? I mean, we’ve travelled pretty far and uh…”

“Mum.” Mundy stopped her yet could not look her in the eye. Each time he did, a voice screamed in his head “Liar! Liar! Tell her! Tell her you prefer blokes over sheilas! She doesn’t deserve you lie to her! You’re the worst son she could ever have and it’s all your fault! You’re breaking her heart!”

Mundy screwed his eyes shut and shook his head to shake those thoughts away. 

“No… No I hadn’t, and even if I had, I don’t care.” He put the plate he had in his hand down and left the kitchen. Soon after, Caroline heard the very familiar sound of the van’s engine rumbling away, and sighed. 

The Aussie drove first to let his frustration out, and when it did pass, he started paying attention to his surroundings. It was all new afterall… He realised that it was what all the beach cities must look like: restaurants, nightclubs, theme parks for families. 

Families. 

Huh. Mundy shook his head. He would have loved to have one of his one, someone to go home to, someone to hold, to feel the warmth of. And he had nothing against a sheila and a few kids, he really didn’t. He just had a slight preference for men, that was true; that, and there was the issue with his job too. 

“God damn it…” He sighed.

Being paid to put bullets in things was hard enough on himself, he didn’t want to put that burden on anyone else with him. And sometimes those things weren’t just beasts, they were people too… The truth was that Mundy was a paid killer, a mercenary, jumping from contract to contract. When someone needed some lead in their head, he was called in, and more recently, it was even the officials who called to him for his extraordinary tracking abilities. Mundy could find anyone and anything, as long as it had blood pumping in its veins.

He had thought about quitting, multiple times at that. But then what would he do? Farming with his parents? He was already helping them out from time to time and he didn’t like the idea of taking too much responsibility on the farm. At the end of the day, he didn’t want his parents to think that he wanted to take over, the farm was way too big a responsibility for him, especially alone.

Eventually, Mundy parked somewhere, it was a free parking lot. He lowered his window, just a bit, for some fresh air, and he leaned back on his seat, closing his eyes. He dreamt. He dreamt of a man, the man who will make his days flip upside down, a man who would understand him and somehow, manage to bear him through his muteness, through his silence and hardest of all, through his difficulty to express what he felt. 

Mundy could of course partake in a little exercise of introspection, as he was doing right now; It was practically a compulsory hobby. Anytime he felt low, he would look into himself, as if he didn’t know why, or as if that particular time the answer would be different. Nah, in truth, Mundy just didn’t know what else he could do but think about his misery on his own. The hard part, and the step that he never took was to take everything he knew about himself, about what frustrated him or made him happy, extracting all of that from his insides to bring it outside, for someone to hear. Even his mother was unaware of half the things he was thinking. 

Maybe that was one of the issues he could address as opposed to focusing on dreaming about a man he hadn’t met yet? Maybe that was the “easy” thing to fix and maybe fixing it would bring him some peace?

Mundy opened his eyes and it was night time. He looked around him to see that the city was still busy, even if it was winter now there, the beach still attracted quite a lot of people. 

"Right." He started the engine and headed back home. 

When he entered the house, Marty came to the door to greet him. 

"Hey, Marty, yeah, you're good boy… Oh? Marty, leave my hand alone. Marty-? Alright, alright, I'll follow ya…" 

The German Shepherd led the Aussie to the door of his uncle's bedroom. 

"He must be asleep, Marty, you'll see him tomor-"

"Come in, Micky." Phil said from the inside and Mundy pushed the door. 

"Sorry, Uncle Phil, it's Marty. I don't know why he pulled my hand all the way here."

"It's fine, Micky, I asked him to. Marty, shut the door, boy." 

The dog pushed the door until it clicked shut. 

"He's a very clever dog." Mundy said. 

"Yeah, I got him cause he was too soft to work with us drug sniffin'." 

"Oh, I see." 

"C'mere and have a seat, Micky." Philip was in his bed. He scooted to free some space for Mundy to sit at his side.  “I wanted to have a chat with you, y’know, only men kinda talk…”

The Aussie sighed.

“See? Your Mum’s all worried about ya. Now, I told her you’re one big man and you know what you’re doin’, she shouldn’t meddle in your business.”

"But?" Mundy anticipated. 

"But she told me things, see?"

"What did she tell you?"

"That you got yourself a woman and for some reason, you ain't together anymore, and that's why you're all sad and in your own world." 

"Pfff…" Mundy sighed and shook his head. 

"Now, boy, these things do happen all the time, y'know. It ain't necessarily bad. If anythin', it's better to go each your way if you're not meant together." 

"Yeah, guess you’re right.”

“Believe me, Micky. Besides, young and handsome as you are, I’m sure you’ll find someone else quick enough, eh?”

“Yeah… I wish…”

“Son?” Phil was confused. He expected to see his nephew in a better mood after a little chat, but Mundy looked worse. “What is it…?”

“Nothin’. I’ll let you sleep now, g’night, Uncle Phil.”

And as usual, Mundy disappeared, leaving his uncle confused as to what he was thinking. The Aussie's mind was as impenetrable as Buckingham Palace itself or the White House…

The next morning, Mundy found his mother and his uncle chatting in the kitchen when he woke up. 

"Micky, we were thinkin' of havin' a walk by the beach. Your uncle's physio says it's good for him to walk a bit more now, and we reckon Marty's gonna love it." Caroline said. "You wanna come with us?" 

"Sure. I'll just have some coffee before we go." Mundy took a seat at the breakfast table.

"You wrap your neck in a scarf, yeah?" Caroline poured him some coffee. "It's cold outside. And we should get you a beanie, it's gettin' really cold now." 

"My hat's fine, Mum."

"It's fine until you catch a cold and then who's gonna have to take care of a big baby with a running nose…?" Caroline asked and Mundy smiled. 

"Alright, we'll get some beanies for everyone then." Mundy smiled and took a sip of his coffee. Marty came to the Aussie. "Hey Marty." Mundy patted his head and the dog wagged his tail enthusiastically. 

"Right," Phil said and stood up. "I'll go and put on somethin' decent…"

"I brought your thick winter jacket, Phil, you'll find it in your big bag." Caroline said. 

"Carrie, I'm not yer son!"

"Uncle Phil, don't even try, even Dad can't tell her anythin' about that…" Mundy said. 

"Right, woman, I'll do it your way…" Phil left the kitchen, leaving mother and son alone. 

"I had your dad on the phone yesterday." Caroline said. 

"Oh, how's he doin'?"

"Same old," She answered and finished her coffee. "He's alright, the chickens and geese aren't missin' us too much apparently."

"Is he managin' on his own to take them to the market?" 

"Yeah, he says it's fine. Jimmy comes to lend a hand on the weekends."

"Ah, that's nice of him."

"He sometimes comes after school when he feels like it." Caroline said and Mundy nodded. "His parents encourage him to work with us during the holidays." 

"He's only a kid though, can't have him be there full-time I guess." Mundy said.

"Yeah, nah, you're right. His parents told me he wasn't doing so good at school, so they try to give him a bit of work to do. We talked with them a lot. Jimmy's learnin' fast and he likes it at the farm."

"Wanna hire him when he finishes school?"

"Your dad and I are thinkin' about it." Caroline said and nodded to herself. "We aren't getting any younger and it'd be good to leave the farm to someone… Now, we know you like it but not to the point of workin' full time there."

Mundy lowered his head. 

"Yeah… I wish it was all different." Mundy took the last gulp of his coffee and left, not giving his mother any chance to ask him what he meant. 

The Aussie put some warm clothes on and kept thinking. He wished it was all different. He wished he had been better at school and right now he would have had an office job, nice nine to five kind of routine, a car, a house of his own, a sheila and a few kids… 

He could also have liked farming more, and then he would have taken the responsibility of his parent's farm after them. The business would stay in the family and Mike and Caroline wouldn't feel like a lifelong effort of taking care of chickens and geese went down the drain… 

Mundy could have not preferred men or liked them at all. That way, it would surely have been a thousand times easier to find someone to settle with. He himself was very shy but females sometimes went to talk to him, hit on him even, but men? Never, or so rarely…

"Hm." 

Mundy took Marty's tennis balls with him and went to get the dog on the leash. 

"Marty? C'mere, big boy, we need to put you on the leash."

Marty rose from his bed and trotted to Mundy before he sat down in front of him.

"We're gonna go for a walk, Marty." 

The dog's ears pricked up and his tail wagged faster. 

"Oh, you got that, didn't you? You clever boy…" 

Caroline and Philip joined him in the living-room. 

"You boys have everythin' you need?" 

"Yeah." Both Philip and Mundy agreed. 

"Then let's go." 

They left the house and walked only a few minutes before reaching the sand. 

"You live very close to the beach, Uncle Phil." 

"Yeah, got that house a long time ago. There weren't that many tourists and everything was so much cheaper…!" The old man was holding on to his sister's arm to walk. "Now, everythin's so painfully expensive… Oh, you can get Marty off the leash, let the boy enjoy the beach."

"Sure, c'mere Marty." Mundy took a second to undo the leash and took the tennis ball from his pocket. As soon as the dog saw it, he started barking eagerly. "Alright, alright, catch this!" Mundy threw the ball far away in the sand and Marty ran after it at full speed. 

"He likes the exercise, this dog." Phil said. 

"Course he does." Caroline answered. "Back when the farm was bigger we had a couple of dogs, they kept the chickens safe in the nights. They're very smart, eh." 

"So smart we get them to join the police…!'' Phil answered. "That's what Marty was supposed to do, but even as early as a puppy, he was way too gentle and soft, wasn't bad at the obedience stuff, but no predatory instincts whatsoever in this boy. He could have ended drug sniffin', but he wasn't very enthusiastic about it either, so I took him in."

"You did well." Caroline said and Marty came back with the ball, he gave it to Mundy who threw it away again. 

The three of them were walking in the sand, along the shore. The air was salty with the proximity of the sea and the breeze was icy but through that, they all breathed some better air. Besides, Marty was loving the large space to play fetch. 

"Y'all should come back with Mike in the summer." Phil resumed his speech. "The sun shines beautifully, the water's lovely and this part of the beach isn't as touristy as the rest." 

"And who would take care of the farm?" Caroline asked rhetorically. 

"You could hire up some folks for summer. I'm sure there are plenty of young people who'd be happy to feed chickens and sell them before college starts again." Phil answered. 

"Yeah… We always say we'd do that with Mike but it never happens in the end." 

Marty came back, dropped the ball in Mundy's hand and went to run towards the water. He got his legs wet, jumped on the froth coming to him, trying to bite it, and ran back to Mundy for more playtime. 

"Why'd you never do it?" Phil asked his sister. 

"Cause we have no reason to not take care of the farm… We like it."

"Have you ever been on a holiday, Carrie?" 

"O'course I have!"

"Your honeymoon doesn't count." Phil added and Caroline sighed.

"Phil…"

"You haven't, have you? I'm not judgin', Carrie, just saying. I was like you, eh? No holiday on duty. But now, with my bad leg, I've learnt to take some time off and it's not bad."

"Yeah… I reckon you're right but uh…" 

"Feelin' bad for the chickens and geese?" 

Marty came back again and Mundy threw the ball for him. He then dusted his hands off of the sand and put them in his pockets. 

His parents had never taken a bit of holiday since forever. They cared a lot about their farm and it would surely feel weird for them to stop. Mundy understood it in the sense that if he had been asked to stop hunting completely, he would feel lost. 

Well, he had been asked to stop completely, and multiple times at that. His parents weren't supporting his choice of profession, and Mundy's father grew more and more keen on his son taking over the farm. As Mundy grew into hunting more and more, Mike's frustration with the realisation that his son had other plans than taking the family business grew too. Father and son weren't on the best terms and tried to keep their disagreements away from Caroline, but she was far from stupid and knew that she was the only reason that Mundy and Mike still talked. 

"I'm just sayin', Carrie. If you wanna come back come summer time with Mike and Micky, I can give you the house for a few weeks." Phil went on. 

"That's very nice of you, Phil." Caroline answered. 

Their voices were a blur on which Mundy was writing his thoughts. He took a deep breath of sea breeze and looked around him. There were a few people here and there, a few happy dogs enjoying their outing as much as Marty was. Mundy's eye lingered on the occasional couples. He had passed the age to feel jealousy towards them, or even envy. What he felt was the bitter punch of knowing that there had been no one so far who had made a positive difference to his days, no one with whom he could have a decent bit of conversations, no one who had seen in him more than a hunting vagabond, and a promise for an assorted, nomadic adventure. A trip with a starting line but no arrival.

Mundy sighed. 

Looking back at the past and seeing the emptiness that all of Mundy’s previous encounters left was one thing, the bitterness of it was one thing, but what really hurt was that stubborn glimmer of hope that he could not shake off, however hard he tried. And God knew how he tried, he tried to look at the facts: a man with a man was unthinkable enough, a man with him, the loner, the socially awkward, ever stammering, unable to communicate his feelings to even his mother, a mess of an almost forty-year-old man.

Oh he wished. He wished he could open himself wide open and scoop that hope out of him because in truth, that was what was killing him. That part of him that believed that one day, he would open his van’s door to see a pair of masculine eyes full of love, loving him as much as he did them… 

God, why did he have to bear the double sentence of preferring men over women and hoping to find one…? 

[some-cookie-crumbz]

h,,,huwumi,,,kiss in the snow,,, add fan kiddos if you wanna uwu

Cute domestic Huwumi fluff??? On MY tumblr dot com blog??? As it should be! 

Days where Keigo was off to stay with the kids were some of Fuyumi’s favorites. The twins were going to be seven soon enough and spent a good majority of their days in school, and Isamu had officially started preschool, but Hibari had just hit two years old three weeks prior. When a sitter was needed, Rei was always excited and eager to offer to take any or all of her grandchildren. And, while less enthusiastic, Enji could be relied on when necessary. But none of that was the same as the thought of her husband doting on their children. There was something about knowing that Keigo would be there all day with Hibari and then picking the boys up once they were done with their days that brought her a sense of peace and put an extra pep in her step.

It was why she walked in the door with a smile, though it faltered slightly at how quiet the house was.

She had stayed a little bit after to finish some grading, knowing that it would be a good few hours between dinner and bedtime routine before she could resume, but had anticipated the usual enthusiasm levels. The twins were always eager to play some mischievous and rowdy game the second their homework was completed and Isamu flocked to her as soon as she was in sight. “Keigo? Kids?” she called out as she put her shoes away and swapped into her slippers.

After a moment she heard loud, high-pitched squeals coming from the other side of the house. She was quick to make the trek to examine, seeing the door to the backyard thrown wide open, cold gusts starting to creep in. While a full-fledged storm was far from kicking up, a light snowfall had started up. In the doorway was a bundled mound of blankets. She couldn’t help but smile as she reached out and gently pushed at the top of the bundle, revealing a mess of dark red hair and startled gold eyes. “Oh, Mom! Welcome home!” Reo said, shifting to lean closer as she moved to kneel and press a kiss to his forehead.

“I’m a little surprised you’re this close to the outside, hun,” she mused. Reo had inherited a stronger variant of Fuyumi’s ice Quirk - deemed Dry Ice by their family pediatrician - but had a ridiculous aversion to the cold. It wasn’t a situation of him lacking a resistance to it, either. He had a higher resistance to the cold as was the norm for temperature based Quirks like that. Somehow, someway, her eldest son had just decided that snow wasn’t his speed. Which she understood and respected, but this left her a bit baffled.

“I was helping Dad get Hibi dressed for the snow and then I wa-Bwah!” His explanation was cut off as a snowball came flying out of nowhere, pegging him straight in the face. He scrambled to wipe the flakes from his face and off his blanket cocoon. "KAITO!" he shrieked.

His blonde haired twin stood out in the yard, pointing with one gloved hand while the other arm was wrapped around his own stomach, cackling like mad. "Holy cow! I got you right in the face! Best day of my life!"

"So you've chosen violence... Very well! RrraaAAAHHHH!" And with that battle cry, Reo came scrambling out from his blankets and charged for his brother. Fuyumi briefly considered chiding him for leaving his blankets in the doorway and charging out without a proper coat but opted against it. Instead, she moved the blankets further inside, stepped out herself and closed the door behind her.

She spotted Keigo over by the large oak tree in the corner, his back facing her, Hibari's bright pink wing mittens just barely visible over his left forearm and Isamu hovering in the air just beside his father. While he wasn't an expert yet, Isamu's wings were large enough for him to hoist himself into the air for a good but short bit. She moved along to join them, briefly glancing over to watch as the twins tussled about in the snow a few feet away. "Birb! Dada, birb!" Hibari's voice cried in delight and wonder, quiet chirps coming from where she pointed.

"There's a lil birdie in there, Daddy!" Isamu gasped in quiet awe, fluttering up just a bit more to get a better look.

"That's right, buddy! It's a little sparrow. They're wintery birds, just like Hibi," Keigo agreed, tilting his head down to nuzzle his cheek affectionately against the toddler’s in his arms. Fuyumi giggled at the excited squeals he got for that.

"That's part of why Daddy calls Hibari his little sparrow," she chimed in, grinning wider when they turned to face her.

"Mommy!" Isamu gasped. He dropped back on to his feet and rushed over, arms looping around her waist as best they could and burrowing into her. "I missed you, Mommy."

She smiled and shifted to pick him up, settling him on her hip. "I missed you, too, Isa," She pressed a kiss to his forehead before turning her attention to Keigo.

“Hey,” he hummed, stepping closer to pull her close and kiss her. She hummed happily and kissed back eagerly, letting one hand slide up along the shoulder of his coat. When they pulled back, she blinked to dislodge a few snowflakes that had snuck past her glasses. “How was your day?”

“It was fine. Glad to be home, though,” she mused, leaning forward to give him another quick peck. She beamed when she saw how his feathers ruffled a bit from the quick affection. Even after years of marriage and four children, she still found how flustered he’d get to be achingly endearing. "Hibari's wings doing better today?"

He nodded and gently bopped his hip to bounce the tot, causing her to giggle. "They're still pretty sensitive but it’s still been going down. Today the sensitivity waned enough for me to be able to touch them gently, and she seems to be kinda starting to gain more mobility over them. Should probably be able to start doing those exercises the specialist was talking about in another couple of weeks," he hummed, chuckling as Hibari reached out to grab at a snowflake that drifted by. “Since she was in higher spirits today, I figured a little time in the yard would be fine, get her some fresh air. Little miss isn’t exactly fit to be cooped up all day.”

Fuyumi smiled as she reached out a hand to tuck a loose strand of hair back under Hibari’s hat. “That’s true. She’s such a curious baby bird, isn’t she?” she mused. Hibari, despite being nearly two, had already proven that her curiosity was vast. So many times they’d had to stop her from getting into somewhere or something she shouldn’t be, eager to point and let out a little questioning noises.

Hibari giggled at the affection before perking up and glancing over Keigo’s shoulder to watch as Reo flipped Kaito over his shoulder, clearly intending to throw him into a nearby snowman, only to be halted by a small flurry of red feathers swarming them. “Boys, keep the rough housing down. We don’t need any emergency room trips tonight,” Keigo said patiently. His feathers shifted to grab Kaito and put him back on his feet properly. 

Reo huffed. “He started it! I wasn’t doing anything and he threw a snowball at me!” he yelped, pointing at his twin.

“Kaito, you know how Reo feels about the cold. Be respectful,” Fuyumi chirped in.

Reo flashed a smugly satisfied grin at his twin, who responded in turn with a raspberry. “I’m going inside and crawling back into my blankets! And I’m not coming out until it’s time for donburi!” With that announcement and another small huff, he began marching his shoe-less self back inside, swiping at his crimson locks to dislodge some of the settling snowflakes.

“Coward!” Kaito called after him, trying to toss another handful of snow at him but instead only succeeding in slipping. He would have hit the ground if Keigo’s feathers hadn’t been lingering about, just in case.

“Kai so silly!” Hibari giggled, peering up at her parents.

“Yes, he is,” Fuyumi hummed before looking back over to Keigo. “So donburi tonight?”

“Ah, yeah. I wanted to do something that shouldn’t take me too long to prepare and would be warm, considering the kids were all mostly outside,” he explained. A gust of wind picked up around them, causing one of Keigo's wings to shift and curl around Hibari to protect her better.

She still visibly shuddered and pushed closer to him. "'S bbbbrrrrrr!" she squeaked.

"It's very bbbrrrr, sparrow. Let's all get inside and I'll make some warm, yummy dinner for us all," he said. He glanced over at Kaito, who was reaching again for a handful of snow, but dropped it when he realized he was being watched. Keigo slowly quirked an eyebrow in amusement as their second oldest started the slog to the patio, clapping his hands together to remove the remaining bits of snow from his mittens. “Thanks for making a better choice there, buddy.”

Kaito grumbled something in response as he marched his way up, then shrieked when Reo suddenly leapt out from around the corner, grabbing his brother and starting to drag him further in. Hibari gasped before starting to squirm. “Daddy, down! Gotta help Kai!” she squeaked frantically. Fuyumi giggled as Keigo set her down, watching as she waddled as fast as she could through the snow to follow after her two oldest brothers. “Reo meanie! Stop!”

Isamu whined quietly in Fuyumi’s hold before shifting himself. “You want me to let you down, sweet pea?” she asked.

“Wanna make sure Hibi doesn’t hurt her wingies,” he mumbled, carefully moving with her to stand on his own. “Reo-Nii and Kaito-Nii play too rough sometimes.”

Keigo smiled and reached over to ruffle his hair affectionately. “You’re a great big brother, you know? Looking after your little sister like that,” he praised. Fuyumi felt her heart skip at the shy smile he gave his Dad in return, little feathers fluffing up a bit, expression and stance near identical to her husband’s just a few minutes before. Isamu was the most reserved of their children, seeming to take quite a lot more from Fuyumi, Rei and Shoto, but there were little ticks that were so much his father’s it always lifted her heart.

“Thank you,” Isamu chirped quietly before perking up at a loud squeal from inside. They weren’t sure which one of his siblings it was making the sound, but he was following after them with one good flap from his wings. “Y-You guys, hold on! We gotta get our snow stuffs off first!”

She watched as he disappeared inside too before turning to look at Keigo, watching him disappear with a fond look in his eyes. “They’re really great kids, aren’t they?” he asked, glancing at her from the corner of his eye.

She smiled wider and reached up to set both her hands on his shoulders, turning him to face her fully. “I think we’re doing a pretty good job,” she hummed, leaning up to kiss him again as yet another frigid gust whipped around them. He looped one of his arms securely around her waist as he deepened the kiss, one hand coming up to gently stroke her cheek. When they pulled apart after a second she giggled and indicated towards the patio with a tilt of her head. “Shall we?”

“Always,” he purred back, flashing her a grin that was sincere and warm, chasing off the winter chill much better than her coat certainly did.

[brilliantt]

Mouse- part three

Summary: Maggie Shelby isn’t like her brothers or sister, being quiet and studious she often struggles to fit in. When money gets stolen and she is accused will she stick around and continue to be an outcast in her family?

A/N: Yay part three! It’s here a little later than I wanted but the weather has been really nice in England so my family and I enjoyed a barbecue before the rain returns tomorrow... This chapter focuses on Maggie’s relationship with her eldest brother Arthur. I wanted to show her relationship with her brothers before focusing on the storyline in the summary- which will start from the next part! Hope you enjoyyy <3 

-PREVIOUS-

On a normal day, the end of school saddened Maggie, today was no different. Except today she felt something more than sad, she felt dread. Tommy had kept his word and didn’t do anything to William, or at least anything physical that she could see- she had crossed paths with him in the school courtyard that morning and when he saw her decided to go in the complete opposite direction. Seeing as her brother kept his side of the bargain, she would have to keep hers. Today she would have to meet Arthur at the boxing gym. 

The gym wasn't far from the school, leading Maggie to drag her feet (not thinking about the scolding she would get from Aunt Polly at the scuffs) to take as much time as possible to get there, frowning the whole journey. She reached the door of the building and huffed before pushing it open. Inside was bustling. There were men on the floor wrestling, and others standing around them, taking a break, faces sweaty. Maggie was about to completely abort when Arthur spotted her.  “There’s my Maggiepie!” His voice bellowed across the room, pushing past everyone, beaming at the youngest Shelby. Maggie gave a wobbly smile in return, her cheeks flushed a violent red seeing the men becoming distracted by them. 

Arthur grabbed her school books and led her to one of the free mats. He dumped the books carelessly on a bench, making Maggie wince, and gripped her arms with his hands, leading her to the centre of the mat. “Right, Tommy told me to teach ya some self defense.” Arthur scratched at his moustache eyeing the delicate girl, wearing a simple brown dress with a buttoned cardigan to match. She was Ada’s opposite in terms of fashion, dressing modestly and rather dull. Arthur knew that the men he knew tended to avoid women like this. But, undoubtedly, Maggie was blessed with the Shelby good-looks. Her long wavy hair and pretty doe eyes were more than enough for the men to have a lustful look, despite Maggie never noticing. Arthur always noticed, however, and had jumped at Tommy’s idea to teach her some fighting moves. He couldn't always be around the girl that he helped raise these days, what with Linda and the baby, so knowing she could defend herself when he wasn’t there put his mind at ease.

“We’ll start off simple, to see what we’re working with.” Arthur raised his palms and held them out in front of him, “I want you to punch my hand as hard as you can, alright?”

Maggie’s arm remained loosely at her side. Her face still felt hot and she couldn’t stop her eyes wandering around the room, watching everyone. Most of the men were doing their own thing but one or two she noticed were watching her and her brother. She turned back to Arthur who was waiting still with his hands out.  Maggie looked to the ground and rubbed her hand up her arm. “I… I can’t do it with everyone here.” 

It took Arthur only a couple of seconds to process her words before he clapped his hands and cupped his mouth to shout, “Right, that’s it! Everyone out. Gym’s closed!” Although there were some whining, Arthur’s hard stare cleared the area. He turned back to Maggie and resumed his position. Maggie breathed deeply and shook her hands out. She formed a fist and pulled it back but Arthur grabbed her hand before she could even consider throwing a punch. “Your thumb needs to be on the outside, you’ll break it otherwise.” He redirected her fist and gestured for her to try again. Maggie delivered her first punch against Arthur’s hand.

Arthur rolled his eyes, “Mags, I told you to punch me as hard as you can. You don't have to worry, you're not gonna hurt me.”

Maggie stared at him, her face grimaced. “That… that was as hard as I can.” 

“Oh.” His moustache twitched as silence settled. “Right nevermind, you just need practice. You gotta use your whole body, get your weight behind the punch.” He showed Maggie the proper technique and they continued this exercise until Arthur decided she was successful enough to move on. He repositioned them to the centre of the mat and took Maggie’s elbow tapping it twice.

“Now, your elbow is gonna cause the most damage, so you need to use that whenever you can. You can't go wrong with a good kick either.” He rubbed his chin in thought, “More often than not, if someone grabs you, it’s from behind. I'm going to grab you, and you're going to escape, get it?” He wrapped his arms around his sister, locking her in his embrace. Maggie wriggled about, trying to break the grip. The challenge was taking what felt like a century to the struggling girl. Her face turning red and tears welled in her eyes, her breathing picking up as she couldn't escape. 

“Arthur!” She breathed out in a panicked tone, body tense. “Arthur, stop! I can’t do this. I don’t want to do this anymore!” His arms loosened but didn't let her go. “I’m too weak.”

“Nonsense.”He shook his head, trying not to let his frustration show at the girl’s defeatist attitude. “If someone grabs you for real, you can’t just give up.” He squeezed Maggie. “You’re a girl. There are a lot of awful men who would take advantage of a girl like you and i’ll be damned if something happens to you just because you think you're too weak to try, you’re not.” He gave Maggie a few moments to think it through, knowing she's smart enough to continue their training. He smirked when she huffed quietly, “Ok, fine.”

“Atta girl, now remember, use all your body. Don’t forget your elbows and feet.” He tightened his grip back on the girl. Only, she continued to stay still. “Mags, come on.” Arthur couldn't help but grumble at her lack of effort. Just as he was trying to think of a new way to motivate her, he felt a sharp pain in his stomach from Maggie’s elbow, an even sharper kick to his shin and suddenly he was pushed down to the mat, only managing to sound out an “Oof”.

He looked up, wide-eyed and eyebrows raised, to his angelic looking sister who hid her giggles behind her hand. Arthur’s laugh was loud enough for them both as he realised she had outsmarted and successfully distracted him. He struggled to his feet and ruffled Maggie’s hair. “You've got a good head on ya, don't have to lose that in a fight - you’ll end up being a hothead like me otherwise.” Maggie smiled up at him. “We’ll do some dodging next, I think.” The smile disappeared. 

The two continued until the evening came and it was dark outside. Although Maggie hadn’t wanted to do this today and was tired and achy, she loved spending the time with Arthur, almost forgetting what it was like. He checked his watch, “I think we can finish for the day. How about we stop at the Garrison.” Maggie’s nose scrunched up at the idea. Arthur tapped her forehead. ”I need that big brain of yours to look at my books. I’ll give you some pocket money for your hard labour, how’s that sound?” Maggie couldn’t help but agree, knowing there was a new novel she wanted to buy. She had helped Arthur with the books before and he had paid her handsomely. 

It had been just over an hour now and Maggie had finished looking through the books in the back room. She stretched in the chair, her back cracking in relief. Her stomach suddenly rumbled and she remembered she hadn't eaten anything since lunch and after all the exercise she just did, she felt even more hungry. She ventured out to find her eldest brother.

Arthur was sitting at the bar, chatting loudly with some of the local men of the pub, nursing a drink. Maggie crept up towards him, being offered kind smiles from the men which she returned politely. She tugged Arthur’s sleeve.  “Arthur can we go now? I’m really hungry.”

“Course we can love, just gotta talk to Harry.” He gestured towards the barman. “I’ll be with you in a minute.” Maggie nodded in understanding. She waited for a few moments before deciding it was too hot and stuffy to wait inside. She went outside and rested on the wall next to the front entrance, closing her eyes and breathing in the fresh air - well at least fresher than in the bar.

“Hey, pretty.” Her eyes shot open and followed the sound. A sweaty looking man stood opposite her, eyelids drooping. A bottle in one hand while the other held onto his loose trousers. Maggie stayed silent. “You know, I asked for an angel to visit me today. Looks like,” The man hiccuped, “looks like my wish came true.” He smiled, proudly showing off his stained teeth. Maggie decided it was actually best to wait for Arthur inside. She turned from the creepy man and was about to return through the door into the pub when she felt a tight grip on her upper arm. “Hey now, no need to be rude.” Her heart beat fast, trying to keep her breathing even to not appear scared. “I just wanna talk with my angel.” He staggered back a bit, pulling Maggie with him. 

She tugged back “Get off of me.” She wished Arthur would just hurry up. She was debating yelling for him when the man put his dirty hand, the one holding the bottle, to caress her cheek while tightening the grip of the other one. “I’ll-” He slurred- “I’ll show you a real good time.” and started to pull her away from the pub. “I said get off!” A tug of war match ensued and when Maggie realised he was too strong for her, despite being intoxicated, her instincts overcame her. A swift kick the man’s lower region sent him writhing on the floor. 

Maggie dusted her arms and dress off. She looked at the man wriggling about on the floor and huffed, “You brought that on yourself, you know.”

A pat on her back made her jump and she turned to see Arthur grinning down at her. “He’ll feel that kick for a whole week, Mags.” Of course he was angry at the drunken man taking advantage of his sister- he’d get one of the men to deal with him later- but Arthur couldn’t help the laugh which boomed out of him after watching his sweet, little sister kick a grown man in the balls. 

The two of them returned to the house, Maggie rushing in to help Polly with the potatoes. Tommy came over to Arthur and greeted him with a friendly hand on his shoulder, his usual cigarette on his lip. “How did it go today, Arthur?”

Arthur rested his proud eyes on his sister peeling the spuds, chatting to her Aunt. “She knows exactly what she’s doing.” And he was sure of it.

Tags:

@finallyforgotten

[there-must-be-a-lock]

Flirtation and Fistfights

Supernatural/Criminal Minds

Word Count: ~2940

Warnings: Drinking, pot smokin’, and (in case you couldn’t guess from the title) a fistfight. Somebody is giving a homeless woman a hard time, Spencer and Dean do not appreciate it.   

A/N: This is part of the Rockstar AU! It’s also for my Rockstar AU square on my Criminal Minds Trope Bingo card. Convenient, right? 

Lemming line inspired by an Ao3 tag. Continued cheerleading for this series provided by @stunudo​, who is wonderful. 

Spot the “It Takes A Village” reference! 

The post-show adrenaline rush is made even sweeter by the fact that there’s a hot tub and a couple easy days in Dean’s near future. The first L.A. show is in the bag. They have another tomorrow — same venue means minimal gear-schlepping and setup, thank fuck — followed by a full day off. 

Neither band has played L.A. in a while, and Dean’s seen a few familiar faces milling around already. It’s nice, aside from the small talk, but he’s used to that; the way he travels, he rarely has time to stay in one place and get to know people beyond the basics. He’s perfected the spiel: “tour’s been great, we’re going into the studio when it’s over, how’s your kid/spouse/dog?” etc. There are a bunch of those conversations happening around him, but people are starting to trickle out slowly, friends and acquaintances heading home or closing out. 

While they’re here, they’re staying at Casa de Pop Star, and Dean can’t lie, he’s looking forward to some poolside naps, movies on a decent-sized screen, and various other creature comforts. 

He’s getting another drink first, though. He leans up against the venue bar and looks around. 

At the end of the bar, Spencer is talking to a blonde, and it takes Dean a second to place her: Lila Archer, movie star and all-around hottie. Dean gapes at them for a second. He can’t see Spencer’s face, but she’s clearly flirting, standing close and putting a hand on his arm. Dean had no idea the kid had game like that. Granted, he and Spencer aren’t exactly close, but. 

Dean hasn’t figured him out yet. Dean is usually good at figuring out what makes people tick, what they’re hiding behind their masks, but he can’t make heads or tails of whatever the fuck happens in Spencer’s head. He has this way of looking at Dean as if he’s an alien species, or something, all bemused and vaguely perturbed like he can’t make sense of the words that just came out of Dean’s mouth. 

Then again, Spencer’s high more often than not, and they don’t exactly have a lot in common, and he’s a goddamn space cadet even when he’s sober, so... maybe he just really doesn’t know what Dean’s talking about half the time. 

He’s not like that with everybody, is the thing; Sam and Spencer got along immediately. They have this whole quirky dork thing going on where they talk in half-sentences that don’t make sense to anybody else. 

Not that Dean’s jealous or anything. Whatever.  

Dean’s drink arrives and he’s distracted for a moment, but when he looks again, Spencer’s shaking his head. Lila’s face falls. A second later, he’s giving her an awkward little wave, and she heads for the door. 

Yeah, Dean’s not usually one for gossip, but he really wants to know what the fuck just happened. Maybe Spencer’s one of those geeks who’s just completely fuckin’ oblivious when chicks are hitting on them? Dean can set him straight. It’ll be a bonding exercise. 

He weaves through the crowd to where Spencer is downing the last of his drink. 

“Tell me you did not just shoot down Lila Archer.”  

Spencer makes a face. “I could tell you that, but I’d be lying.” 

“Dude, what the hell?” Dean laughs. “Did she just march up and introduce herself? I didn’t know she was coming to the show.” 

“I met her at a party a while ago,” Spencer tells him. He’s looking up at the ceiling pensively, avoiding eye contact as he shreds a napkin. “In New York, when she was still in school. I, um. She’d been talking to this skeevy guy, and I saw him slip something in her drink, so.” 

“What did you do?” 

“Grabbed it and threw it in his face,” Spencer admits sheepishly. “And then I got punched, and she offered to, um, take me home and thank me, but I was kinda bleeding a lot. She gave me her number instead.” 

“That’s… actually pretty badass,” Dean comments. Spencer gives him half a smile. “So you guys kept in touch?” 

“She moved to L.A. not long after that. We’ve hung out a couple times, when I’ve been in town, but… I don’t think we’re interested in the same thing.” 

Dean almost smacks himself on the forehead. “I didn’t realize you were into dick, sorry.” 

“Oh, I’m not.” 

There’s a pause. Spencer doesn’t seem mad; his mouth is quirked in something resembling a smile, like he’s laughing at Dean for not asking the right questions. 

Is Spencer just like that, or is he not offering any more information because he wants this conversation to be over? 

Whatever. Dean’s curious. 

“So, you’re into chicks but not Lila friggin’ Archer? Are you telling me she’s not your type? 

“It’s not that,” Spencer says, smirking. 

Dean blinks a couple times. Emily told him the other day that everybody in the band except Hotch was single, so… he’s coming up blank. 

“You gotta give me a hint or something.”

“I’m not into sex,” Spencer says, rolling his eyes. 

“Oh.” Dean hesitates, taking a drink to hide his surprise. “Huh. Is that… huh. Are you — are you out, or whatever?” 

“I’m not not out.” Spencer shrugs. “Most people just assume, one way or the other, and I don’t bother to correct them. I just… don’t really care what people think about me, so if they don’t ask, I don’t bother. I’m not hiding anything, though.” 

“Huh,” Dean repeats. He has no idea what to say. 

“If I do tell them, most people argue with me anyway,” Spencer says wryly. “Tell me I’ll change my mind when I meet the right person, or whatever. I tell them they’re probably right and change the subject.” 

Dean huffs out a laugh. “That doesn’t piss you off?”

“Sorta, but…” Spencer grimaces, fidgeting for a second. “I don’t like confrontation, or whatever. It’s not important. I’d rather just… not talk about myself.”  

“Sorry for… y’know.” 

“No biggie.” 

Dean still feels awkward, but Spencer doesn’t seem bothered. He just sits there, tapping out a rhythm on the bar top, smiling to himself. 

Dean doesn’t do well with silences. 

It occurs to him that he has a peace offering: “Wanna come outside and smoke a joint with me? Could use some fresh air.” 

“Hell yes I do,” Spencer says, brightening immediately.  

They make their way backstage and then through the labyrinthine venue hallways until they come out at the back lot, where the buses are idling. Hotch is on his phone across the lot, and a bouncer near the fence is saying something into a walkie-talkie, but for the most part, it’s quiet. 

Dean lights the joint and offers Spencer the first hit, leaning back against the brick wall. 

“Y’know, nobody’s ever actually asked me about my sexuality,” Dean tells him, and he’s not in the habit of volunteering information like that, but it seems to get Spencer’s attention. 

“Really?” 

“I didn’t ever think about it, until… recently. But it’s true. A fuckload of interviews, over the years, and like you said, everybody just assumes.” 

“Because you don’t contradict people’s ideas of what a man should look like, or talk like, or dress like,” Spencer says bluntly. “As long as you fit within a certain box…” He shrugs, blowing smoke up at the sky. 

“Yeah, my dad was big on that box,” Dean says ruefully. “Wouldn’t he be proud?” 

“Bet it won’t take long for them to start asking. Not if you keep wearing nail polish.” 

Dean takes the joint and frowns at his hands. He hadn’t even thought about that. 

“Really? That’s all it takes?” he asks. 

Spencer just snorts. Dean’s stomach does a nervous flip-flop. 

He’s got an interview with Spin scheduled for next week, and he doubts anybody will comment right away, but eventually... eventually there will be questions. What will he say, if they ask? 

He’s still lost in thought, looking down at his free hand, as he exhales and passes to Spencer. With his eyes on the chipped green polish, it takes him a second to realize that Spencer hasn’t grabbed the joint. 

Dean looks up. Spencer is staring intently at something off to their side, and Dean follows his gaze over to the chain link fence and roll-away gate that separates them from the road. There’s a homeless woman there, hands over her ears, pacing back and forth. The security guy is saying something to her, his voice raised, as he starts to pull the gate open. 

Spencer moves abruptly, striding away from Dean without a word, and Dean hesitates for a second before pinching out the joint and following him. 

As he gets closer, Dean can make out what the bouncer is saying, in a loud, condescending voice like he’s talking to a toddler: “Move. Away. From. The. Gate. Jesus Christ, can you fuckin’ hear me?” 

The woman is muttering to herself agitatedly, and she flinches away from the guy’s voice, but she doesn’t look up from her feet as she paces. 

“What are you doing?” Spencer snaps at the guard. The edge in his tone makes Dean hurry to catch up. 

“She won’t get outta the way,” he says, rolling his eyes. He turns to the woman again and shouts, “Hell-looooo, anybody home?” 

“Have you tried speaking to her like she’s a goddamn human being?” Spencer says, low and clipped. 

“Whoa, hey,” Dean says uneasily. Not that he doesn’t want to head-butt this asshole, but Spencer’s a quarter of the guy’s mass, at best.

“You wanna give it a try?” the guy scoffs. “Trust me, she’s not getting the picture. I’m gonna call the cops.” He directs the last words at the woman, who’s still pacing, more and more agitated: “Crazy bitch.”

“You should apologize now,” Spencer says, sharp and quiet and ice-cold. Dean puts a hand on Spencer’s shoulder, and Spencer shoves it away without looking at him. 

The bouncer has the nerve to laugh. “Calm the fuck down, buddy.” 

“This is calm, and I’m not your fucking buddy,” Spencer snaps, taking another step closer. 

“Dude,” Dean interrupts. “Spencer, c’mon.” 

Spencer’s frozen for a moment, shaking with anger, but after a second, he steps back reluctantly. He reminds Dean of a hissing cat with its back arched and its claws exposed. 

“There you go, listen to your boyfriend,” the bouncer laughs. 

Dean considers him for a half-second, works up some saliva, and spits in his face. 

Everything moves quick and blurry after that; the guy shoves Dean back, cursing, and there’s a shout in the distance as he winds up. Before Dean can duck out of the way of the guy’s fist, Spencer steps in front of him — only to go flying, because he’s a fucking twig and should really know better. Dean sees red. He punches back. 

Then Hotch has the guy’s arms pinned behind his back, hauling him away, and Sam is grabbing Dean’s wrist before he can take another swing. Spencer grunts something incoherent from the ground. At least he’s conscious. 

“Motherfucker,” Dean snaps. “I’m fine, Sam, get off me.” He shakes out his smarting hand and glares daggers at the bouncer’s retreating back as Hotch and Rossi manhandle him into the building. Spencer makes a pained noise; he’s cupping his hands over his nose, and there’s blood dripping between his fingers. 

“Dean?” Cas is jogging over, Morgan behind him. He puts a hand on Dean’s arm, looking him up and down anxiously. “What happened?” 

“Don’t worry about me,” Dean says gruffly, and turns to Spencer. “You okay, kid?” 

“‘M fide,” Spencer mumbles. “Is she still…” 

Dean glances over. The woman is sitting with her back to the fence, curled up with her arms around her knees. 

“Fuck,” Dean mutters. “What should I —”

“I got it,” Cas tells him, and slips through the gate, approaching the woman with an easy, open smile. 

Cas was homeless for a while. Dean hates hearing him talk about it — not because it makes Cas sad, but exactly the opposite; he’s so matter-of-fact about the whole thing that it makes Dean sad. He tells stories, sometimes, and he’s completely fuckin’ blasé even when he’s talking about things that make Dean ache to think about. 

Dean hovers for a second. Sam is crouching next to Spencer, holding his balled-up flannel to Spencer’s nose, and Dean feels useless. There’s gotta be something he can do to help. 

Then he remembers something Cas said, once, and he turns his back on the scene and jogs off to the bus. 

He makes a beeline for the bunk under his, which is designated for storage. He’s got an almost-new backpack he’s been using as an overnighter, when he doesn’t want to lug his whole suitcase into a hotel; he dumps it out unceremoniously. 

He grabs a blanket first, the soft fleece one, rolling it up tight to stick it in the backpack. Then there’s a big hoodie, one Dean borrowed from their merch table the other day. He has a whole collection of tiny sealed soaps and shampoos from various hotels, and he runs to the kitchen to put them in a zip-lock bag. In the bathroom, he grabs a pack of wet wipes, the packaged spare toothbrush that Charlie keeps for “emergencies” — aka when she inevitably leaves hers at a hotel — and about half of their first aid kit. Then he ransacks the kitchen: several packs of ramen, a box of pop-tarts, couple bottles of water… he pauses, considering Sam’s nasty-ass granola bars, before tossing them in too. Sam can get more. He fishes the cash out of his wallet, shoves it in a zip-lock, and then closes the whole mess up. 

Then for a second he just freezes, looking down at the backpack, wondering if he’s being presumptuous or some shit. 

Dean’s always been suspicious of so-called “Good Samaritans.” Everything has strings attached. If it were him, he wouldn’t accept unsolicited help, but he’s been told that’s maybe a psychological flaw, not a virtue. 

Cas told him once about a woman named Hannah (he called her an angel) who gave him a backpack of supplies when he first ended up on the street. Said she probably saved his life. It’s one of those stories Dean doesn’t like to think about, but… he remembers. 

When he hustles back to the fence, Spencer is on his feet, Sam’s bloody flannel clutched to his face as he talks to Rossi and Morgan. 

Cas is still with the woman, who is on her feet, now, looking rattled but much calmer than she did before. Cas is talking to her in that direct, no-bullshit way he has; it’d be off-putting, from anybody else, but Cas is so earnest that it’s comforting instead. 

The woman looks wary, when she sees Dean approaching, so he hangs back until Cas comes to him. 

“I grabbed some stuff,” he says anxiously. “I didn’t know… is that weird? It’s just, like, shampoo and a blanket and — sorry. I didn’t know what to do.” 

Cas just stares at him for a second, his expression completely unreadable. Dean’s stomach sinks. 

“You remembered,” Cas says hoarsely, just as Dean opens his mouth to apologize.  

The back of Dean’s neck feels hot. “Yeah?” 

Cas gives him a quick, fierce, affectionate smile. He reaches out and squeezes Dean’s arm once before taking the bag. 

“There’s a shelter a couple blocks away. I’m going to walk her there. I’ll be back shortly.” 

He watches Cas go, and then he turns to see Spencer staring at them. Dean clears his throat uncomfortably. 

“Thanks, Schroeder,” he says. 

Spencer gives him that look again, like he has no idea what Dean is talking about. Maybe he’s concussed. He lowers the flannel, revealing a mess of dried blood and the beginnings of an impressive shiner. 

“Y’had my back,” he says thickly. Even through his rapidly-swelling nose, it sounds a lot like “Duh.” 

“The venue manager wants to talk to you,” Rossi announces. “Hotch saw enough to make it clear that the guy threw the first punch, so he’s most definitely getting fired, but just in case, they want it in your words.” 

“Fan-friggin-tastic,” Dean grouches. “Well, let’s get it over with. There’s a fuckin’ hot tub waiting for us, I’m ready to get the hell out of here.” 

“You sure you’re alright?” Rossi asks Spencer. “I swear, kid, you have the self-preservation instincts of a damn lemming.” 

“‘M’fide,” Spencer repeats, which is close enough to “fine,” apparently, that Rossi doesn’t push the issue. 

“You gotta be more careful with that pretty face of yours,” Morgan says, and Spencer flips him off. 

As he falls into step with Dean, heading back to the venue, Spencer mumbles, “Why d’I feel like I’b being sent t’the Princibal?” 

Dean chuckles, trying to imagine what a tiny (tinier) Spencer would’ve gotten in trouble for. 

“Hey, you mind tellin’ me why you just went feral on a guy who was the size of a fuckin’ hippo?” he asks.  

“Don’t like... bullies,” Spencer replies, clearly making an effort to enunciate. 

“Weren’t you just telling me how you try to avoid confrontation?”

“S’different.” Spencer shrugs. “Pisses me off. Don’t really care what happens to me, but —” 

“That’s healthy,” Dean needles. 

Spencer’s not looking at him, but his mouth twitches like he’s trying not to grin. “Takes one to know one.” 

Dean stops in his tracks and sputters for a second, turning a snort of laughter into a huff like he’s offended. Then he shakes his head and they keep walking.  

“Thanks,” Dean says again. “That was really fucking stupid, but thanks.” 

“You would’ve done the same for me,” Spencer says, like it’s a given.   

Dean smiles, because he’s right. Maybe he has more in common with Spencer than he thought. 

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