#he called me while i was full force meltdown and i thought it was my brother so i answered crying hiccuping

[vaingod]

knowing how to say hello and thank you in most languages is a good thing except when its stressful border control situations and people believe your abilities to understand them, im sorry heavily tattooed gelled up gay german man i only know vielen dank, bitte sehr, and wo kann ich rauchen, thats it!!!

[timaeusterrored]

(The Pool Boy)

((Remember that one post I made waaaaay back in the early days when everything was cool? Yeah well I’m finally writing it))

Kerry Eurodyne remembers a time when he would have been embarrassed by Ariel seeing the state of the villa after a long night. But now he couldn’t find it in himself to care. Both were used too it, just as much as Kerry was used to being shaken to make sure he was still alive and Ariel starting conversations way too early.

“Kerry! Up! Breakfast!” Ariel was two seconds from pouring water over the rocker if he wasn’t up in the next five seconds. Kerry knew the annoyance in his voice, this song and dance happened every morning.

The rocker followed the smell of food and winced at the bright lights, attempting to dim them but immediately got scolded by his cook. Claiming he ‘needed them.’ Kerry just figured he was in a bitchy mood today. Or maybe he himself was in the bitchy mood.

Ariel was talking a mile a minute while Kerry stared at his back and tried so hard to focus on what he was saying, but failed miserably. What on earth was this man on today?

“Kerry!”

The older man winced, putting his hands over his ears for a moment. Was Ariel’s voice always so loud? Or was Kerry just extremely hungover? When was the last time he was this hungover?

“Did you hear anything I just said?” If anyone saw them right now, Ariel could have been confused for a disgruntled lover not getting paid attention too.

“No, I didn’t. What the fuck did you say?” God he sounded awful. Ariel just rolled his eyes and put on a pot of tea.

“I said that we have a new guy coming in. He’s on the younger side so be nice. He’s gonna be helping Miguel out, with the pool or something. I dunno.”

“I’m always nice-“

“Remember that time I came in and you launched a bottle at my head at full force.”

“Hey now, that was only because you came in at fuckin five am while I was in the zone, that was your fault.”

Ariel flipped him off then placed a heavenly plate of food in front of him. Kerry ate slowly, trying to keep himself from throwing up, and any mention of the pool boy gone from his mind- Ker don’t call him a pool boy this is not a porno.

The thought made him laugh and Ariel looked up from his own food in confusion. Kerry stated once that Ariel could eat whatever he wanted, he cooked the food he should be allowed to enjoy it! And if he came in early enough, Miguel was welcome to join them too… Kerry needed to stop hiring only men. He wasn’t even attracted to either of them, it just happened.

Ariel forced Kerry to drink the tea and honey he had made him, stating with as renowned as Kerry was for his voice, he took absolutely awful care of it. If Ariel knew Kerry when he was in his early years, he’d know Kerry was a princess about his voice. Now his chrome did most of the work and Kerry stopped caring as much. At this rate, Kerry was going to sing himself into the grave.

After breakfast was said and done and Kerry decided to be somewhat human today and take a shower, he wondered about the new hire. Honestly he wondered if he had been told at all, or had just not been listening when it came up. Either way, he trusted his gardener to not hire some complete clown.

What he wasn’t expecting was a complete piece of Night City beauty standing by his pool, talking to Miguel. He was tall, built like a fucking merc, and had gorgeous red hair Kerry wanted to grab. Oh and he also didn’t look a day past at least 26. And Kerry wasn’t sure if he had reached that level of his celebrity meltdown yet of dating a guy that young.

“Absolutely not, Kerry Eurodyne.” The voice behind him made him jump out of his skin. He needed a fucking bell on Ariel at this point, who was packed and ready to go to the store to restock Kerry’s fridge. “That kid is like 28 and way not prepared to deal with you.”

“Deal with me?” Kerry asked, offended now.

“You know exactly what I mean, Ker. Don’t fuck your pool boy, that’s just pathetic.” Ariel wasn’t wrong… but fuck.

Over the next few weeks, Kerry had for the most part, stayed out of the kid’s way. He learned his name was V, when Kerry asked Miguel if that was it, he was told that’s all the pool boy told anyone. He was from Heywood, his dad was apparently a ripperdoc in the city, and he liked boxing. Pretty basic if you asked Kerry.

But the weird part was that no one had seen him actually get into the pool. He somehow managed to avoid doing it every single time he was there, doing his work from the sidelines. He did a damn good job of it too, they were just impressed he could do it.

He was normally in and out, doing his job quickly and quietly to a point that Kerry honestly kinda forgot about him… until one morning.

Kerry had been on another work binge, up all night writing and composing, when he just happened to still be up when V’s car rolled up. It was a hunk of junk and Kerry noted he needed to look at his pay. Pretty boy like that deserved better than a junk car.

It was way too early for any normal human being to be up and at em, but Kerry supposed he was awake too. Maybe it was high time for and introduction. Kerry forgot he actually had to introduce himself to people.

He walked out of the villa once he had put some more presentable clothes on, a cup of coffee warming his hands as the door slid shut behind him. The pool boy was hard at work, doing… whatever it was he did with the pool. Kerry actually had never taken care of this thing on his own… had his fame really made him this lazy.

“Bit early for a swim, ain’t it?” That was his opener? Dear god he was rusty. Alright, Ker, put on the charm.

The man turned his head over his shoulder in confusion, then his eyes widened. Kerry heard him swear before he stood up, drying his hands on a pair of cargo pants. Seriously what was this dude’s deal? How do you work on a pool and not get in?

“Shit I’m sorry, hope I didn’t wake you up- uh, Mr. Eurodyne?” He said it like a question, like he was testing what Kerry preferred to be called.

“Kerrys fine, kid. And I wasn’t sleeping, so you’re fine on that front… never answered my question though. The hell are you doing here at 5:30 in the morning?”

Fuck what was this dude’s name? Z? Van? V! That was it. V looked perplexed, hands in his pockets as he examined Kerry for a moment.

“I’m always here early. I don’t wanna be in anyone’s way so I come and get my job done and then leave.”

It was kinda impossible to bother anyone with a face like that but okay. And also normally Kerry for the most part alone, unless Ariel was worried about him or Miguel needed extra hours, in which he just sat down with Ker and Ariel and had lunch or something. But this kid? Bothering them? Unlikely.

“And do what the rest of the day?”

V shrugged. “Help my mom out at her bar, or my dad in his clinic. Or Y’know, hide bodies.” Oh he thought he was funny did he?

“Oh are you good at that? I actually have some in the bathroom I needed help moving.” Kerry shot back, earning a small laugh from the pool boy.

“I Uh… I should probably get out of your hair soon, don’t wanna-“

“You want a cup of coffee?” Kerry cut him off. Clearly this kid had some deep rooted issues and Kerry was too tired to ask why he felt like he was bothering him. So here they were.

“Uh… sure.” V’s voice was quiet, but Kerry didn’t miss his small smile as he was lead inside. He wouldn’t fuck his pool boy…

Not yet.

[guerrilla-operator]

You:

Told me you would move back to the northeast from Nashville after several months, then stayed there because the position you wanted wasn’t offering that spot in NYC. Fine, it happens.

Ignore me constantly as a result of that job for days to weeks to sometimes close to a month because it’s “too demanding.” The communication breakdown was a revolving issue that would get repaired slightly and then almost immediately break apart. You would tell me you would call or talk to me at some point, but most times it would just be me waiting up to hear from you and getting nothing.

Come home in the summer of 2021 but push spending time with me until the end of your trip, to the point where a storm screws up the trains and we wind up spending zero time with one another.

Never wished me a happy birthday a single time when we were a thing, despite me sending you gifts and making a big deal for yours. The one time I did bring it up to you, you attempted to gaslight me into believing that you did (which did not work), then had a full on meltdown on the phone in a London airport.

Told me you got me gifts that I mysteriously never received despite you saying you were going to send them to me (the wrong address thing can only work once I guess). This is despite me sending you gifts that I put thought into and flowers several times a year, just to impress you.

Never bothered to check in on me when I had COVID, despite me checking in daily when you had it for the second time (first time I had no idea what was going on because you stopped answering me because you were in the hospital, but that’s at least acceptable). The only time you even checked in with me during those two weeks was at the tail end of it, and it was to tell me that you were moving to Seattle instead of back to the northeast.

Sprung the Seattle move on me, without me even knowing this was an option. At least remaining in Nashville was a known possibility at the time, this wasn’t. Then when I didn’t take that well, you dropped a “you don’t make plans to visit me” bit. How could I if you don’t answer your fucking phone? I don’t make enough money to just fuck off and take a flight to see someone with the possibility of having those plans fall through.

Got back with apparently a true piece of shit ex after the airport meltdown who almost immediately went back to manipulating you for months and attempted to force you to marry him in Vegas, all the while I was unaware of everything and anything that was going on with us to the point where I was probably suicidal because I thought I had been ghosted by a woman I loved. Apparently I meant that little to you that he was apparently the better option. And yet I still welcomed you back with open arms.

Only spoke to me about medical updates and legal updates after you got sick. I can’t remember a time you told me you loved me besides when you ended things crying on the phone, nor asked how I was doing just to talk. It was always about both of those things and I had to reckon with the fact that the woman I loved could die. I kept hanging on because I figured things would improve, because THAT’S WHAT YOU DO. You ended it and I had to accept that, even though most of these issues would have been avoided had you decided to come back to the northeast.

Were very likely messing around with a dude who was practically conjoined to your hip during a good chunk of this time! You would go on trips together, threw a party for him, hell he even moved out to Seattle! I had suspicions, even having an anon drop a weird message to me years ago, but doing some snooping pretty much sealed the deal. Trying to pass it off as a “joke” is wild. I’m not laughing.

I’m only airing this out here because I will need a constant reminder as to why I should not reach out, nor answer you if you try to do the same. You said you “were done with being the villain” the last time we spoke, but it’s quite apparent you’ll always be that for me now.

Almost three years of my life wasted on you. Never getting the time of day from me again.

[randomredakaifan]

Jasper Dunlop angst cause I’m in a terrible mood

TW: Self harming and mentions of suicide

Jasper ran into the men’s room and closed the door behind him. He then ran into the bigger stall, which is used for handicapped people and closed the door, not even bothering to lock it. He placed his back into the wall behind him and started to sob, hiding his face in his knees

Jason, the newest kid of Swellview high school came here after moving with his parents. Of course, he started to judge Jasper and make him feel bad. That crossed the line where Jason insulted him

“I’ll be so much happier if you weren’t here,” Jason said inside of Jasper’s mind. “You’re worthless, stupid, an idiot, weird, ugly, and just a piece of shit. I hope Drex murders you. You don’t deserve to have a life. You don’t even deserve to have friends, you deserve nothing. No loving family, friends, or people that loved you. You’re a freak, Dunlop! A fucking freak!”

Jasper started to get emotional as his sobs were becoming harder and his feelings were hurt, his heart was broken. He felt like Jason was right, he didn’t deserve anything. He’s just a freak

“Jasper?! JASPER!?” A voice calls out from the hallways. “Where are you, son?”

Jasper lifted his head to hear Captain Man AKA Ray Manchester’s voice from outside of the bathroom. He knew that he and Henry were gonna wear their suits for this mission, even though it’s not that big of an emergency. Of course, he wasn’t going to raise his voice and tell him that he’s in here.

“Jasper! I know you’re in there! We’re coming inside, no matter what you say!” Another voice calls out, but, much younger than Captain Man’s

Jasper realized that Kid Danger AKA Henry Hart and Ray came to rescue him. He felt relieved, but, still hurt and stood there in silence. The door swung open as Kid Danger and Captain Man came inside.

They checked each stall until they came across the last one, the handicapped one. Henry opened the door as his heart dropped to his stomach, seeing his best friend looking so hurt and crying. Even Ray looked hurt

“Jasper…” Henry says softly before kneeling beside Jasper and pulling him close, comforting him

Ray kneeled in front of where Henry and Jasper were at. Henry had his hands on Jasper’s face, seeing tears streaming down his cheeks. He used his thumbs to wipe them away

“Henry, I-” Jasper hiccups before going into a full on sobbing meltdown. Henry felt tears streaming down his face, never seeing his best friend like this before and it concerns him, very much.

“It’s okay, Jasp, it’s okay,” Henry says softly as he felt a lump in his throat

“Kiddo, I-I-” Ray was about to say something, but also felt a lump in his throat. He’s pissed off about that Jason kid and he never knew that he’ll take this far to hurt Jasper

“I’m just worthless, just like what Jason said,” Jasper hiccups as he was able to talk while still being in a sobbing fit

“Jasp! Don’t listen to him! You’re not worthless, an idiot, or stupid!” Henry says as he was crying now. “Please! Don’t let him get to you! You’re my fucking friend, Jasp! What he’s doing to you is making you feel bad!”

“He’s just a dumb kid that’s jealous about you,” Ray says softly towards Jasper. “And I agree with Kid Danger. You’re nothing like him,”

“Hen, Ray?”

“What?” Henry asked

“Hm?” Ray titled his head to one side

Jasper unraveled his arms as both Henry and Ray’s eyes widened in horror to reveal that he’s been self harming himself, with multiple cuts all over his arms. Ray’s sadness was taken over by anger. Henry was horrified to see this. He looked at Jasper and felt like he was going to throw up

“Jasper, why? Why did you do this to yourself!? Who made you do this!?” Henry asked as he was about to go find this Jason kid and beat him up for what he was doing to his friend

“He made me do this! He forced me to cut myself, all because I was going through suicidal thoughts!” Jasper yelled as more and more tears were streaming down his cheeks. “He knew that I was trying to attempted to unalive myself. I tried to, but, I was saved by another student, who came in here and talked me out of it,”

Ray couldn’t take it anymore as he stood up and punched a nearby wall and felt heavy tears streaming down his cheeks. Henry pulled Jasper close and just hugged him, sobbing with him. He failed to notice Jasper’s warning signs and protecting him from Jason. He felt like a failure towards his friend.

“Jasper, please, don’t ever do this again. You got me and Ray upset,” Henry says to Jasper. “We can’t lose you, not like this. We love you for who you are,”

“Henry, I-I just want him gone, I want him to leave me alone and get out of my life!” Jasper sobs as Henry was using his thumbs to wipe away his tears. “I can’t take it anymore!”

“Yes you can! And I know you can’t stand him! We’ll deal with him right now, I promise,” Henry says with a smile

Jasper smiles back as he, Henry, and Ray, who was already calmed down a bit, but was showing some anger towards what Jason did, left the men’s bathroom. Jasper decided to randomly hold Henry’s hand, which shocked the young sidekick, but, he didn’t mind it. He accepted the hand grab and held his hand as well, showing that maybe Jasper and Henry are getting closer as they thought

The recent new kid, Gayatri “Gaya”, that was formerly from India and came to America to start a new life, was walking down the hallways and seeing Ray, Henry, and Jasper, coming out of the bathroom

“Oh, hello- Are you guys okay?” Gayatri asked since she’s more empathetic and understanding to others, and Jason being deeply afraid of her, not knowing why

“He’s fine, just some thoughts controlling his brain,” Ray says to Gaya with a smile on his face.

Gaya nodded her head in understanding way. She knew about Jason bullying Jasper. She smiled and walked over to him, patting his head lightly

“I’ll take him to my hideout, where he’s safe with me and the ladies,” Gaya smiles broadly. “So, go whatever you’re doing, Captain Man and Kid Danger. He’ll be safe,”

Ray and Henry smiled brightly at Gaya. She seemed like a very good person with a understanding heart and soul. Gaya and Jasper, who let go of Henry’s hand, started to walk over to Gaya’s hideout, where it’s the old drama room that she gladly got permission to use by the school.

As both Gaya and Jasper were out of sight, their facial expressions changed to anger and revengeful, storming out of the high school to hunt down Jason for what he did to Jasper

To be continued!

[ellaintrigue]

Erin and I worked Salisbury all day yesterday doing merch deliveries. It was rough. Boiling hot car and sore feet from walking around in circles up to an hour at a time. At one point the car started shaking and the front tire was bumping so we thought we had a flat. We weren't able to pull over right away and we both just started crying. Not over the tire itself but just everything in general. Costs and life stress. Fortunately we had only run over some wet asphalt which had formed a lump on the rubber but I saw a nail stuck in another tread. Finally we took a rest next to a huge peeling red truck that looked like it was owned by a serial killer lol.

While I'm doing better than a lot of people the desperation of constantly fighting for cash gets to you. There have been points in my life I've felt so desperate I've felt like robbing a place. I wouldn't but poverty makes people desperate and the first night that thought ever crossed my mind I didn't have any food.

We drove through the ghettos dodging angry pit bulls and saw people standing and screaming at each other in their dirt yards. There was a man passed out in a parking lot and it didn't even startle me at this point. He was laying halfway on the pavement and halfway on the grass. I mean, I felt bad but couldn't tell if he was in crisis or not and if you call 911 it could result in trouble for him. Cops can be incredibly cruel in my experience, let alone to a homeless man. I remember the time they slammed my ex's foot in their car door on purpose and then laughed at him as he was having a bipolar meltdown. They had been called to take him to the hospital, not over any crime.

As we worked I saw many pregnant women. They were all black ladies. I've never wanted to be pregnant but am not repulsed by the sight of pregnancy. However it is hard on a woman and costly. If a woman doesn't pay for her birth and child then the government does. And honestly, I can't judge all cases of that because it is very hard to afford children even with both parents working full time if they do have both parents.

Conservatives want cuts to EBT and other sources of welfare which would hurt a lot of families. On the other hand I think that many people would think twice about popping out kids they can't support which would be a good thing. Because many do choose to have too many with no plans of actually providing for them. The children won't go to college, they'll grow up in the ghettos of Salisbury, work shitty jobs if at all, and pop out more children to continue the cycle.

With the right being against abortion it makes no sense for them to want to cut into welfare funding however. Who is going to support the hundreds of thousands of more children if abortion was totally banned? The fact that there are few horrors worse than a forced pregnancy aside, our tax dollars would have to go to additional maternity hospitals, and other places for pregnant women. We would also need more women's prisons because harming your fetus can be consider child abuse. Either an attempt to end the pregnancy or via addiction. That means that addict women would have to be incarcerated along with anyone who tried to injure or neglect themselves in an attempt to harm the pregnancy.

After the thousands upon thousands of births from the unwanted pregnancies more tax dollars would be needed to provide for these children. The adoption and foster systems are already overwhelmed with neglected children, many in temporary homes where they are being used for their welfare money and often abused. Carers get paid thousands per child. I've talked to many people who grew up in the foster system and a horrifying majority of them, both males and females, have told me they were raped by older males in the households.

We also never talk about human trafficking in the United States, the majority which is probably (haven't checked the stats) is children. Ocean City trafficking is mostly foreign women while lower Virginia is mostly little girls. A house near dad's was raided for selling little black girls a few years ago.

Since I became disabled in 2018, while I have not done anything illegal, I have had the misfortune of working in an industry that brushes up against these things as well. The United States South is absolutely feral and brutal in some of the worst ways especially the Carolinas. One thing I remember is a woman probably in her 60s with one breast removed from cancer posing up against a wall nude. Her eyes haunt me. Because while she took her own clothes off and stood there life probably didn't really give her a choice. Her pimp probably didn't give her a choice. And the children in these scenarios? No choice ever.

The world doesn't need more children unless they are wanted and properly cared for by loving parents who can afford them.

[themovieblogonline]

SXSW 2023: Bob Odenkirk Hits Home Run with "Lucky Hank"

“Lucky Hank” is Bob Odenkirk, in his first television outing since leaving “Better Call Saul.” The premier episode of the AMC+ series premiered at SXSW on March 12th (Oscar day), showing once, and only once, at the Stateside Theater in Austin. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OY4jhr4_PF0 The series owes much to the Pulitzer Prize-winning book on which it is based, “Straight Man,” by Richard Russo. The synopsis for the series reads: “An English department chairman at an underfunded college, Professor Hank Devereaux toes the line between midlife crisis and full-blown meltdown, navigating the offbeat chaos in his personal and professional life.”  As IMDB further says, William Henry Devereaux, Jr., spiritually suited to playing left field but forced by a bad hamstring to try first base, is the unlikely chairman of the English department at Railton East University. Over the course of a single convoluted week, he threatens to execute a duck, has his nose slashed by a feminist poet, discovers that his secretary writes better fiction than he does, suspects his wife of having an affair with his dean, and finally confronts his philandering elderly father, the one-time king of American Literary Theory, at an abandoned amusement park” If this sounds like an ideal Bob Odenkirk vehicle, you're right. THE GOOD The cast, headed by Odenkirk, is stellar. Mireille Enos (“World War Z,” “The Killing”) plays Hanks’ wife, Lily, and she is a revelation. In the Q&A following the screening, she admitted that she “wanted to play a less closeted woman.” Her serious role in “The Killing” made her a natural choice for screenwriters Paul Lieberstein and Aaron Zelman. They worked with her on “The Killing.” Those representing the premiere in Austin referred to the cast as “spectacular.” The writers are similarly spectacular. Although credit must also be given to the source material, as the writers admit that they constantly “went back to the book” while also adding depth to Hank’s character. Bob Odenkirk came onstage after the screening and talked about how he ended up working this hard so soon after “Better Call Saul” ended. “I had said yes to the show. I really thought it would take forever. It didn’t.” Factor in a heart attack that Odenkirk described as, “what happens when you don’t take your heart medication” and here he is in an 8-episode series that he praised as “A place for everyone to do their best” and “A lot of variety on a journey that goes somewhere.” Odenkirk added that it was a “Great use of modern TV. We had 4 different directors and travel alterations. The stories and characters progress and it is more like an 8-episode movie.” He also praised the dream cast and said, of his character, “He’s so different from Saul, who was a loner. There are people in the right relationships. You love your wife and then, if you’re married long enough, you hate them.” (This brought laughter and an admonition from the writers, “Bob! Your wife is in the audience.”) Odenkirk continued, “If it’s a great relationship, you find your way back and you don’t even know how.” He felt that Saul and Kim in “Better Call Saul” were loners, but “I liked the way this guy relates to other people.” Pointing out the fundamental differences between his Saul character and Hank he said, “It’s fun to do wildly different things. It’s one of the reasons I went into this business.” THE BAD For me, the bad is that I currently don’t have AMC+. In order to watch this wildly entertaining series, I am going to have to subscribe, which means that my spouse (of 55 years) is going to be gifted with a subscription to the series (which premieres on March 19th). Since his birthday is March 21st, thank you, Hank, for figuring out what to give the man who has everything. This looks like a totally enjoyable, witty, well-written, and well-acted 8-episode series that will entertain mightily.   Read the full article

[datmoongamer]

harry du relatable: a compilation

from art is for arrogant blowhards, by leoandsnake

The Monday after his promotion to lieutenant-yefreitor, Harry wakes up so crushed by dread that it feels like someone cast him in a suit of armor while he slept.

Harry lies there, his heart pounding sickly for no reason. The minutes ooze by like mercury. Every few moments, he’s seized by the panicky conviction that he’s about to die, and then the clutch of it eases and he’s left bobbing in his sea of dread.

“Yes,” Harry says, watching shadows move on the dark ceiling. His eyes are burning like he’s at the end of a long day, not the beginning of one.

“Who’s going to run my task force while I’m writing a book?” Harry says. His voice comes out strained, and he clears his throat. “Who’s going to do my job?”

She pulls the bathroom door shut. A moment later, Harry hears the shower kick on. He resumes staring at the ceiling.

Drunk Harry would find all of this emasculating to the point of an apocalyptic meltdown. Sober Harry finds all of this equally emasculating, but turns that inward. He’s spent the last year and a half growing passive-aggressive, developing TMJD and acid reflux, making holes in the walls of their unfinished basement with a knife whenever his humors are particularly unsettled. Take that, house. Take that, nice white house on the river — nice white tomb for their souls to die in. A mausoleum.

“I love you,” Harry says in desperation.

“I woke up this morning,” Harry says, gesturing at chest-level, “and I was so full of dread that I almost couldn’t get up.”

“That’s called depression.”

“Okay, but there must be a reason for it, some external reason. I’m very intuitive, you know this about me.”

At the end of the day, Harry arrives home worn out, his eyes hot in his head like they’re two overworked pieces of machinery. The workday kept him distracted, but his dread comes roaring back as he stands there on the sidewalk in front of his house.

At some point he starts to get bone-weary, a kind of weary he’s only been getting since he turned forty. Reality starts to blur at the edges.  He pulls the knife out of the wall, and with a surge of self-pity, he closes his hand around the blade.

It doesn’t hurt, at first, so he squeezes his fist tighter, and then it hurts. Harry yanks his hand away, hissing and swearing. His palm is wet with blood.

“Why did you do that?” he says out loud to himself, as Marvin continues to yammer in the background.

Harry heads up to the second floor, avoiding the get-together in the kitchen, and wanders into their bathroom to look for antiseptic and gauze. The cut isn’t deep, it’s just wide as hell, spanning almost his whole palm.

“Dumbass,” Harry mutters to himself as he bandages up his hand.

He walks back down the hall, ignoring the laughter coming from downstairs. He goes into their guest bedroom and lies on the floor in the darkness.

Harry stares at the seascape as he lies there, his hand aching and stinging. He can barely see it in the dim light coming in from the hallway; just faint impressions of a boat on choppy waves.

He must fall asleep, then, because he wakes up to Dora bent over him, stroking his hair. His mouth is dry, and his head is fuzzy.

“Hi,” Harry rasps.

Harry searches her face with his bleary eyes. “Your friends don’t want to hang out with me,” he murmurs.

“Yes they do, sweetie.”

“No, they don’t. I’m always an interloper.” His throat feels thick.

Harry appears to think about this while Jean is lighting his cigarette. “I just was,” he says. “We’d been engaged for a while, and I’d just gotten my life together. I quit drinking, I finally had a little bit of money in the bank… not a lot, but enough. I felt like a person. I thought we should pull the trigger.”

“Pull the trigger?”

“Yeah, you know. Lock it in.” He sniffs in the septum-clogged way that guys over forty tend to. “There was momentum. That happens when you get sober… suddenly you have all this momentum.”

Harry’s tone when he even mentions his wife in passing is the same one he gets when he talks about Jamrock, lately: a heavy, resigned drone. It’s the sound of somebody who feels like the best days are gone, that the apotheosis of life has come, and he’s left treading water until some inevitable anticlimax carries him away.

The energy that propelled Harry through the chaotic, neon-bright streets of Jamrock fades as he’s walking into his house. He stands in the foyer for a moment, jingling his keys in his hand, then heads upstairs.

“You feeling okay?”

“I feel fine.”

He really doesn’t, he feels terrible, but he just wants to lie down with her in the darkness and cling to her. Being near her is enough.

“I always think I’ll feel differently when I get promoted, and I never do, no matter how many times I get promoted. I think even if I made captain, it would still be the same.”

“Right,” Pryce says. “Look, not to read too much into things, but you don’t seem very happy about your promotion.”

Harry’s head snaps up. “I don’t?”

“No, you seem almost disappointed… like it was an anticlimax for you, or something.”

“I guess I just thought I would feel differently once it happened,” Harry finally says, because it’s the truth, and he couldn’t think of a lie. “I was looking forward to it for a long time, and I had hoped it would feel like a big change, or that I would feel different.” He thinks of what Trant said — wherever you go, there you are.

A wave of dread sweeps over him. The dark, miserable abyss of winter is already looming, and then beyond that, he sees nothing good. Years ticking by while Dora continues her slow drift away from him, like a glacier that broke off of an isola and got swallowed by the pale. Years ticking by while the daily hopeless grind of policing in Jamrock continues to turn Harry’s brain into hamburger meat.

And then what, he becomes a captain? He sits in this dark, claustrophobic office, smoking stinky cigars and watching the men he poured his heart into mentoring get mowed down by semi-automatics? He watches Jean become a lieutenant and continue doing field work, no longer able to go with him, no longer able to work cases with him and watch his back?

Harry sits there afloat in cold despair, bobbing like a corpse in the winter Esperance. He can’t seem to find anything else to say on the topic of his future.

Pryce clears his throat. “Look, I’ll be blunt, you’ve been dragging ass for months now,” he says. “You seem tired, distracted. Sad. What’s going on? Something wrong at home?”

“No, not at all,” Harry lies.

“Okay, well… I know you’re sober, and I know that’s a slog. If you need to go see a shrink or something, I won’t hold it against you — just don’t let your men know, they’d lose faith in you.”

“I don’t need a shrink.”

“What do you need, then?”

Harry struggles for words again. “Just a break, maybe?” he says, his voice wobbling. “I don’t know. No, I don’t want that, don’t give me a break. I need to work. I just… maybe I just need a win. You know how you get when you haven’t had a win for a while?”

The tip of Pryce’s cigar bounces as he smiles. “A promotion isn’t a win?”

“Huh,” Pryce says. He ashes his cigar. “You may solve this one yet — I’ve heard he’s a sharp one. And you’re no slouch yourself, when your head’s in the game.”

“My head is in the game,” Harry insists.

“Well, consider this your official kick in the ass,” Pryce says. “Do whatever you have to do to shake yourself out of this funk you’re in. Have an affair, go hunt some elk, join a fight club… I don’t care.” He flips the leather ledger back open and flicks his hand at Harry. “Dismissed. Get back to work.”

He shoots for a while, losing himself in the methodical routine of emptying a clip, bringing the target back, putting a new one up, sending it out, and emptying another clip. Forty minutes go by before he jars out of the fugue state he’s entered and pulls his earmuffs down off his ears, wincing at the close sound of gunfire all around him.

“Please — you’re always so far away! You come home angry and tired, and you’ve been acting so much like you did when you were drinking, the only difference is you aren’t,” Dora chokes out. “And I — I —”

“I got sober for you!”

“That’s exactly the problem, you should have done it for yourself! You did it for me, and your heart isn’t truly in it, you just go through the motions, our whole marriage is just us going through the motions —”

“Like I don’t feel alone?” he demands.

Harry finds he can no longer stand listening to this; he needs to move, he needs fresh air. “Got it. I’ve heard all I need to hear. I’m going for a fucking walk.”

He storms toward the front of the house. Dora calls after him, but he ignores her. Harry grabs his cloak off of the coat rack, accidentally pulling it over and causing it to crash to the floor. He tosses a careless glance at it before he leaves, slamming their front door behind him.

“Yessir,” Harry says, then lets out a hoarse laugh. “I’ve been to three bars. I kept going in, having a few drinks, then closing my tab and leaving so I wouldn’t have any more. But then I’d end up walking into another bar and starting the cycle all over again.”

“Oh, I’ll be there,” Harry says, staring him down. “You’ll see. I just needed to blow off some steam, that’s all. I’m going to bust this case wide open, now.”

“You’re all going to shit yourselves,” Harry says, his face hot for no reason he can identify. “They’ll make me a captain right there on the spot. Where are you going?”

He goes over and curls up on the mattress, suddenly weary to the bone. He begs his brain to not start dwelling on Dora or Jean right now, and to just let him slip into oblivion.

Tomorrow, he’ll fix it all. He’ll get back on the wagon; he’ll anesthetize himself with magnesium, coffee, and cigarettes; and he’ll make things right with them both. He’ll put everything back to normal. It has to go back to normal — there’s no other option. And now that everything’s out in the open, and the air is clear, it’ll be simple.

Harry drifts off to sleep with this fantasy at the front of his mind, as bass pounds the walls around him.

Harry is jarred awake at five-thirty a.m., the second his body finishes metabolizing all the alcohol he drank. He feels like shit, and he can hear rain pounding on the roof. He stares at the popcorn ceiling of McCoy’s guest bedroom for a while, stewing in his hangover and his discontent, and then he gets up and collects his stuff.

“Jean — I barely know my own name today, okay? I can’t tell you that.”

I’m sleep-deprived, I’m hungover, I’m confused, and I don’t know what the fuck is going on, I just get these — these urges, sometimes —

He hesitates for all of a second before lunging toward it and starting to paw through them like a bear through a garbage bin.

Harry doesn’t even think, he just uncaps the bottle and tips it into his mouth, swallowing three pills with his saliva. Once he’s done that, he stands swaying on his feet, overcome by guilt and fear.

“I was in acute emotional agony,” Harry says.

Gunnef’s face doesn’t change. She takes another fry. “Did that help you?” she says drily.

“No, it made everything so much worse.”

You use dopamine to fill emotional holes, and when you can’t get it from drugs or alcohol, you wring it out of your life. Relationships, friendships, work, you wring them all dry, desperate for your next hit. But that’s not what dopamine is for, Harry. You need to patch those holes over yourself, because you will always run out of dopamine again. You will always have to come back home to yourself.

Harry leans forward to plead with an almost religious posture: “But what the fuck do I put in the holes?”

“Self-esteem,” Gunnef says.

“And where do I get that?”

“Would you like to stay sober?”

“Not really, but I’m going to try to,” Harry says.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, I’m a real bastard, I know. Get in line.”

“Yes. You’ve told me at length about how you feel, with very little reflection on how your wife feels, or how your partner feels. I think turning your focus outward would help you a great deal. It would also probably help us solve this case we’re working on.”

“I’ve heard about you,” Kim says. “People say you’re a talented and highly empathetic detective… your intuition is supposed to be sans exception. So it’s a surprise to meet you and find you to be this self-obsessed.”

This cuts Harry pretty deep. Something about Kim’s disapproval is even worse than Jean’s disapproval, because there’s a cool remove to it. It’s like the bite of steel against his skin. “I’m an addict,” he says, with an air of bumbling apology. “That’s how addicts are.”

“Is it?” Kim says, clearly unmoved. “Is self-obsession an incurable medical condition? I consider it to be more of a choice.”

Harry shrugs. “I go to a lot of 12-step meetings. I used to fish and hunt… I don’t really have the energy on weekends anymore. I try to work out, play sports, but I’ve been tired lately. I’m getting old, I feel it, I can feel my fucking cartilige wearing away and my joints locking up, and it depresses the hell out of me, to tell you the truth. I used to be a serious athlete, and I’m turning into an old piece of shit.”

“We’re all just doing what we can. Getting older is not under your control.”

“I know,” Harry says, feeling like he might cry. His nose is tingling with heat, and his vision is starting to swim. “Nothing is, huh?”

“I hate it in my head. It’s bad in there.”

Harry nods, but he’s too tied up in his own sorrows to dwell on Jean. “I’m past my prime,” he says, his voice hoarse. “I feel like I was this handsome young hotshot, and I blinked, and that was over. Disco is over, I’m over. And I did everything I was supposed to do — I got sober, I got married, I’ve worked my ass off. Nothing is ever enough.”

“Enough for what?” Kim says.

This question lands with a thud in Harry’s brain, and he has no answer for it. As he tries to come up with one, tumbleweeds whistle over vast, empty expanses in his mind’s eye. “I don’t know,” he says.

Harry lights a cigarette and starts to smoke. What could be better than this? Smoking, a dumb movie, food, rain crashing against the windows and a hot woman in his line of sight. Everything he needs to turn on, tune in and drop out.

Harry spends the rest of the day in a fugue state, filling out stack after stack of paperwork in his spiky doctor’s scrawl. He’s so distracted that he barely realizes he’s driving east toward the Esperance when he leaves work, but when he comes back into his body, there he is, sitting under the carport beside his house.

“I am acting like a human being. This is what human beings do. They scream and cry and freak out about shit. It would be inhuman of me to do what you want me to do, which is to stand around while some guy tries to fuck my wife, and go, ‘Ahh, hmm, gee, this is not an ideal situation. I would prefer for this not to be happening.’”

Overnight, Harry becomes convinced that his marriage is over.

It feels to him exactly like going to bed flushed by the tender beginnings of the flu and waking up as sick as a dog. Feverish doubt started to creep in last night, when they came back home and Dora went into the living room to listen to her milieus while Harry went down into the unfinished basement to lift weights in silence. When he wakes up Saturday morning, it’s cemented.

Yes, he’s waking up next to his wife in the bed he’s shared with her for years, but he feels certain that even as he does so he’s clinging to a cadaver. The love and intimacy they once had has revealed itself to be hollowed out; all that’s left is familiarity, and the more they grow to resent each other, the less appealing that familiarity is. To Harry, staying in a marriage with someone who no longer likes or respects him feels like being asked to crawl into his own grave, and yet he’s desperate to do so. It’s his grave. Who else would crawl into it but him? How can he possibly separate himself from Dora?

Harry stares at himself in the mirror as he brushes his teeth until he starts not to recognize the person he’s looking at, which sends panic shooting through his body. He bears down on the feeling and leans into it until it passes.

It’s like one of those philosophical riddles that Trant loves: did he cheat and relapse because his marriage is over, or is his marriage over because he cheated and relapsed? He can’t tell her about either of these things, and yet, he has to. He’s trapped — the conductor of a train that has no brakes. By the end of the day today, he senses the whole thing will have come apart, but until then all he can do is hold on.

And actually, most of the day is fine. Dora asks him to come to the grocery store with her, and he does, standing off to the side while she squeezes pomelos to check them for ripeness. The disconnected feeling from earlier returns and deepens until he feels like he’s watching himself from outside his body, which is better than the alternative.

They go home and listen to a baseball game on the radio while they unpack the groceries; Harry stares numbly at his hands as he puts things into the refrigerator.

“I think I’ll make salmon tonight,” Dora muses.

Harry makes an ‘mmm’ sound.

After this, he goes outside and does yard work for as long as he can manage. Their front yard doesn’t need much attention (it’s just grass lined with hedges, which their neighborhood association sends a man by to trim each week) and their backyard is nonexistent (the back half of their house is on stilts, since there’s a sharp grade down to the Esperance). But Harry busies himself trimming the grass to an even length, and finding dandelions to pull up, and shit like that.

He does this for so long that the sun starts to go down, and he doesn’t even realize it when a car pulls into his driveway behind him.

“When?” Jean says.

“When the time comes.”

“When the ‘time’ comes?”

Harry opens his mouth to say something about how he feels like the world is coming to an end and all he can do is drag himself from minute to minute, but hot tears spring painfully to his eyes, and he closes it. Finally, he mumbles, “Just don’t worry about it. I’m handling it.”

“Okay,” Jean says, looking unconvinced.

“I don’t know who I am without you,” he finally says, lifting his head. “We’ve been together so long. I need you.”

“I don’t think you do, Harry,” Dora says. She sounds calm, but there’s an undercurrent of anger in her body language. “You’ve spent months pushing me away… years, in fact. You resent me so much for asking you to get sober, I know you do. And you’ve all but proved it by responding to our conversation the other night by immediately going out and getting drunk. You were punishing me.”

“Dora, I got sober,” he says through his teeth. “I married you. I thought that was it. I thought we would be done with this shit.”

“Done with what? Done with having any problems or conflicts ever again? We’ve been growing apart ever since we got married! Did you really think you could resent me and avoid me and start to live a separate life from me without it affecting our marriage?”

“You’ve done the same to me, honey.”

“No, I haven’t! I tried to bring you into my world — I keep trying! I get nothing but resentment and scowling!”

“Because your friends and family think they’re better than me!”

“You think they��re better than you, and you project that!”

“Both things can be true,” Harry says, leaning against the front door. He’s suddenly exhausted.

“So if you can admit that both of those things are true, then can you not admit that maybe we’re just not very well suited for each other? That we’re from different worlds, and maybe we’d be better off with other people?”

“Because that’s fucking stupid. There’s no reason that two people should let something that simple drive a wedge between them, unless they’re lazy idiots who aren’t actually committed to the relationship.”

Harry lets out a manic laugh. He really doesn’t want to think about any of this right now.

It’s gorgeous and enthralling to look at. It’s a masterwork, clearly. The grays and whites and reds of the painting swoop and curl in dizzying lines. Harry steps closer as he tries to visually untangle them from each other.

“God damn,” he breathes.

Harry laughs. “Listen,” he says, “I’m going to head out for a few hours, if that’s alright with you. I just sent the last of my notes to the database, so I think we’re square on that front, and I really have to go get my house in order. I kinda left things on a bad note with my wife last night.”

“Ah, DB... You’ll smooth it over, I’m sure. You’re a talker.”

“No, I’m pretty sure this is it,” Harry says, keeping his manic grin plastered to his face. “I’m pretty sure I’m getting a divorce.”

Pryce tucks his lips into his mouth and nods. “Well,” he says, “it’s an occupational hazard. I’ve been through three, and they’re not the end of the world.”

“Good to hear, sir.”

“I don’t know,” Harry says honestly. “I don’t know. I know you know how hard it is for me, I know you know how fucked up I am. And it’s winter, now. Pretty soon every day is going to be a struggle for me not to put a gun in my mouth. You want to just leave me to that?”

“No, there isn’t, but I’m not going to do that, I can hang on —“

“For how long? We both get more miserable by the day, and we’ve gone into freefall in the last two weeks.”

“Oh, please, Harry, you have been for years,” Dora says. Her eyes get bright, and she wipes at them with her pinkies. “He knows everything about you, he spends most of every day with you. I can’t even be angry at him, I actually feel sorry for him, because I know what you are, and I see how he looks at you — it’s how I used to look at you. Like you hung the moon.”

“I never claimed to have hung the moon,” Harry says stiffly.

“You have no idea how hard this is for me,” she says, her voice muffled. “You have no idea how much I wanted this to work. I was so hopeful after you got sober… we had such a beautiful wedding.”

They did have a beautiful wedding. George and Rhona paid for everything and hosted it at a yacht club on the banks of the Esperance; it was a twinkly, money-drenched blur of a night. Dora was the loveliest bride he had ever seen, and he was her handsome, strapping consort. He had made lieutenant just a few months prior. During their first dance, he buried his face in her pale hair and whispered in her ear, “I’m never going to drink again.”

“I was hopeful, too,” Harry says, and tears catch in his throat.

“Then why did you let this happen?” Dora says, lifting her head. Tears are streaming down her cheeks. “Why did you let me waste my youth on you?”

“I thought I could be different,” Harry says, wiping his own eyes. “I always thought… when I pictured the future… I didn’t think it would be me doing those things. I thought it would be some other version of me, one that could handle them. But I only ever just kept on being me.”

Dora lets out a distraught laugh that tails off into a sob.

“I’m sorry,” Harry says. “I’m sorry. Look, I’ll do — just stay one more week, I’ll go to counseling —“

“No.”

“You can’t just end it like this.”

“I wanted to leave when you relapsed before,” Dora says, her light eyes boring into his. “I talked everything through with an attorney. I had it all planned, I had accepted it, but you made one last desperate plea to me, and it worked. That was my mistake, because ever since then, we’ve been operating on borrowed time. I knew I couldn’t trust you anymore, and you can’t have a marriage without trust.” She inhales. “And you could tell I wasn’t happy, that I didn’t feel safe with you, and you haven’t trusted me either. I think that’s why you’ve been so jealous and angry and closed-off.”

Harry sits with this for a while. “So you feel that we’ve spent almost two years doing CPR on a corpse,” he says.

“Yes,” Dora says. “And it’s time to stop. It’s time to call it and move on.”

Harry gets off of the bed and goes over to her, sitting down on the floor beside her, bringing her into his arms. Dora doesn’t resist. He pets her hair, and she buries her face against his shoulder.

“I can’t be a person without you,” he says, feeling like he’s dragging his voice over razor blades to produce this sentence.

“You’re not a person with me,” Dora murmurs.

This stings. “Maybe I’m just not a person.”

Dora draws back from him, her eyes and cheeks glistening with tears. “How do you think it is for the rest of us?” she says. “That pain and fear and exhaustion that you feel — do you really think the rest of us don’t?”

“I know you do,” Harry says. “My whole job is tending to human pain.”

“Then why can’t you just deal with it, the way the rest of us do?”

“I don’t know,” Harry says simply. “I don’t know. I see myself in the people I arrest, you know? Everyone asks them that same question — why can’t they just deal with life? Why can’t they just not do the wrong thing? They don’t have an answer, either. The world is full of broken people.”

“But who broke you?” Dora demands. “Who broke my husband? We were so young when we met, why did you have to come to me already broken?”

“I don’t know.” Harry wipes her tears away with his thumb. “I tried so hard for you,” he says. He’s in enough emotional pain that he’s started feeling serene; his brain seems to have partially shut down in an effort to protect him. “I did. I tried. I think I only made myself worse, in the end, but I’m not sorry that I tried. I’m not sorry I became a cop. You shouldn’t be, either.”

“I always wanted you to live up to your potential,” Dora says. “I saw so much of it in you. I still do.”

The two of them get into bed. Harry is shaking and sweating like he’s breaking a fever; reality has a feverish tinge of the surreal to it, too.

When he wakes up, the light has changed, and Dora is no longer in their bed. What happens comes back to him in a sickening wave. His wife has all but left him. She’s still in the house, he can hear her light footsteps downstairs, but she’s gone. She’s haunting him like a ghost.

Harry checks his watch — it’s 9 a.m. His mouth is very dry. He wants to lie back down in the bed and sob helplessly like a child, but he gets up.

“Where are you going?”

“For a drive,” Harry says. Off her concerned look, he adds: “Don’t worry, I’m not going to go kill myself. People are usually in a very good mood before they kill themselves. Am I in a good mood?”

Dora gives him a small smile. “No. You’re in a vile mood.”

“Well, there you go, then. I’ll see you later.”

“At least you’re trying. That’s more than most people do.”

“But it was worthless, in the end,” Harry says. “She still left me.”

“Worthless, was it?” Lilienne says. “You could have kept up your drinking, become a corpse in the bay like my husband, and then you wouldn’t be here to sit on this beach and watch the water.”

Harry nods. It is nice to watch the water.

“I don’t know what to do now,” he says.

“All I know is how to be handsome and charming. I’m empty on the inside. I don’t know how to make people love me, or want to stay. I don’t know how to be a real person.”

A tear slides down Harry’s cheek. “When I was young, everyone loved me,” he says. “Everyone at the disco clubs, they all loved me, and I loved them.”

Lilienne appears to think about this for a moment. “You were on drugs at these disco clubs?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, there you go. Life is easy when you’re twenty years old and on drugs in a disco club. You can’t be twenty years old on drugs in a disco club for your whole life.”

“I would like to be,” Harry admits, more tears rolling down his cheeks. “I would like to go back to the disco club. It’s all I want.”

Lilienne pats him on the arm. “I was at those disco clubs too,” she says gently, “and they’re not as fun as you remember them being. Officer, you seem distraught.”

“I’m sorry,” Harry says, choking back a sob.

“Why are you sorry?”

“I have someone. There’s one person.”

Lilienne nods. “Why don’t you go see them?”

“I’m scared.”

“What are you scared of?”

“Everything,” Harry says. “All of it.”

She shrugs. “Go anyway.”

“Yeah?”

“Yes.”

Harry suddenly realizes how attractive she is. Her dark eyes are bright and warm. In another universe, he would ask her for a date, but this isn’t that universe. He stands up, brushing the sand off of his clothes, and she follows suit.

Jean counts him off, and Harry leaps into a sprint, cutting through the freezing air. Above him, the sky is turning blue with twilight. He hits the hundred meter line and slows to a jog, then turns around and heads back to Jean. His leg muscles are burning.

It takes Harry three tries to shave his time down to seventeen seconds, then another punishing, all-out run to shave it down to sixteen. By his sixth try, he’s inched back up to eighteen seconds and spent all of his energy in the process. He drags himself back to Jean and lies down in front of him on the red rubber of the track, wheezing up at the navy sky.

It takes Harry a moment to stop wheezing; he feels like he has knives lodged in his throat and both of his lungs. The sun has all but gone down, now; they’re working off the very last slivers of daylight.

[pojkflata]

Seeing critiques of transandrophobia makes it quite clear to me that most detractors believe this came out of nowhere, as if somebody rightfully called out a trans man on his misogyny once and he instantly snapped and became a reactionary gamer bro. So I'd like to tell you that at least in my case, this has been brewing in me for some time with the rise of a new transphobic movement that specifically targets transmascs, and I gave you not one, not two, but three chances to take my worries seriously. If you don't like seeing me discuss my oppression like this, it's your fault for not being there for me when you had the chance.

April 2019

The Swedish national broadcaster puts out a documentary about trans healthcare. It's bad. It's really bad. It lies about the ease of access to HRT and concern trolls about an "explosive rise in mentally unstable girls identifying as transgender". It cites an at the time obscure study suggesting that being trans, specifically transmasc, is communicable. It's pseudoscience, but nobody cares. A woman goes on national television funded by tax payer money to complain about being silenced. Parents come in to misgender their sons, and shortly thereafter one of these sons talks on social media about how his mother was lying through her teeth the entire time. No trans person is allowed to speak. The documentary is mass reported for its obvious bias, misinformation and invading the privacy of a trans man. In the end, it's only charged for the privacy breach - in the eyes of the public, the bias and misinformation are forgivable. A sequel is released in the fall of the same year when they actually bring in a trans person... a trans woman. As if to say "this is what a real trans looks like, unlike you mentally unstable girls". They then announce that they are detransitioning and calls themselves a "effeminate gay in a woman's body". Now the narrative is more like "if even this real trans wasn't actually trans, what makes you think you could be?"

My mental immune system went into overdrive, I panicked. This was new to me but I knew we would have to deal with this brand of transphobia for a long time going forward. I also knew that these people obviously hated trans men and trans men specifically, this was reactionary pushback against increased visibility. "No, you can't take up space like this, what about the children?" This rhetoric is also literal gaslighting - it teaches you that if you happen to be a trans man, especially if you came out as a teen and/or you're ND, you can't trust what's going on inside your own head, you're delusional, and you certainly don't deserve healthcare. I write a tumblr post describing to the best of my abilities why this is dangerous. It gets a couple of dozen notes, but not much else. I try to rationalize it - the post was written in panicked delirium and I didn't know what to call this rhetoric, I knew calling it "transmisandry" would get me laughed out of the room. Additionally, this isn't happening in the US (yet), so I have to be happy I even got notes at all.

I was pre-T at the time and I was terrified that this would prevent me from transitioning. Knowing that this documentary is now what most people in my country believe about me is a horrifying thought. At least one Swedish trans man attempted suicide following the documentary. As for me, I started crossing streets without looking for cars.

Strike one.

June 2020

An author whose work I never particularily cared about has a twitter meltdown over language designed to include me. She cries about feeling dehumanized by being called a person. Shortly thereafter she writes a full manifesto justifying her TERF sympathies. But this doesn't look like the typical TERF rant. While she goes over some very classic and violent TERF rhetoric like calling trans women predators, she spends even more words on regurgitating the rhetoric I knew from more than a year before. Some people sound the alarm about what this might mean for trans men, but they're shut down - TERFs don't hate trans men! Look, she said she included you! Just don't think too much about the fact that the reason this happened to begin with was that she threw a hissy fit over having to include me.

I try to rationalize this response again - this is many people's first exposure to this rhetoric, they just might not know quite what to make of it.

Strike two.

Summer 2020

A book is published once again rife with the rhetoric I was now very familiar with. The author is invited to the biggest podcast in the world where she says word salad about how people like me are women with unresolved body image issues and that's why we transition - T redistributes fat storage, that must sound awesome to women who hate their bodies. Just don't think too hard about how T actually allocates more fat to the stomach and how a woman with body image issues would realistically react to such a development.

The book itself is also vile. It misgenders trans men whose lives were lost to hate crimes. It fetishizes my reproductive organs, claiming that maintaining my fertility is more important than my wellbeing. I'm reduced to a breeding stock, what a shockingly feminist move.

It openly hates trans men who are out and proud with their experiences, it accuses them of stealing their children in a manner not unlike how autism parents talk about autism. But this might be worse - these are individuals who are being blamed. It makes uncomfortable remarks about their bodies and many of them are harrassed following the publication of this book.

At this point you have to stretch ridiculously far to claim that this isn't about hating trans men. I gave the people who should've been there for me the benefit of the doubt, and they proved me wrong. "Who do you think she believes is doing the seducing? It's trans women" I actually paid attention and she clearly blames trans men, why are you being this willfully ignorant? Does acknowledging the truth force you to reconsider your worldview?

Strike three.

That's when I ran out of patience. I realized the larger trans community was incapable of handling my issues with any tact or grace. We needed new terminology and rhetoric to address this emerging reactionary movement that specifically and obviously hates me and my brothers. And I refuse to back down now.

[spicybadlucksav]

I’ve got a NSFW Zutara modern prompt request for you- they decide to go to a wedding together while dress shopping for Katara. He helps her with the zipper of one of the dresses and by the look he gives her he knows he’s done for and can’t keep his hands off of her in the dressing room and smut ensues and they don’t care who hears them ;)

Welcome to the Kink Parade

Ooooh thank you so much for this! Sorry for the delay. I decided to hold off until Kinky Bingo from @atla-multishipping-bingo! I’m aiming for a blackout bingo so stay tuned!

NSFW below the cut ///

“Come on, babe,” Zuko grumbles from where he sits on a plush chair outside of the changing room. “How many more dresses are you going to try on?”

“As many as it takes!” Katara calls back. “This is your sister’s wedding. You know that it has to be perfect.”

Zuko rolls his eyes and huffs out a breath. He drops his head against the back of the chair, but he doesn’t protest further. He knows that she’s right. Azula is a perfectionist in every aspect of her life, and her wedding is no different. She’s been a true Bridezilla throughout the affair, and at this point, none of them want to tip her into a full-blown meltdown because the florist brought the wrong arrangements or because Katara’s dress is the wrong shade.

“I think this might be the winner,” she says, and Zuko swears he’s never heard sweeter words—they’ve been to three stores and through two dozen dresses by now.

“Finally,” he mutters beneath his breath.

“I need your help zipping it up though.”

“Okay, I’m coming.”

Zuko pushes himself to his feet and crosses to the dressing room door. He hears the lock click and the door opens half an inch. He pulls the door open the rest of the way, and he’s pretty sure that his jaw hits the floor.

Katara stands with her back to him, her supple skin exposed by the unzipped fabric of the pale pink dress she wears. Even unzipped, he can tell it has a tight bodice, and it hugs the curves of her ass in a way that has all of his blood rushing downwards.

She meets his gaze in the mirror attached to the stall wall. A smirk curves her lips, and the glint in her eyes tells him that she knew exactly what she was doing. The vixen.

“Zip me up?” Katara asks innocently.

Zuko steps into the dressing room. He closes the door behind him and flips the lock with one hand, his eyes never leaving hers in the mirror’s reflection. He moves to stand behind her, his eyes remaining fixed on hers as his hands come up to grab the zipper.

“I think this one is perfect,” he murmurs as he slowly drags the zipper up. “You look gorgeous, sexy….” He purses his lips. “On second thought, perhaps this isn’t the right one. Azula will kill you if you upstage her on her wedding day.”

Katara giggles as a blush rises in her cheeks. “I think your bias is showing.”

Zuko finishes zipping the dress before he trails his fingers down her back. He rests his hands on her hips and pulls her back against him, knowing that she can’t mistake the bulge in his pants.

Her eyes widen as her lips part in a silent gasp. Then a wicked grin curves her mouth. Katara turns towards him then and presses a hungry kiss to his lips. Before Zuko can say or do anything else, Katara drops gracefully to her knees and reaches for the zipper on his jeans.

Panic jolts through him—they’re in a fucking changing room, for fucks’ sake—and he grabs her wrists.

“What are you doing?” Zuko hisses, even as his traitorous cock twitches behind his zipper.

Katara peers up at him with a look that is somehow both devilish and innocent. “Don’t ask me. Ask your dick. I think it likes the dress.”

“Definitely,” Zuko rasps out. “But what if we get caught?”

“We’ll be quick then.”

He doesn’t protest further, and then Katara is making quick work of the button and zipper on his jeans. She tugs his pants and boxers down his hips, his hard cock jutting out from his body. Her hand wraps around the base of his member a moment later, and Zuko bites back a groan as she pumps his shaft.

He looks down at her. The sight of her on her knees, his cock in her hand and already leaking precum, has lust pooling in his belly. Then Katara wraps her lips around him and takes him into her mouth, and he’s done for.

His fingers tangle in her hair as she begins to bob her head, taking more of his length into her mouth until the tip of his cock is pressing against the back of her throat. Her hand pumps the length that doesn’t fit in her mouth, and the sounds she’s making are obscene and so fucking divine that he doesn’t give a shit if someone hears her.

“Fuck, baby, just like that,” Zuko groans as she sucks harder, her cheeks hollowed out. “Feels so good.”

Katara hums around him before she presses deeper, swallowing his entire length. His head tips back as white spots burst in his vision, and Zuko swears under his breath. Her mouth is so wet and warm wrapped around him, and he wonders what her pussy would feel like.

Katara withdraws until only the head remains in her mouth. Zuko looks down and sees her watching him, her pupils blown wide and her eyelids hooded. He gasps as her tongue traces the head of his cock before she opens her mouth further. Zuko groans as he traces the movement of her tongue with his eyes. She flicks her tongue over his slit, lapping up the precum beaded there as she lets out a soft moan.

“Spirits, the things you can do with that mouth,” he rasps out.

The corner of her lips twitch in a smirk before she takes him in her mouth again, pushing deeper until her lips brush against the sensitive skin between his hips. His cock throbs as he thrusts gently against her, and he can feel his climax building in his groin.

But he wants to fill that pretty pussy instead, wants to know that it’s dripping onto her underwear as they buy the dress he just fucked her in and go home.

“Come here,” he growls as he tugs gently on her hair.

Katara releases him with a wet pop, a string of saliva and precum running from the tip of his dick to her bottom lip. Her eyes are on him, hungry, wanting.

Zuko helps her to her feet before he grabs her hips and spins her around, hiking up the dress. The material is soft under his hands and threatens to slide back into place. Zuko bunches it up around her waist, exposing the lacy navy thong she wears and the perfect round mounds of her ass.

With a hand on the back of her neck, he bends her over, the mirror perfectly placed in front of them. Katara presses one hand flat against the wall—he’s glad it’s a solid one, so no one can see the walls shaking with the force of his thrusts—before he lines himself up to her opening. Zuko pulls her panties aside and runs a finger through her folds, catching her slick. Katara mashes her lips together to suppress a moan.

“Gotta be quiet, baby girl, or someone’s gonna hear us,” he murmurs.

Then he sinks into her. Her slick walls pull him in, and her eyes flutter shut as she hums out a moan. Zuko bottoms out with a second thrust, and for a moment they remain still. Zuko closes his eyes as he relishes the feeling of her tight pussy around his cock, her walls already twitching around his length.

“Fuck,” Katara whimpers softly. “I don’t know how quiet I can be. Your cock feels so good.”

Zuko gives a gentle roll of his hips and she mewls as she squeezes her eyes shut.

“Fuck,” she says again. “You asshole.”

He grins as he ruts into her again. “You started it. You knew exactly what you were doing.”

“I didn’t think about the minor details, okay? I just knew I wanted your cock in my mouth.”

Zuko bucks into her again, and she lets out a high-pitched sound that she muffles with her free hand. He adjusts his hold on her hips before he begins to fuck her. He keeps his thrusts slow and deep to prevent the sound of his hips slapping against hers from echoing in the changing area. Zuko knows that it won’t be long before someone else comes back here, wanting to use the dressing room, or before the helpful store clerk comes to check on them, but he intends to bring himself and Katara to climax before they’re done.

He watches Katara’s reflection in the mirror. A warm flush has risen in her cheeks and on her chest. Each thrust causes her full breasts to sway, the sight causes a shiver of lust to run down his spine. Her face is gorgeous, her eyes shut tightly in concentration as she presses her lips together to muffle the moans he can hear humming in her throat. Her ass bouncing back against his hips is even better.

“You’re so fucking beautiful,” he tells her as he keeps thrusting into her, aiming for that spot deep inside of her fluttering pussy that will make her spill all over his cock. “So quiet, too. Such a good girl for me. I’m gonna make you come for me.”

“Please!” she manages to say, her eyes opening briefly to meet his gaze in the mirror. “Your cock—feels so good—fuck me harder. Please.”

Zuko groans as his arousal winds tighter, but he gives her what she wants as he adjusts his legs. He brings her back towards him with each thrust, pistoling into her with deep, powerful thrusts. He can see her thighs shaking in the mirror, the tendons tight in her hand that’s pressed to the wall. Her other hand is a fist on her thigh.

“Touch yourself for me, baby,” Zuko grits out as he fights his own orgasm—he will be damned if he comes before she does.

Katara whines as she shoves her hand under the bunched skirt of the dress. Her mouth falls open as a low moan leaves her, her fingers circling her clit as he continues to pound into her.

“Fuck, I’m so close,” she whimpers.

“Let me see you come for me, baby,” Zuko encourages her. “You’ve been such a good girl. You took my cock in your mouth so well, and you’ve been nice and quiet. Just for me?”

“For you,” Katara breathes.

“Come for me, then.”

Zuko ruts deeper, harder, into her, his cock rubbing at her walls. He can feel her climax building, her walls tensing around him. Spots are bursting in his vision and he can feel the pressure building in his groin. He can’t hold on, any second now he’s going to burst, his orgasm milked from him by Katara’s tight, slick walls.

Then Katara throws her head back, her mouth open in a silent scream. Her back arches and her movements over her clit turn frantic. Her hips rock against him and he feels her walls clamp down around him, pulsating as her juices flood over his cock.

The sensations of her pussy fluttering around him draws his own climax out of him. Zuko clenches his teeth as he spills into her, his fingers digging hard into her hips. His thrusts stutter as he coats her walls with his cum until every last drop has been spent.

Zuko sags, his hold on her relaxing. Katara braces both hands on the wall. She lets out a satisfied sigh as leans forward bonelessly, her thighs trembling and her pussy quivering around him.

“That was good,” Katara comments breathlessly.

Zuko slowly pulls out of her with a groan. “That was hot.”

He spreads her cheeks for a moment, admiring the view of his cum pooling at her swollen opening. Zuko teases a finger over her clit, and her pussy clenches, pushing some of his cum from her.

“Fuck,” Katara whimpers.

“You’re so gorgeous like this,” he purrs. “But you should take off that dress before you make a mess in it.”

“Guess it’s a good thing we’re buying it then, hm?”

Katara pushes herself upright, the skirt falling back into place. She looks back at him from over her shoulder with a smirk.

“Unzip me?” she asks coquettishly.

Zuko chuckles as he grabs the zipper and pulls it back down. “Do you think we can try this again at Azula’s wedding?”

“Is it really a wedding if there isn’t a hookup or two?”

“Fair.”

Katara carefully steps out of the dress and reaches for her own clothes. Zuko picks up the dress and puts it back on the hanger, giving it a quick once-over. Then suddenly, there’s a knock at the door.

“Excuse me, ma’am, did you need help with anything?” the store clerk calls.

Zuko and Katara look at each other. She stifles a laugh behind her hand.

“I’m fine,” she says, her humor barely contained. “I’ll be out in just a moment! I found the perfect dress.”

“I’m happy to hear that,” the clerk says. “I’ll be waiting for you at the register then.”

They listen to the sound of the clerk’s footsteps walking away before they burst out laughing. Zuko wraps his arm around her shoulders and pulls her to his chest before he drops a kiss on top of her head.

“We definitely need to do this again,” he says.

Katara smirks at him. “I agree.”

[sobdasha]

been thinking about the really weird dynamics of the Honda family

and the ways they parallel with the Souma family.

Tohru's relationship with Grandpa Honda has always been really inscrutable to me. It seems like Kyouko liked him quite a lot, and the feeling was mutual, so their relationship ought to be close, right? But despite relying on Grandpa around the time of Katsuya's funeral, I get the impression that Kyouko and Grandpa aren't very close after that? He takes Tohru in after Kyouko's funeral, but doesn't provide a place for her to stay during the renovations, and they don't seem to keep in touch.

I figured this was for the convenience of the plot. If Tohru was close with her grandpa, then she wouldn't have no family, no one left, after her mom died. If Tohru had somewhere else to go, it wouldn't be so vital that she be allowed to keep living in the Souma house.

I've been thinking about Shiki, though, and about Akito and Shigure as parents within the Souma estate, and I'm wondering now if this wasn't actually a parallel playing out in brilliant Takaya fashion.

Starting with a recap, because a summary of info is always useful to me:

Kyouko grows up in a family that is very much about Keeping Up Appearances and Knowing Your Place. Her dad is verbally and emotionally abusive and isn't above slapping people either. Her mother isn't affectionate and doesn't protect her, probably because she's primarily concerned with protecting herself from the fallout when anything sets off her abusive husband. Kyouko has never had her emotional needs met and she's never been socialized to see others as real people with real feelings. Before even 7th grade she's become part of the gang scene in a cry for help and attention, and because these are the only people she can kind of understand. Her father has told her she's kicked out of the house at least once prior before he finally makes good on it and disinherits her at the end of 9th grade.

Katsuya and his younger sister grow up in a family that is also very much about Traditional Values and Keeping Up Appearances. Grandpa Honda is a teacher, and he puts a big emphasis on Proper Manners (and probably also other things like Good Grades, Fitting In, and Knowing Your Place). He's stern and pressures Katsuya to become a teacher as well. We don't know what Katsuya's mother was like, but I'm assuming she was also not particularly affectionate. It's only after her illness and passing, probably when Katsuya is somewhere around 20, that Grandpa Honda reevaluates his life and what's most important to him.

From a young age, Katsuya flew under the radar by heavily masking--ie, he made a cardboard cutout of what society expected him to be, so Polite, Quiet, Respectable, Studying To Become A Teacher, while underneath it all being filled with apathy, resentment, and loneliness. His moral compass is deeply skewed--see his teasing of people, his attitude of looking down on people, his bragging admittance to using his father's influence to get away with things, his creepy expressions that are identical to those of The Root Of All Evil (ie, Shigure). He has no real interpersonal relationships--family, friend, or romantic. He's a 23 year old TA who is fixated on and marries a 15 year old girl because she's the first person he ever recognized as human--he saw her in the middle of a violent meltdown and it was the first time he was ever really struck by the realization that someone else might feel the same feelings he does.

(Which, in addition to the dubious legality and widely-regarded ickiness, is just downright pathetic. I'm sorry, but it's true. Fruits Basket itself backs me up.)

The first parallel that jumps out at me is between the stories of Kyouko and Katsuya, and Ren and Akira:

Ren is an Outsider. We don't know what her family life was before joining the Souma clan, but based on everything about her I feel it's safe to assume it was also abusive. A large percentage of the Souma family is against the marriage, but Akira is adamant because Ren is the first person he's ever connected with. Similarly, the Honda family (save Grandpa) disapproves of Kyouko and she remains forever an outsider to them.

In Kyouko's case, Katsuya is able to ditch his family and start fresh with Kyouko. Ren, on the other hand, has to live within the toxic Souma family to be with Akira. Both husbands die, leaving a grieving widow and child behind. Kyouko treasures her daughter and finds a new reason to live in Tohru, away from the rest of the Honda family; Ren, already jealous of Akito for getting in the way of her relationship with her husband (and not dealing well with being pulled even further into the Souma family bullshit with all this curse stuff), and trapped within the toxic Souma family with no one on her side, chooses to perpetuate the cycle of abuse.

The thing I've been thinking about most is the parallels between Tohru and the Honda family and Shiki and the Souma family:

As I said before, Tohru's relationship with Grandpa Honda is very strange. It's not just me--Yuki and Kyou make comments to this effect also, I'm pretty sure. But I think I can finally make sense of it now, if I think of it in light of Shiki.

I think there are a couple chapters of FBA out there that I haven't read (the one with Akito, and were there other chapters beyond volume 3?), but Mutsuki implies--and I think we should take this at face value--that Akito and Shigure hope that Shiki will leave the Souma family. They are not kicking their child out. They want this as loving parents, who have done their best to raise their child in a good home in the midst of a very toxic environment. I like to think they will do a good job of explaining this to Shiki, explicitly and clearly. Akito could have walked away from the Souma family, but she chose to stay because she had a hand in perpetuating the toxicity and generational abuse in the Souma family and she is taking responsibility for trying to end the cycle. She has finally stepped up as the head of the family. She could have walked away, but she didn't.

Shiki had no hand in making the Souma family what it is. Shiki is not obligated in any way to put up with that bullshit. Shiki can and should walk away from that toxic environment, go somewhere new, and be happy. He and his parents and all his non-toxic relatives can visit and call each other and still maintain relationships, but in healthier places, as everyone learned to do at the end of Fruits Basket.

This, I believe, is what Grandpa is also doing for Tohru. He's just less explicit and messes it up at first.

I don't know exactly why we don't see more of Grandpa's relationship with Kyouko and Tohru after Katsuya's death. Is it because Tohru, as the narrator, is prioritizing Only Me And My Mom stories? Is it because Kyouko didn't want to be a burden (is that part of where Tohru absorbed it)? Is it because Kyouko couldn't maintain a good relationship with Grandpa with the Honda Family Toxicity in the background?

The Honda family toxicity shows up in full force again when Kyouko dies. Tohru is a riceball that doesn't belong in the Honda family fruits basket. No one, save Grandpa, will take her in.

And then he invites his daughter's family, which he knows is toxic and will abuse Tohru, in to live with the two of them.

I don't know who came up with the idea--if it's Grandpa, that's a bit cold, as he should be caring for Tohru. If it's his daughter ("Dad, you're getting older, you should be living with us so we can take care of you") that does make sense, both as a reasonable social expectation (which dad raised her to adhere to) and as a power move (the Outsider shouldn't be getting so cozy with dad, and dad's inheritance, without supervision). I'm leaning towards the daughter, as I don't think the family combining was intended to get Tohru to leave. I think the remodel, though, was something Grandpa Honda saw as a good opportunity to convince Tohru to leave the Hondas.

I think "I'm having the house remodeled and I'm staying with my daughter, but you weren't invited, I could pull my weight or maybe you could find your own accommodations with a friend?" was intended to give Tohru permission to not feel obligated to the Honda family. I think it was intended to let Tohru find someplace she would actually be happy, a found family living situation where she could flourish. I think Granpda sincerely thought Tohru would move in with Hanajima, instead of into a tent, and realize that she was so much happier and fulfilled there that she never came back to the toxic Honda family and had no regrets.

Grandpa's judgment was a little iffy there but he tried.

I'm realizing that, if everyone moved into Grandpa's house because it was bigger, and it's being remodeled specifically for that purpose...the fact that Tohru is sharing a room with her cousin is very significant. Grandpa was so confident, there is no place for Tohru in that house. Tohru was never supposed to come back after the remodel.

(I don't know that much about houses so it's possible that they just didn't have room; depending on whether that's the uncle or the son, you've got to have 4 or 5 separate bedrooms, which I guess could be a lot. But this is a manga, they aren't strictly constrained to realism, and Takaya makes every damn detail count.)

Tohru isn't supposed to come back after the remodel, but she does. She does, and the family is toxic to her, and Grandpa tells her more overtly that she is not obligated to live here out of familial loyalty. If there's somewhere else Tohru is happier, even if it's a really unconventional living situation, she should feel welcome to choose that instead.

Grandpa's a parallel to Akito here. He's been becoming aware, since his wife died, that his priorities were all wrong. That he raised his children wrong. That Katsuya appeared to have no real emotions and had never connected with anyone outside of Kyouko and their daughter. (Maybe he learned to make work friends?? But I doubt it.) That his daughter is judgmental and cares more about the appearance of being proper than about not being rude.

Don't think poorly of him, Grandpa says. Deep down, they're just evil people. But Grandpa recognizes that he had a hand in creating those evil people. And instead of being like Machi's mom, who goes "well maybe I fucked up" and then throws her out of the family, Grandpa takes responsibility for the family he made. He recognizes that he raised his kids in a way that caused them to be shallow and rude and to think of people as means to an end, and he also recognizes that it would be shitty to reject his kids for turning out exactly as he raised them. He has to live with them (and his choices), he says, but Tohru doesn't.

Looking at it like that, I respect Grandpa Honda more. He seemed a bit wishy-washy before--useful for some plot and character development points, but wishy-washy all the same. But it's a tough decision, and having to prioritize people is always shitty. Grandpa not rejecting his daughter means sacrificing a stable home for Tohru. Akito staying as the head of the Souma family so she can ensure the freedom of the former Zodiac means that her child will be subjected to the same generational abuse, no matter how loving and supportive of a home life she and Shigure provide.

But they're both trying to do a right thing in a crappy situation.

And Tohru, like so many of the former Zodiac, does find happiness and fulfillment in the new family she's able to make for herself. She learns to make her world bigger, and she learns that leaving doesn't have to be the same as cutting ties. And so I'm very optimistic that Shiki will find the same.

[vegalocity]

Hug while straddling for @purble-turble's Time Travel Red and MK?

Affection meme

31. Hugging While straddling partner

Eyyyy lmao I'm always down to talk about Red Son: Ultimate Enemy as told by @purble-turble

--

There was no such thing as 'loving mental illness away'.

That was one of the very first things Qi Xiaotian had internalized when he came to the decision to make up with Red Son after his future adventure.

He wasn't exactly the picture of mental health himself, but when Red Son stumbled back into their time period, jacket chopped in half hair shorn close to his head and so obviously choking back tears, He'd instantly known whatever had happened to him had been actual hell. (Of course at first he'd forced himself to not care for how angry he'd been with Red Son after he'd told him about his parents plan and how he'd been a willing pawn in it, but that was beside the point)

So once he'd been properly brought upt to date on the exacts of the nightmare-future, and they'd started the process of looking for a therapist for Red Son, as clearly, he'd needed it, Xiaotian had taken it upon himself to do some research on his own time. it was a little difficult, he didn't want Red to find out about it until he actually had a better sense of what he should be doing, but since Red Son rarely seemed to be able to sleep anymore (even when Xiaotian could get him to lay with him in bed it was clear what little sleep he did get was rife with nightmares) and when he did sleep through the night he would wake up earlier than him, and they lived together... his most constant time for research was usually when he was technically on the clock.

But he'd gotten a couple of books about Post-traumatic stress disorder, general psychology, and 'So you've got a loved one with severe depression' (an actual title) and he'd scribble notes into the margins and on sticky notes when there was time between deliveries. And the first lesson every single one of those books had for him was just that.

You can't 'love someone out of their illness'. That's not a thing. The best you can do is love them through it.

So he did his best with that.

On some days that was just sending texts full of cute animal gifs and heart emojis, on some that was coming up to the loft on break to sit next to the lump of pillows and blankets on the bed and (after finding the telltale hint of short red hair that gave away where his head was) resting a hand on the part of the lump that was most likely an arm, gently rubbing it, and sitting in silence until his break ended.

And on some days it was this.

"It's not safe you're not safe I'm gonna slip up eventually-" Red Son's voice was fragile and warbling as his actions contradicted his words, hands scrabbling up and down his back and sides, gripping periodically for purchase before shrinking back as if afraid just hugging him back would crush him. "I'm gonna do something-"

"You won't." Xiaotian was practically seated in Red Son's lap at this point. Red had been sitting on the floor, back to the edge of the bed when the meltdown had begun, so kneeling on the ground until he was rested on his partners legs did two things:

one, it enabled him to wrap him up as tight as he could in his arms without having to twist one or both of them in an awkward angle.

and two, the extra pressure would probably help ground him, make it a little easier to come down from this one.

"You don't know that" His voice was hoarse, desperate. and Xiaotian closed his eyes and squeezed Red Son tighter.

"I do. I know you, hun." Red Son sobbed into his shoulder and he felt his hands finally decide where to be, resting across either shoulder blades and balling the fabric they found there up into fists.

"I know there's basically nothing that'll make you believe it at this point, but you're a good man, Red Son."

"I'm no-"

"Shhh, my turn to talk now." he shifted a hand to be able to bury it in Red Son's hair. He could feel him ever so minutely relax beneath him at the sensation. "You saw your potential for being a bad person, and don't forget everyone's got it. I have it, Xiaojiao has it, hell Monkey King has recorded evidence for his bad person potential, anyway, you saw yours and you've been working your ass off nonstop to keep it from ever getting the best of you.

"And this shit is fucking hard, hun. You're fighting your own brain and the actual literal future here! and guess what? it might not feel like it right now but you're winning."

Still, he shook his head against Xiaotian's shoulder. he didn't want to interrupt again, but still make his disagreement known.

"You are." He pulled away just enough to be able to properly cup Red Son's wet face in his hands. "You think that Evil King remotely hacked Jin and Yin's stupid battle robot in that illegal mech fighting ring and made it throw the match making them look like idiots in his timeline?" Red's gaze broke from his own as he thought back on the fight that broke out the week previous.

"....I suppose not-"

"You think that Evil King ever thinks for more than a second about the ethics of what evil plans he carries out let alone hours of agonizing over whether something was the right call or not?"

"Certainly not but that's not-"

"It is the point, Red. You're not the same person anymore. Maybe you started from the same roots, but he dug himself back into the ground and you rose up like a fucking tree instead."

Red Son met his gaze again, and Xiaotian could tell he still didn't believe him, but there was a spark there.

The faintest, dimmest hope.

"You are a good man, Red Son." this time he made sure every word was careful deliberate. So there was no misunderstandings that could be made. "And I am not accepting counterarguments at this time so you'd better fucking take it."

When he pulled Red Son against his chest again, and let the demon continue to cry quietly into his shirt, he pressed a small kiss to the crown of his head.

"I love you."

Red Son choked on a sob, and didn't answer.

It wasn't an issue, he knew Red Son loved him. Part of this whole thing being a thing in the first place was because Red Son loved him. Red Son wouldn't be as scared of becoming the Evil King as he was if he didn't love him so he knew better than to take to heart the days where he just couldn't say the words back.

There weren't any cures for mental illnesses. There were ways to mitigate the symptoms, but there are no spells that cure depression, there's no potion of anti-PTSD, and no person can love someone out of their illness.

But heavens above did he wish it some days.

He'd give anything to make it so Red Son wouldn't have to be in so much pain.

But all he could do was just hold him tighter, and stroke the short red tresses between his fingers until the sobbing stopped.

It took less time than usual.

Red was exhausted and pliant by the end of it and let Xiaotian drag him about the loft, obediently (if slowly) eating what was pressed into his hands and then nursing the mug of tea he was given as they settled down on the mound of cushions and he put on that 'how things are made' show that Red Son liked.

He was asleep halfway through the second episode.

Sure, some days were harder than others, and sure, some days he'd wish there was a cure just to spare Red the suffering.

But he felt Red Son's head slowly loll to the side until it rested on his shoulder, breathing slow and even and looking for the first time today like he was at peace and-

He still wouldn't trade it for anything.

"Love You, Hun."

Red Son hummed against him.

--

Send me stuff!

[bubblyani]

Mistletoe Scheme

(Bruce Wayne x Reader)

A Bruce Wayne/ Batman Christmas One Shot

Summary: Trapped in a Basement on Christmas Eve, an unexpected yet impactful conversation starts between Batman, and the civilian he was trying to rescue: You. 

Word Count: 4.2k

Genre: Fluff

Warnings: Mention of Blood.

Author’s Note: This idea came to me in an instant and never left my mind. Plus, this was a great chance to write more stuff for Bruce Wayne/Batman.I’m a sucker for dialogue. My last Bale Character fic for 2020. Started with Bruce, ending with Bruce heh. Can’t wait to treat you guys more next year. Enjoy y’all! And Merry Christmas!

Desperation. He held her tight with sheer desperation, for releasing was an option deemed non-viable. In fact, he did not wish to. He did not hope to. Not for anything.

If the end of days had dawned, he simply xwould not perceive. If danger lightly tapped him on the shoulder, he simply would disregard. Even if his head dared to crack open, he would simply let it do so. His hold on her was ironclad, and it was final.

Yet his hands, they were nowhere close to the famished, passionate nature as his lips. Those lips, that were willfully enslaved to hers, forming a strong bond that nature never dared to birth before. Sheer Desire certainly displayed its true colors tonight, and two souls were evidently responsible. Thus, he held her, in every manner possible. All in the desperate need to know her, to feel her. To make up for lost time.

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

(An hour Earlier)

The snow fall outdoors seemed barely visible when the fluorescent light flickered with speed indoors. Even the infusion of Sleigh Bells and the joyous Seasonal Music blasting out of speakers all around the city, seemed barely audible. Certainly they all would be, when one was caught in the midst of nowhere.

The beeping of the timer was continuous, until it finally halted, resulting in a deafening blast.

BANG!

The door being the pitiful victim, broke open in an instant. However, instead of falling back down, the steel door remained at a 90 degree angle, revealing a thick layer of concrete standing right behind it. The Impact Mine was simply useless, leaving Batman full of regrets.

Upon the faith of his instincts, he pasted another explosive device on the broken door. And off went the continuous beeps. BANG! One more blast. Yet, all that awaited him was pure disappointment, when the door remained unmoved.

Running out of resources in his Utility Belt, it was evident he was forced to throw in the towel. He had to look upon the truthful face of bitter reality; Trapped in an underground Basement on the outskirts of Gotham city. With no way out. Not yet, at least. With a heavy sigh, frustration had caught up with the Dark Knight, and with a strange headache making its sudden appearance, he brimmed with the urge to curse out loud.

“DAMN IT!!”

Which she managed to do on his behalf.

Turning around slow, Batman watched the woman pace from one corner of the room to the other, her heels clicking out loud. And right then, he was reminded. How he was truly not trapped here alone.

“The signal’s no good…” she said, with the phone held against her ear, “...can’t get a hold of anyone...”

Batman nodded, “Wait here…” he replied in a hoarse tone, before making his away to the other corner of the basement. With the light brush of his fingers against ears of his cowl, a dial tone echoed within his mask. A call was made. The dial tone stopped as the caller finally answered.

“Alfred?” Batman began.

“Master Wayne-” The voice of Alfred Pennyworth reached his inner headset, “ I-trouble-hearing-”

Loud static noise attacked the line with confidence. And Batman began to grow restless. The headache grew even stronger.

“Alfred!” Batman growled, “Can you track my coordinates? Alfred?”

“-Sorr-Please wai-”

With one final static to spare, Alfred’s voice disappeared, leaving nothing but a pin drop silence in the room. The flickering of the lights paused, growing slightly dim in the process. Unwilling to display his own failure, the caped crusader inhaled deep.

“I’m afraid…we’re stuck indefinitely. But don’t worry…” He grunted, his eyes lingering on the empty wall, “We’re gonna make it out here alive”

However, the woman did not respond. Eyebrows furrowing underneath his cowl seemed inevitable for Batman. Would he possibly face eventual panic from her? A meltdown perhaps? He dreaded turning back.

Instead, he heard a soft chuckle.

“Well, bet you never had to go through this before, huh?”

He spun around upon her light hearted reply, and her seemingly friendly demeanor. His eyebrows furrowed once more.

She certainly was unexpected.

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

Never in this life did her lips taste passion at such degree. However, then again, never in this life did her lips meet his own until then. Was pure frustration to blame? Was it the fuel that strengthened this flame? Or could this encounter be worthy of the term “Fateful”? “Destined” ?

She indulged it, the manner in which his lips enveloped in with hers. She was simply the hand, finally uniting with him, who simply was the glove with the perfect fit.

With her fingers lingering in his hair with the utmost care, her other hand clung onto his strong neck. She pulled him close, until any distance between them proved non existent. For the first time, she was certain of what she longed for. More importantly, who she longed for.

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

(Half and hour earlier)

Any man, woman or child that managed to encounter Batman, let alone catch the mere sight of the man, would certainly be aware of a few special traits: His swiftness, paired up with his sense of utmost mystery. The traits that shield him when his arrival was far from expected, and his exit practically invisible. Camouflaged into the darkness of the night.

However, the mere concept of getting trapped in a confined space with him, was simply mind boggling. Even for you. Therefore, your query did not appear to be a ludicrous one. Was it not?

“Well, bet you never had to go through this before, huh?”

“You’d be surprised”

Batman responded, which threw you off guard.

“Oh! really?” You blurted, cheeks flushing, “I-I-”

“But yes…” he said, “…not like this…” He added, scanning the premises for possible clues. A sigh of relief left your lips. Rubbing your forearm, you felt yourself sinking down to the dusty floor. You could not help but trace a hint of awkwardness in the air. At least in your part. You may know of Batman, but you certainly did not have the privilege of knowing him. Thus, there you both were: Two strangers trapped together.

“Guess...” you began soft, “...there’s nothing to do but-WAIT!!!”

Your cry managed to send tremors through the room. Enough for the caped crusader to spin around and freeze.

“Batman…” you breathed, wide eyed, “Are-Are you bleeding?” Perplex was evident when Batman’s lips pursed. But the moment a thin line of red trickled down through his cowl towards his lips, he finally believed your query. And it frightened you.

“I …uh..” He struggled, rubbing it off with his gloved hand. “Did you...get injured?” You inquired with concern. “No…” Taking his hand away, he dismissed quick, “...it’s nothing” “What?” Your eyes widened, ”That’s even crazier!” You exclaimed, stumbling as you rose up with your heels, “ We gotta get that checked”   “No, its fine…” “No, its not…” Your instant yet commanding response was surprising, even for yourself, “Your head might be injured, so we need to-” You paused, “ Oh!”   A few seconds passed, while bitter realization coursed through your veins,  “…but that...that would mean-” Batman nodded, “…taking the cowl off, yes” “Crap…”

You muttered with a sigh.With your hands resting on your waist, you were nothing but remorseful. What you requested from the Dark Knight seemed far worse than the most dire physical challenge. Simply worse than leaping into a pit of fire, or diving into the oceans deep. Compromising his identity, it was a Cardinal Rule that must not be broken.

However, your concern seemed to have overpowered it all. Obstinate, you were not intending to bow down so easy. But why? Could it be perhaps, in your eyes he was the Guardian that Gotham needed? Could it be perhaps, he was a man you always had admired? And could it possibly be that you did not hope for him to die unexpected, all in the sole attempt of rescuing you?

“Okay, how about this?”

You began,  “How about you turn around, and take your cowl off-Just hear me out!” You pleaded when he attempted to interject, “If...the wound is in the BACK of your head, let ME clean it up. If not…YOU do it. Seems fair, right?”

Batman stared at you with a blank expression. You assumed his silence for the worst. “No wound or cut should be left untreated. Not even yours” the insistence in your tone was shocking. What had changed you, it simply was difficult to comprehend.

Batman remained quiet. You suddenly were regretful. Certainly you were blinded with obstinacy, and did not know your place.

“Fine…”   A grunt left Batman’s lips, leaving you wide eyed and relieved. His cape swished with grace as he turned away from you to sit, “You a doctor?”

“Oh no!” You let out a nervous chuckle, “…my friend is…” you added, kneeling behind, watching him remove his mask,  “I’m actually in Publishing… I’m a Literary Publicist. But…that does NOT mean I can’t be a Good Samaritan right- Ah! See?” You cried out, “It IS in the back of your-Oh my!”

Silence shushed you with judgement. And you did not care, especially when blood bubbled out slow from what appeared to be a cut already stitched in the back of his head, full of luscious, brunette locks.

A firm punch landed in your heart. For you could not help but wonder: How far must his body go, in order to save this godforsaken city?

“Everything alright?”

His query woke you from your thoughts. Without the mask on, slight clarity was present in his voice, yet the gruff remained. As he was on a futile attempt to mask his sound. You cleared your throat: “Yeah…Anyways, Let me…”  you muttered, pulling the silk scarf that left your neck in a smooth motion. Though your neck immediately shivered upon meeting the chilly air, it did not seem as important as this. Folding it to the thickest layer, you placed the scarf over the wound with care.

The howling wind outside reached your ears with clarity as the silence seeped in the Basement once more. A Christmas Carol involuntarily landed on your lips as you began to hum it. “Angels We Have Heard on High”, to be quite specific. Why that exactly? You simply did not know. And given the silence shown by the other party, it seemed Batman did not mind your humming.

The longer you stared, the stronger your fascination grew for his hair. For there it was, Batman’s actual hair. And you were just a mere turn away from his real identity. Was it idiotic to be starstruck by that fact? Fascination merged with curiosity when you wondered of his face. Could it be possible he was actually handsome? With those beautiful lips he bore, you were not mad to assume as such.

You shook your head all the sudden with an embarrassed smile. For ethics grabbed your superficiality by the ear with disappointment. How dare you even objectify him as such? He is a hero, not Mr. Handsome. And more importantly, why must you think so fondly of his lips?

“If you don’t mind me asking…” you began, attempting to change thoughts, “What the hell happened tonight, Batman?” You inquired, “And who…the hell…was that guy?”  

“Dino Maroni…” Batman answered, his voice raised a bit higher than before. Your eyebrows furrowed. “Maroni?” You repeated, “Like…‘Sal Maroni’ Maroni? The Mob boss?” “Dino is his distant nephew…” he explained, “…estranged, from what we’re guessing. Could be that he is trying to earn a place back in the Family” “Huh…” confusion was rife in you. “…He tried to kill Harvey Dent tonight” “HE WHAT?” “Ow!” “Sorry….” You whispered, when you realized your passionate response forced you to press on his wound hard, “….So, that’s why you were on his tail…” you understood,  “Until he met me-…” “-kidnapped you, more like…”

Batman was right. Tonight was filled with unexpected events. You knew fully well when you accidentally bumped into a man who seemed to be running across the street. The sight of the passerby’s panic, confused you at first. But when the sweating man grabbed you by the shoulder and placed a pistol on your right temple, the panic seemed justified. The image of Dino spitting out threats to end you, especially at Batman, remained clear as day. No one dared to intervene, which gave him the leverage to flee, with you as hostage. Batman certainly did not take long to find you. Except he met with the unfortunate fate of being trapped alongside you when Dino and his men sealed the door.

“I know Harvey Dent is not exactly ....Mother Teresa to Organized Crime in Gotham, but...” you paused, only to present an annoyed expression, “...on Christmas Eve? Seriously? When will those jerks give YOU A BREAK?”

A hearty laugh leaped out of Batman, surprising you. Amused, you laughed along. “Good point” He replied in mid laugh, hand reaching back to take hold of the scarf instead. The gruff in his voice had vanished, leaving his laughter to ring in your ears with pleasure. 

Your own laughter faded as you leaned against the concrete pillar behind you. It was a wonderful surprise indeed. And with that, the luxurious desire for know more about him was birthed. Given the number of times excitement sparked in you the form of mini fireworks, it was evident your fascination for him had grown. More importantly, your attraction.

“I’m guessing you had plans...” he began. You tilted your head with wide eyes. “...before they eventually got ruined by Dino?” He finished, his voice heavy on smoothness all the sudden. Looking down at yourself, you chuckled.   “Yeah…Office..Christmas...Party” you enunciated with dramatic energy, your hand smoothing the material of your grey belted robe coat. The robe coat that concealed the beautiful navy blue velvet cocktail dress you wore underneath it, along with pantyhose and heels, “Normally I never show up. But, tonight was supposed to be …” you paused, “...special”

“Hmmm?”

Chuckling again at his inquisitive hum,  your eyes remained on your coat, “It’s silly…” you said with embarrassment , “I…I rather not talk about it”

“Hmmm…”

With a hum of acknowledgement, he maintained his silence. You smiled, looking at the back of his head. You sensed consideration in him, you sensed safety in him. But simultaneously, you sensed fear, in you. Fear that this would be the end of a possibly entertaining conversation. Your heart was proof, pacing quick, tapping you on the shoulder with impatience.

“Actually-” you began in softness.

“So you DO rather talk about it…” He amused, voice now almost of a velvet quality, and simply irresistible.

“Guess you ARE good at…making people talk…” you smirked, laughter erupting from you both.

“But anyways…” you added mid-laugh, “…there’s this guy…I’ve had my eye on…” you said, looking up. Batman’s laughter vanished right then.

“I mean…” you paused, with a sigh, “…he seems nice and all…I don’t know” shrugging, you continued, “I kinda thought maybe tonight I’d…I don't know…” you shrugged once again, “…make a move?  Let him know I…like him? ” The second those words left your lips, a sourness remained.

“How long have you known him?”

“I don't know…6 months?” You answered so casually, “I’d see him in meetings, always around our colleagues, we never met in private…I don’t know…he’s fine” you stated, “ Seems like the proper guy, ya know?”

“So, what?” Batman teased, “You’re gonna meet him by the punch bowl, and tell him how you feel?”

“What do you think this is? Senior prom?” You giggled, where you heard him snigger in return, “And I believe there WILL be a Punch Fountain…A Champagne Fountain actually-Anyways” you said, before you lost your train of thought, “NO!…my plan actually had more CLASS than that, just so you know…” you added with pride, crossing your arms, “There’s this lovely balcony on that floor and…” your voice growing soft, “I’m pretty sure there’s gonna be a Mistletoe there”

“Are you su-”

“I AM sure! ” You interrupted him, laughter following suite. Joy was quite evident in your tone, “So hopefully, if everything goes right, I’d have him find me there, I don’t know…” you smirked, “…maybe accidentally trip, let him catch me and Voila!…that will be the moment…where our eyes would meet…and then our lips…leading up to the most…gentle first kiss ever…”

You finished with a sigh, your heart evidently immersed in the depths and the beauty of your own haven, your very own fairytale.

“Wow…heh” Batman’s voice shook you awake, “Your planning is really making the criminals look bad…” he remarked, with added laughter. To which you smiled.

“NOW I know you’re teasing…” you replied with a mischievous smile, “ I mean, come on! I could NEVER plan THIS…” looking around the chilly basement, your tone brimmed with sarcasm. Especially when you realized how you jested about the horrid disposition you both were facing.

“Well, you know…maybe with a little hard work…”


“Oh, don’t you dare, mister!” You guffawed, “Besides, I really wouldn’t wanna see your bad side if I did”

With the laugher dying down once again, you both took in deep breaths. It certainly felt lovely. 

“You really thought this through, huh?” Batman inquired with earnest. Shrugging, your eyes continued to familiarize with his hair :

“I guess…” you said, rubbing your shoulders all of the sudden, “Maybe if we’re lucky and we get out of here on time, I’ll still have a chance, But… I don’t know…” 
To your disappointment, silence took centerstage once again with a smug look, ready to begin its haughty performance. Until Batman cleared his throat:

“ I know I’m a guy you just met but…” He began, “…should you even go through with it?” His query, forced your eyebrows to rise in unison. Once more, that beating of your heart began to quicken.

“What makes you say that?” You inquired, to which he shrugged his own broad and strong shoulders. 
“Well, you said ‘I don't know’ 5 times already, and you barely told me anything about him”

With your mouth agape, You froze. Waves of realization crashed against the sand of your conscious. Did it take Batman, the greatest detective to deduce your hidden doubt? And did he, by any chance, rescue you from a possible regret?

“Touché” You nodded in slow motion, a few seconds later. “Wow…” You chuckled, “..I was actually gonna go through with it, with just one foot in the water, huh? Damn!” Shaking your head, you exhaled with great depth. Along with your exhalation, there exited your blindness.

“To be honest, I don’t even know if I like him. I just…” Pausing, your hands clasped together, “ I was in love with the concept OF HIM” you said, grateful of how the truth had revealed itself to you, “But at the same time…Did I just miss my only chance? To finding someone?” You inquired, heart suddenly growing heavy. Countless nights of your fervent prayer for someone to love you, flashed before your eyes, causing you to feel sheer pity, “ I mean…” your chuckle grew sad, “I’m not getting any younger…And this job ain’t easy…oh!-I’m sorry” you said, involuntary sniffing as your nose grew itchy, “I’m blabbering here…”

“No need to apologize…” A soft, and empathizing reply exited Batman, “It’s not like I can’t relate to that”  

With shining eyes, you beamed at the back of his head. It did not take long for a rush of warmth to embrace your soul. The number of times you laughed at comfort, with the help of this man for a few minutes, were simply more than what you would experience within 24 hours. 
“I hope he wasn’t as understanding as you…” You said, "Cause if he was, then I missed a great guy”

“On the contrary, I think HE was the one who missed big tonight…” Batman replied, his velvet voice never failing to comfort you. His kindness was brimming, yet you did not mind being soaked by it.

“Thank you-Oh!…has it stopped?” Your eyes widened, the moment he took the scarf away from the head. He nodded. Excitement danced within you as you crawled towards him.

“Great, now we can finally clean this up…” Enthusiasm was rife, while you stood on your knees,“Ugh! I wish we had some saline-”

“No, really it’s alright”

The stitches have finally dried out, even faster thanks to the cold. The need to pat him on the head,  or even run your fingers through his locks grew strong. However, that need retracted itself a few seconds later. You shook your head. What on earth was going on with you?

“I do have a bandaid though…” you stated with confidence, bending to your left to reach out for your purse, “…its in here somewhere-Oh Oh no..Agh!”

The unfortunate loss of balance, forced you to gravitate to your left, falling in the process with speed. You were certain your heart would fall out of your chest. But to your relief, your face nor your heart did not meet its fate with the cemented ground. Instead, you were caught by Batman himself. Right before him. Revealing his face.

His face. Your eyes widened. His face.

With a quick gasp, you closed your eyes shut with immediate fear within a split second.

“I’m sorry! I’m sorry…” you whimpered. However, to your surprise, you heard him chuckle.

“Don’t apologize…” he assured, as his voice grew softer. Unlike his powerful demeanor, the man behind the mask seemed gentler than expected, persuading you to open your eyes with care. And once you finally did, your eyes indulged the sight before you. The face that simply stared at you.

Around your age, he was blessed with handsome features, that left you breathless. With the black paint that surrounded his eyes, it was a daunting task to trace the beautiful hazel green eyes he possessed.

“I won’t tell a soul…I swear” you found yourself whispering with sincerity. To which he nodded:

“I know…” he breathed.

The manner in which those eyes sparkled, his concern for his identity had vanished. And at last, all seemed clear to you. Bravery kept you calm, as you took one of his hands, placing it over your chest. All that, in order to confirm your suspicions. To confirm that the lightning speed of your beating heart was no hallucination. The stomach acting up with tickles, your overwhelming concern, your indiscriminate joy, amidst the danger. It was evident that Magic had stumbled into you. Finally. That very moment you had dreamed of.

Moving from your heaving chest, Batman’s hand proceeded to cup your face instead. Your breath could not help but hitch. And his touch was to blame, even with the presence of his gloves.

“That Mistletoe Scheme of yours…” He began in a low voice,“…You really upset that it got sabotaged tonight?”

“Honestly…” you paused, “…now that I think of it…it wasn’t that great. So…”

“Good”

Low but pleased, his response brimmed with the power to push you towards insanity. And it engulfed you whole, the moment he leaned forward, and kissed you.

No Christmas gift would ever succeed in providing the magic as his kiss did. If your body was akin to a Christmas tree, then his kiss was simply the electric switch, setting all bulbs alit. Those delicious lips were generous, offering you all that you longed for: Gentle. It simply was the word, with his lips pressed against yours with the softness of actual feathers, awakening every inch of stimulus in your system to life. Gentle was what he promised, as your lips and his, both embarking on their own pilgrimage, to heal one another. And to spark the magic you both had missed for simply too long in life.

Pulling away, your foreheads rested on one another, releasing one long, shaky breath. And all the sudden, his face began to grow very familiar in your eyes. However, you could not place his name. Who was he?

“Bruce Wayne…” he breathed, answering your silent query, “Nice to meet you”

With a dropped jaw, you uttered your own name in reply. This was certainly unexpected. However in all honesty, it did not matter either. Especially when his sheer humanity, and his lips won your heart over already.  

Loud, static noise reemerged from his removed mask, causing both of you to jump. The voice of an elderly man followed soon after:

“Sir! Master Wayne!” He said, “I finally received your coordinates! Are you alright? We’re on our way”

Relieved beyond all measure, you both shared sighs and huge smiles.

“Merry Christmas! Bruce” you wished.  

“Merry Christmas!”

With his shining eyes, Bruce swooped you in for a kiss once more. Infused with gusto, Impatience had replaced Calm, while Passion had replaced Gentle. Yet, you did not mind. Not at all. Especially when you shared his sentiments to the very core.

Trapped you may have been underground, smothered with the cold. And even so, no form of anger lingered in you towards Dino Maroni. Not any longer. For once in your life, you were ecstatic for a plan to have failed miserably. For this may have been Fate’s real plan after all.

——————————————————

Tagged: @tammykelly​​​ @ladyerina​​​ @kittenlittle24  @everyday-imfangirling​​​ @lucy-roo​​​ @works-of-fanfiction​​​ @bale-is-a-babe @badsext​​​  @maddistyles17 @truly-insatiable @gooseyhouse​​​ @artsymaddie​​​ @quarterback-5 @mamooska8 @strangerliaa​​​ @jensen-impala​​​ @lilyofthesword​​​ @woodencupcake​​​ @fonduebitches @soullesstaco​​​ @spicybellinger​​​ @marvel-lously​​​ @glitterypinkkitty​​​ @danceyreagan​​​​ @barikawho​​​​  @lostgirl0020​ @diogodxlot​​​​ @elena-mayfair​​​​ @xxdearlybeloved​​​​ @shewearsprada​​​​ @lexiespeaks​​ @readingslumpfanfic​​ @misterlords-fics​ @christianbalefanatic​

Lemme know if you wanna get tagged.

Check My MASTERLIST for More :)

[ashintheairlikesnow]

I’m Here

CW: Negative stimming including stimming resulting in self-injury, pet whump, death of parents, grief, ableism, past noncon references, r*pe survivor having severe PTSD flashbacks, memory of shock collars, derogatory language, dehumanization, meltdown/panic attack, whump of a minor referenced repeatedly. 

This is Chris in a very dark place - stay safe.

Directly follows Found Out, Akio, and Chris Sees.

Come on, 223499-

I'm Tristan! My, my, my name is Tristan, Tristan H-Higgs and I l, I, I live at-... but, um, no, no, at my, my my aunt's ap, apartment now-

Tristan Higgs is a fucking corpse, kid. You don't have a name anymore.

No, I'm, my, my name is, is, is-is-

 Your name is for your prospective to choose. Now let me show you how we shut you up.

 The boy is screaming, twisting, writhing in pain on the floor, clawing at the black collar around his neck, desperate to somehow escape it, but there isn’t any way out. He digs his fingernails down his skin but it’s still there, the collar never leaves, you’re only safe with your collar on, no wait that hadn’t happened yet-

Oh, that’s nice. Time for the Drip for you. 

N-no, no-

Welcome home, 223499.

M-my name is, is, is Tristan-

Chris slams the door on his way into the bathroom, locks it behind him, sweeps everything off the counter with a crash, plastic bottles of soap bouncing, a toothpaste container clicking against the tile, the toothbrush holder shattering and sending shards of ceramic pale on one side and rainbow-painted on the other everywhere. He stares at them clicking over the floor before they stop, some of them skimming the tile all the way to the wall. 

Inside his head, there is a cry, bubbling up behind the wall that his life has been hidden behind, deep inside the cold pale light that all the worst things drown in. 

Beneath the Drip, the needle in his arm, beneath the pain, the fear, the hands that moved over him and the bodies that moved inside him and the voice in his ear whispering, pet, pet, pet until he was one, until he wasn’t anything else any longer, until he was ready to be overwritten.

My, my, my name is Tristan Higgs, my name is, is, is Tristan, my name is-

Didn’t I tell you Tristan Higgs is dead, trainee? All that’s left of you is my pretty little whore. You wanted it so bad you signed up for this. Now get on your knees and show your handler some respect.

No, pl-please, please I don’t-, I, I, I don’t want to, I-

What you want doesn’t matter anymore, 223499. 

Please-

What you want is irrelevant, trainee. Now let me show you what I want.

Inside his head there is a boy, screaming, his wrists forced down by larger hands, body rocked in a rhythm of terrible pain while a stranger who will be his entire world whispers in his ear, I paid extra for this and you did not disappoint, darlin’.

There’s a boy alone in a white room, painting with his own blood on pristine white walls, just to see color, just to see something, anything, that isn’t nothing at all. There’s a boy, alone, whispering apologies to the parents he is losing, their memories slip-sliding under the surface until they are gone.

There is a boy, screaming.

Chris screams with him, their voices in tandem, in echo, but it's the same voice, and the scream was always him, always Tristan Higgs inside him, buried beneath it all.

Chris screams until his throat is raw, bashes his hands into the mirror until it rattles under his fists, rocks forward to knock his head into it. Again, and again, and again, rattling it inside the frame, trying to force a break. The chaos inside him is too much, too strong, and at the center of the train tracks is her face, always her face, her hands, her lips moving and fighting to speak, her face. 

 I love you, baby, I l-love you, it's okay, it's okay-

 Mom, please, pl-... please, no, no no no, I’m, I’m s-sorry, I’m so so sorry, I’m, I’m sorry-

 Sssshhh, baby, it’s-... it’s okay, it’ll b-be okay, Tris, Mommy loves you, h-honey, Mommy-... loves you s-so much-... Her eyes shining like marbles, her blood on the wall, burbling from her chest as she fought and fought to breathe and then she stopped and her eyes, her eyes stayed open…

 He laid with her and she was so cold and no one came to help him and no one came and they were both so cold and he stayed with them all night, wailing into her shirt soaked in blood, into his side, laid down between them and tried to keep them warm with blankets but they were gone and it didn’t matter and it was-

 If it weren’t for you, she’d still be alive.

 His aunt looks at him with hate or stares through him and there’s no routine and there’s no therapy and Aki is gone and his phone is gone and he hurts himself desperately just to feel something other than the chaos and the noise and the cracking, shrieking angry pain inside him, the guilt the blame the hate and oh, how he hates himself for not staying still the one time it counted and no one is coming and no one loves him anymore because they’re gone and his aunt doesn’t love him because he should never have been born-

 If he weren’t born she’d still be alive-

 "It's not okay!" He screams again, tearing at his hair, clawing at his arms, dragging deep red welts down on each side, trying to dig the pain out from inside of him. “It’s not okay, it’s, it’s, it’s not, it’s, it’s not, not, not, not-not-not, not okay, not-”

 Please, pl-please, let, let, let me go-

 Told you to stop rocking, didn’t I? You did this to yourself. Be still, statue boy.

 Pl-please, I, I don’t know how-

 You’ll learn.

 His head snaps to the side with the imagined memory of a slap to the face, his breath catches with the pale shade of the shock collar lighting him up, nerves sparking shrieking agony, the needle in his arm, it's in his arm again this isn’t freedom he’s just gone crazy from drugs again and he’s on the Drip again and he was never not on the Drip he was, was never free no one saved him no one is coming-

 He rocks forward, again and again, banging his head into the mirror until there's blood, until it cracks, bad luck for seven years, Tris, sucks to be us, and they laughed, the two of them, carefully picking the shards up to put in the wastebin and Aki grinned at him, unbothered, because his mom would probably forgive them and it wasn’t a big deal-

 Let’s, let’s, let’s make up a, a routine, Aki, yeah?

 Yeah, sure, but can we like… be normal teenagers for a half-hour first?

 Um, how, how do we-

 I thought we might start by watching TV and not doing our homework. You know, get crazy with it. Maybe even go super crazy and eat leftover pizza.

 Chris's lips curl back from his teeth and he stares at himself in the mirror, his wide green eyes and pale eyebrows that darkened a little with age, blue hair that hangs around his face, frames the lines of his cheekbones. The gash along his forehead where he hit the mirror hard enough to open it, bright red blood welling up and slowly seeping out.

 He lifts one hand, pressing his fingertips to the crack in the mirror that matches the cut in his forehead. There’s a little bit of blood there, and it smears under his fingers. For a second, he’s fascinated by it, the liquid that slips along, ripples his reflection.

 It doesn’t feel like part of him. It’s just something he can control, when he can’t control anything else.

 Behind him, the doorknob rattles, but Chris barely notices. “Chris?” It’s Jake’s voice, and Chris swallows, ignores the push, the urge, to let him in. Instead he keeps looking at himself, tries to see the boy inside his head, the boy in the room, under the men, the boy screaming in his head while his mouth learned to say all the words they wanted.. 

 Come here, pretty-... oh, look at you, so full of tears for me, hm? 

 On your back, gorgeous boy.

 On your knees, pretty pet.

 What you want doesn’t matter anymore.

 No isn’t an option for you any longer.

 Don’t I always give you options, pretty thing? You can choose to be good, my good little slut, or…

 “You, you, you can choose pain,” Chris whispers, finishing the sentence that started in his handler’s voice, in his mind. “Too, too, too… pretty to, to be for anything else. Too pretty… too, too pretty for, for, for…”

 He nails the dismount for the first time on the the bars, his body does exactly what he wants, and he looks up to see his mom cheering for him, and he jumps up and down, hands moving, rocking with his happiness, and his team cheers for him, and his scores are really good so he can go to state and he’s so happy-

 He’s so happy-

 She’s so proud of him-

 There’s a hand in his hair, jerking his head back to look up at his Sir, who smiles down at him, and Tristan can barely see him through his tears. He’s tied down and he can’t escape and he doesn’t know it’s his Sir, yet, he was still Tristan then but his Sir’s hand is in his hair and he whispers, God, I love that you came already flexible for me, sweetheart…

 Please, n-no, please, I don’t want, want this, please, I-I-I don’t, I, I-... I need h-help, I didn’t… sign, yet, please call, call, call the the the-the cops-

 Sssshhh. Sir’s finger to his lips, and he didn’t dare bite, even then. Hands on his wrists, forcing them down against the table. His back arches, trying to get away, and his Sir laughs at him, low soft chuckle, and boy weeps, turning his head to the side. You’re going to be perfect, sweet boy, I can already tell.

 No, no, no no no, no, pl-please don’t, please, please, no, no, g-god, oh oh oh god, oh god, no-

 I paid extra for this, and you did not disappoint.

 The pain, when it comes, is blinding and never-ending and Tristan Higgs is screaming. 

No one cares.

No one will come to save him.

 Chris groans, pulling at his hair, trying to rip it out by the roots to settle his jangling shrieking nerves, scratching his fingernails down his cheeks as deep sa he can, smacking his hands again and again into the broken mirror, shrieking at the pretty face split apart by the cracks. A piece of the mirror falls out into the sink, and Jake is still talking, trying to open the door, but Chris isn’t listening.

 He can’t hear Jake over the sound of his own mind turning against him, spitting memories he’d thought were gone, but no, dead things don’t always decay, sometimes they just wait to come back and tear out your throat and show you how it’s all your fault.

 What about you, Tris? Mrs. Nakamura’s voice is gently teasing, soft and unassuming. She’s sitting with a book in a soft cozy chair somewhere with nice warm lights, and everyone watches Tristan’s hands move to tap on himself without judgement, without shame. We all know Aki can’t take his eyes off of that pretty Nicole girl-

 Mom. No. Please, please do not talk about this. Oh my god. She’s just my teammate!

 I’m just being silly, Aki. 

 It’s, um, it’s okay, Mrs. Na, na, Nakamura. I’m just-... nobody for, for, for me, right now. Tristan’s face is red, he’s blushing, and he hasn’t really thought about it much, beyond just thinking everyone is pretty, but he hasn’t told his mom yet, and-

 Oh, well, maybe later. You two are so busy getting ready for state, anyway. 

 He can hear Jake back on the stairs, now, thumping down them and away, and Chris’s hands move rapidly over the sink and counter, avoiding the bits of shattered mirror. He’s standing in ceramic but he doesn’t notice, he doesn’t care. His body doesn’t belong to him, anyway, his body belongs to his handler his owner his rescuer his anyone but him it’s not his it’s not his body, they took his body and he doesn’t get it back…

 He wants his body back.

 He yanks open the drawer, shoving through the disposable shaving razors that Jake buys, the nail-clipping kit he keeps in here, a stupid little comb that he can’t see any use for, rolls of gauze and bandages, tossing them to the floor, until he finds what he’s looking for. 

 A pair of scissors, used mostly for gauze and bandages, big shining metal scissors that weigh heavy in his hands.

 Chris stares up at himself in the remaining mirror, pulls a hank of his hair out straight with one hand, and clips right through it with the scissors. He lets out an exhale, and grabs another bit of hair, and does it again.

 Blue drifts down to gather with the broken glass in the sink and on the floor, piling higher and higher as Chris keeps cutting, staring into his eyes and not looking at how even the cut is. He looks at the bloody mess on his forehead-

 Mom, please, I’m sorry, I’m sorry I, I, I moved, I’m so so sorry, I’m sorry…

 It’s okay, baby-

 Blood on the wall, he stayed there all night and no one came. She was cold, he couldn’t keep her warm all by himself.

 “It’s, it’s not okay,” Chris whispers, and Sir’s hand is heavy on his neck, look at how you ruined yourself since you left me, darlin’, but his Sir can’t stop him because his Sir is dead, too. Everyone who cares for him dies but Jake and Antoni and Laken and maybe they’ll die, too, because of him, because he’s too pretty to be for anything else-

 There’s blood on the featureless white wall and he pulls it through his fingers and it’s something that’s not white, he barely recognizes it as his blood, it’s just bright red and feels good under his fingers, the blood cools and dries so he hits his head and makes more, and more, and more-

 He keeps cutting, until what’s left is a shaggy, unkempt mess, different lengths all over, and all his hard-won long hair is gone. He has wisps that hang over his forehead, little bits that tickle the tops of his ears. He cuts until it’s just little scruffs, barely blue at all. 

 He drops the scissors into the sink on top of the pile of blue hair, runs his hands back through his hair, watches more loose bits drift slowly downward.

 He lifts his hands and takes out his piercings, one by one, dropping them into the sink with the hair, until his ears are bare, too, and his eyebrow. Nothing but a thin narrow face, nothing but freckles that stand out too much, nothing but big eyes and chin. 

 He pulls his shirt off over his head, and then his compression shirt. Takes off his pants and his boxers and then straightens to stare at himself naked in the bit of mirror still left.

 “I, I’m good for you,” He whispers, tilts his head just right, looks up at himself through his eyelashes. His look is warm and liquid and well-trained, a show of desire he’s never once felt. He bites down on his lower lip, just so, hand moving as if to brush a bit of hair back - but the hair he might have touched is gone, it’s in the pile in the sink. 

 The look is ruined by what he’s done.

 Good.

Wide green eyes, yeah, let’s see those eyes nice and empty for me, trainee, but they’re red-rimmed and shadowed, full of pain. His eyelashes - inhuman, unearthly, pretty boy - are barely visible. Freckles that stand out too much, I’m going to kiss every single one until you understand how beautiful you are, Chris, okay? scattered over his nose and the angled cheekbones. Narrow chin, perfect for gripping and moving his head around, smeared with drying blood. Bleeding from the slash across his forehead, running slowly down to stain his pale eyebrow darker, to run into his left eye, what the fuck did you do to yourself, trainee?

 “Not, not a trainee,” Chris whispers. “Not a, a pet. Not Tristan. Not, not, not. I’m, I’m Chris, I made myself, I’m, I’m, I’m, I’m, I’m... I’m I’m Chris, I’m, I’m Christopher fucking Stanton, I’m-... I’m Chris.”

 Big scratches down his cheeks, his neck, bright red welts that might turn to bruises, that he could open into bleeding, he could make himself so ugly no one ever wants him again. “Not, not, not so pretty anymore,” He whispers, and his throat closes up against the words, but it feels good, it feels important. “Not, not, not pretty, now.”

 Not worth dying over, not worth breaking, not worth noticing, not worth taking, not worth buying, not worth rescuing, not worth being arrested for, not worth saving, not pretty enough to hurt, not pretty enough to love. 

 You fucking freak, I don’t know how Ronnie managed to think you were so great, you can barely brush your own teeth.

 How the hell did she love you? You ruined her life.

 If it weren’t for you...

 The door suddenly jolts open, and Chris doesn’t flinch - he doesn’t look back - only stares at himself, rocking slowly forward and back on his toes and heels until his head bumps the cracks in the glass like the cracks inside of him, his hands twisting at the ends of his wrists to smack rhythmically into his sides, his hips, harder and harder, fighting to find the same soothing rush that motions like this normally bring. 

 It’s too loud, inside of him. It’s too much. He can’t stop the trains roaring up out of the light, bringing everything into the darkness where he only wants to hide.

 “Holy shit, Chris,” Jake whispers, standing behind him, eyes wide with shock. “Wh-... why did you… Oh, Chris, no. Oh, no, oh fuck, Chris, you hurt yourself, you haven’t done that since-”

 Chris turns, ceramic crackling underfoot, sharp little spikes of pain in his feet, and looks up into Jake’s eyes. “Tris, Tristan Higgs was pretty,” He says, weakly. “I don’t want to, to, to be pretty anymore.”

 Oh, darlin’, aren’t you just pretty as a picture.

 Open up, 499.

 He’s such a sweet, handsome boy, Ronnie, you’d never know he had, you know...

 You can just say it, you know. It’s not a dirty word. 

 You’re too pretty for anything else, 499, you were always going to be somebody’s slut.

 You want it-

 I, I don’t want to-

 No one gives a fuck what you want.

I don’t, don’t, don’t want to, please-, pl-please, please stop, please please stop touching me-

What do you say, trainee?

I want this. I want you.

Good boy.

 A shudder ripples through him, a memory of pain, long gone but still written over every inch of his body. Broken, and dirty, and used until he forgot how to be anything else. He feels suddenly exhausted, weighed down, too heavy to move. There’s a weight on his chest and every breath takes an effort, takes determination, and he is losing the battle. 

His lip wobbles, and he feels infinitely young, like all the years didn’t happen, and he’s still just Tristan Higgs in the end, ready to be broken, bent, and twisted. 

He looks at Jake, and his brother blurs with tears. “He was, was, was too pretty for an, anything else, I d-don’t want to, to-to-to be pr-pretty like him anymore-... s-so I made, made, made myself uh-ugly-”

 Jake sweeps him up and Chris lets himself be swept. The cry is bubbling up again and he wails into Jake’s shirt, gripping into the fabric and twisting his hands, tears rolling down his cheeks and stinging into the places he scratched himself. He’s pulling, tapping, rocking his bloodied head into Jake’s shoulder, fighting the trains in his mind that aren’t thoughts but memories, each one fighting to be the first to hurt him by coming back to the surface. 

 They crash into each other, into the wall of cold white light. They break through.

 Inside him the boy in the black collar is screaming, the boy in the collar is crying, the boy is laid back on silk sheets and cries tears he has to keep inside his head while his face is smiling and his voice makes all the right sounds, the boy has his wrists and ankles locked down to keep him still, the boy is curled up between his parents waiting for someone to come and nobody is coming, the boy wears a suit in court that itches and he can’t stop shaking his hands and the judge doesn’t like him and the social worker doesn’t like him and the boy is curled up on a bed in a windowless room missing his friends, the boy hits his head and hits himself and the words are gone and the boy is screaming the boy is screaming the boy is screaming-

 Mom, can Tris sleep over tonight?

 Again, Aki? Well, I guess I don’t see any harm. You’ve got half your closet in Aki’s room by now, anyway. Call you mom and ask her, Tris, okay?

 You fucking freak, I wish you had died with your bastard father instead of her.

 I hate you, I, I hate you so, so, so-so much-

 You should hate your fucking self, Tristan.

 I love you, kiddo. It’s you and me, right?

Right, Mom. You, you, you and, and me.

Til your dad comes home, anyway. Can’t wait ‘til he’s working days and we’re not alone at night, huh?

Your prospective will choose your name.

I, I’m a… number. My name is… 223499, Romantic designation, Facility 001. I am a pet and… and… a toy. I am an active par, participant in fulfilling m-my, my, my owner’s desires-

I paid extra and you did not disappoint.

On your knees, gorgeous boy.

I think we’ll play a game, sweetheart.

Show some respect, 223499.

Come here, darlin’.

Good boy

I love you, Tris

Good pet

It’s, it’s okay, it’s-... okay, I l-love you, it’ll be okay-

Good boy

The boy is screaming for help and nobody is coming to save him-

“I’ve got you,” Jake whispers, holding him tightly, and Chris buries himself into the warmth, the familiar scent, the feeling of Jake’s arms is branded deeper than anything else in the world. I will rescue you, I’ll come back to you, Chris, I promise, I’m here.

I want you I love you I’m here.  

“You made Chris, and you’re still Chris. This is just all the shit they took from you, that’s all. It’s okay, you can cry, Chris, go ahead and cry. It’s okay, it’s hard when it comes back, and Kauri and Ant and Laken and I, we’re all here with you.”

Chris sobs in Jake’s arms, bleeding all over his shirt, but Jake doesn’t care. He holds him anyway. There’s a throbbing pain inside his head, but it’s not stronger than the memories, and the cold white light isn’t holding them back like it used to, anymore.

Her face, her hands, the blood coming out of her, the silent house around them. 

Her face.

Her eyes.

She loved him.

Oh, no, did you fall down? Oh, it’s okay, honey, I’m right here, I’ve got you - it’s hard the first time, but we get back up and try again. Here, let Mommy give it a kiss - there, all better, right?

Therapy is rough sometimes, sweetie, but listen - we can do this, together, Tris. We can do the hard stuff if we do it together. D’you want a hug? Yeah, hugs can help make it better, right? That’s what moms do.

I heard the thunder, baby. Go ahead, climb in, I’ve got you, c’mere, I’ll hold you.

I want you I love you I’m here.

I l-love you, it’s okay, it’s okay, I love you, Tris...

“I, I, I don’t want to, to be Tristan Higgs,” Chris cries against Jake’s neck, shoulders shaking, rocking, rocking, rocking in his arms. Jake’s hands are up in what’s left of his hair, feeling the short, chopped strands, rubbing over the nape of his neck, soothing the twisting hurt and fear inside him. “I don’t, I don’t, he, he, he, it was his fault, for, for, for for for moving when he had to, to be still, and I wasn’t, I didn’t do it right, and they, they d-died because of me… I l-loved, I was, they, they, they shot them and-and left me and, and, and no one came, nobody came to help, no, no, no, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry-”

“I know,” Jake murmurs. “I know. It wasn’t your fault, you were just a kid. It wasn’t your fault, Chris, whatever happened, it-... it wasn’t your fault. It was never your fault. You’re whoever you want to be, Chris, but Tristan is still a part of you, okay? We have to work on making everything integrate, work together, or it’s going to keep hurting. You have to get past the conditioning to forget, or it’s going to… get worse.”

Chris whimpers at the idea that he could feel any worse than this. “I don’t, don’t… don’t want to, to, to to to lose her again,” Chris whispers, shaking his head. “Don’t want to, to lose y-you-”

“Never. You can’t ever lose me, you’re stuck with me. I’m not going anywhere. Let’s clean up this mess, Laken is probably dying to talk to you-”

“No,” Chris whispers, begs without a voice. “No, not, not them, not… not yet.”

The scream is bubbling up again, the boy in the cold white room is rocking, rocking, rocking with his hands tied behind his back, can’t touch can’t hurt can’t feel can’t think someone help me but nobody is coming except the handler with his smile and his pain and his hands-

“Okay. No problem. Cleaning first. I’m going to bandage you up, and I’ll clean up the mess while you sit and maybe drink some water. But… can we… can we do one thing? Will you let me do one thing?”

“Wh, what?”

“Will you let me fix your hair?”

Chris pulls back a little to look up at Jake, and he smiles faintly back down, sympathetic and loving, and it’s not okay, but Jake is here, so it’s… it’s better than it would be if he were alone. “Um… y, yes, you, you you you, you can fix it.” 

“Okay. I love you, little man. You weren’t supposed to see it so soon, we were going to get you ready, and it’s going to hurt coming back, but I promise… I promise it’s good for you to have it. Okay? Do you trust me, when I say that?”

Chris meets the sincere love in those blue eyes. “I, I trust you.”

He does. But he doesn’t believe him.

It’s okay, baby, it’s, it’s okay…

It’s not, and it never was, but… he remembers her face, at least. He remembers her voice.

He remembers her.

I love you, Tris, I’m so proud of you for doing the hard things, and I’m right here with you. I’ve got you, sweetheart. You and me, right? We can do all the hard shit as long as we do it together.

His fingers twitch, and he buries himself against Jake and sees her eyes full of tears and dying and her chest covered in blood and the blood on the wall and she tells him she loves him and then she doesn’t tell him anything anymore and her body is cold and Tristan curls up between them, blood drying on the wall and no one comes until the sun is shining and the blood is dry but Tristan is still crying-

Chris begins, again, to scream, but this time Jake is holding him, this time someone’s here, this time there’s someone who isn’t leaving, this time he can wail with arms around him and this time he’s not alone.

The boy is Christopher Stanton and he is Tristan Higgs and the boy is screaming and his brother came to help him and his brother is holding him tight.

I love you, Tris. I’m so proud of you.

I’m here, Chris. I’m not going anywhere.

I want you 

I love you 

I’ve got you 

I’m here.

---

Tagging: @burtlederp  , @finder-of-rings  , @endless-whump , @whumpfigure, @slaintetowhump, @astrobly  @newandfiguringitout  , @doveotions  , @pretty-face-breaker  , @boxboysandotherwhump  , @oops-its-whump  @moose-teeth  , @cubeswhump  , @cupcakes-and-pain  @whump-tr0pes  @whumpiary  @orchidscript

[falcqns]

partner in crime lV

pairing: August Walker x Reader, August Walker x OFC (Maeve)

summary: August attempts a mission and looks for a nanny.

warnings: ANGST, mentions of graphic death, fluff, mentions of character death, mention of harm inflicted upon an infant. 18+ ONLY.

a/n: This one got a little dark, sorry! Hope you enjoy! also if I missed ANYTHING in the warnings, PLEASE LET ME KNOW! I have mom brain so it wouldn't surprise me if I forgot something!

August hung up the phone with a sigh.

Sloane needed him for a mission.

It wasn’t a high risk mission or anything, Sloane had taken him off of those when he’d informed her he’d be taking Maeve in, but August was still nervous. He didn’t really have friends, and the friends he did have were coming on the mission with him. He had no contact with his mother, his father was dead, and he had no siblings.

He had no one to watch Maeve. He sighed, and flopped his body down on the bed, being careful to avoid the sleeping baby just inches from him. He didn’t know what to do. Sloane said she’d watch her, but she was needed at the Capitol, so his only option was his mother.

He still had her phone number, and she still had his, but he was still nervous. He found her number in his contacts, not under any name, just a number, but he knew it was hers. He took a deep breath, and hit ‘call’.

She answered after the fourth ring. “August?” She said, in a rather monotone voice.

“Hello mom.” He said hesitantly. He heard a slight laugh on the other side of the phone.

“I’m guessing you need something. You never call me.” She said, and August swallowed the lump in his throat, sparing a glance at Maeve.

“Yeah, I do. I um-” He took a deep breath to try and stop the shakiness in his voice. “I have a daughter.” He said simply, and when there was no response, he continued. “I-I only found out about her 2 weeks ago. Her mother died, and I’m all she has left. But, I have to go on a mission, and I don’t have anyone else to watch her. I was wondering if you could.”

“Of course I can.”

August let out a huge sigh of relief. “Thank you. I know you and I aren’t on the best of terms, but I have to leave tomorrow night and I haven’t found a nanny yet.” He said.

His mother laughed breathily. “August, I know I wasn’t the best mother to you, and I apologize for that. It’s one of the biggest regrets of my life, pushing you away. If I can make it better, then I want to. And she’s my granddaughter. It’s my job to be there and help you.” She said, and August felt a tear drip down his face.

“Thank you, mom.” He said, a smile breaking onto his lips.

“You’re so welcome Auggie.” His mother said warmly and full of love, a tone and nickname he hadn’t heard since his father was still alive.

August took a shaky breath. He was fully packed for the mission, and his mother was almost there. He knew Maeve would be perfectly fine without him for a day or two, but he didn’t know if he would be. What if she had a trauma meltdown while he was gone, and his mom didn’t know how to handle it? What if something happened to her, and he couldn’t get there quick enough? He’d never be able to live with himself if something terrible happened to her. Despite going into this agreement of taking in Maeve with pity for her situation rather than love for her, she had a hold on his heart, and their bond was the strongest one August had ever had.

To be honest? Maeve had become his reason for getting up in the morning. It used to be his job, but when Anais walked through his door with Maeve in her arms, that little girl became his reason to live. Finding out who hurt Maeve’s mom was a top priority. He couldn’t let his little girl down.

Although he hated to think about it, or admit it, he knew that one day, Maeve would ask what happened to her mother. She’d probably ask him her first day of school.

He could just imagine her on a crisp September morning, a little dress on her body, running shoes on her feet, and her curly hair in two little braids. A backpack practically the size of her on her back, and her eyes full of excitement. He could see her bounding up to him in the school yard after her first day, and the first sentence out of her mouth.

‘Daddy, why don’t I have a mommy like everyone else in my class?’

His breath caught in his throat merely at the imagery. What would he tell her? He wasn’t religious, so telling her that her ‘mommy is up in heaven’ would mess with both of their minds, and his moral compass. How do you explain to a child, any child, that their mother is dead, and you didn’t know why?

A knock at the door pulled him from his reverie, followed by a squeal from Maeve who was playing at his feet. He stood up, and pulled her up to sit on his hip. He took a deep breath, and the father daughter duo made their way to the door to greet his mother.

He opened the door, and there stood his mom. She still looked the same, with a few more wrinkles, and a few more grey hairs. The only thing that was different was the warm smile sitting on her lips.

“Hi Auggie.” She said tentatively, and August smiled back. “Hi mom. Come on in.” He said, and she followed him inside the apartment. She looked around in an amazement at his rather large apartment.

“Your place is beautiful, honey.” She said, and August smiled again.

“Thank you. We recently moved because she needed her own room and playroom and my one bedroom bachelor pad wasn’t cutting it.” he explained, and him and his mom shared a laugh, the first one in many years.

He showed her around the living room, kitchen, his bedroom, her bedroom, the bathrooms, the office, and the both balconies. He dropped Maeve off in her playroom, and August and her mom made their way back to the kitchen.

“So, you might have noticed she doesn’t have a crib.” August said, and his mother nodded.

“Yes I did. Is there a reason she doesn’t have one?” His mother asked.

August took a deep breath and began to explain. “I mentioned that her mother had died, but I didn’t mention how. Her mothers name was Adriana. We were never in a relationship, I barely knew her. We had one night together, and I never saw her again. But, a little over 3 weeks ago, I got a call from a lady named Anais Torres from Child Protective Services and she told me about Maeve. Adriana was killed. In front of Maeve. I won’t go into detail about her death because it was awful. They also hurt Maeve. Not as bad as Adriana, but still pretty badly. She has some scarring around her wrists from it, but mainly it’s emotional trauma.” He said, and reached out to hold his mothers hand when she began to cry.

“That poor baby,” She said, a sniffle coming out as well. August nodded. “She seems so happy though.”

August nodded again before continuing. “She is. She has ups and downs. She doesn’t fully understand what happened, but I think she has PTSD. She goes to a psychiatrist next week and I’ll find out for sure, but I’m pretty much certain she does. The crib is the main trigger. They restrained her to a crib, and she was forced to watch her mom die through there. I put her in it the first night, but she was already half asleep when I laid her in it, so she didn’t notice. She had a nightmare a few hours after, and that’s when she realized she was in a crib. I thought about a playpen, but I assume she’ll have the same reaction. Her other triggers are handcuffs, guns, small spaces. She’s also having an aversion to the smell of peppermint gum, so I think whoever killed her mom was chewing peppermint gum.” He explained, and his mom nodded.

“Okay. If she does get triggered, what do I have to do to calm her down?” “Hold her.” August said simply. “Just remind her that she’s safe and loved and nothings going to hurt her anymore. It can go on for a while, but it never goes beyond crying. She’ll settle down, and fall asleep. She’ll be a little off and emotional for the next few hours, but she’ll be back to normal soon enough. Playing with her hair helps a lot, as does her pacifier.” He said, and his mom nodded.

“Okay. Does she have a daily schedule?” She asked, and August nodded again.

“I usually wake her up around 6:30 because I have to be at work for 7 and she comes with me, but I’ll let her fall asleep in the car again. If I let her sleep, she’ll wake up around 9 or 9:30, so don’t worry about waking her up. She has a floor bed, and she’s been staying in it really well. She doesn’t nap in it, she prefers to nap in my bed, which I allow. For breakfast she has formula, oatmeal, dry cheerios, and some fruit. She’ll play for a few hours, and then she’ll have a nap. She’ll sleep for an hour or an hour and a half, but don’t let her sleep longer than an hour and a half. Then she’ll have lunch. Usually she’ll have the same thing I have, so whatever you make, just give her some of it. Just make sure it’s in small enough pieces. She has a bottle after, and I let her have a little bit of screen time. Her favourite show is Mickey Mouse ClubHouse, so I let her watch a few episodes. She’ll have another bottle, and another nap, and then she’ll play again for a few hours. By the time she’s done playing she’ll be ready for dinner. After dinner, she has a bath, then a book and bed. She usually goes to bed between 6:30-7.” He said, and his mom nodded.

“I put her schedule on the fridge in case you forget anything, along with her triggers. If you need anything, call me. I managed to convince Sloane, my boss, to let me keep my phone on in case you or her need anything.” He said. She just nodded again, and then a chime from his phone was heard, signalling that Ilsa and Benji were on their way to pick him up.

He sighed. “I should go say goodbye to her. I’ve gotta go.” He said, and his mom followed him into Maeve’s playroom where she was building (or trying to) a tower with big lego blocks.

“Maeve?” He called, getting down to her level and watched as she whipped her head around and gave August a big smile. “Come to Dada,” he said, and she dropped the Lego she was holding to crawl over.

He heard his mom chuckle behind him. “She listens a lot better than you did at that age,”

August smiled as he scooped her up. “I always think the same thing. Definitely learned it from her mother.” August remarked sadly. Partly out of what he had learned about Adriana, but mainly because he was going to miss the little girl he’d come to love so easily.

“I’m gonna miss you, but you’re gonna have so much fun with your grandma. I love you.” He said, and she smiled and cuddled him back, her curly head resting on his shoulder. His phone chimed again and he let out a sad sigh.

“Dada has to go. I’ll see you in two days, okay?” He said, and tried not to cry when he handed her off to his mom.

He said goodbye to his mom, and gave her another kiss on the head, before walking out the door, and trying to ignore the sounds of his daughter's pained wails for him. He grabbed his bag, and headed out the door.

Benji and Ilsa were waiting outside in a normal, inconspicuous looking car. He took a deep breath, cleared his throat, and put on his tough face. He didn't want to cry in front of the team. He needed to be tough, and crying wouldn’t make him ‘The Hammer”.

“Hey Walker.” Benji said as he got in, and August gave him a smile.

“Where’s the mission?” He asked monotonously.

“Germany. We’re investigating a target who we believe is a part of The Amiens Family gang.”

At the mention of the gang, August almost choked on his own saliva. “D-did you say Amiens?”

Benji nodded, a confused look spreading on his features. “Yeah. Apparently they’re trying to find a civilian who escaped their custody once before thanks to the police, and according to the files Ethan and I recovered last week, this person has a lot of information, mainly about the financial aspect, and they are not happy in the slightest that this person escaped. One of the targets is in Germany following a lead of their own, so we’re following him.” He said.

August sighed and nodded, and was thankful that no one suspected him yet. He had to practically beg Sloane to keep Maeve off of his file, and he wasn’t ready for everyone to know about her quite yet. She was going through a lot, and the next few months were going to be tough on the both of them as they got to know each other, so the less people involved, the better.

Then, a thought popped into his head. “What’s this civilian’s name?” He asked.

Benji glanced down at the file before speaking. “Alexis Amiens. I think she was very high up in the family, but I couldn’t be sure.” August nodded, and tried to appear unbothered by this information on the outside while he had a freak out on the inside.

If he was remembering correctly, Alexis was the twin sister of Adriana. So, they were after someone who was out to get Maeve’s aunt. That scared the shit out of him. Not just the fact that they were going to be tailing someone who was either a close relation or close contact to the people who killed Adriana, and hurt his daughter, but the fact of who it was. It could have been a coincidence, just like Maeve’s screaming was, but just like the screaming, August didn’t think so.

Were they after Maeve? And if they were, what did they want from her? He desperately needed to fully read her file, but he couldn't very well pull it out in the middle of the car with Ilsa and Benji, who would question him about it, and then demand to know who Maeve and Adriana were. He agreed with himself that he’d wait until he was in Germany, and he’d find time to sit down and read it.

He’d read bits and pieces, but after what Anais had briefly told him about Adriana’s family, he never looked in the family section. Hell, he only barely glanced at it for her name and age before, so he should probably read up on it.

By the time they made it to Germany, August wanted to go home.

He missed Maeve, and his mom had called him and told him Maeve was having a meltdown because she heard police sirens, and it set her off. She calmed down, and was fine, but he wished he could be there for her.

The poor girl was probably so confused, August thought to himself. In the past month, her mom was killed in front of her, a gun was held to her head, she was saved by the police then handed over to CPS, dropped off at some random man (in her eyes) house, and just when she was feeling comfortable, that man had to leave, and she was being watched by another random person she’d never seen before.

But, as much as August wished that he could be with her 24/7, he knew that wasn’t a reality. He had to find a nanny to take care of her during the day, but how would find one that he trusted? He knew for a fact that there were probably people out there who wanted him dead. It was just a part of the job description. Before Maeve, he didn’t care too much.

He always told himself that everything happens for a reason. If he was killed on a mission, it was his time to die. Unfortunate and untimely but still, it was clearly the universe deciding his life was finished. But, now he had Maeve. He had a 7 month old to take care of. If he died, that meant leaving Maeve.

He knew it would happen one day, but he’d always hoped it would be from old age, not an enemy or stray bullet. He didn’t want that on her conscience. He didn't want the idea that ‘everyone I get close to dies’ in his daughters head because that wasn’t healthy.

No. He couldn’t die. Not until he heard her say Dada, not until she took her first steps, until she went to her first day of school (a thought that made him slightly teary eyed, despite being a good 3-4 years away). Not ever. He would not leave his daughter.

He’d lucked out and got his own hotel room. He had a feeling that it was because Ethan was still a little wary of him, as he was new, but he didn’t care. As soon as he was handed the key to the overpriced hotel room where the gala that they’d be attending the next night was being held, he was off towards the elevator, his duffel bag and briefcase in hand.

The second the door shut behind him, he pulled out the file, and sat down at the table that was located beside the big windows and balcony doors. He opened the file, and read through it thoroughly, making sure to not miss anything.

Name: Maeve Luna Walker

Age:  7 months old

Birthday: March 15th, 2020

He knew that. He kept reading.

Mothers name: Adriana Cora Amiens

Fathers name: August Nathaniel Walker

Godmothers name: Alexis Luna Amiens

He swallowed roughly. Alexis was not only his daughter's aunt, she was her godmother. And, Maeve was named after her.

Reason for removal from household: Mother’s death.

Next of kin: August Nathaniel Walker (father)

He was the only one listed, and that satisfied him. At least CPS knew better than to put her with her mothers side.

Description of conditions of the environment where the child was living:

August took a deep breath, before reading the paragraph.

Maeve was found by LAPD police officer (REDACTED) doing a wellness check called in by neighbour (REDACTED).

August rolled his eyes at the word redacted. He could get the information, but that would have to wait until he was back in Washington.

She was restrained to the bed using metal, police grade handcuffs. The diaper she was wearing had been soiled in more than once, indicating she had not been changed in several days. She was extremely hungry and dehydrated. The doctors at (REDACTED) hospital observed that if she had not been rescued when she was, she would have died within 24 hours from dehydration and starvation. There was no physical evidence of abuse on her, other than some light scarring on her wrists from the metal handcuffs. However, she is exhibiting signs of emotional trauma and will likely develop Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. It is unclear at this time whether or not she witnessed the murder of her mother, Adriana Amiens, or not.

Addition: as of September 17th- it has been confirmed through viewing of security camera footage that Maeve was indeed present and conscious during the murder of her mother, Adriana Amiens.

He pushed the file away after reading that paragraph. His poor little girl. She almost died because of what happened, and although she wouldn’t have known what was happening, she most definitely recognized the feeling of being hungry, thirsty, and soiled beyond belief. August told himself his little girl would never experience hunger or thirst again if he had anything to do with it.

He took a deep breath to calm his anxiety that had blended into anger, before reading further, specifically on her mothers family’s history.

Adriana Cora Amiens, born August 5th, 1989, was the daughter of Amiens Family Mob leader Charles Jacob Amiens, nicknamed The Master, and his wife, Rose Alena Amiens (formerly Anderson). She was the twin of Alexis Luna Amiens.

Not much is known about her early life, or her education, other than she had a twin sister, an older brother named Andrew, and was privately schooled.

She had very few long term relationships. Her longest relationship has been noted as one of her fathers lackeys, Anton Filho. They began dating in 2000, and the relationship endured until 2005. Sources close to the family state that he was killed by Charles for ‘deflowering his daughter’.

Adriana reportedly emancipated herself due to the murder of Filho, and had zero contact with her father, and the rest of her family, including her twin sister Alexis because of it.

In 2019, she fell pregnant. Sources say that the father is unknown, while others believe it is Fritz Corleone, a former mobster she had been spotted with, however this was never confirmed or denied by either party. It is rumoured that she regained contact with Alexis, who emancipated herself from her family not long after Adriana did, although Adriana did not know this, but this has not been confirmed.

It is unknown whether she went through with the pregnancy and if she did, it is unknown of the child's whereabouts after the birth, and following Adriana’s death.

Adriana died on September 15th of this year. The cause of death has not been announced.

August rubbed his eyes roughly with his fingers. That was a lot of information to take in at once. He definitely thought she made the right choice by emancipating herself from her family after what her father did, but it didn’t go into detail about her father at all. His last hope for that lead was Wikipedia, which meant he’d have to cross reference all the information with the CIA database. He had planned to do so when he originally found out Adriana had been murdered, but he’d been so traumatized by the pictures he found of Maeve that he never looked at it again.

He pulled his laptop out of the briefcase, opened Google, and typed in Charles Amiens on one tab, before opening the CIA database on another. He typed the same thing in the database browser, before heading back to Google. He clicked on the wikipedia link and began reading.

In the files he read previously, there were no pictures of the family. In Charles page however, there was a man who looked just as you’d assume a mobster to look. The greasy slicked back hair, the scowl on his face, the curl in his eyebrow. August didn't dwell on the photo, but rather skipped down to the text on the bottom.

Charles Jacob Amiens was born on November 18th, 1967 to father Jacob Amiens and mother Elizabeth Amiens (formerly Jones), in Brooklyn, New York, New York, United States of America.

It is currently unknown where he obtained an education, both primary, secondary and post secondary.

August switched over to the database to check on the schooling. He confirmed that it is unknown where he obtained his schooling, but on the database, it says that it was a private schooling program named “The Family”. Something about that name was familiar, but he resolved to check on it later.

Amiens took over the head of the family mob the day he turned 18. Suspiciously, this was also the day that his father, Jacob Amiens, went missing and was not found until 2 months later, when his body was found in Prospect Park, although it was clear in the initial investigation that the murder did not occur there.

Now that sparked August’s interest. Did Charles really kill his father or was that just another one of the many coincidences that he’d come across in the last few weeks? Much like the other ones, he found it highly unlikely.

Charles has been associated with over 1500 murders in the upper California area, where he relocated his entire family and employees soon after his fathers body was recovered.

August checked this information as well, and it was also true. Just as he was about to go back to the wikipedia page, something caught his eye.

A notable pattern in the murders that Charles himself carries out is that he carves into his victims, specifically the initials MA, which most take to stand for Master Amiens, which is what he has his men call him.

August slammed his computer shut at that.

Adriana was murdered by her father. He thought back to the photos of the gun being pointed in Maeve’s face. Was Charles the one who inflicted all of this pain on his tiny 7 month old baby currently asleep in Washington under his mothers care?

August felt conflicted. On one hand, he wanted to murder Charles and all those who ever laid their eyes and hands on Adriana and Maeve, but on the other hand, he had a feeling that there was more to Adriana’s murder.

What kind of father would do that to their daughter? August knew he wasn’t the best person. He had a dark history, especially one with the Apostles, but ever since Lane revealed they were going to use Julia as a pawn in the game, he couldn’t do it, and he backed out. He’d changed. It doesn’t mean that he’s a perfect person, but he could never even think to do the things that Charles had done, much less to his daughter.

August glanced around the room, and his eyes landed on the warm and inviting looking bed, and decided to leave the research for tonight. Maeve was safe, and he had a mission to think about. He grabbed the file and lifted it up to put it in the briefcase, when a small envelope addressed to him fell out.

He put the file away, and bent down to grab the letter. He sat down on the bed and opened it.

‘August,

I’m writing you this letter in case anything happens to me.

After our night together, I fell pregnant, and gave birth to a little girl. Her name is Maeve Luna Walker. I made sure she got your last name, and that you were on the birth certificate. I never wanted her to grow up without a mom, but I think I’ve known since the minute I found out I was pregnant that she’d end up with you.

I’m loving being a mom. It’s the best job I could have, and I want you to know I’m not keeping her from you on purpose. We didn’t talk about our families that night, but I come from a rather dark one. I won’t go into details, but us having contact would ultimately result in your death. I don’t want that to happen. The CIA and the world needs you more than Maeve and I do right now.

If anything happens to me, please find who did it. There are people after me, but I don’t know who. I do, however, have a suspicion it has to do with my family. You’re a great man, and an excellent CIA agent. I know you’ll be able to do it.

When you find the woman of your dreams, I want her to adopt Maeve. It pains me to say that, but it’s the right thing to do. Maeve deserves to grow up in a happy and healthy household, a household that I know only you can provide. I need you to protect our daughter. She is the light of my life, and I know she’ll be the light of yours too. She’s a sweet little girl who is sweet and kind to everyone she comes across. She amazes me in the same way you did.

I’m so sorry if I’m gone when you’re reading this, but if I am, it was my time to go. I know we only had one night together, but I want you to know that I love you. I never stopped thinking about you, not for one minute. I love you so much. I will never stop loving you, especially for giving me Maeve, my light in my otherwise pitch black world.

I know you’ll be the best daddy to our little girl, and I’m sorry I won’t get to see her grow up. If she’s anything like her father, she’ll be the best.

I love you. Thank you. I’m sorry.

Adriana.

P.S. I wrote Maeve a letter as well. I was hoping you could give it to her when you feel it's the right time.’

August dropped the letter to the ground and let out a sob, his hands coming to cover his face. Adriana knew that she was going to die, and that there was nothing she could do. Even in that horrible, unthinkable and terrifying situation, she put Maeve first. She thought about Maeve’s safety and wellbeing, both physical and mental. She wanted their daughter to grow up happy and healthy, and wanted him to be happy too.

He felt awful. He’d thought about getting her number, but ultimately decided against it. His line of work didn’t exactly allow him time to have a relationship like that. Hell, it barely gave him enough time to parent, but he managed that. Maybe if he had just gotten her number, he could have saved her from all of this pain. He could have seen the moment that his child took her first breath. He could have seen her first words, the first time she crawled, all of it.

He picked up the letter and folded it up before placing it into his wallet for safe keeping. He picked up the file again. He grabbed the letter addressed to Maeve, and placed it in a different section of his briefcase. Once he was home he’d put in his safe until he was ready for her to have it. He thought about peeking at it, but ultimately decided against it. Adriana wrote that for Maeve, not him. When she read it, it would be up to her if she let him see the contents. He doubted he would let her read the one from him anyways.

Once everything was put away, August flopped on the bed, fully clothed still. It wasn’t long after his tears began to flow freely, and he thought about the mother of his child, who was never going to see her little girl again. He thought back to that night, and suddenly, he could remember every little detail. The colour of her hair, her eyes. The shape of her nose and lips. The way she embraced him with her arms, and touched him with her hands.

Just before he fell asleep, he grabbed his phone off the bedside table where he’d thrown in, and opened up Adriana’s instagram. He found a few selfies that she had posted around the time that they had met, and screenshotted them.

He found one that captured her beauty perfectly, and made that one his lock screen. His home screen was Maeve, the first night they were together, asleep on his chest. That way he had both his girls on his phone no matter where he went, even if one of them wasn’t actually his anymore.

August awoke to banging on his door the next morning.

He groaned, but stood up and answered the door. He was greeted by Ethan, with a stupid grin on his face.

“Rough night?” Hunt asked, and August nodded, stepping to the side and allowing him in.

“Need something?” He grunted out, and Ethan nodded.

“Benji asked me to check on you. He mentioned that you and him had spoken about the Amiens family when him and Ilsa picked you up, and you seemed a little on edge. I just want to make sure we’re both on the same team here.” Ethan said, a serious look on his face.

August always respected Ethan, despite them not always being friends. Ethan trusted his team, and if he had any doubts about anything, he always confronted them himself. He never let things play out. August could come up with a lie about why he was uncomfortable about it, but Ethan had a knack for smoking out liars, so he couldn’t do that. He didn’t want to risk anything.

“I’ve actually been investigating them on my own, is all. I-” He swallowed the lump in his throat. “I have a connection to them.��� He said simply, and he almost hoped that that would be enough to make Ethan leave it alone, although he knew it wasn’t.

Ethan sat on the chair next to the table that held his briefcase. August sighed and sat on the still unmade bed. “My daughter.”

Ethan sputtered slightly before speaking. “Y-You have a daughter?” he asked, and August nodded in response.

“I do. She was born in March of this year, but I didn’t find out about her until the beginning of this month. Her mother was a part of the Amiens family. Specifically, Adriana.” He admitted, and Ethan sighed.

“Wow. That changes things. Wasn’t she murdered recently?” Ethan inquired, and August nodded once more.

“Yes. In front of Maeve.” He said, and corrected himself when he saw the confusion on Ethan’s face. “Her name is Maeve. They handcuffed my 7 month old to a crib, and forced her to watch her mother be murdered by her grandfather. That’s a speculation though, I’m not 100% certain. He also pointed a gun at her head through the crib, and I assume they were going to shoot, but the police raided where they were being held at that moment.” August said, and Ethan sighed in sadness.

“That’s rough. How is she doing now?” Ethan asked, and August smiled at the thought of his little girl. “She goes through waves. One minute she’s a happy and healthy little girl whose only concern is what toy she’s going to play with next, and the next she’s almost frozen, and seems to be reliving what happened to her and her mother all over again. She can’t sleep in a crib, or a playpen. She hates police officers, guns, handcuffs, and the smell of peppermint. In some ways she’s a normal baby, but there are so many things she’s struggling through, that I’m worried about her development.”

Ethan nodded, and was about to open his mouth to speak, when August’s phone went off. August picked it up, and answered.

His heart dropped into his stomach at his mom's words. Maeve had woken up and realized that August wasn’t there, so she called out for her Mama. When August’s mom had said that her Dada would be back in a few days, she was immediately sent into a meltdown, and his mom couldn’t calm her down, even after half an hour.

“Fuck. Okay. Let me think of something and I’ll call you back.” He said, and his mom thanked him before hanging up.

He turned to Ethan. “How badly do you need me on this mission?” he asked, and Ethan furrowed his brow.

“Is something wrong with Maeve?” He asked and August nodded.

“She’s having a meltdown because I’m not there and my mom can’t calm her down.” Ethan’s eyes widened.

“We can make do without you. You can go home, you’re needed there more than here at the moment.” He said, standing up, and helping August to get packed. August nodded, and as soon as he was packed he turned to Ethan.

“Thank you. I know this mission is important.” He said, and Ethan smiled at him.

“Being a father trumps all of that. You have a little girl, a little girl who just went through hell, so don’t even worry about it. Go make sure she’s okay.” He said, and August nodded, a smile peeking through on his lips.

August dropped his bag as soon as he made it through the door, in favour of finding Maeve. The door shutting behind him seemed to alert his mom to his presence, and a few seconds later, she appeared in the doorway of his bedroom.

“Hi, honey.” She said, opening her arms for a hug. August let himself relax in his mothers embrace for a few moments before leading him into the bedroom.

“She managed to cry herself to sleep, and hasn’t woken up yet. I thought you being here when she woke up would be better than anything else.” She said, and August nodded.

“Thank you.” He said, sincerely, and his mom smiled. “It’s no problem. Other than her huge meltdown she was a perfect angel. I’ll get going, and let you two spend some time together. If you need anything at all, just give me a call, okay?” She reassured, and August thanked her again.

“I’m really glad you’re giving me a second chance, Auggie. I hate what I put you through after your father died. I hate the person I became. I thought I couldn’t be a single parent, but after seeing you do it, I don’t know why I ever thought that.” She said, a tear slipping down her face.

“Mom, it’s okay. I never hated you. I didn’t really understand why you were so cold and distant all of a sudden, but I get it. I wasn’t an easy kid, and I’m sure Dad dying didn’t help,” He joked, pulling a laugh out of his mom. “You were too much like him for your own good.” She said, and August smiled in agreement.

He watched as his mother gave Maeve a kiss on the head, before giving him one as well. “You’re doing a terrific job. I love you, son.” She said, and now it was August’s turn for a tear to fall.

“I love you too, mom.”

He walked his mom to the front door, and closed and locked it behind her once she left. He glanced at his watch, and decided to let Maeve sleep a little longer. Her poor little body was probably exhausted, just like his was from the quick time changes. He walked back into the bedroom, kicked off his shoes, and laid beside his daughter on the bed.

As soon as his head hit the pillow, Maeve’s eyes opened, and a huge smile broke out on her face when she saw her Dada. She cooed and placed her hand on his mouth again. August pressed a kiss to her flesh, and to August’s amazement, she smiled and giggled, instead of crying and asking for Adriana.

“Hello, my love. I missed you,” He whispered, as his daughter snuggled up to him, and closed her eyes again. August followed suit, and the pair were out within seconds.

It took a few days for Maeve to be back to herself fully. Everytime August would leave a room, she’d get anxious and cry, almost as if she thought he wouldn’t come back. August knew that it was his fault. He shouldn’t have taken the mission, she wasn’t ready to be left with random people yet, at least for days on end.

As he sat on the couch working on his laptop, Maeve playing with some cars while watching Mickey Mouse Clubhouse at his feet, he realized he needed a nanny. He really didn’t like the fact that he’d been bringing her to work everyday. No one else cared, but he’d rather her first words she says with him not be ‘gun’ or ‘murder’.

He had gotten a few numbers from one of the other agents who was also a parent, but had yet to call any of them, so that’s what he worked on while Maeve was distracted.

A few hours later, and he’d been having terrible luck. Everyone he called either couldn’t do it because of another job, had another family, wasn’t nannying anymore, or was 16. He was beginning to give up hope, when he looked at the last name on his list.

Y/N Y/L/N - (xxx) xxx-xxxx

He tried not to be too hopeful going into the phone call, but when you said that you were available anytime, and were willing to meet with him the next day. He was very pleased to learn that you had worked with children in the past who had PTSD, and developmental disabilities. He knew you were the one already, and knew Maeve would be in the perfect hands with you.

He had religiously cleaned his apartment last night, making sure it was up to standard for a nanny. As he vacuumed Maeve’s playroom, he realized she needed more toys. She had a few, but definitely not enough to support her development. He also needed to get her more books.

Maeve seemed to know what was happening the next morning, because when August woke her up she was all smiles, rather than her grumpy and cuddly self, who cried over August accidentally dropping her favourite pacifier on the ground.

He got her changed and dressed, and put her in her playroom while he got showered and ready. It was a Saturday, and he knew that you wouldn’t be staying for more than an hour today, but he also wanted to appear professional in the beginning. You’d get to see the mess that he was after some missions later.

He immediately liked you. The meeting time was 10:30, and you showed up at 10:25. You had told him that you once worked a job where you had to be on the floor 5 minutes before your shift actually started, so you were in the habit of showing up 5 minutes early to everything.

Maeve instantly liked you as well. She’d crawled up to you, and gave you a hug, and then refused to leave your grasp once she was in it. You had brought her a stuffed elephant, and told her and August that you loved elephants and always gave them to new children you nannied.

He showed you around the apartment, and blushed when you commended him about the floor bed rather than forcing her to sleep in a crib. You also mentioned that it made you happy when parents cared less about fixing the PTSD and cared more about supporting their child and their needs at that point in time because the majority of parents you’d worked with used exposure therapy.

By the time that you’d left August’s apartment, he knew that he’d found a lifelong female presence for Maeve. He wasn’t blind, you were insanely beautiful, but he didn’t want to imply anything because if he was wrong, the only one who’d end up hurting was Maeve, and he didn’t like that.

August watched as Maeve crawled over to the couch, and climbed up. His heart melted when she pushed the curtain aside and waved a chubby hand as best as she could at you as you left the building.

August walked over and scooped her up. “Did you like Ms Y/N?” He asked, and took her excited babbles and hand gestures as a yes. August smiled, and set her down. She took off running (crawling) towards the playroom, adn August turned to make dinner.

As he cooked for the two of them, he thought back to what you had said about exposure therapy. It made him happy to know that he was doing what was considered the right thing, and not forcing her to sleep somewhere that was the cause of so much of her trauma. While he wasn’t thrilled he assembled it for nothing, he knew it wasn’t her fault. He could have fully read the file and skipped the crib when he was shopping, but at least he saved another mother some money and assembly time.

Later that night, as he sat with Maeve in her room as she drifted off to sleep, her hand curled around his pointer finger, he really hoped that this would work out.

Taglist:

All:

@kpopgirlbtssvt @nerdypinupcrystal @sohoseb @bieberhoodforever @crazy-avengers-gal

@colicovision

Henry Cavill:

@amberangel112 @rocket44 @angelicwolf98

[let-the-dream-begin]

In My Daughter’s Eyes Chapter 23: You Could Be

Chapter 22

Read on AO3

The rest of the week following Claire and Jamie’s second date passed rather hectically  (they had decided to refer to it as such, even though Faith was there for half of it). Jamie had left on Wednesday night around one o’clock in the morning, Claire having fallen asleep close to the end of the movie. She’d garbled something unintelligible when Michael killed Fredo, something that she’d translated for him later to have meant: “Fucking traitor.”

He’d let her sleep, and when Claire had chided him about it, told him he should have woken her so they could talk or something, he’d just shrugged and said:

“Ye looked so bloody peaceful, mo nighean donn. Drool on my shoulder and all.”

That earned him a swat to the arm.

“I mean it. Holding ye while ye slept, not a care in the world…was like Heaven on Earth.”

That earned him a very generous kiss.

After saying goodnight, Claire collapsed into bed happy as a clam, and then the chaos began. She opened her eyes to Faith standing right next to her in bed, a la the twins in The Shining, and she’d nearly jumped out of her skin. The girl had proceeded to crawl right into bed with Claire, whining in protest when Claire’s alarm started going off. Claire tried to hold her off as long as possible, but when Mrs. Lickett knocked on the door and they were still in bed, she knew they were in trouble. The poor woman had to pry Faith off of Claire just so she could get ready for work, and she screamed her little head off the whole time. For some reason, Faith did not want Mummy going to work today, and did not want to be left with poor Mrs. Lickett.

There was no rhyme or reason to when Faith got in these moods; she just decided some days that Mummy was not going to leave. And, of course, with Claire’s chosen profession, she did not have the option to oblige her. Perhaps that was for the best; Mrs. Lickett did say they couldn’t always indulge her. But God, if it wouldn’t get her fired, Claire would get right back into bed and hold her baby until she calmed down, and she might never leave again.

Still hearing Faith scream even through the front door and then her car door, Claire finally shed a few overwrought, panicked tears. She glanced tearily at her phone in her bag, thinking to call Jamie, then talked herself out of it.

He doesn’t need to hear every time you’re going crazy, Beauchamp.

She put the key in the ignition, then caught sight of Faith in the window, slamming her palms on the glass, both Mrs. Lickett and Angus trying to talk some sense into her. And then she couldn’t stop herself.

She opened his contact and pressed the call button, put the phone on speaker, and put it in a pocket in the door before pulling out of the driveway. As the phone rang, she sniffled and swallowed thickly, even though she knew that her voice would give her away immediately. It rang for a while, and Claire immediately felt dread in the pit of her stomach, thinking he must be asleep. The stables didn’t open until ten, and she had him over until one. 

Idiot.

Before she could panic-hang-up, it stopped ringing.

“Everything alright, Sassenach?”

“Oh,” she said stupidly, putting on her turn signal to get on the main road. “Hi, yes, everything is fine.”

“Are ye crying, Sassenach?” His voice was alert.

“No, I’m — I’m fine. I’m so sorry I woke you, I had you up so late — ”

“Forget that. I’m an early bird. What’s wrong?” It was gentle, soft, but insistent. He was not going to let her let this go.

Claire sighed. “Really, nothing is wrong. Not really. I’m just driving to work. And it’s already been…a day.”

“How’s that?” 

So gentle.

“Faith did not want me to leave this morning. She just gets like that sometimes, doesn’t want me to go, doesn’t want to do anything Mrs. Lickett has planned for the day. She was screaming her poor head off and she didn’t even want anything to do with Angus, at least while I was there. I didn’t even get a chance to eat anything and I’m already getting a headache.” She chuckled nervously, wiping her eyes with one hand, keeping one on the wheel. “Sorry…I’m rambling.”

“Dinna be sorry, Claire. I’m sorry ye had a rough morning. And I’m sorry fer the wee lass. She misses ye when ye’re gone sometimes, eh?”

“Yeah…” she sighed sadly. “I suppose she does. She used to do it a lot more; there would be a meltdown every day I left the house. Every time I think she’s outgrown it, it comes back full force. And I just feel…awful just…leaving her like that. And I can’t call off for something that isn’t an emergency. I just can’t. And I…”

“Claire.”

She paused, having a feeling he was about to say something.

“Ye’re a good mam, Claire.”

She bit down on her lip fiercely, nearly losing sight of the road as her eyes watered. 

“I ken ye dinna feel that way when ye have to leave her every day, and I canna imagine how that feels. But ye’re no’ the only mam that works, and it doesna matter that ye’re a single parent, either.”

Claire sniffled again, haphazardly wiping her eyes. “I just…I know that I do so much for her. I do know that. But on days like today…it just feels like I’ll never be enough, like I’ll never be able to give her everything she needs.”

“Christ, Sassenach, ye’re more than enough. Ye have to know that. Ye have to work to give her those things she needs. Ye have to know that, too. Ye’re doing the best ye can, and it’s great. Ye’re a good mother.”

Claire sniffled again, quite loudly, and she almost laughed at how gross she must have sounded on his end. “Thank you, Jamie. I don’t even know what to say.”

“Nothing at all is just fine.”

She pulled into the employee parking lot of the hospital, and she sighed heavily. “I’m…I’m sorry again to have woken you up like this — ”

“No apologies, mo nighean donn — ”

“And I’m sorry I have to go so soon; I’m already running late and I’m sure I’m going to be reamed — ”

“No need to explain yerself. Hang up the phone, get yerself calmed down, and get in there and save some lives. Aye?”

Claire laughed as she pulled into her spot. “Nothing like a pep-talk from coach Fraser to get me in the zone.”

He laughed as well. “Glad to hear it.”

Claire took the key out of the ignition and picked up her phone. “Thank you again, Jamie. Really. This was…more helpful than I can even explain.”

“No explanation needed. I get it. I mean I don’t get it-get it. But I…I understand.”

“Right.” She smiled fondly at his carefulness to not even imply that he really knew what it was like while still ensuring her that he understood her. “I’ll talk to you later, okay?”

“Aye. Let me know if she’s alright when ye go home. I hope work isna too rough on ye today.”

“I will. Thanks. Goodbye, Jamie.”

“G’bye, mo ghraidh.”

She hung up and held her phone to her chest for a moment, closing her eyes and breathing deeply.

You’re fine, Beauchamp.

You’re a good mum, and a good doctor.

It was hard to believe even as she said it to herself, but she was at least able to get out of the car, checking how much of a wreck she was briefly in the rear-view mirror.

The day was just as hectic as it would be on an already bad day, and Claire was dead on her feet by the time she got to the break room, having not even had time for the shitty coffee it had to offer when she’d arrived. She collapsed in the chair nearest the door, pressing her eyes into her hand and watching the colors and shapes dance around in her head for a moment.

“Earth to Lady Jane.”

She inhaled sharply and picked her head up, finding Joe standing by the counter.

“Don’t fall asleep on me without getting a load of this.”

“What…?” She reluctantly heaved herself out of her chair and trudged toward the counter where Joe was smirking at a brown paper bag and a styrofoam coffee cup that did not belong to the hospital.

“What’s this…?” Claire said.

“Been here all morning. Louise said a very attractive redhead dropped it off for Doctor Beauchamp.”

Claire felt her face melt into the most ridiculously liquid smile. “He did not…”

She opened the bag to find a napkin sitting on top with writing scrawled in black pen:

Sassenach,

Got ye a BEC (that’s bacon egg and cheese) since you didn’t have breakfast. Plain bagel since I don’t know your preference (remind me to ask you that). Figured you forgot to pack lunch as well, so I got you a deli sandwich I thought you’d like. That coffee reheated is still better than the shite in your break room, I promise ye that. Good deli; I’m good friends with the owner. Great guy. Have to take you someday.

Hope this helps,

JAMMF

Claire shook her head in disbelief, handing Joe the napkin to read.

“Damn,” he said. “That man is too much.”

Claire pulled out her BEC and unwrapped it, melting into a nearby chair as she ate. Joe popped her coffee into the microwave for her and sat down next to her.

“Too much indeed,” Claire garbled, mouth full of food. “He’s too good to be true.”

“But it’s true, Lady Jane.” He patted her knee.

“Yeah…” She smiled dreamily. “It is.”

——

Saturday was another date-night, or rather date-afternoon. They went to see The Free State of Jones at the movie theater since it had been out for about a month and Jamie had been wanting to see it. Evidently, Jamie was more of a history buff than Claire had picked up on, and she thoroughly enjoyed watching him absorb the movie, and she also enjoyed the movie quite a lot herself. She knew next to nothing about the American Civil War aside from what was to be seen in Gone With the Wind.

They'd managed to keep kissing to a minimum in the theater, but they weren't completely prudish. There were, after all, only eight other people in the entire theater, and they were spread out enough that they managed to share a few lingering kisses. But outside of that, they actually watched the movie, and Claire did not fall asleep.

“I didna bore ye wi' my long movie this time, Sassenach?” Jamie teased as they left the building.

“Oh, don't even. I worked all day Wednesday, and it was past my bedtime,” Claire shot back. “And besides, I still retained what happened. I just retained this movie…better.”

Jamie tossed back his head in a barking laugh as they got into his car. He brought her to a pizzeria, and the man behind the counter cried out with joy to see Jamie.

“Hey! It's Fraser!”

“Hallo, Vinny,” Jamie called back, putting his hand on the small of Claire's back.

“And who is this?” the dark-haired, red-faced man asked.

“This,” Jamie flashed a smile at Claire, swelling with pride, “is my girlfriend. Claire Beauchamp.”

“A girlfriend!” Vinny boomed. “Hey! Luca!” He shouted at the door that Claire presumed led to the kitchen. His New York-Italian accent increased dramatically when he yelled. “Fraser’s got a girl here!”

Claire felt herself blushing fiercely, and Vinny reached over the glass display of pizza slices to shake her hand.

“Great to meet you, Claire.”

“The pleasure is all mine,” Claire answered, shaking his hand.

“Ha!” Vinny laughed heartily, squeezing her hand and giving it another shake. “What’d ya do? Send for her from across the ocean?”

Jamie joined him in laughter. “She found me, actually. Her Englishness is a complete coincidence.”

“My daughter is a client at Harmony Stables,” Claire chimed in. “That’s how we met.”

“Oh! Well I’ll be damned! Hey! Luca! Get out here!” He yelled back again unexpectedly, causing Claire to jump a little. “Goddamn, Fraser, look at her!”

“Aye, I ken.” Claire blushed fiercely as Jamie swelled with pride again, squeezing her shoulder and pressing her into his side. “I’m a lucky man.”

“Ya gotta bring your daughter here sometime. I’d love to meet her,” Vinny said, leaning against the counter. “I know most of those kids already, but I think I’d remember you.”

Claire smiled.

“Vinny’s is where we get the pizza fer events,” Jamie explained. “All the kids know him by name.”

“Oh! Well then I’m already a happy customer,” Claire said with a chuckle.

“What’s her name?” Vinny asked.

“Faith.”

“Beautiful! Ya gotta bring her by, I just love those kids — ”

Just then, the kitchen doors opened, and a man who could have been a second Vinny burst in, apparently Luca.

“Well I’ll be damned!”

Claire chuckled to herself; they even said the same words in the same exact way.

“Where the hell did you find her?” Luca said.

“This is my brother, Luca. Vincent Senior is our old man. He’s around sometimes, just not today,” Vinny explained. “This is Claire Beauchamp. From England.”

“Great to meet you! Whatsamatter, couldn’t find a girl around here?” Luca ribbed, shaking Claire’s hand.

“Ye need original content, Luca,” Jamie said. “Yer brother said the same thing.”

“Alright, alright, enough gawking at the poor thing,” Vinny interrupted. “What can I get for ya?”

“The usual fer me,” Jamie said. “How about you, Sassenach?”

“What’s your usual?” she asked.

“Buffalo chicken slice.”

She wrinkled her nose at him.

“Yucking someone else’s yum again?” He cocked a brow at her, and she rolled her eyes.

“Do you have a meat lover’s slice? Something like that?”

“Sure do.”

“Alright, I’ll have that.”

“Anything to drink?”

“Just water for me,” Claire said.

“Ginger ale fer me,” Jamie said.

Claire pulled out her wallet.

“What are ye doing?”

“Paying for our lunch.”

“Sassenach — ”

“Jamie, you paid for that obscenely expensive food last week, and the carnival tickets, and you bought all the ingredients for that bloody lasagna. Not to mention today’s movie. Let me pay for one thing. I’m a doctor for Christ’s sake, it’s not as if I can’t afford some bloody pizza.”

Without another word, Claire handed Vinny her credit card, and Jamie did not try to fight her. Vinny’s brows were nearly at his hairline, and he was clearly fighting the urge to grin.

“I like this one, Fraser!” Luca called, shoveling their slices into the oven before departing into the kitchen.

Claire tried to hide her smirk of pride as she signed the receipt.

“So you’re a doctor?” Vinny said. “Stony Brook?”

“Yes, Emergency Medicine,” Claire said proudly. “Still a residency, but yes.”

“Goddamn, Fraser,” Vinny said again, shaking his head as he returned Claire’s card. “Don’t you even think about letting this one go.”

“Wasn’t planning on it.” Jamie winked, and then led Claire to a table.

“So, are you friends with every small business owner on Long Island?” Claire asked, flashing a glance at Vinny.

“Not every…but a fair amount,” he said. “Sorry about that, by the way. I should’ve warned ye that they’d be…curious. About my having a lass wi’ me.”

She chuckled. “That’s alright. They’re fun.”

“Didna scare ye away?”

“Not at all.” She laced their fingers together on the table.

They began discussing the movie and all the tangents it brought up, and then Vinny came by with their individual slices. Claire should have realized that Jamie would have ordered two slices; she didn’t even notice on her receipt.

“How you can eat neon orange on pizza is beyond me,” she said, watching him take a bite.

“Dinna like spicy, Sassenach?”

“I didn’t say that,” she said. “Buffalo chicken is a chicken wing flavor, not a pizza flavor. Two worlds that should not collide.”

He made an amused Scottish noise and took another bite. “So ye like buffalo wings then?”

“I’ve been known to handle a few.”

“We’ll have to test that someday.”

She hummed in amusement, and then dug into her own slice. Jamie was finished with both of his slices before Claire was finished with her one slice, even though she could tell he’d been trying to pace himself to be polite. Before they left, Claire ordered a plain slice for Faith to eat when she got home, since it would be dinner time shortly. Faith didn’t mind an off-routine early dinner if she was getting something special like pizza. Jamie also ordered them Italian ices, lemon for him and rainbow for Claire, and she caught him trying to pay for the ices and Faith’s dinner. One look was enough to have him putting his wallet back in his pocket, and this time, Vinny did laugh out loud.

With an aggressively friendly slap on Jamie's shoulder, Vinny bid them farewell, and they headed back to Claire's apartment. Though Faith was normally over the moon at the return of her mother (especially if she had Jamie with her), she remained entirely nonplussed at their arrival, entirely too focused on the puzzle she was doing with Delia. It wasn't until Claire said the word “pizza” that Faith sprung up from the coffee table and started pawing at her mother’s legs.

“That’s what I thought,” Claire said with a chuckle. “Yes, I know.” Faith reached up for the pizza and moaned in annoyance as Claire held it higher. “Pizza after you say goodbye to your friend and to Auntie Gail.”

Faith screwed up her face in protest, making exaggerated whining noises, but Claire just stared her down. “Stop whining, and be polite. Say goodbye.”

Faith turned around and gave Delia a reluctant hug, which Claire had to remind Faith to be gentle with in her reluctance. She hugged Gail with the same begrudging attitude, and then she began tugging on Claire’s shirt to pull her into the kitchen.

Claire looked back and forth between Faith and Gail and Delia.

“Jamie, can you go with her?” She handed him the box containing Faith’s slice, and he nodded wordlessly.

“C’mon lass. Let’s get ye settled fer supper.”

Claire shook her head in exasperation as she thanked Gail for babysitting once again, and then saw them off outside. By the time she got back to the kitchen, Faith was already sitting at the table with her pizza slice shaped plate, Jamie nearly finished cutting up the slice.

“How did you know about the pizza plate?” Claire said, amused.

“Well, I tried putting it on a normal plate, and she wasna having that. Tried one of those princess plates I ken ye’ve got, didna work either. Then she dragged me to the cabinet and wouldna move ’til I found this.” He finished cutting the pizza, having kept the general shape of it to fit the shape of the plate.

Claire’s grin was unabashedly enormous, and she closed the gap between them, meeting him behind Faith’s chair.

“Excellent work, detective.” He smirked, and she leaned in to kiss him, emboldened by Faith’s lack of attention, focused as she was on eating her pizza. Jamie hummed with amused contentment into the kiss, causing a brief vibrating sensation against her lips.

Jamie trailed his fingertips up over her hips to rest on the small of her back, pointedly avoiding her arse. Claire groaned in annoyance, but grinned anyway, pulling away to rest their foreheads together, draping her arms around his neck. For a moment, they just swayed absently to the music of Faith’s humming to the tune of “Someday My Prince Will Come,” not skipping a beat even as she chewed.

It wasn’t long at all before Faith pushed her plate away and hoisted herself up onto her knees, turning around to stand on the chair and tap on both of their heads. They both laughed softly.

“All done, lovie?” Claire took her hands off Jamie so she could sign. “All done?”

Faith repeated the sign lazily, and Claire was about to correct her when she started jumping in the chair, pointing at the freezer.

“Woah! Careful there, lass. Remember what Mam said about climbing, aye?” Without thinking, Jamie scooped her up from under her arms, lifted her over the back of the chair, and deposited her safely onto the ground.

Claire thought absolutely nothing of it, starting to head over to the freezer for Faith’s ice cream, but then Jamie froze. He drew away from Faith quickly yet gently, looking up at Claire, absolutely mortified.

“I’m sorry,” he stammered. “I should have asked. I’ve no right tae just pick her up like that. I’m sorry, Claire.”

Faith was none the wiser; she flitted over to the freezer.

“Jamie,” Claire said quickly, reaching for his hands. “She’s fine.” She maintained eye contact to emphasize her point, but the worry between his furrowed brows would not ease. “She’s been letting you touch her for a while now. That was perfectly normal for her. And perfectly natural for you to do it.”

“Are ye…are ye sure…?”

Claire still held his gaze as she raised his hands to her lips and kissed them fervently. “She trusts you, Jamie.”

Faith gave a small shout then, apparently not at all pleased that her request for ice cream was going ignored for so long.

“You ok?” Claire asked.

“Aye, sorry,” he chuckled. “Wee panic over nothing.”

“It’s not nothing.” Claire left his side to open the freezer, and Faith began bouncing with joy. “It makes perfect sense that you’d be afraid to cross that boundary with her. But I think in her head, you’re already past that point.”

She reached into the cabinet for a bowl and then the drawer for a spoon.

“I, uh…” Jamie stammered. “Hadna realized, I suppose.”

“You really don’t know how special you are to her? — Yes, yes, go sit down.” Claire crossed the kitchen to put down the ice cream in Faith’s spot.

“I suppose I…hoped. But I never wanted to assume,” Jamie said sheepishly. “I ken ye say I’m ‘dating’ ye both, but I didna ken if she…knew that.”

Claire chuckled softly, caressing Faith’s curly head as her spoon clanked against her bowl. “I think she does.”

Jamie’s grin widened lopsidedly, and Claire had to physically restrain herself from jumping into his arms and kissing him senseless.

“Ye’ll tell me, though? If I need to pull back wi’ her?”

“I think she would tell you, loud and clear,” Claire said dryly, her eyes full of mirth. “No, I know what you mean. And yes, I would. Surely it’s not the same with you as it is for me where you can just snatch her like I have to sometimes. It’s a bit different, as…”

“Her parent,” Jamie finished for her, nodding in agreement.

“Yeah.”

“Believe me, I understand. I ken I’m no’ her parent.”

Claire’s stomach flipped; not at what he said, but at what her brain decided to say after he said it.

You could be.

“Right,” she said instead, internally yelling back at herself that she was a nutter for thinking something so bloody serious about a man who she’d gone on a first date with a week ago. “But you’re…building something different, special in its own way. You both need time before you have to start laying down the law like I have to.”

“Aye, I understand.”

“But,” Claire said, finally making her way over to him and taking his hands again. “You can pick her up if it looks like she wants you to, you can hold her hand, hug her, whatever it seems she wants from you.” Jamie nodded, his eyes lighting up. “You read her well enough at this point. You’ll know.”

“Aye. I will.”

Claire pecked him gently. When she pulled away, Jamie was not looking at her, but instead looking out of the corner of his eye. When Claire followed his gaze, she caught Faith flitting out of the kitchen, hands and face still smeared with chocolate ice cream.

“Oh no you don’t!” Claire rushed to snatch Faith by the wrist and drag her back into the kitchen and toward the sink. “There will be no watching any movie that gets smothered with ice cream.”

Faith squirmed in annoyance and tried to get away, and then Claire got an idea.

“Hey, hey, listen, Faith,” she said. “Why doesn’t Jamie help you wash your hands? Hm?”

She looked up to Jamie, and he immediately sprang into action. “Right, how does that sound, lass?”

Faith immediately stopped fighting, and she turned around to face Jamie, holding up her messy hands expectantly. Jamie chuckled and turned on the water, then lifted her under the arms so she could reach the running water.

“Very good, give them a good scrub,” he crooned, and she obeyed clumsily. “Give yer face a good scrub too, aye? Dinna want chocolate-mouth fer yer movie. Aye, good girl.”

Claire stood there against the counter, paper towel ready for drying, her heart swelling three sizes.

How could I ever have thought we’d be better off without him…?

So occupied she was with adoration, she nearly missed when Faith was back on the ground and Jamie turned off the taps.

“Good job, Faithie,” Claire said, crouching down to wipe her face clean of any more smudges, using the lingering water on her face, then dried her hands. “Alright, all done. Let’s pick a movie, shall we?”

They shifted into the living room, where Faith retrieved Monsters, Inc., and they settled into their usual positions. Claire didn’t have a shift this week that ended early enough for Jamie to have time to come over and make dinner before Faith’s bedtime, so they were getting in their movie time tonight. Since dinner was a bit earlier than normal, the movie also ended a bit earlier than normal. They finished the puzzle that Faith hadn’t finished with Delia, then started and finished another one, all while Faith’s music played from Claire’s phone, with the occasional interruption for a little dance.

When bedtime rolled around, Jamie said goodnight to Faith, earning a pat on the cheek before she scurried off. After the whole routine, Claire poured them drinks and nuzzled into him on the couch. She flicked Netflix on and let The Office start playing from a random episode in the middle of season three.

“Ye’re like a wee kitten,” Jamie said.

“What?” She craned her neck to pick her head up from its spot on his chest.

“The way ye’re stretched out and balled up at the same time, all over me.”

Claire made an indignant little “hmph” sound, but made no attempt to move; she, in fact, buried herself in further.

“I hope you’re at least a cat person,” she said.

He made an amused Scottish noise. “More of a dog person, really. No’ those wee yapping ones; I need a beast wi’ more substance. Like Angus. That’s a fine creature.”

Claire scoffed indignantly, sitting up and facing him. “So you tell me I’m a kitten and then tell me you don’t like cats.”

“Didna say I didna like ’em.”

“You may as well have.”

“Och, Sassenach.” He leaned in, his lips lingering inches from hers. “Ye ken by now I like having ye on top of me, feline or no.”

He made to close the gap, to kiss her, but Claire leaned back, causing him to chase after her and open his eyes when he didn’t make contact. Claire laughed at the unconscious pout he made. “What on Earth ever made me think you were the smoothest talker I ever met?”

“Dinna ken about that. My foot ends up in my mouth quite more than I’d care to admit.”

“Hm. Indeed.”

“I’d much rather…” He moved in closer, and Claire had no further to go, stuck against the arm of the couch. “Have something else in my mouth.”

“Oh?” She raised a brow, then darted her tongue out to lick her lips, far too slowly. “What could that be?”

He growled possessively and claimed her lips with his, and she moaned lightly against them. She did not waste any time before obliging him, thrusting her tongue into his mouth and mingling it with his. They lingered like this for a moment, performing the carefully and repeatedly rehearsed dance of lips and tongue, then they parted, Jamie folding her into himself again. They focused lazily on the tellie for a bit before Jamie broke the silence.

“Ye ever seen the beaches around here, Sassenach?”

“No, actually. Seems silly after how long I’ve been here now.”

He hummed thoughtfully. “I was just thinking about my own family dogs running around on the beaches in Scotland — ”

“So now you were thinking of dogs while kissing me?”

“And I — Och, come off it.” He playfully swatted her arse, causing her to squeak and swat him back, directly on his left pectoral. “I was thinking that it would be nice to take Faith. She likes the water, aye?”

“Yes, she’s obsessed, ever since she was a baby. Bath time is a field day. Ever since I took her to the Abernathy’s pool that one time, every time Gail comes over Faith scurries into her room for her bathing suit.”

Jamie laughed softly. “She kens what she wants.”

“Indeed.”

“So…what d’ye think? Would she be alright if there was a crowd?”

“Well…we won’t know unless we try. And Angus is helpful during stable events. So maybe she’ll be alright.”

“Aye, he’s a service dog so he’ll be allowed on any beach we choose.”

Claire got an image in her head of Faith squishing sand in her hands, loving the sensory aspect of it, squealing as cold water rushed over her toes.

“If she canna handle it we’ll have a backup plan. We can take her to the stables and use the sprinkler from the Fourth of July. Fill a kiddie pool or something.”

Claire felt warmth spread from head to toe. He knew without having to ask that even if Faith didn’t want to be at the beach, if she was in her bathing suit, she’d be expecting a water activity and would not be happy doing anything else.

She sat up and tenderly kissed his check, caressing his stubbled chin and jaw. “I think that’s a wonderful idea.”

He smiled and took her caressing hand in both of his, then kissed her knuckles. “Alright. That’s braw. I ken most of the beaches, so I ken the ones that are most crowded, the ones that play loud live music, which ones have sand or rocks. Faith’ll want sand, of course.”

She smiled, nodding. “Right.”

“Next Saturday? I’ll prepare the lunches, you prepare the bairn and the dog?”

“Yes, okay. That’s perfect.”

Seemingly from sheer excitement nearly bubbling over, Jamie kissed her soundly.

“I’ll start preparing her starting tomorrow, give her a rundown of the routine — ”

“I’ll arrive at nine to pick ye both up — ”

“Great, I can tell her what time she needs to wake up, what time breakfast needs to be finished, what time she needs to dress and lotion up — ”

“Have her bring her tablet in the car, the beach I have in mind is an hour away — ”

“I’ll lay some towels on the living room floor, and we’ll practice staying on the towel so maybe she won’t bolt while we’re there — ”

“Fine idea. That’s braw.”

They were talking over each other, stumbling over their words like a couple of school children talking about recess. They shook their heads at themselves, then shared another kiss, lingering with their foreheads together.

“D’ye think it’ll ever stop?”

“What?”

“This…feeling. Like I’m…gonna burst at the thought of seeing ye again, even when ye’re still right in front of me.”

Claire pulled away only enough so that she could meet his eye and caress his chin.

“I don't know. But I hope it never does.”

[cyarikashakira]

Chimichangas

A/N: This is my first time writing a fanfic. I am super nervous but I have an overabundance of love for Joaquin Torres so I had to put it somewhere. I'm doing @caplanbuckybarnes's summer writing challenge.

Summary: Falling in love at the supermarket wasn’t on your to-do list today, yet here you were snatching looks at a cute stranger.

Warnings: (I don't know if these count as warnings) GN!Reader, No Y/N, Joaquin Torres is an absolute cutie pie!

‘They were gone. All of them.’ I thought as I rummaged through the wrongfully stocked freezer. A sniffle escaped, then two, which was followed by a full on wail.

“Who the hell put the Steak and Cheese chimichangas where the Chicken and Cheese chimichangas goes!?”

I slammed the freezer door and rested my head on it and placed my hand on the cold glass.

Casual shoppers and workers tiptoed around me while I grumbled to myself in annoyance. I just wanted my comfort food.

A full on breakdown in the middle of a grocery store and I gave no fucks. A tap on my shoulder and I whirled around ready to light up the poor soul who decided to bother me.

“What do you want?” I wiped the tears from my face with a growl. Giant innocent eyes looked at me in shock as I grimaced at him.

“Hi - um, can I help you?” He bravely pointed at his name tag which said ‘Joaquin’ with the Walmart name above

“Sure~ can you just point me towards the person who decided to sleep on the job and stock the wrong chimichangas in the wrong spot? I just wanna have a little chat.” I said with a fake smile on my face.

“Th-that would be me.” He gulped and pointed over his shoulder towards the stocking material behind him.

You peeked around him and just glared.

“So it was you. You have been declared as my arch nemesis. Where are the chicken and cheese chimichangas?”

“They are out of stock. But we can call you when they are back in stock.”

The air suddenly became tense.

“...Believe it or not, they already have my number because I buy them so often. It is Tuesday and it’s 8:30. They are always stocked at 8pm on Tuesday.” I looked down at my watch to double check the time. I crossed my arms ready to take my frustrations out on the worker.

“We are going to have to call some people.” He said plainly.

“What?” My head tilted to the side in confusion.

“For this chimichanga shortage. We need to call some people.” His smile got bigger as he continued talking.

“Chimi..changa shortage? If they are going to fix my day then you better call them.”

“I’m kidding..”

“Oh.” I let out a nervous laugh and made a face.

He ran a hand through his fluffy black curls and huffed. I took a look at his face, he was nervous.

“...Are you new?” You raised an eyebrow at him.

“To the stock things department, yes. This grocery store, no. I’m so sorry that I stocked it wrong but thank you for pointing it out for me.”

I immediately felt bad because I realized that I was being a dick over some food.

“I’m so sorry. I’m just having a bad day. It was just a complete shit show. My cat got sick, my car is on it’s last leg and my boss is on my ass and I ran out of chimichangas and forgot to restock my fridge so here I am today - “

I rambled on and on.

“Hey, it’s okay. We all have bad days. I thought this was about to be a bad day for me also because you were upset at me.”

“I’m sorry again. I’ll live without them. I should go home before I embarrass myself even more.”

I lowered my head now feeling shy and more aware of my surroundings.

“Before you go, I think I have something that will make your day a little better. Follow me.” He turned swiftly and started walking away.

“Uh, no. I’ve burdened you enough today, sir.”

He stopped and turned to face me again. A smile formed on his face. Were those dimples always there?

“Come on. I’m just taking you to a person who can solve your problems.”

“Oh o-okay.”

I followed behind Joaquin towards the front of the grocery store. He stopped in front of the deli section and tapped a hand on the counter to alert the workers.

“Hey~ is Margie in today?” He said sweetly to the teenage girl who could barely see over the huge counter.

“Yeah Curly, she’s in the back. Let me go get her.” She ran to the back and pushed the double doors with force.

I looked at Joaquin with furrowed brows and pursed lips.

“Why do they call you Curly?” A small smirk appeared on my face. He blushed and his hand went to his hair once again.

“My hair. It is how everyone finds me and the fact that I’m tall. Everyone has a nickname here. We are as much a family as capitalism will allow us to be. Margie is just...wait until you see her.”

The shock of blue hair caught my peripheral and I expected to see a teenager. No. A tall lady who was on enough to be my mama strolled up to the counter with a huge smile on her face.

“What can I do for ya, Curly Quin?” Her accent drawled as she leaned against the display case.

“We have a situation. Apparently, I suck at my job and a certain someone had an entire meltdown in the middle of the freezer aisle because they are having a bad day like it was my fault. I’m pretty sure they want to get me fired but I’m too cute for that, right? So we need a solution to their chimichanga problem.” He sarcastically and over exaggeratedly explained the situation to Margie and his smile got wider as he went on.

“So Grilled Cheese over here wants a chimichanga? How is that my problem?” Margie planted her eyes on me and I felt like I swallowed my heart.

For an old lady, her look was intense.

“I need the goods. The family secret, the whole enchilada, you get where I’m going with this. I’ll finally bring you back your book that you let me borrow when I first started working here.” Joaquin slapped on the puppy dog eyes and Margie rolled hers.

“I’ll believe it when I see it. That was a year ago. I’m never getting that book back and you know it. I’ll be back for you and Meltdown over here, assuming that is you.” She gave a small smile and moved to go towards the back doors. “Give me a sec.”

As soon as she disappeared, I face palmed and groaned.

“You guys are going to make fun of me forever, aren’t you?” I looked at him in despair.

“Oh yeah, you know it. Welcome to making history.” He smiled towards me, flashing a dimple.

“Is there a way that I can make everyone forget about this? I will pay you guys off. I promise. Just forget everything that happened here today.” I waved my hands in circular motions like I was casting a spell, earning odd looks from everyone around.

He laughed for the first time that night.

“It’s not every day a grown up has a total fit like a toddler. This has made my day and probably my whole week.”

I groaned again and stomped my foot in annoyance, ready to snap at him.

The back doors flew open and a brown paper bag was thrown in my direction. Joaquin and I fumbled to catch it at the same time and we butted heads.

“Good thing you knocked some sense into each other so I didn’t have to. Get out of here kids, your chimichanga problem is solved.” Margie smiled.

I opened the steaming paper bag and started crying.

“Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.” I started bouncing up and down with joy. I wrapped my arms around Joaquin and pulled him into a tight hug, crying on his shirt.

“No problem, I can’t breathe, please..let..go..” He said dramatically.

I immediately let go and cleaned my face putting on a huge smile. He took a deep breath and put his hand on his chest.

“You guys are the best and I am so sorry for taking my frustrations out on you. I really hope you can forgive me at some point.”

“Already forgiven. I just always want to do something positive with my day and make others smile. It’s all in a day’s work.”

“I don’t know how to thank you guys enough for the chimichangas.” I held the bag close to my heart, grinning widely.

“Go home and eat them. That’s thanks enough.” Margie deadpanned.

Oh. She was still there.

“Yes ma’am. Have a good night. Thank you for everything!” I waved goodbye to her.

“Don’t mention it kid.”

“I’ll see you tomorrow Margie!” He said to her.

She waved us off and we were on our way to the front doors of the store. We stopped just before the entrance, triggering the doors to automatically open. We were blocking the exit and people started going around us.

“I guess this is goodbye? Until I come in to restock my freezer again.” I said glumly, holding out my hand towards him to shake his hand.

“I guess so.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone, placing it in my hand.

Question marks filled my brain as I looked down at his phone in my hand. He shyly placed his hand on the back of his neck.

“I told you whenever we restocked, I would give you a call so.. I would need your number for that.”

“Oh. But they already have my numb- Oh. Okay. Oh. Oh um, of course uh..”

I stuck my tongue out in concentration as I typed my name and number into his phone and handed it back to him.

“There you go. I uh, look forward to your call for whenever the chimichangas are back in stock.”

“Of course. I’m just doing my job. If they aren’t in stock and I’m off of work, can I still call you?”

My brain short circuited and I blinked rapidly at him. He was smooth. Toooo smooth. I studied his face for a joke.

“You aren’t joking with me, are you?” I put my hands on my hips.

“Nope, not one bit. Are you okay?” He questioned. I was sure smoke was coming out of my ears at this point.

“Uh, yeah. I’m fine. Just tired, it’s been a long day. I should get going.” I looked off towards the cars in the parking lot.

“It was nice to meet you. I’m sorry about your chimichangas and for my poor stocking skills.” He apologized sincerely.

“It was nice to meet you too, Joaquin. Thank you for everything. Am I allowed to hug you again?”

His brown eyes lit up and he furiously nodded. I wrapped my arms around him and he did the same to me. We let go as quickly as we started.

“I’ll see you around, Grilled Cheese.” He gave a two finger wave towards me and started walking backwards.

“Likewise, Joaquin Phoenix.” I started walking in the other direction.

“Haha. So original! It’s actually Falcon!” He shouted.

“What?” I stopped and turned back towards him but he was already gone.

I shrugged and walked towards my car. I opened the door and climbed inside, tossed the bag of chimichangas in the passenger seat and rested my head on the steering wheel. I released a huge sigh while lifting my head, started my car and began driving home. The street lights blurred past me on my drive home. My body was on autopilot as I opened the door, kicked my shoes off and sat on the couch next to my roommate with my bag of chimichangas.

I took a bite and immediately frowned.

‘Damn it. Steak and Cheese strikes again.’ I started laughing and shaking my head, dropping the chimichanga back in the bag.

“What is your problem?” My roommate said staring at the tv, not concerned to turn their head towards my hysterics.

“Nothing. I just had a meltdown in a freezer aisle and I think I fell in love with a stocker who is bad at his job.” I leaned back against the cushion of the couch and sighed dreamily.

“....no offense but you aren’t allowed to go to the store unsupervised ever again. You got issues...”

My phone began to ring and I just stared at the unknown number before answering.

“H-hello?” I stuttered.

“You will never guess what we just got in stock.” A light voice filled with laughter said over the phone. A huge smile formed on my face and I was booking it out of the door and yelled a quick bye to my roommate.

“I’m on my way.”

I hope you guys enjoyed this. I tried my best :)