#i even put my binder in the laundry instead of putting it back on like a gross loser and it's only bugging me a little to not have it
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theradicalace · 9 days ago
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never underestimate the healing power of a good shower
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channiesbakery · 9 days ago
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fan account —
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prompt / request — minghao finds your old fan account, and finds out that it wasn’t for him
pairing — fan!reader + boyfriend!minghao
word count — 923
genre — fluff
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when you and minghao first started dating, you’d mentioned that you had a fan account before meeting him. you’d asked him if he wanted to see it but he declined and it never really came up again.
until today.
you’re just on your couch, peacefully reading your book when your usually calm boyfriend barges into the apartment.
“babe, we need to talk,” minghao states and you sit up, thinking it was a serious conversation.
“is everything okay?” you ask, seeing the serious look on his face. “no! nothing is okay! how could you!” minghao exclaims and now you’re really worried, trying to figure out what you’d done.
“what exactly did i do…” you trail off, not able to think of anything you’d done wrong recently. unless he was mad that you didn’t put the laundry away immediately or make the bed as neatly this morning. you knew your boyfriend liked everything to be neat and tidy but surely he couldn’t be this mad about that.
“i was just peacefully scrolling on my instagram explore page today when a certain fan account popped up,” minghao starts to explain, pacing the room a little.
“they posted a nice photo spread of my photo cards with a pretty tea set so i decided to stalk their page–”
“you stalk your fan’s accounts?” you raise an eyebrow, cutting him off. “i like to see my fan’s creativity. that’s not the point! anyways, i realize that this entire account is pretty much 90% dedicated to hoshi,” minghao says.
“and what’s worse is that i continued scrolling through it to find a photo of you! my girlfriend!” he exclaims.
“wait, this is why you’re upset? because you found my old fan account? babe, i told you about this when we started dating and i even asked if you wanted to see it,” you remind him.
“I’m not upset about the account. I’m upset that it’s dedicated to kwon soonyoung!” your boyfriend clarifies and you can’t help but be amused.
“seriously? it’s not that big a deal, babe. i has that account before we started dating– hell, before we even met,” you shrug, picking your book back up.
“okay but why hoshi?” he practically whines. “he was my bias back then–”
“he was your what?!” minghao gasps. “you biased hoshi? kwon soonyoung? hoshi?” he just stares at you.
“jealous?” you tease. “you biased him? your bias is a furry!” minghao gapes at you. “why did you even have so many photo cards of his,” he asks.
“okay it wasn’t my fault i always ended up pulling his photo cards in albums,” you shrug. “you should’ve sold them. and bought mine instead,” minghao states, his expression dead serious.
“aren’t you the one who tells your fans not to buy photo cards?” you give him a look. “this is different! you’re my girlfriend and you’re collecting a furry’s photo cards,” he argues.
“in my defense, i wasn’t your girlfriend when i was collecting him. besides, it’s not like hoshi’s the only one i posted on that account! I posted spreads for pretty much everyone, including you! it was just mostly hoshi and jeonghan because they were my biases,” you point out.
“oh great, so you biased the guy who thinks he’s a tiger and the one who has a pet rock,” he says dryly.
“i might’ve biased them but you’re the one I’m in love with now,” you assure him, pulling him in for a soft kiss.
“so… where is your photo card binder?” he questions after pulling away and you raise an eyebrow at him. “you are not burning my collection,” you warn.
“i wasn’t going to burn it. i was going to sell it. and then use that money to buy you photo cards of me,” he corrects.
“it’s okay babe, i don’t need a photo card of you when i have the real thing,” you tell him, kissing him again before you focus back on your book.
you think minghao lets it go after that but you’re proven wrong a few weeks later when they have their comeback.
he comes home with a gift bag for you, making you raise an eyebrow. “shouldn’t i be the one giving you a gift to celebrate your comeback, not the other way around?” you ask but happily accept the gift.
he watches as you pulled out every album version. you don’t realize that the plastic seal had been broken on all of them as you open it.
you open the first album, checking your photo card pulls as your boyfriend watched with a smirk on his face.
“oh my god, all three hao’s? i don’t think I’ve ever pulled only one member before,” you say, setting down the three different photo cards of your boyfriend.
it wasn’t until you opened the carat version that you realized your boyfriend had done something.
“seriously?” you give him a look when you flip the photo cards to reveal, once again, all of his. plus the carat binder was also his.
“i guess you’ve lost your hoshi luck, honey. you got lucky pulling all of mine,” hao says innocently.
he watches as you pick up your phone, expecting you to take a photo of your pulls but instead he sees you tapping on it, most likely texting someone.
“who are you texting?” he asks and you look up at him. “hoshi. to ask for his photo cards,” you say, dead serious.
“hey! i posed cutely for all of my photo cards just for you and you still want his?”
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roosterforme · 1 year ago
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Always Ever Only You Part 31 | Rooster x Reader
Summary: Bradley didn't like the fact that you'd soon be leaving him for a work trip to Annapolis. Being apart was hard enough before, but he knew it would be worse now. His thoughts start to manifest, and he wonders if he'll ever be enough of what you and the baby need.
Warnings: Swearing, smut, pregnancy topics, angst, fluff
Length: 4900 words
Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Female Reader
This was written to accompany my series Is It Working For You? along with a bunch of my one-shots and other series, but it can be read on its own! Check my masterlist for the reading order. Always Ever Only You masterlist. Gorgeous banner by @mak-32
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Bradley sat on the living room couch in his boxer briefs with a plate full of peanut butter crackers and a glass of ice water. He'd been doing his due diligence by making sure you ate several small meals throughout the day and fucking you as soon as your eyes welled with tears when you reached for him. He could tell now when you were about to throw up just as easily as he could tell when you needed to get off. It was amazing how unprepared he was for dealing with all of this, but none of it was putting a damper on the constant excitement he felt. 
"Okay. Next slide," you said as you hit the spacebar on your laptop which was open on the coffee table displaying information he could barely understand. He held up the plate and let you eat a cracker before handing you the glass of water so you could take a sip. Then you handed it back to him and took a deep breath before diving into the information on the new slide.
You'd been at it for hours, trying to get your parts down perfectly so you could spend the upcoming week rehearsing the presentation with Cat before you left for Annapolis. Bradley came back from playing golf on Sunday, and you and he had a quickie in the laundry room literally while you helped him out of his sweaty clothes. Afterwards, when he tried to get in the shower, you guided him to the couch instead as you said, "Don't shower yet. You smell so good, it'll motivate me to practice my slides."
And that's how he ended up where he was. "You're doing great, Baby Girl," he whispered whenever you paused to eat some of your snacks. "I'm so fucking proud of you."
Bradley marveled, not for the first time, over the fact that you married him. You were the smartest and most capable person he'd ever met, explaining things in such detail that only the most intelligent people in the Navy could possibly comprehend you. All while also wearing his rings and carrying his baby.
He sat as patiently as he could while you meticulously finished your presentation, but as soon as you went over the final slide and closed your laptop, he was up off the couch. And this time he was the one ready to start whining for you. "Can we go to the bedroom?" he asked as you looked at the notes in your binder and put them in a different order. 
"Hmm," you hummed, shifting a few more sheets around. "In a minute," you mumbled, but when you bumped into him, you smiled. "You're hard, Bradley."
"Baby Girl," he moaned as you rubbed yourself against him. "Your presentation was way too sexy. Let's go get in bed."
You were laughing. "If you thought it was sexy now, just wait until the admirals get to see me do it in uniform."
"I'm already jealous," he whispered, coaxing you along with his fingers at your back. When he wrapped his hands around to the front of your body, he said, "I can't wait until you have a baby bump."
"I can," you told him softly as you climbed into bed and looked up at him where he stood. "What if I look hideous?"
"You couldn't." His response came quickly, because he didn't have to think about it at all. "You won't. You'll still be perfect."
He ran his fingers along the necklace he'd given you and played with the charms as you asked, "Even when I'm huge and miserable and nine months pregnant? And when I'm all lumpy looking after the baby is born?"
Bradley leaned down and kissed you softly. "You threw up on me yesterday after you burst into tears and yelled at me for leaving Tramp's leash on the porch, and I still wanted to make love to you. I don't think you have anything to worry about."
You groaned and then started laughing and curled up into a ball on your side. "I'm sorry I'm such a mess right now."
"Don't apologize. I know you didn't mean any of it," he replied with a chuckle as he slid into bed behind you and pulled the covers over both of you. "And I'm ready for you to have a belly, because you'll look adorable. And it also means we'll be closer to meeting the chicken nugget for real. The ultrasound pictures are cute and all, but I can't wait to see the little nugget in March."
"You just like calling it that, because it's a Rooster joke," you said as he wrapped his arms around you and kissed your neck. "I'm surprised you're not trying to design a chicken themed nursery."
"Hey," he grunted next to your ear as he worked your yoga pants and your underwear down over your butt. "You promised me we could do airplanes for the nursery," he reminded you, guiding his fingers over your thigh to your tattoo. He traced it from memory as you sighed softly before he felt you spread your legs wider for him. Bradley smiled as he ran one fingertip down your slit, discovering that you were already wet for him. "Baby number two can have a chicken themed nursery."
You moaned his name as he slipped one finger inside you, but he didn't hear you argue about his fantastic idea.
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You were completely scatterbrained at work all week, and you could tell you were making Cat nervous. You'd probably be making Bickel nervous too, but he had so much faith in you, he was completely at ease. The fact that he was sending the two of you to Annapolis for the week on your own was a testament to that fact. 
"You'll do great, Lieutenant Commander," he said when you were in his office to give him a final copy of the powerpoint presentation. "Pretty soon you won't even need me around since you could run the lab yourself. Just bring back all of that funding so we can keep the pilots up in the air for as long as possible."
"Yes, sir," you told him with a smile as he tapped through your slides. He made a few comments, and you took notes, but his trust in you and the Top Gun program always made you feel confident. 
"This looks great. Call me during the week after you give your presentations."
"We will," you promised, and when he dismissed you, Cat was on you as soon as you were back in the lab. 
"What did he think?" she asked, tapping her fingers on the counter. "Did he hate it? Do we have to redo it? You've been so weird all week that it's making me feel weird too!"
You laughed, because for the first time in weeks, you were feeling slightly normal. "He said it's great. We're ready to go."
"Oh," she replied, her fingers relaxing immediately. "I just really want to get a promotion," she whispered. "I really need a pay raise."
"I know," you reassured her. "We'll be fine. I know all of the slides by heart. Bradley has been spending hours practicing them with me."
Cat snorted. "Yeah, something tells me that's a bit of a stretch."
"What do you mean?"
"I've seen you and Bradley in the cafeteria all week," she replied, giving you a knowing look. "Five minutes around him and the two of you go sneaking off. But I guess if I had unlimited access to Jake like that, I would also be 'practicing for hours'."
You knew discretion wasn't your strong suit when it came to your husband, but Cat wasn't going to even humor you trying to deny it. "I've been trying to get as much of him as I can now since I'll have to go days without."
She nodded and said, "We'll have fun though. Maybe we can go out one night for drinks."
The last thing you wanted to do was make her feel like you didn't want to spend time with her in Annapolis. "That would be really fun," you replied with a tight smile. You'd figure it out. Just like you'd figure out how you were going to deal with your parents when you saw them for dinner while you could barely eat. 
When you got home from work on Friday, you parked the red Bronco in the empty driveway and let Tramp outside. You were already packing for the trip when Bradley got home. He came into the bedroom and just looked you up and down with his hands on his hips. 
"Why are you looking at me like that?" you asked as you stacked up your underwear and some of his shirts that you'd use as pajamas on top of your uniforms on the bed.
"Well I got used to you practically ripping my clothes off as soon as you see me. I half expected you to be waiting on the porch with your panties in your hand."
You laughed. "I'm sorry. Do you want to go back outside and I'll meet you on the porch?"
"Yeah, kinda," he replied, still staring at you with hands planted on his narrow hips. You could feel your saliva pool on your tongue as he smiled, his mustache twitching to one side. "I was just getting used to your pregnancy hormones." 
You had to swallow hard as he shifted his weight and dropped his arms to his sides, but the flex of his biceps got you, because you could see his tattoo. He was several feet away, but you swore you could smell him. Your body clenched with need as he ran one hand through his hair, and your voice came out as a needy moan when you said, "You look good, Roo."
When he met your eyes, you could see that your words had some color rising in his cheeks. His lips parted softly, but you were in his arms before he even got a word out. "So the hormones are still in full effect?" he grunted.
"Oh yeah," you whispered, threading your fingers through his hair. "Or maybe it's just how I always am with you."
You were kissing along his neck, inhaling his incredible scent as he rasped, "Sweetheart, I'm going to miss you and the nugget so much next week."
After that, your bedroom was a mess of articles of khaki clothing flying in every direction. Bradley barely got your underwear down your thighs before you were begging for him, and he fucked you while he was still in his boots and uniform pants. Bent over the side of the bed with your face pressed to the bedding next to your travel toiletries bag, you'd never felt as adored in your life. His hands were soft on your hips, and his mouth was feather light as he kissed your spine and between your shoulder blades. 
"I love you so much, Sweetheart," he crooned, bringing you closer with each deep thrust. Then his hand was soft on your belly as he whispered, "Love you," over and over again until you came.
You were still bent over the bed a few minutes later with Bradley still inside you while he ran his fingers up and down your arms and kissed your right shoulder. "I think perhaps I should pack a vibrator or two for my trip?"
"I think that would be wise," he replied with a soft chuckle. "Let's get you packed, and then we can take a bath and eat whatever you and the baby want for dinner."
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Bradley opened his Amazon package on Sunday morning while you sat on the bathroom floor in front of the toilet. Your flight was in a few hours, and he had no idea how you were going to make it to Maryland in your current state. He was unboxing everything he could find that was supposed to help with morning sickness so you could take it with you. 
"Just go play golf, Roo," you moaned through the open door. "I can get Cam or Maria to take me to the airport after brunch."
He sighed as he dropped a pack of lollipops on the bed. He had already invited himself to brunch with your friends. While he made the occasional cameo, he was by no means a regular when it came to you eating that avocado toast, but he wanted to spend as much time with you as possible today. 
"I'll be the one taking you to the airport, Baby Girl," he replied as he walked into the bathroom and knelt behind you. "I want to be around you this morning."
You looked at him over your shoulder with watery eyes as you wiped your mouth with toilet paper. "You want to be around this?" Your voice was sarcastic and raw, and he smiled immediately. 
"Always." He kissed your forehead and said, "I'm adding the packs of peanut butter crackers to your suitcase along with the candy I bought. And I got you a pregnancy pillow to help you sleep once you have a belly."
You moaned and said, "I was just going to make you be my pregnancy pillow."
He rubbed your back while you threw up and said, "Well now you have two."
After Bradley loaded your suitcase and gigantic plastic tub of stuff for your presentation into the red Bronco, he helped you finish getting dressed. "There's literally nothing in my stomach now," you told him while you sucked on a ginger candy. 
"Yeah, and that's not a good thing. Are you going to try to eat your gross breakfast?"
"I'm so hungry," you whimpered. "If we don't leave soon, Cam will order my meal for me and start eating it if I'm not there."
Bradley snorted as the two of you walked outside when you were done saying goodbye to Tramp. He steered you to the passenger side door and buckled you into the new Bronco. "I haven't driven her since we brought her home," he said wistfully, running his hand along your thigh and enjoying the new car smell. You looked really tired, and the last thing he wanted to do was send you off to Maryland, but you seemed excited about giving the presentation and seeing your parents. "I might drive it while you're gone so she and I can miss you together."
You gave him a watery smile. "I don't even want to leave you."
"You'll be fine," he told you with a kiss. "You've got your vibrators."
The way you rolled your eyes made him laugh as he walked around to the driver's side door. When he cranked the engine to life and backed out of the driveway, you gasped. "Have I been that horrible to you?"
Bradley took your hand when you reached for him as he drove down the block. "What are you talking about?"
You burst into tears. "I haven't been appreciating you enough. You think I'm just going to miss your cock."
He was trying so hard not to laugh as he turned left, really enjoying the feel of the second Bronco. "Sweetheart, I don't think that at all. You're doing all the hard work right now, not me. And my cock is yours for the taking."
But you just cried softly as you said, "I'll be better when I get back. I promise. And I'll miss all of you. Every little bit." 
Bradley was still wiping away your tears as you wrapped your arms around him when you got to the restaurant. Your emotions were absolutely all over the place right now, and he knew better than to take any of it personally at this point. When the hostess told him that the rest of his party was already here, Bradley was surprised to look up and see Bob at the table with Maria and Cam.
"Oh," you gasped as you and he headed in their direction. "Oh my god, I fucking knew it."
Maria hopped out of her seat to give you a hug, and she seemed a little nervous as she said, "I hope you don't mind that I invited Bob to come too since you said Bradley was coming."
"We don't mind," you told her immediately, and Bradley gave Bob a fist bump while the other man blushed. "It's always nice to see Bob," you said as you bent to kiss his cheek, and his blush grew deeper. 
Then you sank down into the seat between Bradley and Bob as Cam said, "I feel like I just crashed a double date. I didn't know it was 'bring your own aviator to brunch day''."
"I'm sorry," Bradley replied as Cam bit into a piece of cinnamon toast a little aggressively. "I only came so I could take this one directly to the airport afterwards."
"I think that's sweet," Maria said with a smile as she so obviously tried not to look at Bob. Bradley also noted that neither of them denied the words double date. "Mimosas for everyone?"
You hummed quietly while Bradley started to panic, but you smoothly said, "None for me," while you looked at the menu as if you were going to order something other than avocado toast. "The time zone switch is already going to mess me up enough later." 
Bradley drank a mimosa with his stack of five pancakes to seem as inconspicuous as possible, and the conversation was pretty good once Cam calmed down about being aviator-less for the day, but soon it was time to get you out of there. And not just because it was getting late.
"You okay?" Bradley asked on the walk back to the Bronco as you grabbed his hand. 
"I don't know," you mumbled, wrapping your free arm around your stomach. "I miss being able to eat. But I don't really have time to get sick again right now."
"Come on," Bradley coaxed, wrapping his arm around your shoulders. "I outfitted the glovebox with some plastic bags just in case, but now I'm fucking worried about you being in Maryland without me."
You cried softly the whole way to the airport, but you tried to tell him you'd be okay. If you felt like this after every meal, you wouldn't be able to function until Friday night without him looking after you. It wasn't fair. He was already feeling pretty useless, but this just made him feel bad. Maybe he could figure out how to use his time wisely this week to help get things ready for the baby. 
As he parked at the curb in front of the airline departures door, Bradley realized Jake's car was in front of him. Cat was hugging Jeremiah while Jake unloaded her luggage, and Bradley leaned down toward your belly without delay. "Gotta make this quick, little nugget," he said, kissing you through your shirt. "Be good for Mommy, okay? I love you, and we'll talk again on Friday when you get home."
You ran your fingers through his hair, and Bradley wanted nothing more than to curl up on your lap with your attention on him for the rest of the afternoon, but that wasn't an option. Instead he kissed your cheek and whispered, "I'll get your stuff from the back."
But even stepping away from you for a minute while you cuddled Jeremiah so Cat and Jake could have a minute to themselves was a lot for him, and seeing you with a child in your arms now was making him feel very protective. Jeremiah smashed his little palms against your face, and you laughed and carried him closer to Bradley. "I think he wants to say hi to you, Roo," you whispered while Bradley ran his thumb along the child's soft cheek.
His body buzzed with excitement as he glanced down at your belly. "This is what I'm really excited for," he told you, and your eyes were so soft as you looked up at him. "The three of us are going to be amazing." He kissed your cheek. "Now hand Jeremiah back over so I can give you a proper goodbye."
Bradley gave Cat a little wave as Jeremiah climbed back into her arms, and he watched as you gave Jake a big hug and a kiss on the cheek. He whispered something in your ear, and you laughed, and Bradley honestly got a little jealous that the seconds were ticking away before you and the baby would be leaving him alone. Jake could just take a backseat right now. 
When you caught his eye, Bradley knew he must have looked annoyed, but it was just like when you and he left for your honeymoon all over again. "Baby Girl." His voice sounded a little stern, and you responded to his call like he was your magnetic north, practically flying back into his arms. 
Face tipped up to look at him, you said, "I'll miss you," but he didn't let you say anything else. His lips collided with yours as he held you close, hands drifting lower on your back until he was stroking the sides of your belly with his thumbs. 
He wanted to keep you at home and give you anything you needed as he tasted your tongue and your teeth. You moaned softly into his mouth and broke the kiss. Bradley cupped your perfect cheek in one hand and let his forehead come to rest against yours. "Promise me you'll try to eat little meals all day."
"I promise," you whispered breathlessly.
He nodded so that his nose bumped the side of yours. "I packed you peanut butter crackers and ginger candies and ginger tea bags and lollipops. Just try to take it easy, okay?"
"I will, Roo."
He closed his eyes and squeezed you a little tighter. "I really don't want the two of you to leave." Tears stung his eyes as he held onto you, and your fingers on his neck and in his hair calmed him down a little bit. 
"I'll text you nonstop, okay?" you whispered. "I'll let you know what's going on and how I'm feeling, and then we can talk each day when you leave work."
He nodded. "Just please, take care of yourself. I love you so much."
"I love you, Daddy."
He grunted but reluctantly released you, and you stroked your fingers along his cheek. Then you turned toward your luggage and the plastic bin while Jake held Jeremiah who was now in tears as Cat started to walk away. And when you reached for that heavy bin, Bradley almost shouted. 
"Sweetheart," he said as calmly as he could, reaching out to cover your hand with his. "It's heavy."
"I'll take one side," Cat said casually, and you looked up at Bradley with a little smile. 
"I can manage it with Cat," you promised, pecking him on the lips one last time before you lifted one end of the bin. Bradley watched nervously as you and she maneuvered through the door, listening to your voice as you told him you loved him and would miss him. 
"Damn it," he grunted, leaning back against the Bronco once you were out of sight.
"Angel will be back on Friday. Chill," Jake drawled next to him. "I've never seen someone so pussy whipped in my life, old man."
Bradley glared in response before he spoke. "You're literally holding your girlfriend's son. You wanna rethink that last part?"
Jake chuckled and kissed Jeremiah's forehead. "I never said I wasn't bad, I'm just saying that you are absolutely the worst. You'll be pouty all week at work while she's gone, and you'll eat cereal for dinner every night."
"No, I won't," Bradley pouted. "Are you taking care of Jeremiah all week?" he asked, trying to change the subject, but Jake's answer surprised him a bit.
"I'm sharing Jer duties with Uncle Hondo," he replied easily. "Gotta make this whole thing work out if I want to take things to the next level."
"Next level?"
Jake smirked and started walking back to his car. "You're not the only one who can mate for life, Rooster."
Bradley stood there for another beat while Jeremiah got buckled into his car seat. That's what he did alright; he mated for life, and now it hurt when you weren't with him. His deployments sucked, and this week was going to suck, too. But he didn't want to eat cereal and pout nonstop if he could help it. 
"You wanna come by one night? We can lift and take turns playing with Jeremiah and get a pizza or something?"
Jake studied his face and nodded. "Yeah. Thursday?"
"Sure," Bradley replied before climbing back into what was really your Bronco and starting the engine. Now he just had to keep himself entertained until Thursday evening. He turned on one of your playlists and drove home to Tramp and an otherwise empty house. 
"Take a walk?" he asked, reaching for the leash, and the dog went ballistic as he jumped up and down in front of the door. "Relax. You can't be like this when the baby gets here. You'll need to be well behaved all the time." Tramp slammed his rear end down on the welcome mat like he knew what he needed to do already. "That's better," Bradley told him as he clipped the leash onto his yellow collar and took him around the block and down to the beach. 
These walks were decidedly a lot more fun when you were here laughing and talking nonstop and dancing ahead of Bradley on the sidewalk. And now he was thinking about you pushing a stroller next to him while he had Tramp on the leash. Bradley stumbled as he imagined a baby with the cutest face looking up at him while you smiled and talked about the future. 
The reality that this exact scenario could be happening come springtime hit him in the chest and took his breath away. "Let's go," he told Tramp as his excitement mixed with the anxiety he felt nearly all the time now. Because one thing was absolutely certain: Bradley didn't know how to be a dad. You told him it would come naturally. You promised him you weren't lying about that. But if he could just remember a little bit about what it felt like to be a kid with two parents, he figured this feeling would go away. All the excitement in the world wasn't going to prepare him for what came next, and he didn't want to disappoint you or himself. 
It wasn't even dark out when he got back, but he did come up with two projects that would hopefully keep him busy for the evening while he tracked your flight to Annapolis. He didn't like thinking about his shortcomings, especially when you weren't home. He changed into some gym shorts and went upstairs into the rarely visited attic space and started looking around. Then he took some photos and some measurements, and then he started to rip up the ugly flooring while imagining how nice it could be as a bedroom for his kid. Or maybe your parents could stay up here when they visited. Maybe it was big enough to be two rooms.
When his phone vibrated in his pocket, he took it out immediately to see that you had texted him. 
Baby Girl Bradshaw: We landed. It's so late here, and I threw up in the bathroom near baggage claim, and I'm starving, and I'm horny, and I miss you.
He was fumbling with his phone, about to call you or text you back and remind you not to try to carry that heavy bin, but then you sent him a photo. He laughed as he looked at the bin stacked up along with your suitcase and Cat's luggage on a trolley. 
"That's my girl," he muttered, leaving the attic partially torn apart and heading downstairs as he wrote back to you. If you would just take care of yourself all week and come back home to him as soon as possible, he was sure he could figure out what he needed to do. Everything was easier and made more sense when you were together.
He made a bowl of cereal, annoyed that Jake had been right about that much, and he told you to call him once you were settled in your hotel room. Then he took out the pink and blue striped notebook that came with the Amazon shipment and flipped through the blank pages. He found one of your fancy markers in your nightstand, underneath some of the handwritten notes he'd given you and the album of wedding photos. 
Bradley sat down on your side of the bed and wrote Baby Bradshaw on the cover of the notebook before tossing the marker back in the drawer. He lounged back on your pillow and thought about what he wanted to write before picking up a pen and getting started. 
I guess I should start at the beginning. Hi, I'm your dad. I only just found out about you pretty recently, but I'm already excited to meet you. And it's kind of weird that right now, I hardly know anything about you, but by the time you're reading this for yourself, I hope I'll know a lot. I already love you.
When his phone rang with your specific ringtone, he answered right away, setting the notebook aside as soon as you said, "Hi, Roo."
"Hey, Sweetheart. Tell me about your flight."
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He's going to be the best dad, and their child is going to be so loved. But those doubts are so real and can be scary. I hope BG makes it back unscathed. Thanks @mak-32 and @beyondthesefourwalls
PART 32
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blue-banditt · 6 months ago
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I'm stealth at work was outed to my coworkers on Friday by a security worker, who— despite the fact that my security badge and computer security profile both have my name at the top and in bold (my badge only has my chosen name)— decided to use my legal name to get my attention / ask which one of us was [deadname] so she could talk to me about how my badge was expired or whatever.
So, yk, I had to identify myself when they asked for me. And my coworkers were all like "what?? 🤨 [Deadname]??" Like they were all confused and one asked if it was my last name and I was kinda just standing there like 😶‍🌫️😶 I really just wanted to delete their memories. Bc ik if they didn't get it RIGHT then, they were going to eventually put two and two together, it was only a matter of time. And they have.
I spent that entire day afterward paranoid as hell. I was hoping to the gods they would forget about it and write it off as something weird or none of their business and not think too far into it.
Because— while nobody's been blatantly transphobic to me so far, which I'm extremely grateful for— when a cis person finds out you're trans; no matter how much they respect you, or believe in trans rights, or "see" you as a man, no matter how much you pass; the first thing in their head when they see you or think about you becomes "this person was born female and has female genitalia and is a biological female that looks like a man" (whether or not those specific words get thought or just the concept, it's still there always in the back of their head now when they perceive you)
they become subconsciously scrutinizing about every little detail about you that could possibly be proof of that reality, and instead of it being perceived as a normality for a cis man who might be a bit feminine, it now becomes a little tiny thing that will make them perceive you as a little tiny bit more female. And they will subconsciously start treating you as more female. I've literally experienced this happening firsthand. The difference between being perceived as cis and as a trans man is so fucking insane.
we get held to such high standards. If we want to be seen as MEN, we can't be feminine in the same ways men are allowed to be. We get seen as "not enough of a man" or "no longer a man" whereas cis men will get seen as "weak" or "a sissy" or "perverted"— which isn't a good thing— but nobody will sit there and dispute the fact that they have a dick and balls. Id rather be seen as a sissy with a dick and balls than a fake man with a vagina.
Anyway. So now I'm no longer seen as a cis man. The men at my job are more standoffish, less open and welcoming to me. The one woman who works with me started talking to me about period stuff and women's problems like I understand and relate to her. I've been accidentally misgendered multiple times today despite the fact that, previous to being outed, NOBODY doubted the fact that I was a cis man, no matter how femininely I presented (long hair, painted nails, I even wear a sports bra when my binders are in the laundry bc my chest honestly isn't that noticable anyway, they still never doubted me.)
The accidental misgendering really gets me, it's PROOF that they don't see me as a cis man, that they now perceive me as a female cosplaying a man.
I'm grateful they respect me, respect my choices, haven't been intrusive about it, BUT FUCKING HELL JUST TREAT ME LIKE A FUCKING CIS MAN PLEASE THATS ALL I WANT
Nothing about me has changed, and yet they treat me like a completely fucking different person.
I really, really can't wait until I can be 100% stealth. I'm so tired of just waiting for the day people find out I was "lying" to them, being paranoid everyday they can tell, and having to be incredibly self conscious and overcompensate once they do find out. It's so dysphoria inducing and it makes me genuinely consider completely leaving this place just so I can find somewhere else where people don't know and will treat me like I'm cis.
Im gonna quit my job and find a new one where nobody knows I'm trans
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Note
What should you do if people (esp. parents) notice that your chest is flatter when you're not out yet and binding in secret? I'm getting a binder soon (yay!!) and want to be prepared
Lee says:
In my personal experience, most parents find out that someone is binding when they find the binder in your room, or in the laundry.
That's what you should plan in advance how you will hide it when you get it so they don't see the binder when you're not wearing it.
Hand wash it when it gets dirty, or start doing all of your laundry yourself if you want to wash it in the washing machine on occasion.
Washing your binder by hand will make your binder last longer, but if that's difficult for you to do because of disability, using a washing machine now and then is probably okay.
If you do need to wash it in the washing machine, put it in a delicates bag and use the delicates cycle (if the washing machine you use has one).
Whether or not you always wash it by hand, you should avoid drying it in the dryer after washing it!
The binder can shrink if you dry it with heat in the dryer, so instead you should wring it out so it isn't dripping. Then hang it to dry in your closet with a fan pointed at it, if possible.
Anyway, to answer your question-- if you don't want your parents to notice that you're binding, don't wear your binder in front of your parents when you can avoid doing so.
Instead, wear a sports bra while you're in the house and with your parents, and then bring your binder in a bag with you to change into it when you go out in public without your parents.
If you're trying to take your binder to school, you could:
Get dressed wearing a well-fitting sports bra that isn't too tight
Put your binder in your regular backpack / messenger bag / laptop bag
Change into your binder in the school bathroom / locker room when you arrive at school (just put the sports bra that you were wearing into your bag)
Before you leave school, go to the bathroom and change back into your sports bra
Leave your binder in your locker so you can change into it the next day without having to bring it home
Every couple of days, bring it home with you to wash it if you don't have a single-stall bathroom that you'd feel comfortable hand-washing it at school, or don't think it would get fully dry hanging in your school locker
If you're not going to school, you can still follow the same general method and bring your binder with you to change into when you go to a public bathroom in a Starbucks, Barns and Nobles, etc.
Instead of a purse, you can use a drawstring knapsack, a regular backpack, a messenger bag, a laptop bag, a mini-sized backpack, or a running-style fanny pack.
I usually carry a small one-strap backpack like this kind when I'm going out for a day in the city.
If you minimize the number of times your parents see you in the binder, you'll reduce the likelihood that they will notice that you're binding.
If you have to bind while you're around them, wear a shirt that has a high collar. If you wear a shirt with a deep v-neck or a you wear a tank top, they might notice the binder peaking out around the edges of your shirt.
Layering a sweatshirt on top can be another helpful technique for being around your parents, but this only works if you normally wear one and the temperature makes it a reasonable choice of attire.
Suddenly showing up at the beach in a sweatshirt when you don't normally wear a sweatshirt in hot weather would be even more suspicious and prompt more questions than just not wearing the sweatshirt.
Finally, if you do wear your binder and your parents notice that your chest is flatter, just tell them that you're wearing a high-compression sports bra because you find them more comfortable because it avoids the jiggling issue.
If people who aren't your parents ask about why your chest is flatter than usual, don't give them an excuse-- say the classic "my eyes are up here," and then follow up by saying that you don't feel comfortable with people staring at your chest or commenting on your body and you would appreciate if they respect your boundaries and avoided the subject in the future.
Followers, any other advice for anon?
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shiftylookingcrow · 4 years ago
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A (not comprehensive) List of Little Self Care Things I Do When Everything Feels Like Too Much:
Bathing
Wash just your body, or just your hair. You may not be completely clean, but you ARE cleaner
Still feels like too much? No problem!
Take off any jewelry from your hands/wrists and wash your hands up to your elbows, just taking your time
Then wash your arm pits and groin, those are the stinkiest parts of the body
If you're feeling up to it, wash your face too
Once you're done washing, take your favorite body lotion and massage it in anywhere you washed
Shaving
Shaving takes time and patience (especially if you prefer to be mostly hairless), but you don't have to go through the whole process every time
Wanna wear that cute tank top/crop top but don't feel comfortable with how hairy your pits are today?
JUST shave your arm pits then
Wanna wear shorts/capries/a skirt, but feel your legs are too fuzzy?
Where on your legs do the cuffs/hem sit? JUST shave from there down
Facial hair looking kinda scruffy? Got an electric shaver? It won't give you as close a shave as a razor, but it'll help neaten you up a bit
After any shaving, get back in there with your lotion and work it in well
Laundry
Don't have the energy to drag that big basket you've been avoiding down to the washing machine? Out of clothes but need something to wear tomorrow?
Wash ONLY what you'll need for the next 1 or 2 days. A smaller load means less to put away after
Need a bra/binder/mask/etc for tomorrow? Wash ONE, then hang it to dry with a fan blowing on it.
The air movement will help it dry faster, and while it may not be 100% dry by morning, it should be dry enough to wear comfortably
This can be done for underwear and socks as well
Dental
Mouth feeling like sandpaper, but you still can't find it in you to go through the whole tooth care routine?
JUST brush your teeth before bed. You can floss in the morning
No energy to get in there and really scrub like your dentist told you to? Even just a quick scrub is better than nothing
You know those little Gum brand toothpick things? With runber bristles on them? They can't replace proper flossing, but the CAN at least get the worst of the gunk from between your teeth
Food
Hungry but can't bring yourself to put together a whole meal? That's okay!
Get all the fixings for a sandwich (bread, spreads, cheese, meat, etc), put them on a plate and eat that. You're still eating a sandwich, it's just not an assembled sandwich
Want a smoothy, but don't want to fuss with the blender? Put it all together as a yogurt bowl instead
Want a salad? Grab a couple lettuce leaves, a stick of celery, half a tomato, or whatever else you'd have in there, and toss it on a plate. Grab some dressing (or not) and you've got a personal size veggie platter
Cut an orange in half and eat the pulp out with a spoon
Cut an apple in half, and eat JUST one half. You can save the other half for later, or eat it right after the first if you feel up to it
Cutting a banana in half and squeezing out the fruit means you don't have to worry about those gross stringy bits
Simple Smoothie Recipe:
1 banana
1 egg
1 tsp vanilla extract
1 tsp honey/sugar
Milk (dairy, soy, almond, whichever)
Berries, yogurt, chocolate chips, jam (optional)
Directions
Put all ingredients except milk in a blender (or 4 cup measure if using a hand mixer)
Pour in milk until ingredients are ALMOST covered. There should be about 1 inch/2.5 cm of solid ingredients visible
Blender/mix for 30-60 seconds, or until desired consistency. Pour into your favorite glass, or drink straight from the container
Simple baked potato:
Clean a medium to large potato and use a fork to stab holes down the sides and at each end. Depending on the size, you should have stab your potato somewhere around 9-12 times.
Place the potato in the microwave just off of center, one end facing the center of the spinning plate
Microwave for 15 minutes, flipping the potato end for end after every 5 minutes
Put the potato on a plate with some sour cream or ranch dressing, and dip it like a big ol' french fry
House Cleaning
Feel like there's too many dishes? Pick ONE place setting (bowl, plate, knife, fork, spoon, cup), and ONE pot/pan, and clean those. Do the same at the end of each meal, and while it might take a while, you'll eventually get things down to a manageable level
Dust bunnies breeding in the corners? Pick ONE room or hallway every couple days and just clean there. ONE clean room is better than NO clean rooms
Your room is so messy you don't know where to start? Every time you enter your room, put ONE thing back where it belongs. Every time you leave your room, take one thing that doesn't belong out with you and put it where it belongs.
Sink looking kind of gross? Give it a quick wipe down the next time you wash your hands
Toilet needs a clean? Pick a part (lid, seat, back or bowl) and just clean that bit. Even if you're just wiping some of the dust off the back.
Scum ring building up in the shower/bathtub? Give it a quick scrub next time you bathe. Maybe you don't get the whole thing, but you DID make a start.
Fitness
No energy for a full walk? If you can, walk around your house/apartment building. You might not have gone far, but you were UP and you were OUTSIDE.
Can't get out for whatever reason? Are there stairs in your house? In your apartment building? If you can, walk up and down those a few times.
Not really able to do stairs? Do some simple stretches instead.
Reach down and try to touch your toes, holding for 20 seconds. Reach up over your head as high as you can, holding for 20 seconds. Repeat 5 times
Sitting in a chair, reach your right hand across your body and over your left shoulder and try to grab the back of the chair without lifting your butt. Hold for 20 seconds. Do the same with your left arm, holding for 20 seconds. Repeat 5 times
Standing, or sitting on a chair, gently pull your head towards your shoulder (right hand, right shoulder; left hand, left shoulder), reaching the other hand down towards the ground. Hold for 20 seconds, then gently push your head upright again (lifting your head with just your neck muscles can cause them to seize after a stretch). Repeat 5 times
Miscellaneous
Need to trim your nails, but don't feel like sitting through both hands? Pick one finger on each hand, and just trim that nail. Do another nail on each hand tomorrow, and another the day after that. You don't have to do them all at once
Having trouble remembering to drink enough water? Find a water bottle/mug/glass that you like and try to keep it near you as much as possible. I find actually having a bottle with me helps me remember to keep sipping.
Still having trouble with your water intake? Fruit and veggies (specifically like apples, oranges, tomatoes, bell peppers and avocados to name a few) have high water content and can help keep you hydrated
Even if you can't get to sleep, lieing in bed with your eyes closed is more restful than trying to wear yourself out by reading or something
Alternatively, doing some mild stretches, or a few sit ups/push ups/jumping jacks can help wear you out without engaging your brain too much
You are aloud to say "no". You don't even need to give a reason. If everything feels like too much, taking on more responsibility will only make it worse, which will only make your output poorer as a result.
A reminder that this is by no means a complete list, just some things I've found helpful in my journey through adhd, depression, and anxiety. Not all tasks need to be done all at once. Maybe you can't do much, but that doesn't invalidate the some you did. Just because you take longer to do a task doesn't mean your bad at it, or that it isn't worth doing. You'll get there when you get there.
Please feel free to add to this post, I'd love to see what self care tricks other people are using!
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thekisforkeats · 4 years ago
Text
Love Languages
Info: The Magnus Archives, JonMartin, rated T probably for swears. Canon-Compliant. Set post-MAG 22, with a coda post-MAG 159. Everyone is ND and everyone is trans because that’s just how my personal S1 Archives gang rolls.
CWs: Mentions of ableism and Martin’s mother. I’d say canon-typical worms but the worms don’t really come up except in passing.
I do not know anything about BSL, so I did not try to describe the signs.
Summary: A love language is not just about how you best show love and affection; it is also about the ways you best receive love and affection. And so, for someone like Martin, who shows love by going out of his way to help others, someone going out of their way to help him, well. What better way for him to realize just how loved he is?
--------------------------------------------
The first time Martin went completely non-verbal after starting work in the Archives, it was the morning after giving Jon the statement about Jane Prentiss.
It wasn’t a surprising development, really. Martin didn’t go fully non-verbal that often, but when he did it was almost always a thing that started in the morning and lasted most of the day. Sometimes it wore off by the time he went to bed, sometimes it lasted until the next morning.
After his mother’s diagnosis, he’d been unable to speak for an entire week. That hadn’t gone over well--as much as his mother wanted him to be quiet, she didn’t like the “silent treatment,” as she called it.
Martin hated that she’d called it that, as though his non-verbal episodes were anything he did on purpose. Some days talking just felt like a chore; those days he could get by only forcing words out when he had to. But some days, the worst days, he just couldn’t talk. He could understand other people just fine, he could make noises, sometimes he could even hum. And he could definitely read and write. But speaking words, aloud? No. He could not speak, on these days, however much he may have wanted to.
As Martin grew older and learned more about himself, he learned words and reasons and coping mechanisms. He realized that some of the problem came from dysphoria and the longer he was on hormones the less often it happened. He realized that he was autistic (even if he never got diagnosed), and learned how to handle the episodes that still occurred. He took sign languages classes because it was a good and useful thing to know regardless, to be able to communicate with more people.
As many Deaf people had learned before Martin, he’d found himself in plenty of situations when nobody around him knew BSL, so he’d found a phone app that let him type out things he wanted to say and repeated them in a tinny, mechanical voice. Feminine, but he found it didn’t cause dysphoria; it wasn’t his voice. It was the app speaking for him, a robot lady translating his words.
Martin was fairly certain he was going to need the robot lady to speak for him today, and he was dreading the whole idea. The app got him a range of reactions from scorn to derision to faux sympathy. The last time he’d done so at work, the Institute library staff had regarded him with such pity that he’d called in sick the two other times it had happened since.
He’d woken early, because he was always awake fairly early, to ensure he looked presentable and got to work on time. He did not want Jonathan “Crisply Professional At All Times” Sims giving him that look again. The particular look that was “I highly disapprove of your sartorial choices but I’m not going to get into it right now because I have so very much else to do. Nonetheless, if I could fire you for what you’re wearing I would.”
Jon had a lot of looks. Martin fervently wished he could stop categorizing them; he very much disliked his boss, and very much wanted to stop thinking about Jon quite as much as he did.
Jon was attractive, that much Martin had noticed the first day he’d come in, with a jawline Martin would’ve loved to trace with his fingers, eyes sharp and deep and intelligent, salt-and-pepper hair that Martin would have tangled his fingers in gladly.
Except, of course, that Jon was also a prick who didn’t like Martin one bit and made that very clear. He’d put down on record that he thought Martin would “contribute nothing but delays.” Martin was not such a sucker for punishment that he would put up with someone who hated him just for a pretty face. The tiny potential blossom of a crush had been, well, crushed five seconds after it had poked its head above ground, by Jon’s declaration that he could dismiss Martin if he didn’t resolve the “dog situation” immediately.
Martin counted his lucky stars every day that Jon had not, in fact, dismissed him, despite having had to deal with a doggy mess. The luck was really in having Tim around, Martin figured; Jon actually seemed fond of Tim, and the other man had managed to smooth the entire situation over.
Martin had fallen asleep last night thinking about the new look Jon had given him yesterday: concerned. Truly, genuinely concerned, which had rather taken Martin aback. He’d been certain Jon wouldn’t believe him, would scoff and roll his eyes at the entire statement, and instead he’d just looked… concerned. 
And then Jon had offered Martin the cot that he’d woken up in this morning.
It wasn’t the look of concern that had Martin non-verbal, though; of that he was certain. It was the stress of the last two weeks, and dumping out the statement yesterday, and all the whirl of figuring out how to live in the Archives. Jon’s insistence on going with him to pick up basics with a toothbrush at the convenience store, and then coming back to be sure he was okay. Jon finding clean sheets and discussing how he’d do his laundry. Jon had expensed clothing bought online to the Institute, including next-day shipping, because he’d “lost access to his flat and thus his wardrobe in the line of duty.” It had all been bewildering and overwhelming and it was no real surprise that Martin was in the state he found himself when he woke.
Martin had known as soon as he’d opened his eyes. It was just there, the feeling of nope can’t talk today. He’d pulled on his binder and the same clothing he’d worn the day before and then fumbled around for his phone. Which… he didn’t have. The damn worm-hive-lady had stolen it from him. Well, shit.
He managed to avoid having to figure out how to talk while he went out to get breakfast, just pointing at a scone in the display and smiling at the guy behind the counter as if he wasn’t secretly irritated by the price of everything in Chelsea. By the time Martin got back, Jon was already in his office, so thank God he’d avoided that awkward interaction. He went to make himself tea, and had his breakfast in the breakroom, and brushed his teeth, and then went to get started on…
Wait. He didn’t even know what they were working on right now.
Well, he wasn’t going to bother Jon about it; however nice he’d been last night it surely must have worn off by now, and Martin had no interest in summoning one of his boss’ looks this early in the morning. Normally he’d still be on his commute at this hour.
After a moment’s thought, he went to go see what they’d recorded in his absence, and soon had a stack of statements on his desk. They’d gotten through five statements in the two weeks he’d been gone. Maybe Jon was right. Maybe Martin did contribute “nothing but delays.”
Pushing the thought aside, Martin focused on listening to the tapes, and was just finishing up listening to the second half of Father Edwin Burroughs’ statement when Tim came into the shared office the assistants used.
“Hey, you’re in early. You get the email?”
Martin raised his eyebrows and shook his head.
Tim snorted. “Jon claims he’s got something to warn us about, something that ‘won’t parse properly through digital means.’” He rolled his eyes. “Which is Jon-speak for ‘it’s a weird thing and I don’t want to admit it’s a weird thing because I have to keep my skeptic hat on to preserve my self-image.”
Martin chuckled in solidarity, then gestured toward the door to Jon’s office, to indicate that’s where their boss was.
“Not coming?” Tim asked, his own eyebrow raised. When Martin shrugged, he said, “Well, I guess if you didn’t get the email…” Tim also shrugged, then said, “Guess I’d better get it over with. Wish me luck!”
Martin gave him a thumbs up.
When Sasha came in, Martin silently directed her to Jon’s office as well, then heaved a sigh of relief. He hadn’t had to explain being non-verbal at all yet, and it was already nine o’clock. Maybe if he was lucky, Jon would warn them off talking to him and he’d manage to make it the entire day without having to explain the whole “non-verbal” business to anyone he saw on a regular basis.
Alas, it was barely thirty minutes later that Tim and Sasha returned to talk to him, both wearing expressions of mingled concern and guilt. When they spoke it was a flood of the usual, expected platitudes:
“We’re so sorry!”
“We didn’t know!”
“Are you okay??”
And such like.
Martin shrugged and nodded and shook his head in all the right places, and evidently Jon had played them the tape of his statement so he didn’t have to explain it all again (thank God), and he thought maybe, maybe he could even figure out what statement they were working on right now if he just listened to their chatter after they were done with the niceties, but then…
Well. Then Timothy Stoker happened.
Which is to say, Tim actually looked at Martin, and said, “You’re being awfully quiet. You sure you’re okay?”
And then he and Sasha just… sat there, looking at him expectantly.
Martin sighed and reached for a piece of scrap paper and wrote, I’m autistic and sometimes I go non-verbal. Today’s one of those days, but I don’t have my phone anymore, so no communication app.
As he held up the paper so the others could read the words, Martin braced himself for the ensuing reactions. Pity, probably, like those in the Institute library, and he couldn’t even call in sick to avoid it; he’d rather have scorn and derision. At least those reactions were honest.
What he got from them was not pity, however, nor even scorn.
Sasha hummed. “Autism explains a lot, actually. Don’t worry, it’s not a problem.”
Tim grinned and clapped Martin on the shoulder. “Yeah, why didn’t you just say so? It’s fine, you’ve been through an ordeal. And so you know--you’re hardly the only neurodivergent in the Archives.”
Martin blinked at Tim, then wrote: Wait, what? Who��?
“Would you believe me if I said all of us?” Tim said with a grin. “I have ADD, Jon’s… well… he’s Jon, and as for Sasha…”
Sasha sighed in fond exasperation and cut in, “Tim…”
“I contend that you cannot be neurotypical, Ms. James. You fit in too well around here.”
“I am not admitting to anything on Institute property,” Sasha said with aplomb. “And you shouldn't have either, but here we are.” She looked at Martin. “If HR finds out and they give you any trouble, let us know and we’ll figure out what to do.”
Tim, in the meanwhile, pulled out his phone. “Here, go ahead and use mine for now, until your replacement gets here or whatever. What’s the app so I can install it for you?”
Martin’s jaw had dropped open. Tim having ADD made sense; what did he mean about Jon, though? And Sasha? And what did Sasha mean about HR? And… and why were they being so… nice? So… understanding? It wasn’t an act, or at least he didn’t think it was. They seemed… genuinely fine with it. Accepting, even.
It was the strangest thing Martin had experienced in a while, and that was including the worm-riddled woman who’d stood outside his door for two straight weeks.
From there the day just… went on as normal. Tim installed the app on the phone, Martin’s robot phone lady spoke for him, the three of them did their work, and everything was fine.
Until, of course, the nature of their work reared its ugly head. They were discussing the statement of Leanne Denikin, case #0051701, which they had yet to attach a pithy name to; hence the discussion. It had long since become standard practice to attach a name to the “weirder” statements, to make them easier to discuss. (Jon insisted on using the case numbers on tape still, which was annoying, given that was the only place he did that.)
Martin was reading through the statement, and he typed into Tim’s phone: What do you think of this bit? “Be still, for there is strange music.”
What came out of the phone’s speakers, however, was garbled static followed by high-pitched screeching that startled Martin so much he actually dropped the phone.
Jon was walking in just as this happened; he stopped in the doorway, blinking. “What on Earth was that?”
“Martin’s robot lady gave Tim’s phone an aneurysm, I think,” Sasha said, eyeing Martin as well.
Martin scrabbled on the floor for the phone, pulled up the app (which had crashed), and typed, I don’t know what happened!! I was just typing in something from one of the statements!
Jon frowned at him sharply. “What are you doing with Tim’s phone? Are you quite well?”
“No, Martin is not ‘quite well,’” Tim said. “Non-verbal for the day.”
Then Jon did something that stunned Martin: Jon signed at him, specifically, “Do you know sign language?” He spoke aloud as he said this, too, but also raised his eyebrows and gave a quizzical tilt to his head to convey that he was asking a question.
Martin blinked rapidly, then signed back: “Yes, actually. But Tim and Sasha don’t.”
Jon nodded, then said aloud, along with signing, “Why are you non-verbal, exactly?”
“I have autism,” Martin signed. “Sometimes talking is overwhelming and sometimes, especially in stressful situations, I can’t talk at all. Woke up that way today. It should be gone by tomorrow morning.” Why was he explaining so much more to Jon than he had to the others? Maybe just because Jon knew sign, and thus could communicate in a language Martin found much easier than even the typing.
Jon frowned thoughtfully, then nodded again. Then, still speaking and signing both, “What were you typing into your phone?”
“Be still, for there is strange music. From the statement.” Martin gestured to the statement on his desk.
Jon’s frown deepened and he repeated the words. “‘Be still, for there is strange music….’” His expression went slack for a moment, and then he shook himself. “Right. Well. Just… just… I’ll be right back.” Then he abruptly turned and left the room.
Tim and Sasha exchanged bewildered looks. Then Sasha asked, “Do you know what that was all about?”
“I forgot Jon knows BSL,” Tim replied thoughtfully. “Hard of hearing on one side. Not that he’d have agreed to interpret all day or anything.”
Martin shrugged. It’s alright, he typed. This works just fine.
“Well, no, obviously not for some things.” Jon had reappeared as suddenly as he’d disappeared, holding a small brown notebook the size of Martin’s hand. “Here,” he said, thrusting the notebook at Martin. “This will work better, for communicating about the statements. You needn’t use it with me, of course, unless signing is also taxing.”
Martin stared up at Jon. There was an entirely new look on his boss’ face. Not any level of scorn or sneer, nor even concern. He was… nervous. Fidgety. Like he was offering a gift that he was afraid might be rejected.
Something went flip in Martin’s stomach and it was like the entire world turned upside down. Suddenly, in light of Jon’s actions in the last 24 hours, he saw the way his boss had acted toward him the last six months for what it was: a defense mechanism. Armor pulled up around someone fragile and soft and sweet, someone so terrified of rejection that he went about making sure it happened preemptively so he wouldn’t be hurt.
Martin had a sudden, fierce desire to hug Jon and tell him everything would be okay. It was so bewildering a sensation--he didn’t even like the man! At all!--that he just took the notebook with a nod and a signed “Thank you,” eyes still very wide.
Jon nodded in return. “You’re welcome.” He let out a breath, and seemed to relax a little. “Well. Then. I think we’ve found the name for this one, given the way Tim’s phone reacted to those words. ‘Strange Music’ it is.” He straightened himself. “Tim, you said something about the organ reminding you of articles you’ve read…?”
Tim nodded, expression suddenly serious. “Yeah. I’ll see if I can find them for you.”
“Right. Well, then, Sasha, if I could ask you to look through the Archive like we talked about? I’m certain we’ve had a statement from Jane Prentiss.” Jon then turned to Martin. “And if you wouldn’t mind helping me with ‘Schwarzwald?’ You used to work in the library, right?”
Martin was still staring at Jon in confusion, but nodded.
Jon actually smiled at him. Faintly. “Well, then, I’m certain you must know where to find the German history reference books, if you could go grab whatever they’ll let you bring down?”
The strangest thing about it was, Jon seemed sincere. Like he actually believed Martin did, indeed, know the library well enough to just… go up there and find the German history reference books. The faint, confident-in-his-assistant smile was a new look, at least directed at Martin; he’d seen Jon look at Tim and Sasha that way many times before.
Martin’s stomach was doing cartwheels. There were butterflies taking up residence in his intestines. His heart was pounding. How had he never noticed how nice Jon’s smile was? Soft and small, like he was afraid to let it actually take up residence on his face for too long.
Oh, God, oh, no. Martin could not fancy his boss. Jon hated him. Or, well, no, evidence suggested that perhaps Jon did not hate him, but Jon most certainly did not fancy him. This crush had to disappear, just as fast as it had come. This would not do.
He was going to be writing poetry again tonight, wasn’t he? Crap.
“Martin?” Jon’s tone was concerned rather than sharp, and the way Jon said his name made Martin want to sink into the floor.
Instead, he scribbled furiously in the notebook and held it up so all three of the others could see: Yeah, sorry, was just thinking about where that’d be. I’ll bring them down as soon as I find them.
Jon practically beamed at Martin’s use of the notebook and he nodded briskly. “Right! I’ll be in my office when you have the books, then.” He started to turn away.
Martin’s heart went pound pound pound because oh wow Jon was really cute when he let that smile take up more of his face. Throwing caution to the wind, he made a noise to get the other man’s attention.
Jon turned around, quirking a brow. “Yes, Martin?”
Martin signed, “Tea?” He, too, raised his eyebrows and tilted his head to indicate the question.
Jon nodded. “Tea would be lovely, yes.” He smiled at Martin for a brief moment, and then suddenly looked flustered. He glared at them all. “Anyway,” he snapped in his ‘boss’ voice, the impact of which was ruined by the flush rising in his cheeks, “there’s still work to be done. So let’s… do it.” And with that, he turned on his heel and left the office.
Had Jon blushed because Martin had offered him tea? Did Jon like his tea that much? Was Martin imagining things? He had to be imagining things. He put his head down on the desk and wrapped his arms over it so he could grab at handfuls of hair. What was happening to him?
Sasha tried to make her voice serious, but couldn't quite manage it past quite clearly holding back giggles. “Mourn for poor Martin, working alone with Jon.” She looked at Tim. “We should call HR preemptively, it’ll be a bloodbath.”
“Nah, I think Jon’s softening on our boy,” Tim said with a laugh. He reached over to ruffle Martin’s hair with one hand while he took his phone back with the other. “Don’t worry, Marto. I told you he’d come around one day.”
Martin looked up at Tim with a stricken, betrayed expression. In the notebook: Is this how you comfort me in my hour of need??
Sasha shook her head. “For once, Tim’s being serious. You weren’t in the room when Jon explained things to us. He’s worried about you, he doesn’t want you to have to leave the Institute alone, he doesn’t want you to have to look for the Prentiss statement in case it’s ‘too traumatic’ for you to run across on your own. He actually asked us if we thought we should avoid any mention of Prentiss altogether in your presence.”
“I told him no,” Tim said. “I hope that was okay. You seem like you’d rather deal with trauma by facing it and figuring it out, rather than avoiding it entirely.”
Matin gaped at them. Really? he wrote. Jon’s… worried about me? Really? As if he hadn’t seen the evidence just now that Jon was, indeed… softening.
Tim gave Martin a very serious look. “I’ve told you before… I’ve known Jon, well, not as long as I’ve known Sasha, but for a long while now. He’s prickly and thorny, even to people he cares about, but that’s a front and I’ve said so. You just didn’t believe me.”
“In Martin’s defense,” Sasha put in, “Jon’s been awfully ‘prickly and thorny’ to him specifically.”
Tim put up a hand. “Oh, I agree. I have had words with our dear boss about the way he treats Martin, largely because I’m one of the few people he might actually listen to.” He looked at Martin. “I don’t want to take the credit, because it’s really been a remarkably fast turnaround, but I’d like to think I helped, a little.”
Martin frowned thoughtfully. Thank you, he wrote. If Jon’s at ‘I can stand Martin’ instead of ‘Martin is the source of all bad that happens in the Archives’ work might be… better than tolerable, for once.
“That’s the spirit!” Tim said with a grin. “Now, then, Jon did say to get back to work…”
Jon gave Martin another of those soft smiles when Martin brought in the tea, a smile which widened on seeing the stack of books he carried in right after. That afternoon, spent sitting and going through books and discussing the Schwarzwald statement, was the first of many they’d spend together, reading and talking and comparing notes.
Martin was feeling verbal again the next morning, but he kept the notebook. If nothing else, it was a good place to jot down poetry. And it came in handy when he found himself unable to speak the morning after Jane Prentiss’ attack on the Archives.
And the morning after Jon confronted him about his CV.
And the morning after Jon disappeared, leaving Jurgen Leitner’s body at his desk. (Martin blamed that on the corridors more than the body, really.)
Funnily enough, he didn’t need it the morning after the Unknowing. But he kept it with him that day all the same, the first gift Jon had ever given him, and one of the few things he had left of him with Jon in a coma.
--------------------------------------------
When they reached Daisy’s safehouse in Scotland, Martin had hoped he’d somehow manage to dodge the threat of going non-verbal. He’d been the one to drive the car, over Jon’s protests; it was something to focus on, to keep him remembering he was alive and real. He’d clutched the wheel and driven north north north with Jon giving directions in the passenger seat.
Martin had finally figured out that it was the chance to stop and think about trauma that led to his being non-verbal, which was why it was almost always a thing that hit in the morning. Adrenaline would keep him running after a stressful event, and then he’d carry himself through the rest of the day trying to clean up whatever mess had been caused. But sleep was enough for his body and brain to both tell him to stop, to process, to deal with whatever he’d run into.
It was possible, in hindsight, that he’d gone non-verbal more than once since the Unknowing and just hadn’t noticed because he’d been barely interacting with anyone. He’d certainly had a bad bout the morning after his mother’s funeral, dealing with so much misgendering and fake smiles. And there had been more than enough trauma to try to process in the past year, so it must have happened before.
He’d just really, really hoped it wouldn’t now, because he didn’t want to put Jon through that. (Why he thought he was putting Jon through anything he didn’t really want to examine. It made him feel Lonely, and that was bad.)
At any rate, the realization of why he went non-verbal had led to him keeping busy in order to hold it off, in order to hold himself together. So he drove, and he puttered about the cabin poking into cupboards, and he talked to Jon, and he talked to the shop lady in the village, and he brought back food and made dinner with Jon, and everything was good and fine.
And then he woke up the next morning, in an unfamiliar bed in an unfamiliar room, and he could not speak.
There was the smell of bacon and eggs and pancakes cooking, and Martin made his bleary way out into the main room of the cabin and peered at Jon, already up and dressed and cooking.
His boyfriend turned to look at him and smiled, one of those soft smiles Martin had come to love so much. “Sleep well?”
"Not really,” Martin signed. “I mean…” He gestured at his throat.
Jon nodded. “I figured you might feel that way this morning. I, uhh… hold on a moment, I need to….” He grabbed the pan of bacon and moved it off the heat, pulled a pancake off the griddle and deposited it on a plate, then turned off the stove and went to poke around in one of the bags.
Martin chuckled fondly. “What’re you looking for?”
Jon was still digging through his bag. “When I was grabbing essentials at the store, back in London, I was thinking, you’ve been through a lot, and the notebook I gave you before must be full if you even have it anymore. I know you were writing poetry in it, and… oh, here we go.”
Jon came up with another small notebook. This one was not plain and brown, the way the first one he’d gifted Martin all those years ago had been. This one was black, and had silvery stars on its cover that, as Jon held out the book and thus tilted it through the light, shimmered into rainbows.
“Just in case, you know, the shop lady doesn’t know BSL.”
Martin blinked at the notebook.
“It, uhh… I know it’s not your usual style,” Jon said, his voice suddenly nervous. He was looking down at the notebook as he spoke, instead of at Martin. “Not… retro. But… I saw it and I thought of you.” He paused. “That tape, where you were talking to Simon Fairchild. He talked about the ‘cosmic scale,’ and how we’ve never even been alive on that time frame, and you said… what was it? You said, ‘I think our experience of the universe has value. Even if it disappears forever.’ And I just… that was… maybe the most… it was very… you. And there were other options, flowers or cursive writing, o-or… I don’t know, they all seemed so obvious, but this…”
Jon swallowed, and finally looked up at Martin. “I thought, after the Lonely, you might like a reminder that, you have value. That… that to me, you shine as bright as any star.” And then he flushed, and Martin knew it was for him, just as he now knew the flushes about tea all those years ago had also been for him.
Martin was gaping. Oh. Oh. Jon… loved him. Which he’d known, intellectually, but the emotional knowledge of it hit him suddenly, took his breath away. He knew it, all at once, in that “oh we could spend the rest of our lives together” way he’d never really thought he’d ever feel.
Jon had clearly misinterpreted the expression; he started stammering, “I-if… it it’s bad, I can… well, no, I can’t take it back, stupid, I should’ve just grabbed the one that had--”
Martin cut him off by reaching out to take the notebook from Jon and reached out with his other hand to cup the shorter man’s cheek. He smiled, and because he’d realized long ago how well Jon responded to physical touch, he leaned in to plant a soft kiss on his boyfriend’s forehead.
Then he pulled back to put the notebook aside on the counter and signed, “It’s perfect. Thank you.” A pause, and then, “I love you.”
Jon smiled, both speaking and signing, “I love you, too.”
And for once in his life, Martin knew that to be true, and trusted that knowledge. He was loved. He had been loved, and he would be loved for the rest of his life, whatever state his voice was in.
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sunsetcurvecuddles · 4 years ago
Note
(intimacy of "how did you know that?" "because I know you") for lukebobby if you could please?
this is, i believe, the oldest prompt i have from you in my inbox LOL but here we go!
when my brain gets bitter | luke x bobby or luke&bobby, 1.3k | warning for descriptions of gender dysphoria/mentions of unsafe binding | ao3 link in reblogs!
--
“Huh. Nice of you to stop by, Mercer.”
Luke stops and blinks. Bobby’s in the doorway, leaning his shoulder on the doorframe, arms crossed, and grinning at Luke in a way that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. For a moment, Luke gets lost trying to analyse his expression.
Bobby seems to take this as Luke missing his joke. “Because of the pacing,” he explains, like this should be obvious.
“Right,” says Luke, too late, “because Alex—yeah, yep. Good one.” Now that he’s stopped walking from one end of the studio to the other, he feels the nervous, horrible energy starting to build inside his body again, finds himself bouncing on the balls of his feet, rubbing his hands over his arms even though they feel all strange under his fingers. “Is he, uh. Is he here, actually? Or Reggie? Or anyone? Obviously you’re here.” Luke laughs. It sounds awkward and stilted even to his own ears.
Unsurprisingly, Bobby doesn’t look reassured. “Uh, nope. Just me.” He pauses. “I mean. It is nine on a Thursday night. They’re probably home.”
Right, with their families. Luke tastes resentment, bitter and coppery like blood, in his mouth. Man, he wishes he could tear his own arms off, his body feels so wrong. And his ribs hurt when he breathes in.
Shit, his ribs hurt.
“Luke,” says Bobby, slightly too quiet, too careful. Luke misses the mocking tone from when Bobby had just arrived. “How long you been wearing it?”
For some reason, Bobby’s concern is always the hardest to bear. Alex is very upfront with his worry, nagging and pushing and insistent; Reggie hides his, manages to pass his worry off as other things. Bobby is the worst of both worlds – involved, and he cares, but he thinks he hides it when he doesn’t at all.
“It’s fine,” he says, in the least convincing voice ever, because he hadn’t grabbed extra clothes when he left his parents in a rush of hot-headed impulsivity, so now he's stuck in this stupid tight tank top and if he takes his binder off it’s going to be so fucking obvious and he’s already so upset with how the rest of him looks and feels that he can’t handle the idea.
Bobby’s looking at Luke now and just like his tone before, his gaze is too thoughtful, gentle, cautious. All the things Luke prefers not to see on Bobby.
“I’ll be right back,” Bobby says, and with that, he pushes himself up off the doorframe and heads back up the path to the house.
There’s a few silent minutes for Luke to work himself up.
This isn’t always how it feels. He knows that. A lot of days, now, he feels fine, even great. He bounces around in his sleeveless shirts with his short, messy hair and feels like he looks every bit as boy as Reggie or Bobby or Alex. Some days he feels like his body has no part of that at all, feels sheer joy just being himself, feels ecstatic lost in music or in dumb movies or in talking about his big dreams for the future. But today he can’t help but feel like his middle school self again, surly and bitter and the wrong shape, before he could properly explain to the boys what it felt like when they yelled his wrong name across the cafeteria, or jokingly called him their girlfriend, before he had the courage to tell them he wasn’t a girl in the first place.
He hates this. He hates how messed up he feels, how there doesn’t seem to be a single stable thing in his life, how he can’t even be happy just sitting in a room by himself in a shirt he wishes he wasn’t wearing, how when he turns and accidentally catches his own reflection in the window it all looks off and his shoulders—
Bobby’s back. Luke didn’t even hear him coming down the drive, but there he is, silhouetted against the door, and he slips inside as soon as Luke gives him a go-ahead nod. He has something bundled in his arms, and it’s only when he gets closer that Luke realises it’s Bobby’s favourite Nirvanahoodie.
“If you’ll take it off,” Bobby says gruffly, not quite looking at him, “then you can wear this. Deal?”
Luke feels his emotions all crawl up his throat at once. Before he’d started testosterone, he probably would’ve started crying.
“Then your arms won’t bother you, either,” Bobby adds, like he’s still trying to sell Luke on it, like Luke’s not having a tiny breakdown over his thoughtfulness already.
“How did you know that?” asks Luke, hushed. He barely voices these thoughts to the boys. Kinda doesn’t want to remind them that they’re not all having the same experience, when he can avoid it.
“Because I know you,” Bobby says, like it just slips out. Then blushes. Clears his throat, stiff and awkward. Like he thinks Luke doesn’t want his help, instead of his help being the best thing ever, the exact right amount of detached and understanding all at once. “Anyway. Deal?”
“Deal,” Luke agrees. Bobby chucks the sweater at his head and Luke has to put an arm up to defend himself, a laugh startled out of him before he realises it’s happening. When he scrambles the sleeves out of his face, he can see Bobby grinning, even as he rolls his eyes and tries to hide it.
Luke changes in the bathroom, pulls his binder over his head with some difficulty and a little pain, but the relief of being able to take a full breath is well worth it. Quickly, he pulls Bobby’s hoodie over his head, so he doesn’t spend too long finding more things wrong with how he looks. It’s way too big on him, which sometimes might bother him but tonight feels just right, the sleeves coming down over his hands. It’s soft and it smells like Bobby’s lola’s laundry detergent, and for one small moment Luke presses his sweater paws to his face and inhales.
It smells more like home than his own house. He tries not to dwell on that fact too much.
When he returns, Bobby is sprawled out on the couch, guitar in his lap. He’s pulling at the strings but not like he has any real idea what he’s playing, more just to make the sounds echo around the room.
“You tired?” Luke asks. He can’t help how his voice sounds a little hopeful.
“Nah,” Bobby replies, even though he always at least looks exhausted. For a moment, he gives Luke a considering look, and Luke worries he’s going to keep pushing, going to ask Luke what’s wrong, or whether he feels better, or anything about his feelings at all. Instead, Bobby just says, “Was wondering if you wanted to try and finish that new song we were playing with on Sunday. Really thought we were getting somewhere with that second verse.”
“Yes,” Luke crows, grabbing his guitar and flopping immediately down onto the couch. “I was thinking maybe if we changed the chord progression up just a little—”
Now that Luke is able to breathe, now that he’s binder-free, and practically drowning in Bobby’s hoodie, the idea of losing himself in his guitar and in the heady rush of song-writing with Bobby sounds like the greatest thing in the world. Bobby, who's looking up from his guitar to grin at Luke across the couch, who always pulls a surprise out of the bag that fixes everything right when Luke least expects it. Watching and listening and paying attention, in all the ways Luke needs it.
God, Luke fucking loves him. He puts his head down, closes his eyes, listens to the way their voices and their fingers on strings braid together into harmonies that make Luke’s heart sing. He kinda forgets to think about his body at all.
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starr-fall-knight-rise · 4 years ago
Text
HASO, “A bucket.”
I wrote this little fluff piece this morning because I didn’t have the energy to write anything else. Still fighting with my motivation right now, but I hope you all like it :)
The air smelled like fall, wet dirt, a chill, and the unmistakable tang of mouldering leaves raked into large yellowing piles. The sky overhead was blue, and it was just beginning to warm as the sun peaked higher into the sky.  Standing on the sidewalk, he stared down the street of his childhood watching orange and yellow leaves fall to the pavement. In the distance he could hear the shouting of children, and watched decorative skeletons clatter and blow in a light wind.
A soft crunching noise jogged him from his musings, and he turned to see Sunny contemplatively staring at a yellowed leaf, only to watch her pop it into her mouth and crunch on it like it was a potato chip.
He frowned at her and she turned to look at him, “What?”
“Seriously?”
“What do you mean, Seriously?”
“Gonna go ahead and eat the fall ambiance?”
She frowned at him,” The trees aren’t using them anymore, and I don’t see you eating them.” He just shook his head at her, and turned to walk up the front steps and onto the porch. She paused to stare at the cluster of pumpkins on the front steps, and the grizzly faces that were carved into them. His father was a master at pumpkin carving, evidenced by the fact that Sunny made, “What the hell.” she turned to look at Adam and he shrugged.
“What are those?”
“Pumpkins/”
“That does not answer my question.”
“THey are a type of squash or gourd or…. Or something. People grow and eat them most of the time, but it is traditional, in october to carve scary faces on them for fun. Maybe mom has another one lying around and will let you try it out.”
“But why?”
“Back in the day people thought that doing this would help to fend off evil spirits, but now it is more of a contest to flex who is the most artistic. Dad wins every year.”
They stepped onto the porch where fallen leaves were still clinging wetly to the front steps and knocked.
“It’s open!” Came the voice from inside 
The two of them slipped in, Adam taking off his shoes and Sunny wiping her damp feet on the entrance rug.
They walked into the living room to find his mother, Martha sitting on the floor at the center of an explosion of pictures, and a couple of open binders.
Adam and Sunny walked in very carefully stepping over the pictures.
“Sorting the photo album again?” “Again, the last time I did this was almost ten years ago.” 
Adam wantered closer to his mother and Sunny curiously examined some of the photos, until one caught her eye.
A very tiny, chubby human barely able to stand on his own, and with bright green eyes.
She picked up the picture gingerly in one hand, “Awww is this you? You and your fat little cheeks.”
Adam turned, and Sunny held up the picture. Adam blushed and Martha laughed, Sunny looked at the next picture in the line, which seemed to be paired to the first, but now the small boy had a large bucket on his head, his feet sticking out from underneath. The bucket had holes in the side.
“What are you doing.”
Martha laughed again, “We were playing hide and seek.” Adam was still blushing madly as she continued, “He grew into his intelligence late in life.”
***
Martha walked slowly from the back room into the living room, “Ready or not here I come.”
The house was mostly quiet. The rest of her brood was out with their father on a hike for the day, but their littlest had woken up with a slight cough so she had decided to keep him home. He had spent the first half of the day lethargic, but around lunch time after some strawberries he had perked up and become  his usual exhausting self.
“Come out come out. I’m gonna get you.”
It was the giggling that gave him away, but when she turned to look she paused, sagged a bit and rolled her eyes covering her smile and laugh with a hand. The living room was completely clean, aside from a round laundry basket sitting dead in the middle, and two chubby little legs sticking out from under it. Not to mention that since it was a laundry basket it had holes in the side, and she could see him looking at her from inside.
She discreetly took a picture and quietly to herself Lord child i hope you grow into your brains soon
But instead of calling him out on his hiding spot she wandered around the room hands on hips, “Now where could he have gone…. Could he be under here?”
Giggling 
She kept up the pretence for the longest time until he seemed to have gotten tired of her charade. She heard the bucket tip over and he ran over on his stubby little legs grabbing her by the leg.
She acted surprised, “OH there you are!. I have been looking ALL over.”
He grinned and hugged her leg again.
She reached down and picked him up and he rested his head against her shoulder.
That was another thing about her youngest. He was VERY VERY cuddly, and she idly wondered what that would translate to when he got older. She patted his back and tried to fix his unruly blond hair which stuck up from all sides of his head, but it was no use, she sighed and gave up.
Oh well, she tried her best.
***
“You know honestly sometimes he is STILL as dumb as a pile of bricks.” Sunny mused setting the picture back down.
Adam rubbed the back of his neck, “I got my masters in aviation and orbital physics.””
“And yet who is the one who insists on putting strange alien plants in his mouth without knowing i they are safe or not.”
Martha frowned at her youngest.
He frowned back, “That is hardly fair, you eat them.”
“I also eat leaves, doesn’t mean you can too.”
She sifted through the pictures and barked a laugh at one that caught her eye, she picked it up, what are you doing. She turned the picture around, and Adam blushed madly. Martha laughed, “Oh yeah, we had to call the fire department for that one.”
“No, no no we are not going to be telling that story.”
A firefighter and a cop framed either side of the picture both giving exaggerated thumbs up with a young boy\ mabe seven or eight in the background stuck, backside first in a bucket of some sort, looking very embarrassed.
Martha grinned, “I think you were seven or eight maybe.”
“IT was Jeromy’s fault.”
****
“I dare you.”
The four boys and one girl stood  at the top of the hill staring down.
Maya, who was fifteen years old, older by five years than Jeremy who was eleven, frowned down the hill, “What if he runs into one of those trees.”
“He's got a thick skull, he’ll be ok.” Thomas said ruffling Adam’s hair viciously so the younger boy squirmed protested and ducked away. Adam was a very small boy, shorter than average and very thin. His clothes always seemed too big, his shirts baggy, and the shorts he was wearing were forced to stay on only by the belt his father had had to poke three more holes into to make it fit.
Even his sneakers seemed too big flopping around on his feet with floppy untied laces. 
“Who is even going to fit in that?” David asked.
Arguably the smartest of the three brothers, it hadn’t occurred to the others that none of them would fit.
That’s when all their heads turned to look at Adam.
Adam frowned, “But I don’t want to.”
“Chiken.” Thomas said 
“Come on your the only one small enough.” Jeremy urged.
“I see your chances of dying as very low, “ David interjected helpfully.
Maya tossed her braid back over one shoulder, “We should at least put some padding down at the bottom. Because if he gets hurt mom will kill me.”
Maya was technically supposed to be babysitting them, and keeping them out of trouble. But as was common with their family, she was not immune to the pull of a hair brained idea especially not when she was just to curious to see how it turned out.
Adam stomped his foot, “But you guys ALWAYS make me do it.”
“Because the buckets are ALWAYS too small for us, “Come on don’t be a chicken.”
Adam sighed and walked over to the barrel. He tired crawling inside it backwards, and when that didn’t work he attempted to go in face first, but every time he was just to tall.
He shook his head, “Too small.”
David looked at him very thoughtfully, and then an idea seemed to jump into his head.
“Not if we fold you in half.”
Adam frowned at him.
“Come on, hold the barrel upright.” The other boys did as told, while David instructed Adam to sit inside butt first.
Adam frowned, “But that doesn’t sound very comfortable, and how am I going to get out.”
“We will tip you out, don’t worry.”
Adam frowned but then allowed himself to slide down into the barrel. It was immediately very uncomfortable.
He wanted to tell them to pull him out but by that time he had been tipped over onto his side, “Ready?”
“No.”
They ignored him.
Adam was near panicking now, it wasn’t exactly easy to breathe.
“Three, two, one.”
And then the world was spinning around him. He rocked and bounced and spun so fast his eyes rolled inside his head. He screamed but the scream was cut off as he slammed painfully into something.
Dazed and sure he was going to vomit, he heard voices.
“Oh no, Adam!”
“Adam are you ok!”
Footsteps raced down the hill.
“Oh no we killed him!”
“Shut up He’s still alive, look.” Something kicked his foot, and he groaned.
He’s still breathing.
“Let him out.”
Something tugged on his feet. But it only managed to pull him and the barrel with it.
“Here you guys hold the bucket and we will pull him out.
Wat ensued was a horrible tug of war on his legs and on the bucket neither of which seemed to want to let go.
“STOP!”
They dropped his legs.
“Um, what if we tipped the bucket upside down?”
“Ok.”
The four of them tried really hard, and at one point almost succeeded until someone’s hand slipped and Adam crashed into the ground very painfully. He was near panic now, “Guys! Get me out of here.”
David patted his foot, “Its ok, ill get you out, ‘we just need science.”
Science turned out to be a  shoddy pulley system that went over the swing set and was designed to let them lift the bucket by way of rope and shake Adam out onto the ground.
The problem was the rope kept slipping off the bucket.
“Oh… no.”
A car rolled over gravel.
“Oh no, dad’s home.”
They heard a car door slammed shut, and Adam felt as the others hurriedly rolled him behind the swingset.
A door opened and the jangle of keys followed their father around the side of the house.
“There you all are, glad to see everyone is still in one piece, you didn’t burn the house down.”
“Nope.”
“Nope.”
There was sudden silence, “Where is Adam.”
“Uh, he…. He is us, around here somewhere.” Jeremy had always been bad at lying 
Their father turned his gaze on Maya, “Maya what is going on.”
“Uh…. nothing dad, we….”
“Don’t even try it….”
She sagged a bit, “We got Adam stuck in a barrel.”
There was a moment of silence, he heard the shifting of footsteps, “You got Adam stuck in a-” The light filtering into the barrel was cut off and he saw the silhouette of his father’s head, “Huh, you weren’t kidding. You are okay in their kiddo.”
His muffled reply came.
“Yeah…. I guess.”
Their dad grabbed the barrel by one end, tipped it over and shook Adam a few times. WHen nothing happened he gently set him back down, “Huh.”
“I hold and you pull his feet, “” They tried again but it didn’t work the second time either.
“Well, I have some tools in the garage.”
Adam began to panic as he thought of his dad's circular table saw.
“NO!”
“Ok ok.”
He heard his dad quiet for a minute and then, “Hey Joe, yeah this is Jim Vir….. doing good, and you, how about the family….. Glad to hear it….. Yeah anyway, my kids got my youngest boy stuck in a barrel like the geniuses they are, and I can’t seem to get him out. You want to send me a firefighter or two with something that can help….. Yeah thanks joe.”
Adam was relieved.
Of course as it turned out it was a slow day at both the police department AND the fire station, so what came rolling up was a motorcade of emergency vehicles. Adam was so embarrassed he wished he could melt through the barrel and into the ground as a group of cops and firefighters walked over to peer down at him from above.
“That looks comfortable.”
“How are you doing there son?”
There barrel was tipped back over, and he even saw his father sna a few pictures as the firefighters and police went to work surrounding the barrel. Of course since the entire towns emergency crew were here that drew curious neighbors who couldn’t help but laugh along with Jim at the antics of his children.
The wors part is when Martha showed up, and ran from the car scared out of her mind assuming something horrible had happened, only to find her husband laughing and taking pictures with the local emergency response team, and her youngest stuck in an oversized bucket.
At the end of the day they were forced to cut him out, but the sweet relief when he tipped onto the ground free at least was almost worth the embarrassment. He might not have thought that if he had known there was still a picture in both the police department and the fire station of him as a kid stuck in a barrel.
***
Sunny was laughing at him by the time Martha was done with her story.
He grimaced, “Why do you only keep finding the embarrassing pictures.
“Oh what is this,”
“What are you wearing?”
Adam covered his eyes.
“Oh yeah, I couldn’t get my other boys to wear it, but he would model anything for me when I needed it. This was when I was doing a commission for a Seventies themed party. Isn’t he adorable.”
“Is that a jumpsuit, and what is with those glasses.”
Adam looked up at the sky.
“And of course when Maya moved out, and I didn’t have the money for a mannequin….”
Sunny picked up another picture, “That is one big ass dress.”
“Ah yes the bell skirts, doesn’t he look nice.”
Adam grunted and cleared his throat, “I think you'll find corsets are surprisingly comfortable. Second of all, I rock the regency and victorian periods, and no one can tell me otherwise.”
He might as well own it.
This was the 41st century, dresses weren’t just for women anymore, and some of them had been quite comfortable.
They would never really be his style, but he could see  why someone else would find them appealing.
By this point both Sunny and martha had migrated to the couch where they looked through embarrassing pictures of him as a baby and shared embarrassing stories. Sometimes gross stories as he sat on the other side of the room and suffered silently. Sunny seemed to be enjoying herself though, so he let it slide.
Seeing her happy was nice, since it hadn’t been very common over the past few months.
He blamed himself for that, and wondered idly how long it would take for her to fully forgive him.
He hoped not long.
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yugirl · 3 years ago
Text
Day 25: “Power Bond”
The Marufuji/Truesdale brothers steal the spotlight on Sho/Syrus’ big day! That’s right! Let’s celebrate our favorite sidekick’s birthday with some quality brother bonding!
@gxmonth
((Just guys being dudes, braiding each other’s hair and talking about boys!))
“Of all the ways you could spend your birthday, and you chose to help me with rehab!!” Zane huffed as Syrus helped him with the exercises the doctor gave him.
“I want to make sure you get better, Zane!” Syrus huffed “the last thing I want is to watch you die again!”
Zane grimaced. He felt terrible for wasting his brother’s time, but he was right…
Zane sighed, absolutely exhausted. He knew these exercises were necessary, but they were draining sometimes.
Syrus chuckled and sat on the foot of the bed. “Are you alright, Zane?”
“I’ll be fine!” He chuckled and sat up, grabbing a hairbrush. “Come here!”
“Huh? Why?”
“I want to brush your hair. For old times sake….”
Syrus was taken aback by that. Zane hadn’t brushed his hair since they were little, after that incident.
“S-sure…” Syrus crawled along the bed and sat in front of Zane’s crossed legs.
Zane started to brush his hair. He was making sure to smooth it out before tackling his knots.
“So… how’re things? Are you eating well?”
“Yeah… the food in the Obelisk dorms is delicious… better than at Slifer.”
Zane chuckled at that. “The food in the obelisk dorms is good….”
“What about clothes? Are you washing them?”
“Wh- yes, Zane, I’m doing my laundry! I’m not a gross little plague rat!”
“And what about your binder? Are you washing it the way I taught you?”
“ZANE!”
“What!? You need to take proper care of it so it can take care of you!”
“Oh my god”, Syrus sighed, exasperated “, yes! I’m taking care of it!”
Zane smiled “good….”
“Why are you bombarding me with questions all of a sudden….” Syrus asked.
“S-sorry… I’ll stop!”
The room went awkward and silent.
Zane kept brushing Syrus’ hair.
“Zane… what’s going on?” Syrus asked quietly.
“It’s just… I realised that I haven’t been the best brother to you….”
“T-that's not true!” Syrus stammered.
“Even now, you still defend me… you’re too kind to me, Syrus….” Zane sighed “but I know I haven’t been kind to you. Even when we were at Duel Academy together, I pushed you aside and looked down on you… when I should’ve treated you with kindness and compassion like Jaden did… I can see why you love him so much….”
“Zane, I—“ Syrus wanted to retort, but he couldn’t.
“You’re right, Zane… what you did… hurt me… a lot… you were supposed to be my big brother, my hero, my friend, my protector, but instead, you made me feel insecure, frightened, ashamed of myself… I know you were trying to teach me to respect my opponent, but… there were better ways to do that….”
He sobbed and hugged Zane. “B-but even so… you’re my big brother, and I love you!! And all I’ve ever wanted was for you to love me back!!”
Zane sobbed and hugged Syrus back. “I do love you, Sy!! And I’m so proud of you and everything you’ve done!! You’re so amazing and have come so far since your first year! I’m so sorry I hurt you!! I’m so sorry I’ve been an awful brother!!”
The two held on to each other tightly, letting it all out. Eventually, they let go and smiled. They felt so much better now.
“F-from now on, I’m going to make sure that you know I’m always there for you… and make up for lost time” Zane smiled
“I’d like that….” Syrus smiled and hugged him a little longer.
A few minutes later, Zane returned to brushing Syrus’ hair, who was way more accepting of it now.
“So, how’re things with that dinosaur kid you like?”
“Hassleberry?” Syrus blushed “um, they’re great! Really good!”
“They’re good, huh? Have you worked out long-distance relationship plans?”
“N-no… actually I’m planning to break up with him….”
“What!? Why?!” Zane asked, shocked.
“Well, I just don’t think I’m good enough for him… plus, he still has one year left at the academy, and I’ll be busy, and I’m just worried about holding him back, besides Blair makes him happy….”
“And you don’t make him happy?”
“W-well, he seems happy with me but—“
“Syrus…” Zane sighed, almost disappointed.
“What?!”
“Do you love him?”
“O-of course I do! I love him so much it hurts!!” Syrus sobbed
“Then fight for him… the relationship will work out, but you have to put the effort in.. you have to prove you want him and want to make things work….” Zane sighed “that’s why Atticus and I fell apart… I wasn’t putting as much into the relationship as he was, and he couldn’t take it anymore….”
He hugged his brother from behind. “Your boyfriend seems crazy about you, and I know you love him… so try to fight for it and make it work. Don’t give up yet.”
“A-and what about you and Atticus… he still has feelings for you….”
“H-he does…? I thought he and Yusuke were….”
“You think so, but no!”
Both brothers looked up in shock to see Atticus in the doorway.
“W-what? Atticus…” Zane stammered.
“A-am I interrupting something? I can go!”
“No, no, no, come in!!” Syrus blurted out, “you’re ok!”
He smiled at Zane. “I think that’s a sign you two should try again..”
Zane blushed and looked at Atticus, who smiled kindly and sat next to him. “If you would give me a second chance, Zane, it would make me the happiest man alive….”
Zane blushed.
“A-Atticus…”
He found himself reaching out and holding the other’s hand. “I… I want a second chance… please, Atti. I want to make this right!”
Atticus smiled and leaned in to kiss Zane, soft, tender and warm.
“Whoa! Am I interruptin somethin’?”
The three of them looked up and saw Hassleberry in the doorway holding up a set of messy cakes with tiny dinosaurs and trucks
“Hassleberry, come in!” Syrus grinned
“Yeah, if I can have my boyfriend in here, Sy can too!” Zane chuckled.
Hassleberry came in with the cakes. “S-Sarge told me your birthday was today s-so I did my best to make you some cupcakes… the icings a bit runny but I tried my best… I hope you like em….”
Syrus giggled and took the cupcakes. “Tyranno, that’s so sweet of you! Come here!”
He pulled Hassleberry into a kiss. How could he ever want to break up with this Man?!
He smiled at him with loving eyes. “I’m gonna miss you so much when I graduate!”
“I wouldn’t worry about that, Sy! We’ll just call each other often! Not every day, though, because I don’t want to burn you out!”
Syrus teared up and nodded “y-yeah, every few days! And I’ll send presents and tell you everything!!”
“Yeah! And I’ll send things to you too! And have Aster, Blair, and Aurora film my duels so you can watch them!!”
“I’d love that….”
“Hey, Sy! Careful, you’re going to get icing on the sheets!!” Zane chuckled
“Ah! Sorry!! Let’s eat 'em up then!”
Zane smiled “happy Birthday Syrus!”
Atticus grinned and cuddled up to Zane “happy birthday Sy!”
Tyranno pressed another kiss to his cheek. “Happy Birthday, Private!”
“Thanks, guys!!”
It didn’t look like much, but to Syrus, this was the best birthday ever.
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hurricanery · 4 years ago
Text
If You Went Away - pt. 2
A/N: Here’s part two of If You Went Away. You can read part 1 here. This is still pretty much angst but….I promise there’s light at the end of this tunnel. ALSO I want to explain in case anyone else was wondering 1) Amelink are not yet married in this 2) They have their own house in this story/they do not live at Meredith’s house like they currently do in the show. Hope that clears things up! Thanks so much for reading and sending encouraging messages it really means a lot <3
_______
(end of summer // present day)
“Amelia?” Maggie calls out as she pulls the spare key out of her sister’s front door lock. “Are you home?”
Silence.
She walks through the empty house, not failing to take in its current state. The piles of laundry not put away, dishes overflowing the sink, binders full of surgical notes and papers scattered across the kitchen table that are covered in Amelia’s messy handwriting.
She takes a look around the kitchen and notices the food that’s been left out, indicating that someone has recently been here. The food is perishable. So, Maggie decides to put things back in the fridge before they go bad. She frowns to herself as she notices the relative emptiness of the fridge.
She then searches through the practically empty cabinets, too. Before feeling like she’s doing too much prying. Pulling out her cell phone instead, she dials Amelia’s number.  
To Maggie’s surprise, she hears a phone go off from somewhere upstairs.
_______
“Amelia,” Maggie enters her bedroom, where she discovers one sound asleep Amelia. “I’ve been trying to reach you all day. It’s like 2pm. What’s going on?”
There’s a pillow over Amelia’s head, and her only response is a muffled groan.
“Amelia.” Maggie says again, a certain harshness to her voice. Stepping around to the side of the bed, she rips the pillow away and tosses it aside.
Amelia immediately attempts to replace the pillow with her arms, not so successfully covering her head. “Maggie,” her voice cracks. “How’d you even get in here?”
“Spare key.”
Silence falls between them and Maggie just stares around the room. The curtains are pulled shut and the air is stuffy. There are a concerning amount of unfinished mugs of coffee and tea placed on every surface.
And then there’s Amelia, and her basically lifeless looking body, not even covered by any sort of bedding. The comforter happens to be in a pile on the floor. But she lay there anyway, in an oversized sweatshirt, hair an absolute mess, arms covering her head.
“Amelia,” Maggie says, all tough-love. No bullshit. “Get up. Get in the shower. I’ll make you coffee.”
_______
A solid half hour later and Amelia reluctantly rounds the corner into her kitchen. The sight of Maggie busying herself by cleaning the kitchen almost makes Amelia smile. Almost.
And Maggie’s heart clenches at the ounce of an expression.
Amelia looks rough, even after a shower. And that’s putting it lightly. The same oversized sweatshirt from before still covers her thin frame and Maggie can’t help but to notice the endlessly exhausted look in her eyes.
“There’s coffee, hun,” Maggie clears her throat, nodding towards the coffee-maker.
Amelia nods, and moves toward her cabinets, in search of a mug. “Thanks,” she murmurs, pouring herself a cup, not even bothering to add any creamer.
Maggie makes her way over to the kitchen table and Amelia follows suit, reaching forward to clear some of her books and papers out of the way.
“Sorry about the mess,” she mutters, stacking all of her surgical notes onto one side of the table.
She slowly takes a seat across from Maggie, her eyes not leaving her own hands, and the way her fingers wrap around the warm mug tightly. Her eyes sting unwillingly.
Ignoring the way her throat burns, she opens her mouth, attempting to persuade her sister that everything in this household is a-okay. “So, how’ve you been, Maggie? Been a while.” She lifts her stare and offers what she believes to be a smile.
Maggie stares back at her in disbelief. “Amelia,” she sighs. And Amelia pretends to be confused by her tone. “What is going on here?”
Amelia frowns, laughing under her breath. Her gaze shifts to the pile of surgical prep sitting on the table. “The spinal surgery,” she mutters, like it should be the most obvious thing in the world. “Maggie I’m prepping for an impossible surgery, I don’t know what you expect-”
“That’s not what I’m talking about.” She interrupts. “And to tell you the truth, I’m a little pissed.” Amelia looks like she’s ready to respond, but instead shuts her mouth closed, her teeth clamping together. Maggie’s tough act softens just slightly, along with her voice. “I’m your sister, Amelia, let me be here for you.”
“I don’t need…” She blinks, trailing off.
“Shut up, Amelia.” It doesn’t sound harsh at all, in fact it makes Amelia’s eyes sting out of pure gratefulness.
Despite her attempts to repress any emotion, Amelia huffs a deep breath and blinks upward, but fails to keep the moisture out of her eyes. “Maggie the summer just…. flew by.” She explains, trying to make sense of her own feelings. “And I….still feel like….why do I still feel like this?”
Maggie’s heart breaks at the tone of her voice. Tiny and pleading and desperate.
“Amelia, I love you. And I want to be here for you. But you have to let me. You have to answer my texts, my calls.….”
Maggie trails off, waiting for the brunette to interject, or for her to at least make eye contact. When she doesn’t offer any evidence that she’s listening, Maggie continues.
“Amelia, you can’t ignore the fact that they come home this week.”
Amelia’s eyes snap to hers and she nods, because she knows Maggie’s right. She’s been so wrapped up in this upcoming spinal surgery that she’s been refusing to process the fact that Link and Scout will be returning back home, to this household, any day now.
“I know, I…” Amelia sucks in a breath, glancing at the ceiling as she gathers her thoughts. “I just, I….gave myself all of this time. This entire summer...to think. And, and to….figure out how I feel and…”
She trails off and Maggie nods at her, encouraging her to continue.
“I didn’t figure any of it out,” she laughs bitterly. But there’s no humor in her words. The tears springing to her eyes provide a stark contrast. “And now they’re coming home and I don’t even know what we are.”
“You’re still a family,” Maggie offers, in a guarded whisper.
“Maggie he left,” Amelia’s voice cracks on the statement.
“Amelia…” Maggie frowns slightly at this, but ensures that the reality of her next words don’t sound harsh. “Amelia, if I can remember….you told him to go.”
“But I didn’t think he would listen!” The brunette yells harshly back, and the slight outburst surprises both of them.
“Sorry,” Amelia continues, an octave lower. “Yes, I told him to go. And yes….he went. And then…” her voice cracks itself even more and it’s heartbreaking to hear. “Maggie I made it so much worse. I let this happen. I...I created this distance and he went along with it and, and now,” the tears are openly rolling down her cheeks now. “I don’t know how to fix this.”
“I know it’s hard. I know.” Maggie reaches across the table for Amelia’s hand. “But it’s going to be okay.”
“I haven’t really spoken with him in months.”
“You FaceTime with Scout almost every day,” Maggie frowns.
“I mean Link,” she shudders slightly at the realization that she’s distanced herself completely. She makes time for Scout with every free moment she has. But when it comes to Link, and every time he’s asked to talk, just the two of them, she’s made up some excuse about surgery and how she has to prepare for her upcoming spinal cord tumor case.
“It’s going to be okay,” Maggie interrupts her thoughts.
“How can you say that?” Amelia questions, under her breath.
“Because you are going to get through this, okay?” She stares at Amelia until she finally agrees.
“Okay.”
“Good,” Maggie gives her hand a squeeze. “How about some pancakes?”
And Amelia finally smiles.
“I’m going to make you pancakes even though it’s…” She trails off, glancing at her watch. “Closer to dinner time now. And then,” She locks eyes with her sister pointedly. “We are going to clean this house up. Mkay?”
“Okay,” Amelia whispers, a genuine smile still waving across her features.
_______
She’s been preparing for the sound of his car in the driveway all day but when the distinct sound fills her ears, she’s still not ready. She sucks in a breath as she hears the car doors slamming shut. And the sound of her son’s cheerful voice, taking in how much more full and lively it sounds in person, compared to through the phone. The distant sound of Scout’s laugh from the driveway makes her heart swell and she still doesn’t feel prepared.
She occupies her mind by tidying up the living room. She folds a blanket while she listens to their voices get closer, as they approach the front porch. There’s not much else to do that can distract her from this moment. Or to slow it down. Because Maggie had already ensured that this house was spotless. And now Amelia has nothing to do with her hands except wring them together anxiously until the front door is swinging open.
And when it does her breath catches in her throat.
Because her baby is home and now he’s running towards her full force, without any inclination of her nervousness.
“Mommy!” Scout cries out as he leaps towards her, and at the same time Amelia is bending down and scooping him up into her arms. She squeezes him tight, her palm resting at the back of his head as she brings it to her chest, her head lowering to the top of his to inhale his presence completely.
“I missed you so much, baby,” she breathes, swaying back and forth and running her fingers through his dirty blonde hair.
Link stands in the doorway to the living room, a suitcase in each hand as he smiles at the sight in front of him. It’s an uncertain smile. One that doesn’t feel like it knows it’s place.
Amelia sets Scout down and Scout is immediately babbling to her in full force about the trip. He explains excitedly about the playoff games and how ‘Dad fixed all their bones’ and how they ‘won all the games because of their new bones.’
Amelia smiles tightly, too overwhelmed to even keep up with her son’s stories. Too overwhelmed because she can’t believe he’s even here, in front of her. She crouches down to be equal to Scout’s height, squeezing his shoulders and just taking in his face as he stands in front of her.
“Oh, wait!” Scout yells enthusiastically. “We brought you something!”
Scout runs towards his Dad and Amelia finally takes a moment to glance in Link’s direction. The uncertainty on his face mirrors her own. But then Link looks away from her, as their son approaches him. He’s reaches into their luggage, handing something to Scout. Scout takes it and runs back to Amelia, where she’s still kneeling at Scout’s height in the middle of the room.
He excitedly hands her something and Amelia looks down at it. It’s a baseball. She chuckles and turns it over in her hands.
“That’s my ball, Mom,” Scout explains. “I got to throw the first pitch at the last game! I did! And that’s the ball that I threw!”
Amelia laughs wholeheartedly at her son as he bounces up and down with excitement.
“And look!” Scout points towards the baseball. “I signed it for you too!”
Amelia turns the ball over to see that Scout did, in fact, write his own name across it in permanent marker. The grin that crosses her features feels foregin, like she hasn’t smiled so genuinely like this in months. She doesn’t realize the tears that are springing to her eyes until Scout points them out.
“Mommy, are you crying?”
She wipes under her eyes quickly and laughs. “No, sweetie. I’m not crying.”
“Did I make you sad?” Scout looks genuinely concerned.
“No, no,” Amelia pulls Scout into her arms again, sighing deeply. “I’m just so happy to see you.”
Scout starts to squirm in her tight embrace and Amelia finally pulls away, taking another deep breath.
“Aren’t you going to hug Daddy, too?”
Amelia’s heart sinks at the question. She glances at Link, who still stands near the front hallway, where he’s been organizing their luggage. He awkwardly runs a hand through his hair.
Amelia stands on shaky feet, biting her lip. And then she feels a small hand wrap around her wrist, and she’s being pulled lightly across the room.
She doesn’t fight it. She let’s Scout pull her toward the front door. And then she’s standing right in front of Link. And the eye contact is making her heart race.
Scout stands between them, head shifting back and forth as he looks at each of them in question.
“You guys are acting funny.”
Amelia chuckles. And the look Link gives her represents both of their surprise at their son’s own wit.
Link shrugs. And then he’s giving Amelia another deliberate expression, as if he’s warning her that he’s about to make this decision for the both of them.
He reaches forward and pulls her into a hug, and Amelia gasps into his chest. His arms wrap around her shoulders and hers automatically go to his sides.
Her pulse quickens as she inhales his scent. She hasn’t had any contact like this in months and it feels so out of her realm.
“You good?” Amelia barely hears him mumble into her hairline. It’s quiet enough that Scout doesn’t hear it.
Amelia nods into his chest and steps out of his embrace, dropping her hands away from his sides and watching his face fall.
She rips her gaze away from him and turns her attention to their son standing between them, smiling tightly. “Why don’t you put your stuff away, Scout?”
“Yeah, bud,” Link chimes in. “We have a lot of stuff to unload. Let’s leave your Mom alone for a minute.”
Scout nods, following after his Dad as he moves towards their pile of luggage. Link hands Scout a duffle bag before he fills his own arms with what he can carry.
Amelia watches on as the two climb the stairs, Scout chatting again about practicing his baseball pitch. She stifles a laugh at her son’s ability to fill each moment with words. He had to have gotten that trait from her.
She stands alone in the front hallway and glances upwards as she pays attention to their movement upstairs. She can hear Scout’s quick movements in his own bedroom. And she can hear footsteps enter the other bedroom, their bedroom, too. Luggage gets set down heavily above and Amelia swears she can hear Link’s sigh even from a floor apart. And in a way, she mirrors the tired sound, exhaling slowly.
_______
Amelia blinks heavily as she sits at the kitchen table, she tears her eyes away from the notes in front of her to glance at the clock. 11pm.
The coffee in her hands should help her stay awake for at least 3 more hours. She’s been staring at the same scans on her laptop for what feels like forever. The updated spinal cord scans don’t exactly provide her with any inclination of how to move forward in her tumor removal approach and she groans impatiently.
“Scout’s finally asleep,” Link’s voice completely startles her as he rounds the corner into the kitchen and she almost drops her coffee. “Oh, sorry,” he mumbles.
Amelia watches him as he moves about the kitchen, preparing himself a tea.
“It’s hard to get him to stop talking sometimes,” Link adds. “He basically talks himself to sleep.”
“I know how that goes,” Amelia mumbles, thinking about the amount of times Link has teased her for falling asleep literally mid-sentence.
Link takes in Amelia’s current position, hunched over at the table surrounded by scans and notes and halfway consumed caffeine.
“Gonna be a long night for you?” He questions.
“Uh, yeah.” Amelia glances away from her work momentarily. “I just got these updated scans and I….I have to re-think everything basically,” she bites her lip out of habit. “So yeah, basically a long night for me.”
Link nods slowly. He knew she had a lot on her plate right now, but he didn’t exactly know the extent of it.
“You should get some sleep,” Amelia adds. “You’ve been travelling all day.”
“Yeah, I was going to,” He glances toward the stairs, thinking about bed. Their bed. The bed he hasn’t been in for over a year now. “I was going to head up there.”
Amelia just nods. Not sure what else to say.
“You going to be okay down here? Need anything?” Link glances at the disorganized mess that is the kitchen table.
“Yeah, yeah,” Amelia quickly responds. “I’m good, I just….really need to focus.”
“Right,” Link mutters, moving towards the doorway with his tea in his hands. “Okay.” He takes one final look at Amelia before he exits the kitchen and she meets his eyes respectfully.
“Okay,” she offers back. She turns back to the notes in front of her and holds her gaze there until she hears the sounds of Link’s footsteps ascending the stairs.
_______
The first thing Link thinks when he wakes up the next morning is that he’s way too comfortable. He’s not used to this bed anymore and the mattress feels way too soft. He’s way too comfortable and the bed feels way too big. And that’s because it’s mostly empty. The space beside him is cold and bare and he clutches the emptiness before rolling over completely.
He frowns as he rests his feet on the floor, standing up and throwing a sweatshirt on as the morning chill hits his body.
He’s still blinking the sleep from his eyes as he descends the stairs, turning the corner into the living room.
When his eyes finally focus, they land on Amelia. Where she’s passed out, sound asleep on the couch. She’s still wearing the clothes she’d worn yesterday, like all she had done was move from the kitchen table to the couch at some point last night without getting ready for bed.
Link grimaces at the idea that she hadn’t come upstairs to her own bedroom to get ready for sleep. The frown deepens as he tries to push away the thought that it was because of him. His fault that she was down here on the couch and he was up there in a too big and too comfortable bed. He walks forward, and a shiver takes over his body. The early September air already unbearable.
When he reaches the couch he leans forward and grabs a blanket from the corner. He drapes it over Amelia as she sleeps and she doesn’t even stir at the slight disruption.
Link only watches her sleep for another moment before he backs away, uncertain where to go next.
_______
35 notes · View notes
lumens8ite · 4 years ago
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Hi! Im sorry if this is a stupid question, but I don't know who else to ask and I'm running low on ideas, if you can't help i understand and I'm so sorry to bother you again. (And I'm too nervous to ask in person) Do you maybe have any binding tips? I'm gonna order one in a few days and I want to know what I can and can't do.. any help can do! If not that's okay! Have a great day/night!!
hey anon!! not at all a stupid question :) I have a wall of text for you so get ready friendo!
bind no more than 8 hours! it can be tough if you're working and you have shifts longer than that, but esp just starting out, don't overwork your body. I often will not recognize that my binder has affected me until well after taking it off. so even if your body doesn't tell you you need a break, don't overbind! if you ever go to the bathroom while wearing it, maybe take a few moments to lift it up and just give yourself a breather.
brand to buy from: my personal opinion is to not trust anywhere but GC2B, because so far they have had the comfiest, best fitting, and diverse binders. I have tried both their crop binders and their tank binders. I wear a 2x binder and if I wear a crop sometimes it can roll up, so I just feel a lot less revealed in a tank!
DO NOT IGNORE WASHING INSTRUCTIONS! I have repeatedly ruined binders by accidentally forgetting to let them air dry instead of putting them in the wash. its usually best to wash them on their own, especially if you're forgetful and think you might put it in the dryer because you forgot it was in the load of laundry.
I literally couldn't find anything online about breast position when I first started binding 6 years ago. I think there are more resources on it now thankfully, but I'll say that I'm pretty sure it's up to personal preference and every body is gonna be different with a binder. for me I find that having them lifted up against the fabric of it creates a more musclely natural look, and putting them flat against my tummy just kinda looks like a sports bra or a uniboob lmao. so fiddle with it, find what looks good to you. I think having them flat though can put you at risk of stretching out the elasticity of your breasts and in the long term can affect if you're able to have top surgery or not (should you want it). so, again, remember the 8 hr golden rule!
you can swim in your binder! I have personally done it in a crop around my family and friends, and I find it to be comfortable. I think it might be rolled up on me once but it wasn't like a lot or anything. I'm sure it's be even better with a tank binder. :)
when you first get your binder, its gonna be at its tightest state. wear it around the house a bit to get it fitted a bit better for you. if you find you're uncomfortable in it after two to three days of wear, it's probably too small and you should consider exchanging it for a size up. the team of people at gc2b who help with sizing are excellent and if you have weird measurements like I do, definitely ask them what would be best!
taking off a binder, especially at first, can be challenging. roll it up over the breasts so it's at your collar bone, and try to take it off from the bottom up, if that makes sense. you don't wanna stretch it out by grabbing it from the back and tugging it over your head or anything, as tempting as it can be (you'll probably understand more once you're at this stage in the wearing process)
I can't think of much else at the moment, but I've tried a variety of different binders so if you ever need anything I'm more than happy to help! :) I hope that you learned some stuff from this ^^ thanks for reaching out!
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darkmindsotome · 3 years ago
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Tempting Thought
Fandom: Tears of Themis 
Pairing: Artem Wing x (non gender specific) MC
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Word count: 1,783
Warning: Light angst, pining, lovesick.
Written by: darkmindsotome
Fantasies. Exploring the unknown through the ability to apply imagination to a situation or thought. The children around him growing up certainly had a firm hold on the idea and the ability to put it into practice. It was an ability he envied in a way. When others could escape using nothing but their imagination he could not without the aid of a book.
His mother had encouraged him to try to join in which he did, but found it hard. How were you supposed to play along with someone else’s game if they were the only ones able to see it? Eventually, she gave up and had to agree with his teachers when they said he showed no signs of childhood imagination.
It hampered his ability to bond with others slightly in early years but later on he found it easier to utilise his social skills on children that were older than him. The ones that had passed the age of playing games based solely in realms of non-reality.
Fantasy N. (pl. ies) 1. The faculty of inventing images, esp. extravagant or visionary ones. 2. A fanciful mental image; a daydream 3. A whimsical speculation 4. A fantastic invention or composition; a fantasia…
He was familiar with the term. It had been written in many of the pages he had seen over the years both in his beloved science fiction and in court. The fiction was always something glorified, it was pleasant. The reality of the court had fantasy as a basis for eliminating testimonies and claiming false evidence.
It wasn’t a big thing it certainly didn’t hold him back. So why now was he plagued with fantasy?
He was not oblivious to his attraction. It was something he was more than aware of, just had no experience in how to do anything about it. He thought he could be happy simply being near the object of his desire. Gaining precious minutes alone with them during a case or on a weekend when he finally worked up the nerve to invite them to see a movie.
A wonderful idea… until recently. The close proximity to them alone in the dark did reward him with what he thought he wanted. The chance to be alone with them. But it also gave him something he hadn’t predicted, fantasy.
The fantasy of what it might be like if he had less resolve. If he allowed his instincts to take over. How it would play out if they shared his feelings and allowed him to continue. Would their perfume wrap around him like a blanket and stain him in their scent or would he cover theirs instead?
Would the warmth he felt from them by just sitting next to each other in the dark become a burning fire, melting his moral compass and allowing him to finally show them the full force of his love?
This was something that had become a familiar issue when watching movies together. He frequently had to watch the movie before they even planned their nights in or out. Attempting to do otherwise resulted in a one-sided conversation where he had little to say. His minds focus had scattered far from the plot on the screen leaving him lost for opinion. He didn't want to ruin their private after-party Q&A session.
What started as a small thought developed into what others could call a deviant fantasy. He inwardly winced at the idea that Vyn might latch on to such a thing and make him the focus of some sort of therapy.
The issues on the weekend during private moments alone began seeping into work hours. He had always been aware of them and the little changes during work. How he seemed to be able to tell when it was laundry day by the familiar suit that showed itself once a week. When they changed their shoes because they had grown a half-inch taller.
Now those same things inspired new fantasies. The idea they might hurt their foot and require him to find a new pair of shoes to place on their feet. How when he lowered himself to rest at their feet, he might be the happiest he ever was if he looked up and saw them focused on only him. How that extra bit of height placed their lips at the perfect position for stealing a kiss.
Thoughts of that familiar suit ending up damaged and him coming to their aid supplying a perfectly tailored suit that proved how reliable he was. How he might be called upon to help with a stubborn zipper and be part of a heated office encounter as both their suits are turned into a crumpled heap on the floor.
It was a fantasy he knew to be far fetched as much as it made his heart race imagining it. He felt guilty, even though he would never act on such things without consent. He also knew imagining his work partner in such a way was inappropriate. He was caught between the devil on his shoulder pointing out and threatening to unlock all his hidden attraction and the angel on the other telling him to ignore all that. To focus on the pure feelings behind the fantasy, the desire to want to be with his partner. To be with them and cherish them. Not to continually act on the impulse to give in to carnal acts.
5:45 pm
The firm was only open until five and yet here they both still were. Cooped up in his office pouring over paperwork and details, polishing up their defence for a court hearing in the morning. It was quiet, the only noise in the room was their breathing and the sound of the clicking of keyboards and scratching of pens on paper.
He looked up from his desk and caught the sight of them diligently working. Their hands flipping through and reordering the papers at the workstation in his office. Their meticulous actions were mesmerising as he lost himself in the thought of those hands deftly working the knot of his tie loose. How they could nimbly travel the fabric of his shirt detaching the buttons exposing his skin to the lights in the room…
“Mr Wing was there anything else? … Mr Wing?”
Their question had him flustering and he only hoped his face was not on fire in the same way as the rest of his body. Seriously why develop an imagination now?
“No that is all. I looked at your report and marked a few areas for your attention moving forward.” He kept his voice calm and level even though his mouth was turning dry.
Removing themself from the sofa his partner happily came forward to collect the file. It wasn’t anything out of the ordinary, they had done this countless times in the past but right now he was acutely aware of every sway from their body. The click of shoes on the floor felt like a hammer in his chest.
“Thank you. I’ll get them corrected now.” Elegant fingers wrapped around the binder for the files plucking it from his desk.
“No. It’s late you should go home.” He didn’t want to see them leave but he wanted even less for them to see him like this. He was struggling to keep himself in check and cursing his own mind for its torturous fantasies.
“Alright… You should go home too. There’s nothing else to be done now, right? Just showing up to court and winning the case.” They tilted their head and their hair slipped away from their neck on one side. A beautifully bare path under thin cotton fabric laid out before his eyes from their ear to their shoulder.
Turning to his computer to avoid the dangerous path his mind was travelling he nodded in agreement. “Yes, I’ll be going after I send some emails.”
Satisfied with this they gave a smile that felt like it had sucked all the air from his lungs. Holding the file close to their chest they issued one last farewell and left. Their voice lingered in his ears as a feeling of loneliness washed over him.
Sighing he realised how laboured his breathing was. The collar of his shirt felt tight causing him to remove his tie and undo the top buttons of the shirt to gain some freedom. He took a mouthful of his now cold coffee. When making it he did so focusing on producing a bitter blend, an idea he had so he could use it to refocus his mind and suppress those troublesome fantasies.
“That’s enough now. No more foolishness.” He muttered to himself as he pushed aside the vivid imaginings that threatened to overwhelm him.
A knock on the door made him jump.
“Yes?”
The head of his partner appeared through the gap as the door opened. A sheepish look on their face as they failed to make complete eye contact.
“Sorry, Artem. Erm… are we still on for watching those old movies this weekend?” Their question was adorable and the uncertainty in their voice only endeared them to him more.
“We are unless you have other plans. Don’t force yourself to attend if-”
“Oh! No, I was just worried you might be too busy and forgotten. I’ll bring some snacks with me this time so you don’t have to cook. Bye!”
The whirlwind that was his love swept through his office and left just as quickly. Their concern that he had lost interest or forgotten their date felt impossible but was so like them. He shook his head and laughed. He really had it bad. To compound the issue and make it worse the one he liked was oblivious to his affection.
He thought about the ingredients sitting in his kitchen at home and how his plans to make something special were once more dashed by his partner’s thoughtfulness.
“One step forward three steps back…” His eyes fell on the book that had become something of a talisman to him since he had been given it. All its insight and helpful steps to acquiring love and making his feelings clear were so easily mapped out in its pages but in reality, it was not so easy. "If only everything could follow the plot of a book." He picked up the self-help guide to love and flipped it open at his bookmark. "Then again... if it were that simple could I really claim they are my chance encounter?" 
He leaned back into his desk chair the leather of it creaking under him as he began to read the next section of the book. How to plan the perfect confession.
---
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ad1thi · 4 years ago
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@starklysteve me?? spamming you w recs because i love talking about my ships?? more likely than you think :)) (here’s some rhodeytony to get you started on what is objectively the best tony ship)
i place your hands around my neck:  @fanfictiongreenirises
"Rhodey could practically feel his lungs getting heavier again, weighed down by roots of plants that he’d thought would never take hold in him again."
Or: the one where Rhodey's been pining over Tony for much longer than either of them realised and develops the Hanahaki disease
Pretend We’re In Love (The Heartache Still Hurts): @marvelingjules
Rhodey's dad is dying, and what he's always wanted is for Rhodey to be happily married. Tony and Rhodey were best friends, and haven't spoken in years. But after a chance meeting at the airport, and a desperate, insane idea on Rhodey's part, they end up pretending to be engaged.
But how much of it is really pretend?
i can’t seem to get a grip, no matter how i live with it:  @psikeval
Tony knows he's got no business being a father.
A Million Shades of Blue: @notfknapplicable
“I just know that if I could get to wherever he is, I could find him. Dead or alive, I'd bring him back to us.”
James Rhodes will never stop searching for Tony Stark.
Twenty Five Years: @notfknapplicable (part of a series)
Nobody knows how long this has actually been going on. (Tony Stark has pretty much been in a monogamous relationship since he was 18 years old.)
Leave The Light On: @notfknapplicable (part of a series)
He was never doing this for fun. He'd just wanted to stay awake. And whatever you do, please don't tell that guy he's been fucking. He kinda likes him.
coloured in sun: @heleus
The one in which Anthony Edward Stark, having just reached the warm age of seventeen, realizes that he's in love with his best friend.
(The idea is terrifying.)
the planets that bend us: @deathsweetqueen
When Antonia Margaret Stark wakes up on her sixth birthday, it’s to the words: I didn’t get any sleep last night after that fucking lawn mower decided that 7 in the morning would be a perfect time for him to start his day, right outside my room.
She runs a thumb over the long string of words, wrapping around her wrist like a thick leather band.
She smiles.
She’s fourteen when she meets James Rupert Rhodes for the first time.
Written for the "more than a partner" square (S3) for the Tony Stark Bingo 2019 and the "soulmate" square for the Iron Husbands Bingo 2019
we rattle together in a bed of honey: @deathsweetqueen
Toni first met James Rhodes in Cellular Neurophysiology and Computing, when she was fourteen and trying very hard to stay in the shadows. She stumbles into the classroom, clutching her books and binders and pencil case close to her chest, as she stares at everything, wide-eyed and hungry and terrified. She seizes on the contempt, the confusion, the incredulity of the other freshman who look at her like she’s an incongruity – she’s used to that look, all that hate and derision.
She eats it up like chocolate cake.
Much to her luck, all the seats are filled, all except for one towards the middle of the row, a table shared only by a tall, handsome black boy, sleeping on top of the counter.
a winding road that stretches to the truth: @/coulddaughter (this author ostensibly has a tumblr but im unable to locate it -- so if anyone knows what their tumblr is please let me know so i can tag them!)
“Why do you need a date? Also, no offence, but why did you come to me? I stole, like, four of your girlfriends and at least two boyfriends, remember.”
“I do remember that, Tony,” said Jim, pinching the bridge of his nose. “No, I need you to come on a date with me.”
Love in the Eyes:  @child-of-sunshine
The moment each of the Avengers realized Tony and Rhodey were in love.
The Curious Case Of The Discarded Condom:  @/AssvengersArsemble
Natasha, Clint and Steve get just a little nosy about Tony's love life. Tony finds it extremely amusing they can't see what's right under their noses.
takes a lot of love and compliance: @gyzym
She's born breech, feet kicking out before the rest of her screams free; she's born breech, and never stops running. (Rule 63!Tony)
Targeted Persuasion: @galwednesday
Jim opened Tony's most formal closet and started pulling out tuxedos. "Put one of these on.”
"Why?"
"We're getting married."
Tony froze. "No, we're not."
"Oh yes we are." Jim tossed three tuxedos onto the bed. Three was a good number of options, enough for Tony to make a choice, but not so many that he'd get lost analyzing the ramifications of navy pinstripes vs. charcoal paisley. Tony did best with clear, specific expectations rather than an unlimited universe of possibilities that he would inevitably filter through his neuroses and obsess over, and Jim was really kicking himself for not considering that, oh, ten years ago when they’d first started this, but there was no point in beating himself up about it now when he could put that energy towards solving the problem instead. "You brought this on yourself, Tones. Pick a damn tux."
Five thousand roses: @/forestgreen
She is broken and all the more dangerous for it. The world should tread carefully around the shards of her former self lest they cut themselves on Antonia Stark's sharp edges.
A Guide to Handling the Unhandleable Tony Stark:  @/nightrider101 (this is ab a/b/o verse)
Written for the following prompt on the Avengers Kink meme: The rest of the Avengers assume Tony is an unbound Omega by the way he acts. He's reckless and carefree and does what he wants. Imagine their surprise when they find out that Rhodey is Tony's Alpha. They're all confused at the way Rhodey lets Tony act and how they can be away from each other for long periods of time and Rhodey's just like 'He didn't want to give up his career and I didn't want to give up mine. And I gave up trying to tell Tony what to do years ago.'
It’s Not Bacon Until It Ceases To Be Bacon: @sobebold
Tony has lived with his best friend Rhodey for fifteen years, and everything is perfect.
Until Rhodey finally gets a boyfriend, and Tony's world gets turned upside down.
by any name: @machi-kun
Tony calls him ‘mine’, sometimes.
And he also calls him platypus, honeybear, sugarplum, all those stupid nicknames; but James’ favorite will always be ‘mine’.
Tutor Me: @wisiaden
Tony really wants James Rhodes to be his math tutor. The guy was hot, and if he had to play dumb, well, he can say he hates math.
run and hide: @/starksrhodey
Tony may or may not have a crush on football captain James Rhodes.
Or, Tony is extremely insecure, Pepper knows best, Steve likes to bake, Bucky loves red heads, and Rhodey keeps trying to talk to Tony.
This Is The Real Life: @blancheludis
It takes doing the laundry for Tony to realize he is completely, irrevocably in love with Rhodey. Who knew that the way to Tony Stark's heart is to teach him how to wash his clothes.
Anything For You Darling: @areiton
Tony is sitting on the balcony of his palace in Malibu, and Rhodey hates it, more than he's ever hated anything, watching his best friend stare at the water, limmed by the sun and utterly alone.
"She's dead," Tony says, before Rhodey can ask and he feels his breath catch, his heart stumble.
There's--
Grief. For pretty, troubled Maya with her big eyes.
Heartbreak. For a sweet infant who will never know the mother who gave him up, whose life will never be exposed, now.
Relief. Because Harley is safe. Safe. Gods, he's safe.
or
Rhodey helps Tony raise his son.
it goes like this (just like heroin): @quandongcrumble
He’s twenty-six and you’re twenty-eight and you get a midnight phone call from Obadiah and between the two of you, you manage to beg and bully until you can fly back to the States and sit beside the white hospital bed while they say words like heroin and accidental overdose and that Tony should pull through but Tiberius might not wake up.
It goes like this—for almost sixteen years Tony’s addiction problems are a blight on Rhodey’s relationship with him. Friendships crack and trust is shattered, over and over again.
motor oil and coconut oil: @/halfasgoodasanything
James loves his best friend. He's entirely supportive of his friendship and his almost relationship with Steve Rogers. He is! He is. Carol and Pepper seem to think otherwise, but he's cool. Loving Tony doesn't mean no one else can. Even if he wanted to.
lost and found: @starkslovemail 
“Are you lost?”
Tony jumped at the voice cutting into his thoughts. Turning around, he saw another teen, maybe a year or two older than him, decked out in Team USA gear. He shook his head, flashing what he hoped was a disarming smile, “Nope.”
“Are you sure about that?” The athlete raised a disbelieving brow as he stared down at Tony. “You’ve been walking up and down this hallway for the past ten minutes, and the least embarrassing reason why is being lost.”
The blunt honesty startled a laugh out of Tony. He grinned cheekily, rocking back on his heels, “Guess I’m lost then.”
--
Written for the RhodeyTony Mini-Bang! Art can be seen on twitter here!
two boy geniuses walk into one frat house: @starkslovemail (part of a series)
There were too many white people at this damn party.
The Other 'Mr Stark': Iron Man’s Mysterious Paramour:  @presidentrhodes 
Clint leans over to Tony and whispers. “For the record, I know you’re lying. You’re describing the perfect man and he doesn’t exist. You might as well say you’re dating Superman because at least Christopher Reeve was a looker.“(Based on this prompt: Tony keeps telling the avengers how awesome his husband is but they don't believe he exists because it has been months and they still haven't met him yet and then finally, Rhodey comes home.)
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johnny-and-dora · 5 years ago
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kiss in the kitchen like it’s a dancefloor
46. “i caught the bouquet” requested by the loml sara @macperalta!!! used a harry styles lyric just for you bb 💐💕
read on ao3 -
Jake wouldn’t call himself a domestic god, per-say.
He supposes that his best efforts to haphazardly fold laundry qualify him for at least a bronze in the boyfriend category, although he anxiously suspects he’s somehow done it wrong. The silverware that he’s laid out all fancy and the pizza he’s shoved in the oven in anticipation of Amy’s arrival should score him some hefty bonus points, though. And the fact that he even attempted to vacuum earlier means he must be eligible for some sort of domesticity award at least.
(The celebratory domestic bagel he ate afterwards may have resulted in him getting crumbs all over the carpet again, but it’s the thought that really counts.)
So maybe he’s not quite god-level yet – really, he’s only doing the bare minimum of what’s expected of a functioning adult/good boyfriend/super sexy roommate. But he’s kept their apartment relatively clean in Amy’s two-day absence. He even remembered to use coasters and where she keeps the fabric softener. In short, he is the champion of total domestic bliss.
Jake grins as he pours two glasses of red wine and fist pumps at not spilling a drop on Amy’s favourite fancy tablecloth, knowing that she’ll be home in a matter of minutes and find a nice, non-takeout candlelit dinner waiting for her. He steps back to admire his handiwork – there’s even a full salad bowl, which he has no intention of eating from – and smiles, content. He’s totally marriage material.
As if on cue, he hears Amy’s key in the lock. She barely has time to kick off her shoes before he’s practically tackling her, revelling in the sweet sound and feel of her laugh buzzing against her lips as she melts into his embrace.
“Hey, babe.” She says sweetly, a knowing and loving glint in her eye. “Did you miss me?”
“Maybe a little.” Amy rolls her eyes, but then her gaze leaves his and lands on their dining room table, just visible over his shoulder. When they unfurl from each other her expression has gone all soft and he can’t help but feel some scattered embers of pride start to flicker and spark, putting his nerves at ease.
(After all this time, he still worries about being too much sometimes – but any fear or doubt usually crumbles when he looks to her and realises he must be doing something right.)
“What’s all this?”
“Dinner.” He says, a little shy, rocking back and forwards on his heels slightly. “I thought you deserved something nice after the drive from Jersey.”
“Oh, this is perfect.” She leans up on the balls of her feet to kiss him – for all his love of her sensible work boots and her strappy heels, he’d hide them all to spend more time savouring their height difference. “Thank you, Jake.”
“It’s no big deal. How was the wedding?” He asks as they move to the kitchen and he hands her a glass of wine. She hums in content, leaning back against the counter.
“It was beautiful. Almost beautiful enough to distract me from my entire extended family asking probing questions about my love life.” She teases, reaching out to playfully poke his shoulder.
“Sorry,” Jake says gingerly, feeling a sting of disappointment at the thought of leaving her at the latest Santiago wedding without a date. He had actually really been looking forward to meeting the rest of Amy’s brothers and a whole swarm of other relatives, but an ill-timed new lead and a crucial stakeout had put a wrench in that plan at the last minute.
“It’s not your fault, babe. You know I would have cancelled if it had been me. Besides, I showed them some cute pictures of us and that shut them up. My aunt thinks you’re adorable.”
“Oh, well I’ll have to give her a call.”
“I also…might have…caught the bouquet.” She says sheepishly, her gaze hooded and apprehensive. It takes a second for his brain to hurry up and realise what that means, and his heart does a funny thing where it trips up on itself. Sort of like mentally slipping on a banana peel.
The whole weird who’s getting married next thing. Which isn’t a problem, actually – if anything it works in his favour, because the plan absolutely is for them to get married. He would propose here and now if he’d found the right ring yet (Gina has been unsurprisingly unhelpful in all four of the jewellery places they’ve visited so far) and if he didn’t have the beginnings of a really dope proposal plan that he really wants to pull off.
“Oh, really?” He has this irrational fear that his voice might have jumped up two octaves, but thankfully it remains even enough, yet still making it very clear that he’s trying to remain as casual as possible.
“Yep. In front of my entire extended family. Who then proceeded to give me embarrassing knowing looks for the rest of the evening.”
“Sounds fun.”
“Oh, it was the best.”
They share a grin, but it’s still hanging in the air. Amy’s still looking at him in that shy, uncertain way, as if she doesn’t already know that she’s the love of his life, and that absolutely won’t do at all.
“Well, you know what that means.”
“…I do?”
“Yep. You better get the binder started now.” His heart is in his mouth as he’s saying it, because it’s not a proposal but it’s a hey I’d love to get married someday soon and that’s only slightly less terrifying. He feels like he should be holding some flowers at least, or else anything else but a dishcloth.
But he’s smiling, smiling, and then her eyes get this glowing shiny quality as she smiles back that just really makes Jake want to kiss her, so he does. And it doesn’t feel scary at all, giving some voice to the visions he’s had of Amy with a ring on her finger he’s been having since late April.
It just makes him feel even more like the champion of domestic bliss when he’s crowding her up against the kitchen island he thoroughly dusted earlier and he knows he wants this forever.
“I may or may not have possibly made some vague wedding-related outlines on the flight home.”
“That’s so hot.”
The oven timer goes off before they can get into any specifics, which is good because the whole of Brooklyn can probably hear Amy’s stomach growling, and because he’s about two seconds away from keeling over with joy if they talk about their hypothetical wedding any longer.
It’s not like he ever really doubted that the feeling wasn’t mutual. But knowing that Amy’s thought about it, that she has a vague outline somewhere just as he has a few plans and ideas hastily typed at 3am on his phone, knowing that she wants to be married to him someday – it’s a warmth, a security, a rare kind of love that he can’t quite put into words.
It doesn’t come up again for the rest of the evening. Instead, they clink their wine glasses together and dance while they do the dishes and make-out on the couch until it’s time for bed. Amy laughs while Jake regales tales of Charles bringing an actual portable cheeseboard to their stakeout, and Jake listens as she fills him in on the latest scandalous Santiago family gossip, gasping in the all the right places.
It’s not until he’s staring up at the ceiling, waiting for sleep to crash over him that he even remembers the subject coming up – quietly, tentatively, he listens out in the quiet, still darkness of their bedroom to see if Amy’s still awake.
“Hey, Ames?”
“Mmm?”
“You…you know that I’m all in, right? Like this is it, for me. You and me. I mean you probably already knew that, I just wanted to double-check because of what we talked about before, and I thought-“
“I do know.” She says softly, a soothing balm to his thundering heart. “And you should know that it’s the same for me.”
“Cool.” He says, a little breathless, easily overwhelmed. “I love you. And hey, I promise not to miss our wedding for a stupid stakeout with Charles and his obscure cheeses.”
“That’s all I ask.” She says mock-seriously, shifting closer to him as he laughs and knows that he is truly home whenever she is beside him.
That night, Jake falls asleep with a smile on his face, content with knowing that he may not be a domestic god, but Amy still wants to marry him, so that’s got to count for something.
He’s always valued her opinion more than anyone else’s anyway.
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98prilla · 5 years ago
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Gray
Previous
AO3
Part three of what I’m dubbing my “dark side logan” series. 
Patton is having a bout of depression after everything that has changed in the mindscape, and his own failures as a friend. Ambition decides to visit for a talk. 
….
He is having a “gray day”.  
 It doesn’t happen often, though it happens more than it used to. He’s trying to let himself feel all his emotions, even when they hurt, or make him feel bad, because repression doesn’t help, he knows this, now.  
 So, it is a gray a day. A day where the sparkling sepia of his room is gone, dimmed, the comforting aura of summer days and childhood nostalgia shifting into cold winters and soft regrets. A day where nothing seems bright, or good, or happy. A day where everything and anything brings tears to his eyes, so he doesn’t leave his room, because even that takes too much energy.
 Instead, he is laying atop his bed, not even under the blankets, staring blankly up at the ceiling. He can feel the fat drops of tears slipping down his face, but he doesn’t move to wipe them away. He is numb, more than anything else, he is numb against the pain as he turns up the volume on his ear buds.
 It’s Logan’s playlist. Listening makes him feel worse, makes the numbness recede enough for the ache to set in, and he doesn’t know which is worse. Feeling nothing or everything.
 Still, a smile slips through as the elements song plays, reminding him of when Logan would quietly hum it to himself, remembering the pride in his voice as he recited it from memory for the first time, having listened to it endlessly on repeat after Thomas had heard it in science class. Roman had given him a standing ovation.
 In the next breath, his small joy turns to burning shame as Erase Me plays. It is so obvious, had been so obvious, that Logan was hurting, that he was hurting so, so badly. He is emotion, he is supposed to know what the others are feeling, he is supposed to help them, he knew Logan was having a hard time, he knew he was in pain, and he hadn’t said anything, hadn’t stepped in, because, what?
 He was afraid? Afraid of offending Logan, afraid of pushing him away, afraid of breaching his privacy, afraid of making him even more unlikely to share his feelings in the future?
 He’d done a terrible job at being Logan’s friend. He hadn’t listened to him, had never acknowledged his contributions, had belittled and talked over him until he didn’t even see the point in speaking anymore.  
 And now it is too quiet. The silence follows him everywhere. He misses coming into the kitchen, Logan already sipping his tea, book open in front of him. He misses being in the commons, Logan idly sharing factoids about whatever is on the television, or spouting information from whatever topic he’s currently researching, he misses Logan’s quiet and steady presence, misses his grounding influence, misses the way he was always, always there.
 He wishes he’d given Logan even half of the care Logan had given them. He wishes he’d put aside his own stupid doubts and talked to him sooner. He wishes he’d ever taken a second to ask Logan if he was ok, because he knew that he wasn’t.
 But it doesn’t matter anymore. Logan left.
That brings another wave of tears down his face, and he rolls over onto his side, hiding his face against his pillow as he sobs silently, clutching to his chest his scrapbook, the one with a picture of the four of them on the cover, and he can’t bring himself to open it, even, to look at them, happy and together, and wonder if Logan had actually been happy in any of them.
 He knows it is selfish, this mourning, because Logan isn’t gone, gone, not really. And as much as he’s mourning for all the willfully ignorant hurt they put Logan through, that’s only half of why he feels like this.
 The other half is because he knows that Logan is happier now. He knows that Deceit will take care of him, that Remus will protect him. He knows Ambition will have long debates about philosophy with Deceit, that don’t end in frustration and anger but in mutual appreciation. He knows Remus will drag him outdoors, and Ambition will appreciate the complexness of his creatures, probably fill binders full of notebooks with scientific observations and notes about their behaviors and physiology.
 It’s selfish and low of him and he hates himself for it, but he aches because he knows that Ambition is happier. And he’s sorry, so desperately, endlessly, sorry, that it took Logan leaving to force him to see how badly he needed someone, anyone, to reach out to him.
 He doesn’t realize what he’s doing until he’s already doing it. Because if he thinks about this, he will lose his nerve, and he won’t do that again, won’t hesitate now, when last time it cost him one of his best friends.
 He feels their eyes on him as soon as he pops up, hovering uncertainly in the entryway, not wanting to intrude on their space, because this is their space, and he’s been shitty enough to them in the past, the very least he can do is simply respect them.
 “Patton.” Deceit’s voice is surprised, tinted with an edge of concern, and a fair bit of suspicion. Which is fair, honestly, given everything between them. Everything that happened with Logan.
 “Lookin pretty disheveled, Daddio, did someone show you a good time?” Remus asks, exchanging a worried glance with Deceit as Patton doesn’t react at all to his comment.
 “I’m sorry. I should have listened to you. About… about the callback, and the wedding. Not… all of it, but there could have been a compromise, there could have been something else there, and I wasn’t willing to listen. I never listen and I should and you should be heard and not just dismissed. I… I screwed everything up. I’m sorry.”
 “Patton, are you alright? Not that I don’t appreciate the apology and enjoy you finally broadening your horizons a little, but…”
 “But you look like shit. And not the fun kind.”
 “didn’t know there was a fun kind.” He murmurs, voice wavering, and they exchange another wide eyed look of alarm as Patton chokes back a gasping sob, one hand flying to cover his mouth, the other wrapping tight around his middle in an almost hug.
 “remus. I’m sorry I dismiss your ideas right away. I’m sorry I don’t take you more seriously. I’m sorry I classified you as bad and Roman as good. You’re not bad, you're just you, always and unapologetically, and that’s not bad, that’s brave. I’m proud of you, kiddo. I’m… I’m proud of both of you, not… not that that probably means much to either of you. I don’t think it should mean much of anything, anymore.”
 “Patton. Please. What’s wrong?” There’s a desperate edge to Deceit’s voice, that makes him hesitate for just a moment, but it’s not their problem, and it shouldn’t be and he’d said what he came to say.
 “Nothing. Absolutely nothing.” He whispers. He sinks out before the noise building in his chest can escape his lips, before the pain can turn itself into sound, before he says or does something that makes them feel obligated to care.
 He collapses back onto his bed, this time pulling the covers up over his head, burying his face in the scarf he’d dug out of the closet earlier, holding it tight to his chest and curling around it, barely able to gasp in air through the fit of tears shaking him to the core, because it was Logan’s scarf, from his Sherlock outfit.
 He wants those days back, more than anything, he wants just one more silly roleplaying adventure of Watson and Sherlock, running around the mindscape solving mysteries, driving the other sides up the wall with their antics, it was one of the few times Logan let himself be seen having fun, had showed himself loosening up, ruddy cheeked and breathless as he accused Roman of drinking the last of the orange juice and putting the empty carton back in the fridge while he gasped in surprised horror at the crime, or tracking down Virgil’s lost head phones, interviewing suspects, until their path led them to under the couch, where they’d been accidentally kicked to after Virgil had set them down on the floor.
 He misses Logan’s smiles, his small, proud smile, when they all learned something, his soft, stricken smile when he learned something, his tight lipped, frustrated smile, his grinning, rare, wild smile, his soft voice, his loud voice, his frustration, his joy, he misses it, misses it, misses it.
 He slips his ear buds back in, numbing nothingness cresting back over him as he breathes in the scent of Logan, pressed laundry and sun warmed wood, the playlist starting back up at Equation, from the Little Prince. Surprisingly, one of Logan’s favorites. He wonders if it still is.
 …
“So… that wasn’t normal, right? I’m not going even more mad, that just happened, right?” Remus asks, eyes flicking between Deceit and where Patton had just been standing.
 “Whatever it was, it was… sincere. The only part that was a lie, was-“
 “him being ok? Yeah, that doesn’t take a genius to figure out.” Deceit frowns, looking at Remus, who quickly looks away.
 “Remus. He meant every word he said about you.”
 “Who did?” They both look a bit guilty as they look at Cygnus, who is looking at them with an eyebrow raised.
 “Patton.” Remus blurts out, and Cygnus inhales sharply, eyes narrowing.
 “What did he say? I told them to stay away from you, if he hurt you, I swear-“
 “Cyg. He… apologized. To the both of us. He looked… very bad, honestly. I don’t think I’ve ever seen Patton acting so… un patton like.” Deceit interrupts, before Cygnus can get riled up even more. Instantly, he relaxes slightly, though his gaze is still puzzled.
 “I… is he… ok?” Deceit bites his lip and Remus shakes his head firmly.”
 “No. no, he’s not, he’s really, really not.” Cygnus takes a deep breath in, reaching to readjust glasses that are no longer there. Old habits are hard to break.
 “It’s ok to still care about them, lovely. It’s ok to go visit. And I think… I think Patton has some things he wants to say, now. And I think it would be good for you to hear them.” Cygnus hesitates, before smiling smally, shaking his head.
 “alright. You’re right, as always. I… will be back shortly. I suppose.” Cygnus shoots them a small, brave smile, before vanishing.
 He doesn’t know how long he’s been laying here. The music has long since gone dead, but he doesn’t have the will to turn on something else, or to start it again. He’s replaying Ambition’s words over and over.
 He was right. In that moment, all he had been afraid of was being left alone to handle Roman and Virgil. He can’t do it on his own, he can’t do it alone, and he’s not the perfect pinnacle of light, he knows this, more deeply than probably the others realize, and how could he not have noticed Logan was gone for five whole days?
 There’s no excuse. He doesn’t have one, wouldn’t even attempt to produce one, because there are no words that can justify that lack of attention. He’s been a terrible, awful, horrible friend.
 “I’m not mad. I could never be mad, at what you did. You… you did what was best, for you. And you’re happy now. You’re… you’re taken care of and listened to and all the things we didn’t do for you but should have. I’m happy for you, I am! I’m just… I’m sad for me.” His voice wavers, breaking, because he knows how selfish that is, how terrible it sounds, after everything, but it’s the truth, and he won’t give anything less to Ambition.
 He hears Ambition let out a soft, low breath, feels the bed dip down as Ambition sits on the edge, and he curls tighter underneath the covers, glad he’s already spent all his tears for the day, already emptied himself out.
 “i’m sad. I’m so, brokenly, sad. Because I should have known. I should have said something. I should have been there, for you. And I wasn’t. I haven’t been. And I miss…” his voice cracks and he is proven wrong, more tears slipping down his face as he swallows, “I miss you. It’s selfish and stupid, and I know it, but I miss you. And I wish…” He can’t finish his sentence. He’s so choked up he can barely breathe. He doesn’t need to, he supposes. Ambition can already tell, better than he can put into words what exactly he wishes.
 “oh, Patton.” Ambition murmurs, the softness in his voice only makes him cry harder, because he doesn’t deserve that, not from Ambition.
 Cygnus doesn’t know what to do. He can feel everything Patton wishes and wants, and it is a conflicting cacophony of sorrow and hope and want and fear.
 He wants everything to go back to the way it was, but he wants Ambition to be heard. He wants Logan back. He doesn’t want Logan back if he’s going to be unhappy. He wants to hate Deceit and Remus for taking away Logan, but he knows it isn’t their fault, he loves them for taking care of Ambition, loves them for loving Ambition as he should be loved, he wishes he didn’t wish for any of this, he wishes he didn’t feel at all, he wishes he could just somehow fix everything even though he knows that’s impossible.
 Above and beyond all of it, all of the turmoil, is one singular burning wish.
 He wants Ambition to know he still loves him, even if Ambition hates him, as he has every right to. Nothing could stop Patton from loving him.
 “I’m sorry this is what it took, for you to be listened to. To be happy. I’m sorry I didn’t give you what you needed. I’m sorry I wasn’t good. I’m sorry I didn’t notice. I’m sorry I didn’t care. And I’m sorry that I’m sorry because being sorry now seems like too little too late!” He sobs, not looking up as he feels the blanket being gently folded over, his head now exposed from under the covers, and he feels Ambition freeze for a moment, at the sight of him.
 He must look a mess. He doesn’t care, it doesn’t matter, he just… doesn’t know, anymore, doesn’t know what he feels or wants to feel or wants at all, because everything he wants he can’t have, he doesn’t want Logan back at the expense of Ambition’s wellbeing and mental health, he wants Ambition to be happy, he wants Logan back, he can’t want both, but he does, and it hurts, and he deserves the hurt, because this surely must be what Logan was feeling before he left.
 “Patton. I’m still here. I’m still me. My role has changed, yes, but not my personality. I’m still here.”
 “I know. And it should make me feel better, but it doesn’t, because I know now that I don’t know anything about you, I never took the time to really truly know you, and I know this… guilt and shame, it doesn’t help anything, it doesn’t make up for anything, it’s nothing but selfish, but I can’t help it, because I hurt you!” he swipes at his eyes, having sat up during his outburst, legs pulled to his chest. “I hurt you. And I’m sorry. And that’s not enough. I know it isn’t. But it’s all I have.” He whispers, head against his knees, eyes closed as he tries to take a shuddering breath, tries to calm himself before he breaks completely.  
 “Patton. I don’t… I don’t hate you. I know I was harsh, with you especially, but I don’t hate you. I was angry. I still am, a bit, and I’m hurt, but I don’t hate you, Patton.” He feels Ambition carefully wrap an arm around his shoulders, and before he can stop himself, he lets out a pained cry, folding against Ambition’s side, burying his head against his side, crying harder as Ambition’s other arm encircles him in a soft embrace.
 “s-sorry, I’m s-s-sorry, you sh-shouldn’t have to b-be here right now, I’m n-n-not your problem.” He chokes out, shame bubbling in him because he can’t bring himself to pull away, even though he should. Instead, Ambition just holds him closer, letting him sob himself dry once more, until he is barely sniffling, exhaustion cresting over him, that almost wonderful numbness creeping back into his bones, settling into a depressed apathy.
 “You’re right. You’re not my problem. But I would like to still be your friend. I don’t mean to be antagonistic. I still want to work with everyone. None of that changes.” Ambition replies.
 “y-you d-do? S-still want to b-b-be friends?” he asks, brokenly, looking up at Ambition’s mismatched eyes, lip trembling, and he’s so utterly miserable that Ambition doesn’t think he could say no if he tried his hardest. But he doesn’t want to.  
 “yes. I do, Patton. Deceit and Remus are my family now. They love me like family should, take care of me like family should, that’s what I needed, that’s why I moved, because I needed to put myself first and take care of myself for once. You failed, as my family.” He flinches, but he doesn’t say otherwise, because Ambition is right, they did, he did, and it hurts, but it should. “but I think we will do better as just friends, instead of family. I think not living together anymore will help alleviate some of our problems. Will help me be listened to, more. And If I am not listened to by you all, I won’t be as frustrated because I know Deceit and Remus will.”
 “I’m sorry.” He whispers, because that’s all he can muster, as lame and lackluster as it is, it’s all he can say, because he had enough chances to do something about it and hadn’t. “I want to do better, I want to be better, I want… I want whatever you’re willing to give me, I…” he doesn’t realize his eyes are slipping shut as he feels Ambition gently stroking his hair.
 “I know, Pat. I’m not… I’m not going to give you everything, right away. I might never give you my name. But I will give you another chance, to start over. To… to try again.”
 “I wouldn’t ask anything more from you. I wouldn’t even ask that of you.” He mumbles, barely aware anymore, because this feels so good, it unties something inside of him, it gives him hope that things can get better, that they will get better. It is one tiny ray of light that cuts through the gray.
 “What you said, to Deceit and Remus… why?” He swallows hard.
 “because I should have said it sooner. I hesitated with you. I broke the last of what we had. I won’t do that again, I won’t ignore that again, I won’t… I won’t let anyone else be hurt like I hurt you.”
 “I… that’s good, Patton. That’s a good first step, to making things right. It tells me you mean it, when you say you want to be better. You’re willing to actually put in the work and the time to change for the better. I know that isn’t easy.” Ambition’s voice is a rumble against him, and he feels him pulling away.
 He wants to grab hold, to not let go, to be held tight and close until he falls asleep and wakes up well rested for the first time in nearly a week, but he desperately tries not to want that, because then Ambition will know that he wants that, and he won’t ask Ambition for it, because he hasn’t earned that closeness with him.
 He hears Ambition sigh softly as he tucks him in, managing to peek his eyes open as he feels Ambition softly tuck his hair back behind his ear. There are so many more words he wants to say, but he doesn’t need to say them, because Ambition already knows.
 “I love you.” He mumbles instead, because it’s still true, will always be true, no matter what, he loves them all.
 “I know. If… if you wish, once you are rested, you should come have a longer conversation with Deceit and Remus. I think everyone would benefit.”
 “ok.” He whispers. Ambition hesitates in the doorway, before stepping out into the hall, closing the door softly as Patton’s eyes slip closed. He freezes as he hears another door open, eyes meeting Virgil’s.
 He stays frozen as Virgil approaches, unable to read anything from him, he is keeping his thoughts so controlled that he can glean nothing from him, even as he stands right before him, fiddling with his hoodie ties, dark hair hiding his face.
 “hey.” Virgil says softly, hesitating. “he… he doing okay?” Virgil finishes, nodding towards Patton’s door.
 “He’s… doing better. We talked. I… it helped, I think.” Virgil nods, biting his lip, hand on the doorknob, pausing before he turns it, looking back at Ambition with hesitant trepidation.
 “Are… are you doing okay?” Ambition smiles smally, looking down at the ground.
 “yes. More than ok, in fact.”
 “Good. I… that’s good. They… Deceit and Remus… they’re doing alright with all of this too, yeah?” That gives Ambition pause, there’s something to unpack there, but he doesn’t know what exactly it is, and now isn’t the time to pry.
 “They’re fine, Virgil. We all are.” Virgil winces a bit, at the use of “we”, rubbing his forehead in the way he only does when he’s overwhelmed or frustrated or both.
 “cool. I… just… it’s goodtoseeyou,Ambition.” He stumbles out, then he’s in Patton’s room and the door is closed and Ambition is left staring at the closed door, wondering what exactly that was all about.
 Perhaps he’ll ask Deceit and Remus for their side of the story later, now that Patton is on the road to doing ok. At least he didn’t seem angry anymore, just… off.
 For now, he has to get Deceit and Remus ready for a longer visit from Patton. He doesn’t know how they’ll react, but a conversation is necessary. And he thinks they are all ready for it. Ready to start moving forwards. To start being… better.
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