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etherealily · 6 months ago

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🄱🄻🄴🅂🅂🄴🄳 // 🇳🇦🇹🇪 🇯🇦🇨🇴🇧🇸.

Nate Jacobs + Fem!reader. Warnings : Dark. SFW, but discretion advised. 🍃.

Part 1 : Whiplash

Part 2 : 9 Lives

Part 4 : Shards

Part 5 : Eighteen

Part 6 : Sin

You do NOT have permission to repost and/or translate any of my fics.

Tiny glimpse into his mind because why not?

Desc. : "His hand, so calloused from his pistol softly traces hearts on my face."

═════════════════════ ⋆ 🚬 ⋆ ══════════════════

It's not like Nate even knew you.

You just so happened to be the secret to his success, and maybe, perhaps his new obsession.

No biggie.

I mean, whole of the first week of spring break, he didn't text you, you didn't text him, and it was all great and normal.

Pissed him off to no end, because how the hell did you recover so quickly from having a fucking gun in your throat? But, hey, whatever. Maybe you were just that goddamn weird.

The second - and last - week of spring break was when shit got intense.

Because he thought about you.

He realized he hadn't even fucking seen you around town the entirety of it, and that might have freaked him out, just a little.

He worried, you see? Yes, only about his games, and his college apps, but now, all of them had been tied to you, with a pretty little bow around them.

So obviously, now he worried about you.

So, obviously, he needed to find out just where the hell your lucky ass had gone.

He narrowed it down to two options. Both perfectly reasonable, of course.

One, you just had tons of work and stayed indoors.

Two, you had been kidnapped and murdered by the opposing teams because they'd found out about your miracle-working.

See? Perfectly reasonable.

═════════════════════ ⋆ 🚬 ⋆ ══════════════════

It was a happy surprise to learn that you were basically closer to his house than you'd ever been before, after you'd taken up a job at the local supermarket.

Well, happy for him.

For you, it was more of a you-were-seriously-contemplating-suicide surprise.

"You listen to Elvis Presley?", he asked, dropping his purchase down on the counter. Your eyes never moved to it, and stayed on his.

That was one thing he noticed about you.

You were always observing, as if he were a rabid animal that would strike at any moment. As if he would reveal his sinister intentions to you within enough time for you to react.

"What?"

He nodded at the speakers on the wall around the establishment. "Those connected to your Spotify?"

You didn't want to answer unless you knew whether he was about to compliment or mock you.

"Sir, I think you should leave."

God fucking damn it. Why had he never thought about the fact that you wouldn't - (and couldn't)- call him a motherfucker at your workplace? His joy knew no bounds.

"That's so hot. Say it again."

You'd 100% expected that. It was clear on your face.

"There's other people behind you with more items to check out."

He swiveled his head around for a moment.

Old lady. Sometimes he wished he wasn't raised right.

He sighed, nodding. "I'm next up, though.", he warned sternly, pointing at you as he gestured for her to pass him by.

The old lady patted him on the shoulder and smiled, moving ahead with her purchase of an unholy amount of bread and cheese.

And what's worse?

She had coupons.

Way too many for Nate to stand smiling like a good boy behind her as she dug into her purse and fished out probably decades worth of them.

"Yes, dear, so just run all these."

"Uh, ma'am, I wish I could, but most of these are expired."

Thank god.

"Oh, well, you said most. Let's just sort through them and find the ones that aren't expired."

Would it be homicide to kill her? She didn't really have too long to live, anyway. He couldn't say he hadn't thought about it.

"Uh, okay, yeah, sure."

"This'll just take a minute, sweetie.", she whispered to Nate, pinching his cheek as if that would make time go by faster.

"How about I pay for you, ma'am? If that's alright?"

If he'd been allowed access to your mind, you'd never live it down, because you almost thanked him right then and there.

"Oh, there's no need for that, dear, I can-"

"No, please, I insist. It would be my pleasure."

"What a sweet boy."

Both her and Nate decided to ignore the derisive snort that came out of you as you swiped his card.

"Here you go, ma'am.", you smiled, placing the copious amounts of cheese into the bag, then stuffing the bread in, too. "Anything else?"

"Oh, no, that's it for me. God bless you, dear. Both of you."

Watching her walk out, he began to genuinely wonder if this absurd purchase was all part of some scheme some criminal had put up to steal without your knowledge.

"You hear that? We're blessed, you and me."

"Do you actually have anything to buy?"

"Of course I do. I'm not a creepy stalker.", he hissed, slamming his palm down in front of you. Slowly, he lifted it to reveal a stack of eleven condoms.

Oh, yeah, you were blessed with this fuckass' presence.

You sucked your teeth as your gaze traipsed from the condoms up to his eyes. One of them winked.

"Is that all?"

"Oh, come on, you're not even curious why I have them?"

"Probably for the dozens of bitches you're getting.", you scoffed, ringing it up. "$15.99."

"For eleven individual condoms?!"

You shrugged. "Inflation."

"Oh, they better inflate for the amount of money I'm spending."

He rolled his eyes, mumbling to himself as he pulled out the money from his wallet, instead of his card. "Fucking old lady with her bread and cheese."

"You maxed your card?"

"Yeah. Why do people buy so much shit they're barely ever going to use?"

"Like you with your condoms?"

Ah. Nate could've absolutely lost his shit laughing right there- you did care.

"I'm going to use it all. Trust me."

How many times was he going to use the phrase 'trust me' on you until he realized the meaning had eroded away into nothingness between you two? Probably a dozen more.

"Sure. Thanks for shopping with us. Have a great day."

He pouted, stuffing the packets into his pocket as he raised a brow. "You don't sound like you mean it."

"Nate-"

"And why are you even working here, anyway? Oh, shit, is it 'cause I cost you your internship with your perv boss?"

If he felt bad, the grin on his face wasn't really screaming guilt.

"No, fuckass, this is my friend's store, he just wanted someone to help him out for a couple hours."

"Whoa, wait, what happened to Sir? I liked that better."

That was a lie. He fucking loved it.

"Please, Nate. Stop."

"One condition."

There it was. It no longer seemed like he saw you as anything more than a boredom buster. Sudoku, or a crossword, basically. That was you to him.

"Answer one question, truthfully, and I'll leave this... otherwise empty store right after."

"I'm listening."

God, that's all he fucking wanted to hear, and it was oddly exciting. He could literally say anything, and you wouldn't block him out.

"What would you do if I told you that I have a body in my car right now?"

"What?"

"A body. A dead body. It's in my trunk. Right now. What would you say? What's your next move?"

It's like he expected you not to notice the fact that he was tracing shapes on your arm as he spoke.

"Cops."

At this point, even if he wasn't bluffing, you'd still have reacted so nonchalantly. Because it was all in all tiring to continue to play whatever twisted game he was playing.

"They're not an option. It's either silence or help me. Would you help me hide it?"

"Nate, did you kill someone?"

"No."

"Then why even ask?!"

"It's a hypothetical."

"No, probably not."

He tsked, looking away for a moment. "Wrong answer."

"Well, it's my answer."

He brought his fingers up to your face, and your slight flinch meant absolutely nothing to him. Imaginary hearts now plagued your skin. "Change it."

"My answer? No."

"Please."

"Nate, did you kill someone?", you asked once more, praying for an actual answer this time, be it in the negative or the positive.

He smirked.

"Thanks for the condoms.", he whispered, grinning as he gave your cheek a light pat - that was dangerously bordering on a slap.

Would your trunk be big enough to fit his body? You thought about it the rest of the day.

═════════════════════ ⋆ 🚬 ⋆ ══════════════════

His fingers rapped on his dashboard as he watched his phone, set down on speaker on the dashboard, too. Pick up, pick up, pick up.

"Hello?"

Yes. He'd never been this happy to hear someone's voice, and it kinda freaked him out. Okay, whatever. Not important.

"Y/N."

"Who is this?"

"The guy you broke all the rules with before spring break? Made out with on the bleachers?"

"You need to be more specific."

"You better be kidding."

"Of course I am." He had never felt more relieved to hear your stupid ass laugh. "What do you want? I'm not helping you hide a body."

He debated just asking you where you'd been all this time, why you hadn't shown up to a single party or hangout, but he decided he'd just outright ask the real question he needed answered.

"Which one's your window?"

A pause. "What?"

"The one with red or yellow curtains?"

"Nate."

"Red or yellow, babe?"

"Red." Good. You'd gotten so used to him that you didn't waste time pointing out the obvious by asking 'are you outside my house?!'.

"You sure it's not yellow?"

"That's my parents' room."

"Yellow looks more tempting.", he teased, as he shut the car door.

"I'm not messing around."

"Neither am I. Yellow it is."

"Nate!"

This was far too precious to him. You were actually worried. How cute.

The fact that he had to climb up wasn't really making him jump in joy, but he figured you'd enjoy that little touch of vintage chivalry.

Like fucking Rapunzel.

He tapped on your window once.

No answer. Don't fucking play around right now.

He knocked once more.

He was met with your extremely delightful glare as you slid your window up, watching him closely.

"Hey."

"Dude, you-"

"Shh, shh, shh. Let me in.", he mumbled, crouching to cram himself through, his hand still resting on the top of the pane.

"You're insane."

Immediately grabbing your face after he steadied himself, he hissed through gritted teeth, "Where the hell have you been?"

"What?"

"I didn't see you at all before today!"

"Yeah, we got a lot of work to do over spring break."

"This is why you don't take psychology, because you get stupid amounts of homework even during the holidays.", he muttered, as if he'd warned you about this eons ago.

"What do you want?"

"Party. You. Me. Now. Get dressed."

He almost punched you when you started laughing.

"You actually do have a sense of humour, Nate, good for you."

"I'm not kidding. Come on."

"No way in hell."

"You know what? No need to get dressed. You look great. Just come on. Live a little."

"You've already taken me to 'live a little' before, and I ended up shitfaced with a gun in my throat at school at 12:30 am."

Good. So you hadn't gotten over that. He didn't care if he was being sadistic - he was glad.

He sighed, flopping down onto your bed and ignoring the second glare to come from you that night. "This is so typically a teenage girl's bedroom."

He had no clue what he was saying, at this point. But he knew he was itching for a reaction, a reason for you to hit him again, so he could grab you and shut you up. He craved the conflict.

"Surprising, considering that's what I am."

"I mean, the band posters? Really?", he huffed, pointing around at your room as if he was giving you a tour of it.

"Have you even listened to Queen? Presley? Any of the oldies?"

The match was found. Time to light it.

"So the shitty music in the store was connected to your playlist.", he chuckled, shaking his head. "No wonder that old lady was so nice to you. She thought you were one of her Bingo buddies."

It was just a question of how long you could stand him sitting on your bed, disrespecting your music taste.

"If you're only here to invite me to a party, I'm sorry, I'm not coming."

"How would your family like me hanging out here?", he mused, tilting his head. You know, the one you'd probably love to bash into the pavement given a chance? That head.

You were so fucking hot when you were pissed, it was unbelievable to him. He could sense it, the anger.

The smell of your rage made him want to riot.

"You can't keep blackmailing me into doing what you want."

"Alright, fine."

Your uncomfortable frown made him snicker. "What's that look?"

"This is usually the part where you self-harm and tell me I'm being a bitch for not bending to your will."

"Tonight's different."

"Why?"

Because I'm going to unwrap every fucking secret of yours.

He shrugged, the corners of his lips curling downwards. "I don't want to."

"So, you'll leave?"

"I didn't say that.", he trailed off, watching you sit down on the chair across from your bed. "Let's just chill."

"Nate, when have you and I ever chilled?"

He licked his lips, narrowing his eyes at you, before giving you a sly smirk. His fingers emerged from his pocket as he pulled out a packet of pre-rolleds. "Right now."

"You're kidding."

"C'mon. Don't be a pussy."

"They'll smell it."

He lolled his head over to the door. "No, they won't. You're two floors up." He shifted to one side, patting the space next to him. "Come on, Y/N, don't end your badass streak so quickly."

His eyes followed you as you sat down gingerly, rubbing your forehead like he was causing you a genuine migraine. That's funny, she hasn't even seen me high, yet, (and she won't).

"Why do I let you do this?"

"Million dollar question if I ever heard one.", he scoffed, fumbling around his person for a lighter. He found it, placing the cigarette between his lips and lighting it, causing his next catastrophic words to come out a mumble. "But I'm glad you do."

He continued to watch your eyes change from frustration to mild fascination, to hesitation all in one second, as he puffed out through his teeth. "Fuck.", he groaned, handing it to you.

"I don't know about this."

"You think they'd like me?", he mused, looking at the door, and then back at you. "I'm known to make a good impression with parents."

"The no-blackmail thing didn't last long.", you huffed, taking it from him. Nate almost made out with you right then and there, the way your lips wrapped around it as if they were made only for him.

"Didn't want to break tradition.", he snorted as you coughed and sputtered, handing it back to him quickly.

"Gross."

═════════════════════ ⋆ 🚬 ⋆ ══════════════════

The last thing he'd expected from that evening was actually staying. He'd thought he'd get you stoned, you'd pass out, and he'd leave.

But here you were.

Next to him.

Freaking him the hell out.

He looked down at his watch. 2 AM. Fuck.

"I gotta go."

"You've been saying that for the past three hours."

Shut up. "Eh, well, it's not like my parents are worried."

"Why not?"

"They know I can handle myself."

"Right, because I'm such a threat."

"God, no. They'd love you." He shook his head subtly, grinning as you nudged his face playfully with your foot from across the bed. "You should come over, sometime."

"I'm not coming over, Nate."

The weed made sure you didn't push him away when he gently grabbed your leg. "Why not?"

"Because we're not friends. There's no reason for me to meet your parents."

"I just think it's right that you get to judge my room, too.", he muttered, lips on your ankle like it was his life support. "You know, justice or whatever."

"It's probably all monocoloured, plain, boring crap."

"Only one way to find out.", he teased.

He despised the silence that followed. High-you wasn't exactly chatty, it seemed.

"Tell me something about you."

"Like what?"

He shrugged. "Anything."

"This is my first time smoking weed."

"Not exactly a secret, sweetheart."

"You didn't ask for a secret."

"Now I am. Tell me a secret."

"I hate football."

You were more resilient than he thought, seeing as you'd smoked three cigarettes already, and the most you'd given him was your sports preferences.

But he'd take what he got.

"Because of me?"

"No, just generally."

"But you came to games.", he countered.

"Because of Maddy."

"You guys are close?"

You nodded, stirring slightly as you looked out your window. "Mhm."

"So she told you." Shit.

You tilted your head, sitting up as he gripped your calf, moving closer and placing kisses on your knee, too. "About?"

Well, if you didn't already know, no need to tell you.

"To come to the games."

"Oh. Yeah."

Nice save, Jacobs.

"I guess now I owe you a secret, huh?"

"I guess you do."

"You're not gonna like it.", he murmured, lazily tracing even more shapes on your knee, while his other hand had trailed up to your arm. "But I love your lips."

He smiled when the corners of your eyes crinkled up and you burst into a fit of giggles. "What?"

"It's true. They're perfect."

"God, I love weed."

You would, seeing as you smoked more of it than he did. Enough to kind of make him feel slightly guilty.

"It's not just the weed saying this.", he continued, shaking his head. "I'd fight wars for those lips. For you."

He shouldn't have liked the fading of your laugh so much, the slight trepidation brewing on your face, either, but for some reason, he did. "Nate, I'm not... I don't wanna-"

"Be fought for? Why not?"

He took the silence as a cue to brush his finger against your cupid's bow. "You don't think you deserve it?"

He watched your lips move under his finger as you shook your head, side to side. "Well, I do. And, guess what?"

"What?"

"I got another question for you."

Your frown was your response.

"Why didn't you push me away when I kissed you that night on the bleachers?" He knew the answer. Of course he did.

"I was drunk."

"Yeah, see, you weren't that drunk.", he taunted. But no, you were. He'd given you basically one and a half bottles. Just like tonight, taking barely ten puffs while you took thrice as much. You just hadn't noticed.

"I don't know, then."

"I just think that if you didn't push me away, it can't have been the terrible experience you made it out to be, in the car."

"What do you want to hear, Nate?"

"That you want to do it again. 'Cause you do. Don't you?"

"I don't."

"Yes, you do. If you could see your own eyes right now, you'd agree."

"Really?"

"Mhm."

He waited for a reaction, a scoff, an eye roll, anything, but you just looked back at him, and then down at the hand he was holding. Oh, it was the weed.

So he took matters into his own hands. No. He took you into his own hands, tracing the gap between your lips with his tongue before he pushed it in.

Your lips were war-worthy, just like before. But this time, something was different. This time, you kissed back.

There we go.

His hands ran over your back as though he were splaying a huge deck of cards across a table, and he came to the grave realization that maybe, just maybe, he was no longer doing this just for a reaction.

"Come here.", he murmured, making up for his lack of oxygen by trying to steal yours as he pulled you onto him. How Shane Crestin hadn't killed himself over the fact that he'd fumbled this bag, he'd never know. Loser.

His hands slipped under your shirt. Wrong move, seeing as you pulled away. "No."

Wasn't weed supposed to last longer?

"What?"

"I'm not... no."

"You seemed into it, like a moment ago. Face it : you want this. No amount of bullshit self-respect or whatever you wanna call it, is going to change that.", he responded, coolly, as he took a drag from the blunt, his lips immediately feeling the lack of yours.

"You're just trying to get back at Maddy."

God, he wished that were true. Would make much more sense.

He sighed, his forehead on yours. "I'm not, but you're not going to believe me.", he mumbled, watching you get off him and move back to the other side of the bed.

Oceans away. Too fucking far.

"I'm sorry." There was something he hadn't said in a while. "For, like, everything."

"Why am I so fucking important to you? If I just showed up to every game for you, would you leave me the fuck alone? No, you wouldn't, because you sought me out during spring break! Am I just an easy target?"

No. "I don't... I don't fucking know, okay? You just are."

"Is it 'cause you hate me?", you questioned, so quietly that he had to debate whether to get on his knees and beg for forgiveness or actually kill himself in guilt for eliciting it.

"What?"

"Do you hate me?"

"For what?" He had no fucking clue what this could be about. Every single thing he'd done so far indicated the opposite. But he didn't want to let himself go there.

"Being your good luck charm."

Oh. He had to think about that one. "No. It would be weird if it was someone else."

"I just mean... it must be frustrating, when you need someone, and they might not always be there."

"But you will, right? Be there?"

"You scare me, Nate."

He scoffed, slightly, rolling his eyes. "You're unbelievable. Why? Gimme one reason - a real one - why you're scared of me."

"You're violent."

Okay, he was hoping you'd give an invalid one.

"I like beating people up.", he shrugged. "But never for no reason."

"Not exactly a secret, sweetheart. And anyway, it's not only the beating up that you like."

"Hm?"

"You like getting beat up, too."

Remind him never to give you weed again.

"Why would I-"

"On some level, you feel like you deserve it.", you replied, shrugging as you took a long puff of the miracle weed that apparently made you unreasonably perceptive.

Okay, confirmed, not even the word weed would be mentioned around you anymore.

"You think I deserve it?"

"Mostly, yeah. But not... all the time."

"How do you know so much?", he asked, watching your fingers get lost in your hair. He couldn't afford eye contact.

"Psychology."

"See? You shouldn't have taken it. It's creepy."

You sighed, smiling as you looked up at the ceiling. "Sorry."

He did not expect you to back down, that was for sure.

"It's fine. Never giving you weed again, though."

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It actually took until the very last day of spring break for him to catch up with you again. Not like he was pissed that you pushed him away, or anything. Or that he was confused about the entire interaction in the bedroom of someone who, until three weeks ago, he wouldn't have been caught dead talking to. He was just busy. Sure. Let's go with that.

"Hey."

"Not now, Nate."

"What is your problem?" Wait, no. That kinda talk was why you were pissed at him. "Look, we should start over."

God, he sounded like a cunt. This was definitely something that pathetic Shane Crestin would say. Ew.

"Okay. Can you start by going over there?", you asked, restocking the shelves with whatever bullshit condiment you had to.

"I'm an ass. I'm a jerk, I'm- I'm a dick."

You were silent for a moment, before you added: "A small one, too."

He sighed, beaming with relief. "A small one, too.", he agreed, nodding. "I'm just here to ask you over to dinner. My house. I'll even cook."

Dude, if you didn't agree, he'd actually fucking kill you.

"No way you cook."

"Only one way to find out."

He saw the falling apart. The gradual breaking down. The glacier was melting. "I'll listen to Queen or whatever, with you."

The quiet was taunting him, but you came to his rescue. "No steak."

"No steak."

Yes. Fucking yes.

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fletchingbrilliant · 3 months ago

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🌙some wildly cheap commissions!🌙

🙃 for some even wilder reasons 🙃

hey y'all. long post thingie but it's got cute pictures so please check it out

TRANSCRIPT OF POST

hey frens got something kinda somber to talk about. most of you are very aware of the existence of my beautiful fiance and co-creator of basically everything i do. zae and i are getting handfasted (marriage for pagans) in october, and have been living together for about 10 years. in 2021, zae got really fucking sick, and after a few false starts, was diagnosed with a rare for of vasculitis called granulomatosis with polyangiitis, GPA for short. it’s an autoimmune disease that causes inflammation in blood vessels and other tissues, ultimately stopping blood from getting to the parts of the body that need it, affecting many areas, but primarily the respiratory system. while the cause isn’t known, it usually presents in people in their 50’s or 60’s, but complications from a third bout of covid-19 appears to have made it emerge way earlier for our boy. at least, that’s what we think. his case is extremely aggressive, advancing faster than anyone could have expected. in zae’s case, it actually attacked his kidneys first, and then went after his lungs, causing both to threaten shutting down for good. he was extremely anemic and needed a ton of transfusions, narrowly avoiding dialysis, and we spent weeks in the hospital keeping him alive. he was placed on two different kinds of chemotherapy to combat the disorder. he lost his hair, went through even more fatigue and pain on top of what the disease had already put him through, and had to accept a plethora of changes to his life that will last forever. a lot of you out there have harrowing experiences of your own when it comes to chronic and potentially terminal conditions, too, I’m certain. “it’s not fun” is an understatement. though there were a couple of really fucking close calls, zae’s GPA went into remission. his hair grew back fuller and more luscious than it had ever been before. (i later learned these are affectionately referred to as “chemo curls.”) remission for gpa is usually expected to last at least 5 years, potentially up to 20, before any symptoms resurface. but zae’s case was particularly aggressive, so of course he’s not so lucky. he’s relapsing now. his symptoms have been slowly returning, and it’s been decided that he’s going back on chemo. it’s no surprise that this shit is expensive, even with insurance. we’re still paying off the care he received last time because ‘murca. being disabled myself, work has been… let’s call it inconsistent, yeah? yeah, that’s a nice and comfortable thing to call it. no one’s doing well financially these days, so we of course have to get creative. long story short(er), i’m doing a commission special! for the next MONTH, i am offering fast commissions at crazy-low prices to try and help us create a cushion to keep us afloat and relatively comfortable while we begin the chemo process again. there’s several options for a variety of budgets, because i really hate the idea of seeking something for nothing, and i absolutely abhor having to reach out in this way. it makes me feel vulnerable and icky and… i’m sure you all understand that, too. i can’t thank you all enough just for following me, and engaging with mine and zae’s work. it may sound trite, but that really makes a difference to us, especially when we’re dealing with something so painful. so if you can’t or don’t want to partake of the sale, please know that you are still a huge help to us, and we seriously appreciate each and every one of you. like, so fucking much. thanks y’all love, fletch

END TRANSCRIPT

Commission Options:

Flash Sketches: $5USD/character

Comics: $5USD/panel - flat color

Comics: $10USD/panel - shaded color

Screenshot Redraws - $15USD/character (complex bgs, add $20)

all of this is posted with @zaebeecee's knowledge and blessing

please DM me if you're interested in something, and thank you again

more Hungry Games, fic fanart, and Persona stuff coming soon too

#my art #art commissions #personal stuff #fanart #fanart commissions #hazbin hotel #helluva boss #kingdom hearts #stardew valley #hazbin hotel fanart #helluva boss fanart #kingdom hearts fanart #stardew valley fanart #please share

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orphicswanart · 19 days ago

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Madatobi week day 2 - Hanahaki disease

story under the cut ^^ ( btw English is not my first language)

Labored coughing was heard throughout the halls of the Senju main house, agonizingly dry and heavy. Choking on the flowers that symbolized romance and passion now just reminds him of what he could never have. Something that will bring him to his grave sooner than anyone wanted.

Thorns made him vomit more blood than any other, making his voice hoarse and pitiful, as pitiful as he felt. Lying on the cushions, of the bed that Hashirama insisted he'd lay on, books scattered on the floor, some pages have drops of blood on them, and a now cold tea at his bedside table in an easy reach so he doesn't have to strain his body further than his brother wanted.

Tobirama couldn't stand it, he didn't cry often but looking at his brother's face made him tear up...it made him feel hollow, how grim everyone had been around him, however, he couldn't do a thing. He didn't want to lose his feelings and his memories of the ones he loved.

He remembered his father how unfeeling he was, how he never felt an inkling of love for anyone. Later he learned that his father sacrificed his happiness, his memories, and his emotions for the good of the clan. He loved another who didn't love him back ...Tobirama wondered if their father hadn't had the surgery would he be gentler, would he laugh with them, would he love their mother the way she deserved, would they be happy. The questions were interrupted by another suffocating cough that made him tear up. A red rose forced its way out.

Oh, how he wished this could stop, he could have gotten the surgery, and now it's too late, he was in pain and it did him little good to think about what he could do, if only he had taken one of the options, his only one was to confess but he also couldn't confess either as his love was vile, he fell for a man, something that was looked down upon. He was sure he would die on the spot as the man he loved hated him. How could somebody love a thing like him. How...

"Tobirama..." A deep rich voice caught his attention. Oh the man he loved, the man for whom the roses bloomed in his chest was looking at him with pity. "I came to check on you per your brother's request..."

Madara sat down and gently wiped some blood away from his mouth. "I wish I could help you cure this flower sickness..." he rasped. He lightly coughed and placed his bare hand to his mouth pushing a few sky-blue flowers into his palm, forget-me-nots. "I wish to..." He paused before deciding to stick the pretty flowers behind Tobirama's ear"... I want you to know that I caught feeling for you, even if it doesn't help you...I...Tobirama?"

Tears went down the pale cheeks as a smile curled on the albino's face. "I..." He lifts a rose to Madara's ear "I love you too..."

Madara's eyes widen in shock for a moment before they soften as a brilliant smile spreads on his lips. Before Tobirama can say or do anything Madara leans in for a kiss, and Tobirama gladly accepts.

.˚₊‧˗ˏˋ ─── ★ ─── ★ ─── ★ ─── ★ ─── ★ ─── ★ ─── ★ ─── ˎˊ˗‧₊˚.

They both had hanahaki for each other isn't that rather tragic and romantic, eeee!!!

I decided on the flowers because they fit them both so well, in some fanfics the flowers somebody coughs symbolize the person they love and tho me these two are perfect:

Roses; romance and passion

Forget-me-nots; remembering the ones that passed, true love and devotion

but yeah hope you enjoy bc I am enjoying this so so much!!!!

#madatobiweek2024 #my art #artists on tumblr #illustration #madatobi #mdtb #senju tobirama #madara uchiha #naruto fanart #naruto

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prismaticfaery · 2 years ago

Text

Little Bunny

John Price x Fem!Reader

Summary: Never in a million years would Captain Price think that he'd have a chance at a family, but with how dangerous his profession was and his chances of becoming a father becoming a reality, you and him have to learn the hard way that moving on is the best you both can do.

**TW: Pregnancy, vomiting, swearing, mentions of sex, alcohol, labor, childbirth, anxiety, panic, angst, unrequited love. (Forgive me if I miss any!)

Rating: Mature

This is not short, it's 10K words! Also, don't expect too much of a happy ending!

Part Two

A/N: I was debating posting this for so long out of fear it was trash, please be gentle with me! To add, termination is always going to be your choice and it’s okay to consider that option!

Fluorescent lights hung overhead, your eyes poorly adjusting to the harsh lights as you fumbled with a pen nervously between your fingers. You had filled out a small packet of papers on a clipboard, the receptionist telling you that your doctor would see you soon and to make sure every bit of information was filled in. When you had initially told the receptionist that it would only be you when she asked if you were accompanied by a partner for a confirmation of pregnancy ultrasound, she gave you a look, and you knew she was silently judging you for your situation.

“Y/N?” You hear a nurse call out while propping a door open, breaking you out of your trance.

It was two weeks ago when you had realized your period was late, your work schedule and general hecticness in your life made you suspect that it was stress at first but when your period never showed even a week later, and with having a pretty normal cycle, you darted to the commissary on base and bought two boxes of pregnancy tests– two different brands to make sure. Yeah, you had been more tired lately, and you had lost your appetite more than a few times, but you knew that those could also be normal premenstrual symptoms.

With your uniform pants and panties down to your ankles, you held two different pregnancy test in your hands, the trembling in your arms and hands from fear only became worse when the test slowly turned positive. With a harsh breath in, you hold it for a moment, fresh tears stinging your eyes when you finally release your breath. Your body felt frozen in place, unsure of what to do next. Do you tell him now? Do you wait? You were on birth control and never missed a dose, but of course, it’s not always foolproof. You weren’t even with the baby’s father on an exclusivity level, only really depending on each other for comfort and pleasure when you both needed it– not to mention he was your Captain, your superior.

A hiccup leaves your throat, the metaphorical golf ball stuck in your throat nearly choking you as you place your head in your hands, those fresh tears gathering in the corners falling into your hands. You were active duty in the SAS and newly recruited into Task Force 141, though just a Sergeant, and you were living in the barracks, which was not the place to bring a baby up in, nor was it even allowed. You weren’t prepared for a baby to come along, and you knew that your Captain had no intention of having children while he always had a target on himself. You knew he wouldn’t take this news well.

“It looks like you’re reaching nine weeks, strong heartbeat at 168 bpm– see it here?” the doctor pointed to the tiny fluttering heart on the ultrasound monitor.

“I do,” you smile lightly, your eyes never leaving the small floating jelly bean that jerked and wiggled inside of your body.

“Do you have support at home?” The doctor asked, her eyes meeting yours with a certain softness, knowing that you checked your marital status as “single”.

“Well I have my mother, but as for the other half of the child, he won’t be very happy,” you say, sitting up and adjusting the paper blanket draped across your nude bottom half.

“Reach out to your mother, okay? Best of luck with everything,” the doctor takes her leave, giving you the privacy to clean up and put your uniform back on.

You sat for a moment, the silence deafening save for the nurses speaking at their station outside the exam room door. You peek over at the ultrasound monitor, which had been paused on a picture of your tiny baby. Your heart ached, and you found yourself struggling to turn your head away, until a knock at the door sounded.

“Here are your papers, there’s also a script for prenatal vitamins and some brochures,” the nurse smiles, handing you the small stack, “take care of yourself.”

The door closes behind the nurse and you decide that it’s time to finally get dressed. You wipe the ultrasound gel from your abdomen and lower region, and silently slip your clothing back on, your eyes never leaving the monitor until you notice a small black and white photo had been printed and attached to your after appointment papers. Your heart skipped, quickly tearing the photo from off of the stack to hold in your hands, your little baby’s side profile had been captured and you could see the tiny arms and legs scrunched up to its body.

Checking the time on your watch, you pick up speed, remembering that you had a debriefing on a Task Force affair with your Captain soon and you were definitely going to be late arriving at it. You knew he wouldn’t be happy with your lack of punctuality, but you had proof that you were tied up in a last minute affair.

Once arriving back at base, you could see the familiar form of Soap who was also a late arrival to the debriefing, but you knew it was because of his poor time management skills, or he was just waking up from one of his naps. Placing a hand on his shoulder, he spins around in a wild fashion.

“Good grief, ya scared the shite out of me,” Soap held a hand to his chest.

“Sorry, I was just curious if we could walk together to the debrief,” you question, your eyes pleading for him to agree as to save yourself from being individually called out by your Captain.

Soap nods, his longer legs falling into step with yours, “you’re not usually late to these things, something must have had you tied up,” Soap scratches his head, yawning into his unoccupied hand.

“Oh you know, women’s issues,” you shrugged, Soap wincing at your words.

“Ah, I don’t think you need to explain,” he chuckles, knowing damn well that he was treading into territory he was very familiar with, having to be around female soldiers– especially with being around you so much– taught him more than enough.

Opening the door to the small debriefing room, you could see Ghost leaning back in his chair, one leg over the other while his arms crossed against his chest, his usual black balaclava covering his face. Gaz was in the seat adjacent to Ghost, his face blank– an almost bored expression showing.

Price’s body language was showing very clear annoyance as he watched you and Soap enter, the awkwardness in the room causing you to fumble into your seat, the loud scraping of the chair leg against the tile floor made Price audibly sigh and pinch the bridge of his nose.

“You two are late, don’t let this happen again or I’ll have you assigned cleaning duty for a week,” Price points his finger first at Soap, then at you, your eyes casting downwards in embarrassment.

As the debriefing went on, you could feel the familiar crystalline blue eyes of your Captain steal glances of you. You make yourself small and scarce in the meeting, your arms folding across your upper body and your body slinking into your chair. You felt strange about having such a huge secret being hidden away from your Captain who was more than deserving to know about it, but you needed time to formulate a plan on how you were going to carry out telling him. It would be better to tell him sooner than later though because you could be deployed at any time and that would be a dangerous situation for you and the life that was growing inside of you.

“Ghost, you and Gaz will be going to Russia for some recon, I need intel– any intel on where they’re moving next,” Price nods his head in Ghost’s direction, handing Gaz a debriefing packet on his and Ghost’s deployment that they’ll go over together at a later time.

You feel your body tense as a very heavy wave of nausea washes over you, Soap noticing your eyes fluttering and your skin becoming ashen and shiny from sweat. Pushing his seat out with the back of his legs, Soap rushes over to the trash bin, knowing all too well you wouldn’t make it yourself. He shoves the bin into your lap where you attempt to shield yourself with your arms as you empty the contents of your stomach. Gaz winces, and Ghost is pretty much unbothered but keeping a watchful eye on you.

“You alright?” Price askes as he makes his way over to your hunched over form.

“No, I really need to go,” you heave a sigh, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand.

“Leave that, I’ll have someone clean it,” Price nods, motioning for you to leave.

Long having discarded your uniform, you sat on your bed, staring at the white wall across the room. So many thoughts flooded your brain, and you felt like you were losing control of everything in your life all in the span of a few hours. You were young, and still inexperienced in life, halfway to reaching your thirties. The dried yet still sticky feeling of tears coated your cheeks and you felt like your heart would leap out of your chest every time you even thought of mentioning this pregnancy to Price. How the hell was he going to take it?

You knew that it would go two ways most likely– one: he’d walk away and break all contact, or two: he would tell you that he would support you and the baby, but would not be present.

A knock on your door broke you out of your thoughts, your voice cracking as you told the visitor to come inside. Price’s tall body stands in the doorway for a second before stepping inside and closing the door behind him softly. He knew it was risky coming into your room so early in the evening but he was willing to take that chance.

“Everything alright? Soap said you were dealing with something– didn’t know the pain got so bad for you during that time of the month,” Price sits beside you on your bed, his taller form making yours tiny in comparison.

“I’m alright, I just need to rest,” your voice is small with a tinge of exhaustion, playing into Soap’s assumptions of you being on your period.

“You been crying, love?” Price’s large hand caresses your neck, his thumb dancing across your cheek soothingly.

“A little, yeah,” you smile softly, leaning into his touch.

“You want to tell me about it?”

“Not really, if that’s okay?” Your breath catches in your throat, you knew damn well you should tell him, but fear froze you in place.

“I understand, hormones and all that lot can be difficult,” Price sighs, the hand that rested on your neck falling back into his lap.

You suck in a breath as his words repeat in your head. Did he already know? Or did he have an inkling of an idea? No, that wasn’t possible.

You feel the familiar burn of bile rising into your throat, your legs making a mad dash for the bathroom across your small barracks room. Heaving what little was left in your stomach, you could feel your Captain’s cool hands gather your loose hair from your sweat covered neck and forehead. As you breath in and out heavily, a soft cry escaping your lips from the horrifying nausea pounding through your body, you feel Price’s free hand rub soothing circles along your back.

“You’re alright, sweet girl, let it out,” the deep gravel in his voice was soothing.

You gag and heave one last time before you begin to feel like the nausea is subsiding, Price’s arm reaching over to flush the toilet and then bring your body back to lay against him as he leaned back against the tub. Your shorter legs are pulled up to your chest as his thick arms engulf you.

“I’m pregnant,” a sob escapes your throat, a trembling hand brought up to your now teary eyes, wiping away any stray tears that escape.

Everything goes silent around the two of you, and you could tell John was formulating his response and keeping himself from reacting in a way he would regret. His arms go slack around you and you begin sobbing even harder at his action.

“Did you not take your pills?” Was all he could muster asking.

“I did, I did-!” you cry, turning your body to face him now.

“Y/N, you know what this could do to us– to me, right?” Price’s voice was dangerously low now, a look of pure anger painted on his face.

You knew all too well what this situation could do to you both. Demotion, dishonorable discharge, enemies who had a target on both of you– but more specifically him, would know that there is something precious and innocent that could be easily taken away.

Price goes quiet, his eyes downcast as he thinks to himself for a moment, “I think you should consider your options.”

“So that’s it? You’re putting all of this on me?” your heart begins to sink into your stomach, knowing damn well that this was his way of telling you that he wanted to cut all contact and act like this situation never happened.

“What will you have me do, Y/N, hm?” He points a finger at himself, the tip poking into his hardened chest.

“At least consider options with me– it takes two-!”

“No, Y/N. No,” Price rises to his feet, leaving you in a puddle of anxiousness on the bathroom floor, your eyes frantically watching his hand swing the bathroom door open.

“Please don’t–,” you reach an arm out to him, but he’s gone so quickly from your sight.

You find out the next day that you were pardoned from work, formation, and PT for a full month, knowing that Price did this to allow you time to think about what to do with the pregnancy. You hardly left your room, and when you did, it was usually just to eat and do laundry. Soap tried to stop you a few times to catch up and ask how you were doing, but you instead offered a smile and a quick, “I’ve gotta go,”. He would be lying if he said he wasn’t worried out of his mind for you, sad eyes watching you disappear down the hallways. He was often your partner in missions and would offer a helping hand if and when you needed it. Maybe he just needed to wait for you to come to him? He would always wait for you.

You stared at your discharge papers for days, the blanks filled out neatly, and the pen you used sat atop the thin packet. You were sure that this is what you wanted, and this would save John from the possibility of having everything he worked so hard for to be snatched away. No one would know he was the father of the baby, and you weren’t going to make him be something he didn’t want to be. You wouldn’t inform him of the gender, due date, name– anything, if he didn’t want to know, in which you knew he wouldn’t.

You wanted to make this as easy as possible– slowly cutting off your military life, and going back home to make a new life for yourself and for your baby. Your mother was in agreement, telling you to come home and to get yourself back on your feet, that she’d be happy to watch over the baby while you worked. You would have your childhood room back and your mother’s cooking, and that was enough to put a smile on your face even for just a moment through the rough patch. She knew that having support was the most important thing for you.

You gather the papers in your hands, tapping them on the counter to even them out. Taking a moment to think one last time if this was truly what you wanted, you let out a shaky breath, leaving your room and making your way to John’s office, your fingers grasping the papers tight enough to wrinkle them.

You knock three times on Price’s door, waiting for him to call out an answer for you to enter, “come in,” you finally hear him say.

He straightens in his desk chair, the air in the room becoming thick and tense. He looks to be stressed out, his hand soon covering his forehead as he attempts to relax. You sit in one of the two chairs across from his desk, sliding your filled out discharge paperwork over to him. Price’s vascular arm reaches over to grab the papers, keeping his eyes on you the whole time. At first, he thinks that these are adoption papers for the baby, in which he would sign the parts that said “father’s information”, but he soon realizes that’s not what he was given.

“You’re leaving the military?” his eyes darted up to look at you.

“I won’t make this difficult. You don’t need to know a thing if you don’t want to, you won’t need to be present, just sign those papers and we’re gone.”

“The Task Force needs you,” Price’s voice falters, his usual soft tone you were so used to is back.

“I want to raise this baby, John– our baby,” you feel yourself spiraling, your hormones making it difficult to keep your composure.

You could see his eyes flutter closed, his body shaking as he releases a large huff from his lungs, “you’ll be discharged immediately. I don’t want to see a trace of you left in that room.”

“Yes, sir.”

You had very little to pack up in your room, your mother having come from London to help you carry anything heavy. Soap had stopped by your room after hearing the news that you were being discharged. His thoughts soared wildly as he watched your mother pack away your things as you carried out items to her car, thinking of how sick you must have been to have to leave the military immediately. You must have been in need of serious medical treatment to just drop everything and leave. His form standing outside your door caught your mother’s attention, making his entire body tense. Turning on his heel, he prayed to whatever or whomever that your mother hadn’t seen the stray tear fall down his cheek.

Your civilian clothing felt a little tight around your lower abdominal area, your belly poking out slightly, bloating from the pregnancy hormones and constipation since the baby was still very tiny to make an appearance quite yet. You were half tempted to keep your jeans unbuttoned but with it being so hot out, your shirt was cropped right above your belly button. You had to keep cool somehow and you weren’t sacrificing your style for your growing belly. You and your belly bump can be stylish together.

“Is this the last of it, darling?” Your mother questions, placing the last box in the trunk of her sedan.

“Yes,” you answer, looking around one last time before opening the passenger door of the car and slipping inside.

Your eyes caught a glance of Price, who was outside on the training field with a group of soldiers. He was looking right at you, and it sent a flood of different emotions to wash over you. Tears stung your eyes, your throat swelling as you tried your best to keep yourself from falling apart. You were prepared to do this whole parenthood thing alone, but you were hoping that you would at least have him present for the sake of the child– not even for the sake of you because you weren’t what mattered in this situation.

You had fallen madly for him but your job had made it very apparent that feelings for your superior could be a whirlwind of repercussions to pay. You had to play it safe in the shadows. John would have been a liar if he said he hadn’t also felt the same feelings as you, but kept it no more than a hook-up every once in a while. This was the most difficult decision you could ever make– deciding to walk away.

It had taken you weeks to acclimate to civilian life after being in the military for so long. You were freshly 18 and had just graduated secondary school when you joined the Royal Army, just entering your mid 20’s when you passed selection for the SAS, Price was the first to congratulate you, shaking your hand and offering you a warm smile, the creases in the corners of his eyes sending you into a tizzy– goodness he was so handsome. His face was shaved then however. You loved his chops when he started growing them out, your eyes catching his own as he carefully combed through the thick auburn beard hairs with a sandalwood comb in the middle of his debriefings.

You sat at the dining room table of your childhood home, scanning over the words on your laptop screen. You had gotten a new job and you were going to start working remotely from the house, which was perfect because of the baby coming around February. You had since gotten into a new doctor’s office, your mother accompanying you for support. Her face lit up when she saw the baby floating around on the screen, their little arms covering the front of their face. You had cried more than you liked and your nausea had increased dramatically once leaving the base. You thought it may have been from the stress of leaving your old life behind intermingling with the pregnancy hormones.

Your mother was a huge support, telling you that you could take time to yourself before you found a civilian job. You waved her off however, saying that she had no business having to pick up the slack for her adult child. She had already taken to knitting small items for the baby, and your favorite was the small floppy bunny beanie that was a light cream color, the inside of the ears a dusty pink.

“Have any of your military friends contacted you since leaving?” Your mother asks, peeking up from the cream colored blanket she had started days previous.

“Soap has, but he ended up being deployed before I could answer. He probably thinks I’m dying with having left so suddenly when I was experiencing morning sickness during debrief,” the sigh that left your lips was a sad one, as Soap was someone you had grown quite close to over the years of being in the same barracks and then being on the Task Force together for a short period of time.

“Well hopefully you can remain friends,” the nimble fingers of your mother placed a stitch marker into the blanket.

“One can hope,” you lie.

You were entering your 20th week of pregnancy– halfway to the finish line is what your mother said to you that morning. Her excitement was easy to spot as today was the day you would find the gender of the baby out. Your belly had grown some, but not enough for it to be immediately recognized as a baby bump. Maybe you just ate an entire pizza?

Drinking the last bit of orange juice, to which your mother swore would make the baby more lively in your belly during the ultrasound, you look over the texts in your phone, Soap’s name popping up suddenly. It catches you off guard when you open the text, seeing a picture of Ghost and Price out on the firing range, Price’s hat sitting on top of Ghost’s head as he lay prone on the ground with a sniper rifle. Price had his arms crossed and was seeming to refuse being in the photo, his hand covering his face. Soap hadn’t sent so much as a “hi” in weeks, and you had hoped that he just moved on from the thought of you staying in touch with your old roots. Closing out of the text app, you place your phone face down on the kitchen counter, your heart dropping. You just won’t reply, just like you had been doing before.

Patiently waiting in the exam room at the midwife’s office, you placed a hand on your belly, hoping that soon you would finally be able to feel movement. Your midwife said it’s normal to not have movements until now or even a little later but you were so impatient. Once entering the room, the midwife went over her routine questions, and took your blood pressure.

“Your blood pressure is a bit elevated, are you getting enough water and rest?” The midwife asks, placing herself on the stool next to the ultrasound machine.

“Mum wouldn’t let me live it down if I weren’t,” you answer.

“I believe it,” the midwife chuckles, looking over at your mother who had taken a seat next to you on the exam table, “I would like for you to continue what you’re doing, and if you’re feeling any strange symptoms like dizziness, faintness, seeing stars in your vision, or pains in your chest or ribs, go to the hospital immediately.”

You nod your head, and the midwife starts setting your ultrasound up, helping you lie back on the bed as soon as she’s done. Unbuttoning your jeans, she places a flannel over the top of your jeans to keep the gel from staining them. The lights are then turned off and you begin to relax and clear your mind, ready to see your baby after weeks of waiting. Squeezing a large amount of gel onto your abdomen, the midwife places the transducer of the ultrasound machine onto the mound of gel, rubbing it around to find where the baby is positioned.

“Look at those little puckered lips,” the midwife smiles down at you.

“Oh darling, look at that sweet baby,” your mom was in tears, her emotions always outmatched yours.

As the midwife continues looking at the baby through the monitor, she takes her time going through all of the anatomy of the baby, noting it on the keys of the machine. Your hand was being squeezed so hard by your mother, you thought that your circulation might be cut off after so long. The tiny fingers of the baby were by their mouth, their legs stretching out and scrunching back up.

“What were your bets on the gender, mum?” the midwife asks your mother, the two smiling at each other.

“That’s a little girl in there.”

“Mum is correct,” the midwife points her finger to the wiggling baby, a clear picture of the baby’s gender boldly displayed.

You’re going to have a little girl, Captain.

Squealing with delight with fresh tears coating her cheeks, your mother squeezed your arm and kissed your cheek, “I’m so proud of you. I’m a grandma to a baby girl.”

While there was downtime, Price often grabbed drinks with the Task Force, his usual military uniform shed and his dog tags resting on his bedside table. The black jumper he wore had gotten a little loose, his appetite scarcely there since you told him about your pregnancy. His anxiety made his mind wander more than he liked. How were you doing? Was your belly finally popping out? Did you start purchasing baby items? He would always ground himself after some time, his internal voice telling him that this was for the safety of himself, and the safety of you and the baby. His baby. But not his baby at the same time, he made that clear with you all those weeks ago.

Clutching a rocks glass in his hands at the bar, Price took a quick swig of the amber liquid as Soap sat to his right, scrolling through his social media timeline. Ghost was at the pool table across the bar, talking with Gaz, who had just taken a shot at a cue ball. It had been raining for days straight, the cool air flowing into the bar with each time the door opened. Were you also experiencing this weather? Or had you gone countries away to escape staying in the same country as your former friend with benefits with whom you now had forever ties with?

“You know, Y/N’s social media was deactivated and she never answers my texts. I wonder if she’s okay?” Soap mumbled, unable to put his mind at ease as to where you went or what happened to you.

“She was honorably discharged from the special forces, she’s probably cutting ties with her old life as much as possible,” Price’s voice was grim, however Soap didn’t quite catch on.

“That’s not like her though– she used to post everyday–!” Soap gestured his hand to his phone, his social media app still open.

“I think it’s best to allow her to move on,” Price slammed the rest of his whiskey, placing the glass back down on the bar with a loud clunk, “she’s been shot, wounded, seen death, caused death, stayed in hospital for weeks altogether in her career– she deserves peace.”

“She was ill, Captain,” those baby blue eyes of Soap’s were now filled with worry.

“You said it yourself: she was experiencing her time of the month.”

“You’ve turned cold recently Captain–.”

“Move on, Soap. That’s the best you can do, for her sake and yours.”

Soap’s emotions were crushed, his heart sinking to the very bottom of his belly. Price knew Soap always cared too much, and that’s what set him apart from many people who had grown a bit cold and cynical while in the SAS– like Ghost for example. It was time for everyone to move on, it had been many weeks since your departure, and the only one who seemed to hold on the most was Soap… at times. Price struggled too but he was a Captain, he needed to be a leader and offer guidance to his soldiers, even if it wasn’t what they wanted to hear, but needed to hear.

Holding his glass up to signal the barkeep for another pour, Price sighs, watching Soap scroll some more on his social media timeline, hitting the search bar and typing in anything and everything he could think of just to find you. He then sees him type in your mother’s name, his body language picking up in relief when a profile popped up, he just hoped your mother’s timeline wasn’t completely private.

“Shite,” Soap mutters, disbelief flooding his tone, “she’s fuckin’ pregnant?”

The Captain’s heart might as well have stopped beating right then and there when he heard Soap. Looking over at Soap’s phone, Soap adjusted the phone to show Price the screen, a post from two weeks ago exclaiming that you had just found out about the gender, a picture of you attached with a pink cupcake in your hand.

“It’s a girl,” Price stared at the photo of you for way too long, his eyes softening when he saw that pregnancy glow, your cheeks becoming more filled out, and the swell in your lower belly being caressed by your hand.

“Lucky lad, the father is,” Soap locked his phone, placing it face down on the bar, soon cradling his head in his hands. Soap is now trembling, a relieved yet saddened sigh leaving his mouth.

Yeah, a lucky lad he would have been in a different world.

Lying in the bath, the bubbles that had been added to the water thick and covering most of your body, your hands rested on your belly, rubbing the soft and stretched skin gently. Twenty two weeks along and you still hadn’t felt movements, and it was starting to worry you. Most people felt movement already. Sinking lower into the warm bath water, you feel the tension in your shoulders release after having worked all day. Come to think of it, your desk was still in a disarray with papers and pens and you had no energy to clean it up at the moment.

Stilling yourself in the water and staring ahead at the faucet, you notice your stomach twitch, thinking that at first it was just a reflex, until it happened a few more times. You place the tips of your fingers where the twitches were happening, flinching when you could feel little taps.

“Is that you in there, trying for your mummy’s attention?” You whisper, and another tap could be felt.

Tears escape your eyes, quickly rolling down your cheeks when you think about how John is missing out on these moments. He would never be able to feel his little girl’s first movements. You wanted to imagine him being right there after you called out his name, his large hand reaching down into the tub, brushing softly against your swollen belly. He would wait patiently, at first discouraged that he missed those little kicks. Until finally, those little taps started up again, his baby blue eyes lighting up as he felt the tiniest movements against his palm.

Wiping your tears away with the butts of your palms, you let out a shaky breath, attempting to ground yourself as much as you can in this moment, knowing that tears and sadness were not going to help get yourself through this. But it did feel good to cleanse your soul with a few tears after they built up for so long.

When John had gotten to his room back at the barracks after downing three glasses of whiskey, he could feel his body give out from under him as soon as he shut the door behind him. His back slides down the door, his bottom meeting the cold tile, hands cradling his face as he chewed his bottom lip raw, the dull sting of the open wound radiating on his mouth. Hot torrents of anxiety begin to course through his body, tears stinging his eyes as he feels like he might crawl out of his skin. Clawing at his jumper collar, he feels like he’s suffocating, his breaths uneven and raspy.

He missed you– missed those nights where he crawled into bed with you, your limbs entwining in a warm and comforting embrace after a hard day of work. His hands would search for the feeling of your soft skin in the darkness, only to feel an empty coldness on the sheets where your body should have been. You weren’t even his and vice versa but his attachment to you was obviously present from the beginning. His eyes always sought you out in the room, always scanning the battlefields to make sure you were safe. He should have pulled out all those times, knowing damn well that no birth control was 100% effective, other than abstinence or sterilization. He had gotten too comfortable with you, too lost in the warmth, the comfort you brought him. The smiles and the joking, the playful smacks you would give him, the wrestling and tickling matches that very often turned into that hot and heavy sex that left you both breathless and in a heavy daze.

John knew he needed to move on, and to allow you the opportunity to live a happy and safe life with the baby, away from the military, the SAS, and the Task Force, but he was stuck on the idea that things could have been so different. If his duties weren’t so important– ridding the world of everything ugly and scary, meaning that his daughter wouldn’t have to one day live in fear, he would do it a million times over. No matter how much it hurt– no, how much it killed him, or how difficult it was to go day after day not knowing who or what she might be when she finally came into the world. How he’d never be able to see you become the mother you talked about being one day, holding a brand new baby while coming down off of the adrenaline, sweat still clinging to your forehead and cheeks. How he wanted so badly to witness that ecstatic yet exhausted “I did it,” come from your mouth, your tired eyes peering up at him. Being your support system while you struggled to nurse, changing the baby’s first nappy, letting you rest while he gently rocked and soothed the fragile bundle, whispering how much he loved her already.

“Fuck–!” Price shouted, throwing his car keys across the room.

At 32 weeks, your baby shower took place, friends that had kept in contact with you over the years came, as well as family members that you hadn’t seen in some time. You were in a comfortable maxi dress as your belly had gotten too big and it felt like the skin on your belly was always itchy so the soft fabric of the dress played a part in keeping that feeling away. There was a mountain of gifts that sat around the recliner in the den and you were overwhelmed with how much people cared to spoil the baby this much.

As you sit in the recliner unwrapping the gifts, you smile for the pictures your mom begged to take so she could show you off, holding up each and every item you received. Blankets, nappies, outfits, baby gear, necessities, and even postpartum kits sat in a corner neatly. You were crying, feeling so undeserving of the kindness, but as your family and friends saw you, they all offered their comfort in the form of words of affirmation and bone crushing hugs. That you were loved and supported in this particularly difficult and confusing time. Your friends and family would have loved John.

Your mother brings in another gift out of nowhere, her arms barely able to wrap around it, let alone carrying it over to you. Confused, you make her drop it, your body lifting from the recliner to help her set it down, her hand waving you off to not help her with something so heavy in your condition. She gives you a look and shrugs, saying there was no name on the gift. Tearing the wrapping paper off, you see a beautiful bassinet pictured on the large box. No one had fessed up to getting the gift for you, so you sat confused for longer than you would have liked as everyone else mingled.

It had taken days for Price to figure out what he wanted to do for your upcoming baby shower. Your mother had posted an event, not realizing it was a public post, and fortunately for John, he knew your address from your paperwork and files. He found the sweetest bassinet, a cream color with a lacey pink border. It had a little storage area at the bottom so that you could keep any baby items at arm’s reach. Once he had put his payment and your address in, he hit the confirm button. He just hoped it would arrive on time.

Sitting back in his desk chair, he listened to the busy hallways in which soldiers congregated and conversed while on their down time. His mind wandered to the most recent pictures your mother had posted, and your belly had grown bigger and you smiled so large. He imagined lying in bed, shirt removed, sweatpants on, your warm body next to his in a night dress that had become too short on you with your bump, his hand caressing the bottom of your abdomen, whispering sweet words. You were pressing your lips to his own, lingering for a moment and breathing in each other’s breath.

“God, I hope you’re doing alright,” Price’s voice came out in a near whisper.

Work has become a distraction of sorts, the meeting on your screen with several of your coworkers becoming something like a white noise as your mind wanders, your pen hanging loosely between your fingers as you stare into the void. A plate of biscuits and a cup of tea had been placed on your desk almost an hour ago by your mother, but they hadn’t been so much as even touched. You had a pretty significant headache that had gnawed away at the back of your head for the past few days that not even a paracetamol here and there helped. Thinking that the hormones had everything to do with it, you brushed it off without a second thought.

“Y/N, what do you think about this?” Your coworker asks, pulling you from your thoughts.

“I think it’s a great idea,” you answer, nodding and smiling into your webcam.

Catching the fully set up bassinet that had been put in the other corner of the room in your video feed, you smile, placing your hands on your now nearly full term belly– 36 weeks to be exact. Your coworkers dismissed the meeting after agreeing to start the new project that had been outlined for a few weeks now, the small details and start date finally figured out.

You stand from your desk chair, a hand placed on the underside of your belly to keep your center of gravity balanced and to keep your pelvis from hurting from the weight of your belly. The dress you wore swayed as you waddled over to the corner of the room where all of the baby’s things had been set up. Grunting as your knees bend to the floor, you drag the hospital bag you had been slowly putting together over the past few days. There were folded onesies, and knitted cardigans that you still had yet to pack away, as well as a small bag of toiletries. John would have chewed you out for being so carefree on such important things such as the hospital bags. He would have had his bag packed for weeks and sitting at the front door.

Wincing from a twinge of pain in your chest, you stop what you’re doing for a moment to wait for it to subside. It could have been a trapped gas bubble– pregnancy and all of its little quirks. When the pain doesn't subside, you attempt to get onto your feet, but cry out when the pain worsens.

“Mum–!” You cry out, bracing your hand on the bassinet and clutching your chest.

Hearing your mother stomp up the stairs quickly, she barges into the room, rushing to your side and helping you up, “what happened, sweetheart?” she questions, eyes wide.

“I’m having really bad pains in my chest,” you begin to cry, hot tears pooling in your eyes, scared out of your mind for the baby.

After little to no convincing, your mother packed you and the bags into the car. It felt like the longest drive to the hospital ever, the diaper bag sitting in your lap and your own hospital bag at your feet, the baby kicking the wind out of your lungs, so you thought that she was hopefully doing just fine with all of her movements. There was a fresh sheet of snow on the ground and icicles formed on the trees, the freezing January air nipping at your skin.

A nurse brought your mother and yourself over to triage, hooking you up to a non-stress test, the nodes placed cozily around your stomach, and wrapping a blood pressure cuff around your upper arm that was inflating and squeezing the life out of you. You knew that 140/90 was not where a pregnant person’s blood pressure should be, and you were certain the nurse was going to have you pee in a cup to check for proteins.

Sure enough, you had to pee in a cup, handing it over to the nurse when you were finished and it was a hard enough feat to reach under your belly. Thankfully though, the non-stress test wasn’t alarming, the baby’s heart rate staying in a normal range even with the issues you were facing.

“I think it’s safe to induce you right now, I’m not liking the looks of your blood pressure and labs,” the midwife sits in a stool across from your bed.

Everything started off manageable– the pains, you were able to breathe through. Your mother stood by your side the whole time, clutching your hand when you needed it. You sat cross-legged in a hospital gown, the bed placed at the highest position, and an IV placed in the crease of your elbow. It was five hours later when the pitocin had started causing the most excruciating pains you had ever felt, and you had been shot many times in the SAS.

Crying out and grasping the handles of the bed, your breathing became ragged and your mouth dried out and you were so happy when your mother applied lip balm to your mouth to keep them from cracking. Each time your progress was checked, the pain worsened, the labor pains feeling like a searing hot knife was dragging across your lower abdomen. You wanted so badly for John to be here, sitting across from you on the bed, letting your arms wrap around his shoulders while you groaned through your pains, but it was your mother who stood in his place, her tender touches breaking you out of your swimming mind.

Hours later, your water had broken on its own, and now you were in the home stretch and the anxiousness began to flow throughout your body, knowing that your little girl was to make an appearance by the beginning of the next day.

John’s body was wired, sleep not taking him this evening, his hand resting on his bare stomach as he splayed out on his bed, the blanket barely covering his waist. He scrolled mindlessly for hours on his phone when he finally decided to browse your mother’s social media, hoping that she had updated with anything that had to do with you. He shot up from his pillow when he saw a photo of you sitting up in a hospital bed, and IV and wires hooked up all over your body.

“Posted three hours ago,” he mutters to himself, tapping your photo and zooming in on your face– you looked so angelic.

His baby would be here so soon and it made his heart skip beats, anxiety flowing through his veins. He could be there right now in place of your mother, whispering sweet words of encouragement in your ear, rocking with you and helping you breathe through the pain. Even when on the battlefield while injured, he knew you were terrible at controlling your breathing, often passing out and waking back up with him chewing your head off.

“Make sure to breathe, sweet girl, you’ve got this,” he spoke almost silently– a whisper off his lips.

Lying back down, he knew immediately that he was not going to sleep until he knew you had delivered safely and that the baby was okay. Knowing how much your mother posted updates about you, it was surefire that she’d post a picture of that sweet baby as soon as she arrived. What were you going to name her? Would you give her your surname? Of course you would, he doesn’t have that badge of honor– of his kid taking his name, when he wasn’t present. What would his daughter look like? Hopefully like you because you were the most beautiful creature on God’s green Earth.

The smallest hand was wrapped around your finger, swaddled in the cream colored blanket your mother knitted just for her. The baby came out kicking and screaming after almost two hours of pushing. You cried out for John, wanting him by your side more than anything. To hold your hand, to kiss you so deeply when the baby came and was placed on your chest. Your mother knew how much you missed John, your forlorn looks never fooling her, and so she felt great sympathy hearing you scream out for your past lover.

“Look at you, Bunny,” you whisper, stroking the soft cheek of your little girl ever-so-softly.

“Oh, you did such a good job, my love,” a kiss was placed on your cheek by your mother, her hand resting on the back of the baby’s bunny hat covered head.

You would go through the pain of carrying her and bringing her forth a million times over, your heart swelling so much it might have exploded when your eyes caught the looks of her face. She was so perfect, so tiny. The moment she was placed on your chest, her eyes peered right into yours– those same crystal blue eyes she shared with her father.

It was late morning the next day. John hadn’t slept a wink, his eyes heavy and Soap was late to debriefing– like that was a new thing though. He decided to sit at the table instead of the podium at the front of the room where the projector screen hung behind it, too exhausted to stand for more than needed. Gaz was away on deployment, leaving Ghost and Soap to sit in the seats to the right and left of him. Ghost’s eyes peered at his newest deployment papers, flipping through the pages pretty quickly as he was a fast reader. Soap had his head down, phone hidden under the table while there was a moment of silence– a break of sorts, in John’s meeting.

“She had the baby, bonnie lass she is,” Soap says out loud, Ghost looking up from his papers with a quiet hum.

John frantically dug his phone out of his pocket, searching your mother’s name on social media. There you were, holding the tiniest bundle in your arms, swaddled inside a knitted blanket with her hands tucked under her chin. He had to leave, he needed a moment. The chair screeches when he stands, Soap’s attention snapping to his Captain, who started rushing out the door.

Sharing a confused look with Ghost, Soap stood from his seat and left the room. Why did he leave in such a hurry? Why did he react like that in general? Soap was searching his brain for the possible answer. Come to think of it, Soap never noticed a gentleman by your side during your pregnancy and your mother had mentioned in posts how you were so strong and she was lucky to be by your side during this new adventure. Was John that baby’s father? Why was he not there with you? But then it all began to make sense the longer Soap thought– the SAS and Task Force were always keeping themselves hot on the tails of dangerous people, and those dangerous people would stop at nothing to take everything away from them. Maybe this was a mutual decision– and exactly why you left the military.

John’s breathing was heavy as he shut the door to his room behind him. He felt unstable on his feet, nearly tripping on his way to sit on his bed. Your photo was zoomed in on his phone, your hair was disheveled, your hospital gown hanging from your shoulders– he was guessing you’d already attempted to feed the baby with how lazily it had been tied back up. John’s eyes focus on the baby, his heart skipping a beat when he looks at her sweet button nose and wispy little hairs poking out from her knitted bunny hat. Oh how beautiful his girls looked after all of their hard work. Pride swells in his chest, he knew this must have been so difficult, but you did it and looked even more beautiful than before as a new mother.

The nights were long, the days melted together, and you found yourself lost. Though your mother lent a hand when she was available, you had taken on so much so quickly and had no adjustment time, as having a baby would do. Between nursing the baby and running on less sleep than you had gotten on some of your deployments, you were ingesting more caffeine than you liked, and you often found yourself nodding off at random times. But that little girl had been the easiest to please so far. As long as she got milk, had a clean nappy, warm clothes, and cuddles, she was content.

John would have been the one to wake up at the first signs of movement in the bassinet– he was an incredibly light sleeper and would often rise earlier than most of his team. He’d say how much of a waste it was to sleep the morning away when you could be productive and get more important things done before the day actually needed to start. You weren’t much of a morning person and would often tell John to let you sleep in until the last possible minute if you stayed in his room for the night, but you always managed to slip out of his room before anyone came into the halls.

Your mind wandered more during your maternity leave, often you questioned what John was doing, if he knew his daughter had arrived safely and if he knew how beautiful she was. Did he have any deployments in the time you were discharged to now? You were sure he was busy, as he always had been.

A few weeks passed and John was on leave for three weeks, visiting home and executing plans he made with Soap for the day, who was taking a leave around the same time as John for a wedding. While walking the streets of London, hands stuffed in his pockets, and Soap to his side, the two talked about quick bite options nearby. John had a cafe in mind, mentioning that they had great coffee and sandwiches.

The late winter air nipped John’s nose, the tip dusted a light pink. He had a black beanie placed atop his head and a black peacoat over his jumper. Soap’s outfit resembled the outfit John wore, save the beanie, but add a scarf. Soap had attempted to reach out to you on multiple occasions since having the baby, but of course, you didn’t answer. Soap knew that he shouldn’t keep trying to pry and answer out of you, but he also knew that you needed the support of a friend, even though he wanted to be more than a friend.

Price felt his cell phone vibrate in his pocket, telling Soap to go on ahead and order for them both– Price wasn’t picky. Opening the door to the cafe, Soap felt an immediate warmth wash over him and the heavy smell of coffee filling his nose. Taking a spot in the short line, he stared at the menu above, until he became distracted by the woman in front of him, kissing a very small baby on the head, cooing and rocking her body as her hands caressed the sling that held the baby to her chest. He knew your voice anywhere.

“Y/N?” He places his large hand on your shoulder, spinning you to face him.

Your eyes were wide, a scared look on your face until you noticed Soap’s familiar face. Barely able to string words together, Soap took you by the arm and dragged you to the side, his arms engulfing you in an embrace, careful as to not smoosh the baby’s head between your two chests.

“Why didn’t you answer my messages?” Soap’s low voice vibrates the side of your face as your arms wrap around him.

“I didn’t want my old life to follow me because of her,” your voice trembles.

“But you didn’t have to face this alone.”

“I do though,” you pull away, looking at Soap with watery eyes.

Feeling his heart sink, knowing that what you said was true, he didn’t want it to be. He wanted to be the one to hold you– support you, and keep you safe. Even though what Price was doing was carrying out the same purpose.

“She’s a beauty,” Soap nods to the sleeping baby covered almost entirely inside your sling, her little face settled against your chest, lips puckering as she stirs to get more comfortable.

“Thank you Johnny,” you smile, stroking her cheek softly, then adjusting the knitted bunny hat to sit closer to her eyebrows.

Johnny– he hadn’t heard you say his real name in so long, it was like a treat hearing it leave your soft lips.

“Reach out to me from time to time, just so I know you’re doing okay?” Soap pleads, his hands resting on your shoulders, squeezing them lightly to get his words through to you.

Nodding with a soft smile, you could hear your name being called by the barista. Grabbing your coffee, you turn to exit the cafe, offering Soap a soft “bye,” as you pass him. You wrap your thick shawl around the baby tight, holding onto her with one hand while you balance your coffee in the other. You were only minutes from your mother’s house, and the fresh air was something you needed after being cooped up in the house for so long.

Then you see him– John. He was ending a call on his phone, placing it back in his coat pocket before setting off on his walk to the cafe to meet back up with Soap. Your heart was pounding, and almost as if the baby senses your unease, she begins to stir and whimper. You walk closer and closer to where John’s position is by a lamp post. His eyes spot you and his body freezes in place. You keep walking, shushing the baby softly, your hand placed on her back to let her know her mother was right here.

“You’re alright, Little Bunny,” you say into her hat, softly kissing the crown of her head as you pass John.

His daughter was right there, cozily pressed against your body in the chilly climate. The baby wore a cream knitted bunny ear hat, one ear flopping over the side of the sling. She looked so much like the both of you, it almost scared him. He wanted to hold her— hold you. It ate away at his insides, turning his guts to liquid as he watched your eyelashes flutter down to the ground, watching your feet.

Tears were falling like mad down your face as you passed him without a word, John watching you in disbelief– he didn’t think he would be able to rest his eyes upon you again, not after going this long without contact. But it was for the best, you both knew this.

His eyes followed you until you were no longer in sight, making sure you were absolutely safe with the baby. Life could be different, he could run after you and grovel on his knees for forgiveness. To beg you to forget he was ever cold to you and to start fresh. But he couldn’t, especially not after how things ended and with knowing he’d jeopardize yours and the baby’s safety.

It was days later that you had run into Soap and John while out in London. You hadn’t slept right in days and it was a mixture of having a newborn who needed your attention and the anxiousness of seeing your old lover and not being able to think about a thing other than him.

Your mother’s footsteps can be heard ascending the stairs and she soon appears in the doorway with a small parcel. Handing it to you and planting herself on your bed next to you, she waits for you to open it. As you tear into the parcel, peeling the tape and opening the box, you look inside and see a knitted bunny, the yarn pink and soft. Pulling the bunny out, you notice a note attached to it, neatly folded and taped shut. As you carefully open the note, your eyes scan over the words written on it. You knew that handwriting— John’s handwriting.

“For Little Bunny.”

#cod mwii #cod fanfic #cod imagine #call of duty mw2 #call of duty modern warfare #call of duty mwii #call of duty imagine #call of duty #captain john price #john price #john price x reader #john price x you

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ms-demeanor · 1 year ago

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hi! i’ve been following you for a bit and seen you post abt taking nutrition courses, and i was wondering if you could talk about how you found/vetted your program? i have a community-oriented foodservice job and i’m interested in learning more about nutrition, but i know there’s a lot of dubious stuff/outright pseudoscience in the field so i’m wary of just signing up for the nearest/cheapest class.

So if you're looking at doing nutrition in a serious academic in the US way you need to take courses in an ACEND accredited program; there is an industry compliance standard that is required for RDs/RDNs so I started from there and worked backwards. I looked at state schools in my area that had programs on that list, then looked at community colleges in my area. California has pretty strict rules about accredited community colleges and state colleges in terms of what is transferable and transfer-ability is one of the better markers of a program that is not hot garbage. The school that I'm currently at has a program that complies with the Cal State requirements for an AS-T (Associates of Science Transfer) degree for Nutrition. There's another nearby school that has a more comprehensive program that offers both an AS-T and further lower-division nutrition classes.

If you're not thinking about becoming an RD/RDN (which at this point requires an MS in nutrition, a 10-month internship, and board certification) but want to learn more, I'd still say that working backwards works and you will likely be well served by seeing which schools in your area have an accredited program, which community colleges - if any - they accept transfers from, and signing up for basic classes.

If you're interested in doing an online class, it looks like there's a free class (the audit option is free) on basic nutrition offered through EdX from UC Riverside - this course outline looks very similar to basic nutrition classes I've taken.

The thing is that in some ways nutrition is pretty simple; there are essential nutrients, we need to make sure to get enough of them, a lot of people don't get enough of them, and most people's nutrition can be improved by eating a varied diet that includes many fruits and vegetables with sugar and some kinds of fats in moderation (but everyone needs protein, carbohydrates, and fats as part of their diet).

In other ways nutrition is tremendously complicated, highly specific to individuals, and people look at it as a silver bullet to solve all problems. And the really frustrating thing is that if you've got certain kinds of issues (celiac disease being one example that I'm intimately familiar with) then proper nutrition IS actually a silver bullet. But it's not a silver bullet for, say, heart disease or diabetes (both of which *interact* with the foods a person consumes, but are likely not purely caused by food consumption and may not be significantly mediated by nutritional care alone).

And that makes it a field ripe for charlatans!

But if you're doing community-oriented food service specifically i think that you're probably going to do well looking into programs for nutrition for public health and looking at accredited local schools. If you can't do that, check on what's available from schools that are ACEND accredited but have online classes through stuff like EdX - the UC Riverside program falls into that category, and there were classes from Arizona State University - which has a really widely known, accredited, and popular nutrition program - in that same category.

But. Yeah. I'm sorry. The field is kind of a nightmare and huge chunks of it are very misleading and even if you're looking at well vetted stuff there's going to be some garbage and it's going to depend a lot on the age of the program and how long people have been teaching in that program. It's a mess! It's a fascinating mess but it's a mess nonetheless!

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copperbadge · 1 year ago

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Sam, how did you find your therapist and build such a good working relationship? Every attempt I’ve made at therapy seems to fizzle out after a few months… and no therapist has ever understood the RSD aspect of my ADHD, which makes it all feel a little worse every time I try.

I mean, I think really we're still building it -- I haven't had her more than a couple of months and functionally it's been an every-two-weeks situation most of the time because we keep having to move/cancel. I don't know that I can really speak intelligently to building a relationship with a therapist because this is the first time I've ever done it where I was an adult and in control. As for finding one...

Chicago has a group called Clarity Clinic, which is like a WeWork for mental health professionals -- they offer scheduling, billing, and IT/office space to local people who I think are mostly independent operators otherwise. They have a directory that is highly filterable, so I found my psychiatrist there by filtering to stuff like Adult ADHD and medication management. He's great, but he didn't want to be my therapist and I didn't want him to. When I decided on therapy, I asked him if he knew anyone he could recommend, since he knew what my deal was in terms of personality, behavior, etc.

So he gave me a couple of names of fellow Clarity Clinic folks and I had a look on the website and chose the one that sounded like she'd get on best with me. I think I struck it lucky to be honest -- she's young (compared to me) and has ADHD, and she's very familiar with disability discourse, spoon theory, etc, even fandom to an extent. If I were to go looking today I might look more at therapists who specialize in twice-exceptional individuals, but she's good enough with what I'm aiming at that I don't want to change.

So the best advice I have is if you're being treated for other stuff by someone you trust I'd ask them, but also look for someone experienced with adult ADHD, and I'd look for someone on the younger side who's more likely to be understanding of neurodivergent needs. (I also recommend filtering to queer-friendly therapists if you can; I didn't necessarily need that but it means they're likely to be generally accepting and probably have more liberal politics. With the caveat that in shady places like BetterHealth, "LGBTQIA" counselors are sometimes homophobic creeps with an axe to grind.)

Building the relationship has taken proactivity on my part -- ensuring that I always have an appointment on the books (we book out about six weeks in advance now, because we know one of us will likely need to cancel/rebook at times), making sure that I have either an aim for treatment or at least something to talk about, etc. I think in your case probably having a list of things you want to deal with, so that you can check some boxes up top, might help.

I would definitely open with "I have ADHD and I need help with [aspects of that]; I also have RSD and I need to work with someone who respects that diagnosis and understands how to help with it." I went into mine saying "I have ADHD and I'm also struggling with some really big emotion, so I'm looking for help with those, but also like...I'm not really sure what therapy can offer. I've had some bad experiences in the past but they were all when I was a child, so I'm trying to explore some options." Her reaction was a combination of sympathy and a discussion of the kinds of things we might work on, which helped a great deal.

But yeah, I think it starts with establishing right from the jump what you want and need, and then spending time making sure that you both stay on top of that until you find a rhythm. We're still finding our rhythm, but it's getting easier as I'm learning to be clearer about what I want and more comfortable with being a participant instead of someone therapy just happens to.

#therapy #sam has adhd

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pixelmensupremacy · 2 years ago

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If you feel like it , can I request an angsty fluff request. (Connor and Nines or Nines ) X female reader . Where Gavin berates Reader like he did with Connor in the game .. and it bothers them (LED flicks yellow red ) ...

A/N: This turned out to be a bit more of Connor x reader though I hope you enjoy it nonetheless!

Summary: The request

Word count: 1.2k

Warnings: Gavin being a dick, Connor and Nines post deviancy, fem!reader

Blending in with her new coworkers at the DPD proved to be more difficult than (Y/N) had originally anticipated.

For the few months she had worked as a detective at the Detroit police department, she had come to learn the hard way that some of her colleagues abruptly refused to have any relation with her whatsoever. Despite befriending quite a few colleagues, it still pained her she couldn’t freely chat with all of her coworkers. Yet she accepted the fact she couldn’t be friends with everyone, but what she couldn’t wrap her mind around was the rudeness detective Gavin Reed had towards her. His unreasonable discourtesy often got out of hand to the point where (Y/N) actively avoided him.

Whether it was irony or some twisted test the universe forced her to endure, she got paired with no other than detective Reed himself to investigate murders that seemed to be connected. To say (Y/N) was excited for this assignment would’ve been a lie. Well at first, she was glad to work on such intriguing and complex case up until Fowler announced Reed as her partner. Even though she tried her best to negotiate with her supervisor it was no use- she had no other option, but to withdraw and accept her fate.

Despite getting upset with the news, she tried her best to not let Gavin’s immature antics get in the way of her work. Even though (Y/N) tried to keep her composure -and even succeed for the most part- there was a drastic change in her otherwise warm demeanor didn’t go unnoticed by her android friends, who immediately picked up something different about her no one else could. Throughout the time the two androids knew (Y/N), they have learned a lot -if not everything- about her; her facial expressions and body language gave away everything about her both Connor and Nines needed to know.

Simultaneously checking her vitals and using her body language as an indicator for her mood had become a habit the two androids had developed; it was form of an indirect checkup to make sure (Y/N) was well and healthy, so they instantly noticed the worry in her features and in the way she behaved. At first, wanting to avoid further upsetting her, the two detectives didn’t question her. Yet they discussed their observations silently via data transmission even in times when she was present.

“It appears she is still troubled. Her dopamine levels are lower than usual.” Connor’s LED flashed in a glowing amber.

“I am positive she is indeed upset, but the cause still remains unidentified.” Nines’ head tilted slightly.

“For the most advanced prototype ever created, you do seem to not live up to the assets you should possess.” The tiniest of smiles curled the corners of his lips.

“Enough.” Nines’ harsh voice took (Y/N) by surprise; she stopped talking as quick as she had begun and took a closer look at the boys. Were they communicating via telepathy?

“Am I interrupting something?” She raised her brow at them; the two looked back at her.

“No, no.” Nines began explaining “Connor was simply overloading my system with unnecessary data.” He went on, striking his predecessor with a stern look, who now looked at his feet in embarrassment.

“Okay, sure.” She rolled her eyes, buying none of it though she didn’t question them further. “Now if you don’t mind I gotta go. Duty calls.” She winked as she headed towards Gavin’s desk. She let out a deep sigh as if to collect any willpower she had left to put up with him for yet another day.

“Your ass finally decided to show up!” Gavin snickered through his shit-eating grin.

“Yeah, I’m glad to see you too, Reed!” She rolled her eyes as she sat across him, immediately busying herself with reports.

“You know it would’ve been nice if you smile for once. Hate to see your pretty face so grumpy.” He commented in his typical mocking tone.

“I don’t know about that, but maybe I will look happier if you shut up for once.” She gave him the fakest of smiles, fighting the growing urge to punch him in the face.

“Now let’s stop bitching and get back to work. These reports won’t write themselves.”

“What the hell is your problem?” (Y/N) raised her voice, catching the attention of the two androids that happened to have witnessed the whole situation.

“Unlike you, I just want to get my job done.” Gavin stated as he typed away at his keyboard, not even glancing her way. She scoffed in response.

“You’re un- fucking -believable!” She stormed into the breakroom; tears formed in the corners of her eyes- she couldn’t bear it.

“Go after (Y/N)“ Nines’ LED flooded with multiple colors as he transferred the message to his predecessor, who already thought the same thing. "I’ll take care of detective Reed.” Connor shot him a brief look of puzzlement only to notice the bright red of his LED, but decided against stopping him- whatever was coming Gavin’s way was most definitely deserved.

Entering the break room, Connor was met with the sight of (Y/N) silently sitting on a table, the soft sounds of sobs being the only noise that echoed in the empty space.

“Detective” His hand gently landed on her shoulder; carefully, he rubbed her skin through the fabric of her clothes in a soothing manner, in hopes of calming her down. “May I help?”

“How?” Her head rose from the palms of her hands that have guarded her vulnerability, being her pained look, only to reveal the hopelessness woven in the (E/C) of her eyes. “There’s nothing we could do. No matter how many times I tried to be nice and understanding nothing seems to do it. He just hates my guts.” Another set of tears rolled down her cheeks, followed by a hiccup.

Connor had never seen her like this and he soon grew to resent it; the feelings of anger and disappointment grew within him. How could he have not noticed the root of the problem earlier? He quickly pushed these thoughts aside, for he had a far more urgent task- to take care of his friend.

“Humans tend to do many unreasonable and irrational things, one of them being their communication with others.” He began explaining all the while he filled a glass of water to give to (Y/N). “I came to learn that from my very first interaction with a human. Believe it or not, I had difficulties with detective Reed myself.”

“Really?” Curiosity flashed in her puffy eyes. “But you two hardly ever communicate. What’s your secret?” She sipped at the water; her gaze fixed on him in anticipation.

“That’s a long story.” He gave her a reassuring smile.

“Aw don’t leave me hanging.” She playfully hit his arm.

“Okay I’ll tell you… one day. Are you feeling better?” His soft brown eyes searched hers.

“Yeah. Thank you, Connor.” She pulled him in for a hug; speechless, leaving him speechless. Cautiously, he wrapped his arms around her form. He sighed in delight- the mission was a success. Right then sudden yells caught their attention. Looking at the direction the commotion came from, the two noticed Nines, holding Gavin by his collar.

“I have a feeling Gavin might want to avoid the three of us all together.”

#dbh x reader #dbh fanfic #dbh imagine #rk800 x reader #rk900 x reader #connor x you #connor x reader #nines x reader #request

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blainesebastian · 2 years ago

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milestones

words: 1,381 ship: austin butler x reader summary: (anon request): “can you do one where reader decorates her and Austin’s apartment to celebrate his Oscar nomination? maybe something like baking a cake, or setting up balloons bc celebrating milestones is important“ notes: thanks for the sweet request :) warnings: none tag list: @killerqueenfan, @karamelcoveredolicity, @elizabethrosecresswell, @gigisworldsstuff, @stylesmendeshearted, @rairaielv,

You and Austin are perfectly aware of how busy life can get—both of you dove into acting at a young age and it’s been a passion and commitment ever since. If you’re not currently on a film set, you’re preparing for a role, or investing your time and energy into research, going to auditions, meeting with directors or producers, having your publicist and agent line you up for interviews, events, the works. It’s constant and all-consuming and you’ve learned that you have to take time to breathe, to slow down, to check in with yourself and loved ones because if you don’t, things are capable of flying right by you.

It's important to celebrate milestones.

Which is why you’re attempting to bake a cake for Austin.

As you’ve told practically anyone who will listen, your boyfriend is one of the most hard working people you know. And yes, you definitely like to humble-brag about it. The thing is, Austin deserves to be recognized—not just for Elvis, but for every single project he touches. He puts his entire heart and soul into what he does and it comes through on screen and not only that, he’s incredibly kind and thoughtful to anyone he works with, any interviews he might give, or any fan he runs into on the street.

You really can’t say enough.

So when he calls you about that Oscar nomination? You practically scream right in the middle of the grocery store. You’re unbelievably happy and proud of him, can hear the tears in his eyes coming through the roughness of his voice as he speaks to you on the phone about how he can’t quite believe it.

Regardless that it’s taking some time to settle in for him, you know exactly what to do and make it your mission to make sure he knows how much he deserves this upon coming home. He’s out for drinks with Baz, his publicist, something he invited to you but you had originally declined because you were busy with work. Unknowingly, things with your agent wrapped up sooner than you expected so you were getting some much needed grocery shopping done. Hearing this news though? The perfect segway into getting the apartment decorated as a surprise for when Austin comes home.

You should have about a two hour window, he was just meeting Baz when he called you in the store. And in theory? It’s plenty of time for what you’re trying to do. You know it’s probably really corny but you got these gold streamers to hang on the fireplace in the living room along with the golden speckled sparkle balloons floating against the ceiling down the hallway until you reach the kitchen. There’s a banner, too, a simple congrats! hanging across the expansive windows behind and above the couch.

Probably too much but you can’t be worried about that right now—you’re concerned about this cake and the time you’re losing, trying to make sure this is as close to perfect as you can get. Except…

“The cake is flat.”

Your mom kinda hovers over the phone, definite confusion in the silence, “Flat?”

Lord, this is why you don’t bake, “Yeah, it’s—I dunno. I followed all the directions to a T.”

She hums, “Did you preheat the oven?”

You crinkle your nose because no, you…you swore that was a thing you could totally do without. Isn’t that optional? “I didn’t think that was like…something you had to do,” And ugh, now you feel like an idiot because the cake batter has essentially cooked at a half-ass temperature for a half-ass length of time. “My friend Suzanne never preheats her oven and her baked goods come out perfect.”

“That’s because she pretends her store-bought cupcakes are right from her kitchen, dear.”

You crinkle your nose but then can’t help but laugh…actually, that would explain a lot.

Leaning against the counter, you switch your phone from one ear to the other, listening for a moment to make sure your boyfriend isn’t home yet, “I dunno what I’m going to do—Austin will be home soon and this was supposed to be a surprise, not a letdown.”

“I’d say a half-baked cake is definitely a surprise.”

“Mom,” You whine and her soft laugh filters through the speaker before she tells you how to adjust the oven to fix and finish the cake.

You feel…kinda confident? When all is said and done and the oven beeps. You’re able to take it out and let it cool for a little as you whip icing together. At least you can taste that throughout to make sure it’s not an utter disaster and, well, at the end of the day it’s the thought that counts right? Telling yourself that a few times, you begin to icing the cake and hum a bit to yourself…you’re pretty sure the bottom is a little burnt. You shake your head, setting it back on the counter once you’re done with the icing. At this point, you’re just hoping it’s edible.

“Yikes,” You mutter to yourself and then hear the front door open.

Eyes widening, you scurry out from around the counter and into the hallway, grinning when Austin has the door all the way open.

“Surprise!”

And your boyfriend blinks because he’s barely come inside, toeing off his shoes and taking his jacket off as the door closes, “What?” He laughs lightly and then looks up, the balloons against the ceiling, leading down to the streamers and signs and admittedly you’re smiling the entire time, watching as he takes it all in.

Following him into the living room, you curl your hair around your ear, “Congrats.”

There’s this moment where Austin shakes his head, emotion playing with the blue of his eyes and he runs his hand along his lower jaw before he turns to look at you. In one swift motion he picks you up, a laugh startling from your lips as you slide down his body and you’re standing in front of him.

“Thank you baby,” He whispers, leaning down to kiss you.

You wrap your arms around his shoulders, keeping him close, smiling against his lips as the kiss sends unending butterflies into your chest and stomach.

It’s a small gesture, you know, something that’ll probably pale in comparison to the recognition he’s bound to get from all over in the next few months. But you couldn’t not do it either, all of this translates into how proud of him you are, how much you love him—even if it’s just streamers, balloon and a cake.

“You baked?” He asks, motioning to the kitchen with a tip of his chin.

A soft laugh leaves your lips, cheeks kissing pink before you nod. Wandering into the space with him, your rub the back of your neck and pick up the cake off the counter, setting it down in front of him on the island table.

“Yeah—or well, I tried.”

Austin shakes his head and you already know what he’s thinking—that you didn’t have to go so out of your way to do any of this for him over a nomination. But it’s not just that, right? It’s celebrating all the steps he took to get here, all the hard work and long hours, passion and frustration, sweat and tears. It’s about recognition, about seeing him.

You grab two forks and hand him one, sitting down at the counter. Austin moves to stand around you, leaning down to press a kiss to your shoulder as he digs his fork in and takes a bite. There’s a bit of icing on the corner of his mouth and you grin before wiping it away with your thumb. Humming, you take a forkful as well in anticipation and—

It’s not that bad!

The cake is moist, the icing is pleasant but not overdoing it on sugar and you triumphantly have another bite because baking this thing and not ruining it feels like a milestone within itself.

“Sorry the bottom is a bit crispy.”

Austin chuckles warmly, “Wasn’t even gonna say anythin’.” He tilts your chin with his thumb so that you’re looking at him and he leans down for a slow kiss. It’s just as sweet as the icing.

#austin butler #austin butler x reader #austin butler imagine #austin butler fic #elvis 2022 #mccall writes things

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morallygreychaoticneutral · 19 days ago

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Well, the last time I posted my opinion on this subject on Tumblr I got harassed so it's why I'm only "active" as an anon. People tend to be very judgemental (on both sides) over this subject because any different opinion is being perceived as an attack on someone's relationship choices. Or judgement over how they play the game, which isn't the case for most of us.

However, I've always taken issue with both "Astarion is poly" AND "Astarion is mono" purely because the canon itself doesn't confirm either one of them. He's not poly just because he allows his partner to have a fling with Halsin. Just like he isn't necessarily mono just because you only romance him in a playthrough. What he is or not is ultimately left for each one of us to headcanon. Like you said, maybe HE will be interested in having multiple partners after the game. Or maybe he wouldn't be. Who's to say exactly?

Again, Larian did a bad job if they truly intended to portray him as poly OR as truly, undoubtedly okay with Halsin. The timing just sucks. And just because he says no when Tav proposes poly with the other companions, it doesn't mean much considering those proposals all come before his act 2 confession, at the time he was performing a lot by trying to be that horny, hedonistic sexy vampire in order to seduce Tav. Likewise, if you date Shadowheart and Astarion at the same time and propose poly to her, she will say "you may be overestimating his desire to share" and "he may seem like a carefree hedonist, but there is something fragile behind the facade" (link: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=h3HEkbnM_AM - Minthara says something similar. If the writers truly wanted him to be a poly character why did they had two other characters say that basically he's not into sharing?). So these dynamics are vastly different than those when Halsin comes in with his proposal: usually at a time when Astarion takes a break from sex, when he is in a truly insecure position. He may be feeling like he has to allow Tav this since they stuck with him for so long, even after he admitted his plan to seduce them. Even after Cazador when his response is usually seen as being more secure by the fandom, he's still not very enthusiastic. He even says "it is okay if things between us change because of this" or "I trust you to make a decision that won't hurt what we have". How is this him being enthusiastic? Or him wanting this in the first place? I don't know, but if you want to introduce such a big change to your relationship (like opening it), your partner's first instinct being "it's okay if things between us change" aka a hint to a future break up is not a positive thing at all. It's great to hear he will be fine without Tav, but it's also not true that he won't mind if you break up with him (just try the option to see for yourself, if you do it in the epilogue at the Elfsong he gets really angry).

I also want to point out how he allows Tav a lot. If you cheat on him with Mizora all you have to do is say "I'm sorry" every single time he says something and he forgives you in an instant, without even rolling a persuasion check. Yeah, he will try to break up with you but...he forgives so EASILY. You can even have him bite Araj and with the right dialogue choices you'll still be able to keep the relationship. Or force him to eat the astral tadpole. Yes, he learned to say "no" and put some boundaries but Tav can still easily manipulate him.

Simply put, there are far too many hints in the game itself that this isn't something he really wants or that to some extent he is going along with his partner's wishes, at least at this point in time. Sure, he gives Tav his consent but does he really want it? There is a difference between giving consent to a certain thing and wanting that thing for yourself.

I'm sorry you were harassed. Cognitive dissonance can be extremely triggering for some. However, that does not give them license to be abusive.

You have a lot of good points. Which sucks, because if they did intend him to be poly they really missed the mark. And I can absolutely see where that would be disappointing to someone who was expecting that representation.

I agree with what you are saying. He is quite pliable. His boundaries are very blurry. And the personality that I am, that bothers me as well. It very well could be intended as residual trauma behavior. He is so used to just having to go with what whatever decisions others make regarding him that he is still doing it? As someone who was not allowed boundaries for ages. I find myself still slipping into this behavior from time to time.

He is wickedly complex. And I know its silly, his not real. But I even struggled to ask him for a kiss after the confession in act 2. I really needed him confirm he still wanted them. Have a next day interaction where he thanks you for being so understanding, like after the bite scene, and then pulls YOU in for a kiss.

Its just one of those things where you can't please everyone. And we just need to be allowing of how people perceive it through their own lenses. Thank you for the discussion!

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causeimaperfectdancer · 3 days ago

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"if you criticize Jean's treatment of Harry, you clearly haven't dealt with a severe substance user in your life!" and I'm just over here like *laughs in dated one for half a decade/was one for a couple years* (not alcohol, but something with equal if not greater life ruining potential)

Don't get me wrong! I like Jean as a character and think his feelings are understandable. I also know that the way he approaches Harry's addiction is ignorant, hypocritical, and counterproductive, so, yeah, I get annoyed by it the same way I cringe at the dialogue options Harry gets stuck with when he fails red checks.

It's kind of disheartening to see fans of a game that gives such thoroughly humanizing treatment to vastly different people, playing with and subverting stereotypes, talk like the major characters don't have nuance, that they just fall into one archetype or another. Harry is a subjective, unreliable narrator, but he's still right frequently enough. He's not a fluffy puppy, not by any means, but he's not an irredeemable monster - the game makes it clear on a number of occasions that he struggles to live with himself the way he is. He's aware that he needs to change. Maybe he's tried before and failed, sure - but what was one of those big themes in the game again? 🤔 That failure is something to learn and grow from, and that hope should persist in the face of? No way!

When I read the ledger and the RSC thought Solution text, my first thought was "he must have been in a lot of pain." The visceral feelings of "ugggghh that's awful, God dammit Harry" were there, for sure, but I felt compelled to look at him with the same compassionate eyes I had to look at myself with in order to move on from all the things I've done that I regret because if I didn't let myself move on, I couldn't change the shitty behavior in a way that mattered.

We aren't intended to agree with Harry's past actions or even necessarily sympathize with him, but I do think we are meant to see him as redeemable and complex. Why would the game give us front row seats to his conflicting inner dialogue otherwise? I chose to sympathize with him because, while I haven't been a cop, I have been a bully - that is, I have been so absorbed in my pain that I didn't see other peoples' as real and didn't think about the impact externalizing my feelings would have on them. I decided to change because I couldn't live with myself like that anymore, I didn't want to be the same kind of person who had hurt me or let me down in the past.

So. Yeah, anyway, everyone in DE kind of sucks. Even Kim, whose compassionate, steadfast, and patient nature is a welcome refuge while playing as a man with a bad reputation - Kim's trauma and fear of having too few allies make him inhibited and equivocal in a way that is deeply annoying when you also struggle with those things and are currently working on that - but the game encourages players to both acknowledge that and where their personal brands of shittiness come from. And I do think we are meant to want better for them - it's a narrative of misery and of conditions working against everyone, after all.

#addiction #journaling #redemption #I almost never feel anything about fictional discourse but uh #anti-addict sentiments kinda offend my real-world political sensibilities #as someone who advocates for treating addicts better in general #disco elysium #rambling

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wouldntyou-liketoknow · 11 months ago

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Just Another Night at Sparky's

(Disclaimer: Ness/WaiterPat and Jack/Cabbie!Cory are not my creations. I gave Jack his name because he wasn't given one in the movie. Now, one of the characters you'll be seeing here technically belongs to me, but I don't really consider him a full fanego.)

(I was already planning to write for Ness and Jack, but after I learned how Mark was originally intended to play the role of that first security guard who died, I decided to adopt that abandoned character. Go here for headcanons and a more thorough explanation.)

(Certain plot-points in this story were inspired by @flawlessstriker and @insane4fandoms! These two are very talented artists, and I'm not sure I would've thought of such clever/funny easter eggs if I hadn't seen some of their own work, so please go check out their blogs and show them some love!)

(Trigger Warnings: food and drink, eating/drinking, implied trauma, mentions of past violence, mentions of blood, strong language. Please let me know if I missed anything.)

In Ness’ personal experience, the people who dined at Sparky’s could be divided into three sections on a metaphorical pie chart.

Twenty-four percent of customers were. . .just a little off. Not like that was necessarily a bad thing, mind you. Working in the restaurant business meant having to interact with lots of people each and every day. At some point, you’d learn to pick up on certain things that were odd in the way you couldn’t quite put your finger on (or, perhaps you just knew deep down that you didn’t want to).

Ness strolled out of the kitchen and into the seating area, expertly balancing a tray on one hand. He approached a couple of bespectacled young women in one corner of the diner.

Their visits to Sparky’s were a bit sporadic, but they never failed to claim that one booth in the corner that no-one else ever sat at no matter how crowded the joint was. The backpacks they always hauled along were positioned further up the booth’s seat cushions, half-open and nearly overspilling with various books.

They always used indoor voices, but he could still pick up bits and pieces of their conversation whenever he was near.

Tonight was no different:

“—he’ll be hungrier than usual,” murmured the one on the left, who boasted short, wavy hair that had been dyed a dark shade of violet. It complimented her shirt, which read ADOPT A FAMILIAR at the top. Pictures of creepy-looking critters were displayed beneath the message, orange-eyed and outlined by blue against the black fabric. “And he’ll need a live one this time.”

“Ooh,” replied the one on the right, who sported a yellow shirt with the screen-printed likeness of some obscure, spikey-haired cartoon character near the collar. A blonde ponytail spilled out from the back of her ball cap. “Who’s it gonna be? The lady whose eyes were found in that jar last month?”

“Nah, she’ll be in some psych ward. Too far-gone to keep on the playing board, y’know?” A sly grin etched its way across Urban Fantasy Nerd’s features. “I was actually wondering if you’d like to choose. Your guy is making the delivery, after all.”

“Ah, that’s right!” Cartoon-Fan snickered in a way that was just a teensy bit unhinged. “I can already see him slipping on some of the blood."

“Third time’s a charm?” Ness asked as he halted, carefully setting this duo’s Usual on the table.

(Two milkshakes: one chocolate, the other strawberry. Yeah, it was kind of basic, but he wasn’t too much of a judgemental guy. Besides, Sparky’s shakes were a much safer option than the lilac-colored drinks that chicken shack around the corner had started selling. And Ness didn’t just carry that opinion because of his employment. During one of his typical night-walks, he’d passed an alley just in time to see said purple beverage oozing through said chicken shack’s windows. The strong, sugary smell wafting off it had reminded him of prion disease.)

The girls both paused. Though they smiled up at him and offered quiet “Thank-yous,” as they moved their respective, sticker-covered laptops out of the way, visible confusion mixed itself into their gratitude.

“For the university’s creative writing contest, I mean,” Ness elaborated. “There were articles in the paper about the last two, and I saw your pictures in the list of winners. Congratulations, by the way.”

“. . .Oh,” Urban Fantasy Nerd answered, exchanging careful glances with her friend. “Yeah. Writing. Let’s go with that.”

“If anyone asks, we were also writing here two months ago,” Cartoon-Fan added with a conspiratory wink. “On Friday, between five-thirty and nine o’clock.”

Ness chuckled, raising one hand to pull an invisible zipper over his lips. “You’ve got it. Enjoy.”

As he retraced his steps to organize some stuff behind the coffee counter, a little voice in the back of his theater-trained head wondered if the girls’ tones had been joking enough. Unlike many times before, he pushed that voice aside.

On one hand, missing person cases did always seem to pop up on the news channels a few days after the two students stopped by to enjoy milkshakes while typing away and occasionally turning the screens of their laptops toward one another.

On the other hand. . .well, those cases were always located states and states away, typically near more seaside areas. None of them had been anywhere close to Utah. (Not yet, at least.)

Besides, even if those girls were somehow connected to more sinister things than their coursework, they were still very nice. Good tippers, too. Nowhere near the worst patrons Ness had served in his time.

The strange customers almost always seemed to come in pairs.

Like the duo of twenty-somethings from last week. One sported ginger hair and a She/They button pinned to their jacket. The soot-stains on said jacket had been very obvious, as were the burn scars on their palms, but she’d still been a delight to make smalltalk with.

The other, a pale young man, had been much more quiet, but still friendly. He’d kept peering through the window at (what was presumably) his or his friend’s car, shakily fidgeting with the headphones around his neck, so it’d taken some time for Ness to realize that his eyes were just as reflective as mirrors.

(For the duration of their stay, the jukebox over by the counter had spat out songs that most certainly weren’t on its index cards. Fine, that might’ve caught Ness a bit off-guard at first, but he still knew to appreciate variety.)

Or the two men who’d come in a few months ago, wearing battered navy-blue bomber jackets and thousand-yard-stares. The one with a dyed-red fauxhawk had screamed and practically leapt out of his skin when Ness came over with menus and his usual greeting, but he’d apologized soon enough. After giving Ness a thorough look-over, that is.

His companion, a similarly dark-eyed man with a larynx that could only be found on seasoned musicians, had muttered, “Don’t mind him. We’ve just. . .had a bit of a rough trip.” His voice hadn’t been unkind, but he’d kept glancing at Ness whenever he thought he wasn’t looking.

Well, perhaps that particular pair had broken the trend a bit. Because a few hours after they’d paid for their food and left, a lone traveler had come in.

His bloodshot eyes—which Ness could’ve sworn were orange instead of brown—had never stopped bulging, never stopped darting this way and that above his rictus of a smile. When he wasn’t speaking, he’d hum or murmur things with a shakiness that was typically found in rabid dogs.

He’d asked for way more coffee refills than could ever be considered healthy, as well as if Ness had seen anyone fitting the descriptions of Red-Haired-Screamer and Wary-Possible-Musician. Ness, following his instincts, had said no, to which the loner started simply shaking his head and grinning with a mouthful of teeth that looked a smidge too sharp.

Or the scruffy man who'd started coming in for breakfast every other week with his young sister in tow. He was living proof that you could recognize someone without officially knowing them. After all, it was pretty damn easy for Ness to remember almost making eye-contact with him, barely moving out of reach of his flashlight’s beam in time, and then having the seconds feel like hours as he watched him shake his head and mutter to himself about seeing things.

It wasn’t like that’d been Ness’ first little midnight rendezvous around Freddy Fazbear’s Pizzaria. Just like how that particular man wasn’t the first security guard who’d gotten dangerously close to spotting him during his unofficial, self-driven investigations.

For the record, Ness knew that said investigations weren’t legal—especially not if you counted some of the things he’d. . .borrowed from the old animatronic jamboree restaurant—but he’d made his peace with that.

He hadn’t been sneaking around there to deal drugs or partake in any himself.

He wasn’t exactly chasing the adrenaline that always came with an evening full of ducking around corners and trying to ignore how loud his shoes sounded against linoleum floors when he rushed to find anything he could feasibly hide behind, underneath, or inside of.

He never meant any harm when it came to snooping.

It was just a simple case of having a little too much curiosity.

Thankfully, Security Guard #13 still had yet to show up at Ness’ place with some accompanying cops, so it seemed he didn’t recognize Ness as anything other than a humble waiter. (Or, if he did actually recognize Ness from that night, then he was miraculously chill enough to not bring it up and get him in trouble.)

The very first time they’d paid Sparky’s a visit, it would’ve been impossible to ignore the distinct smell that had been wafting off of Security Guard #13. It’d had a bite to it; like machine oil mixed with something much more. . .organic.

From that bleak look Ness had seen in his eyes, Security Guard #13 was most certainly NOT what anyone could call unbothered, but he was still polite. Plus, Kid Sister was the type who just deserved all the crayons in the world, what with the little masterpieces she’d decorated the paper menus with.

So, yeah. There was a genuine difference between oddball customers and customers that made you lose some of your faith in humanity.

People who asked for trout to be blended into their yogurt parfait or for their donuts to be topped with slices of pickles that had gathered fuzz from their mysterious journeys at the back of the refrigerator were still easier to handle than people who threw temper tantrums because they didn’t get a refill in under thirty seconds.

Back to the pie-chart—another forty-six percent of customers were perfectly decent and standard.

Plenty of the locals had a soft spot for this joint; Ness had lost count of all the times he’d been told that the pancakes served here were some of the best on planet Earth. Yeah, praise like that technically wasn’t directed at him, but the cooks were great people to work with, so it still made him happy to relay said praise to them.

He’d be lying if he said it wasn’t awkward for someone to confusedly ask if they’d already seen him working at the bar on the other side of town. Even so, that once-a-month occurrence always left him amused rather than annoyed. If anything, it attested to that particular customer’s observation skills.

Sure, he and Sans were identical twins—the fact that their uncle had mixed them up on several different occasions when they were little was still a running joke in the family. But it’d been years since Sans had decided to remedy that via a skeleton face-mask and a dark blue leather jacket, and he’d made a habit to don both aforementioned garments each day ever since then. (Ness was still in partial disbelief that the manager at Grillby’s was cool enough to let Sans wear them over his uniform.)

Just as many of Sans’ customers apparently ended up mistaking him for Ness. Sans got a nice little kick out of that, of course. He hadn’t just been born with a comedic heart—it truly seemed every bone in his body was a funny one. Some people would argue that he just delivered puns upon more puns upon even more puns, but Ness knew his brother better than that.

After all, Sans had been the one to train him to deal with the last category of customers: the thirty percent of entitled neanderthals who thought treating staff as less than human would somehow magically make their miserable lives more interesting.

“Food work is all about balance,” Sans had explained sometime after he and Ness had grown tall enough to take plates and cups from a counter without having to stand on their tip-toes. “You’ve gotta be nice and still let people know that you won’t take their crap. If they’re civil, then you’re helpful. But if they’re rude. . .” Sans had paused, a mischievous glint in his eyes, “. . .then you have a little fun.”

Ness had always been a pretty fast learner. It’d taken a week or so of practice, yeah, but with his twin’s help, he’d developed a tongue sharp enough to rival any butcher knife in the kitchen.

“You use a lot of big words for a waiter,” snorted a wannabe business bigshot with a wrinkled clip-on tie and a way, waaaaaay over-gelled hairdo that spoke volumes of desperation.

Ness, who’d been explaining the differences between certain ingredients and flavor-enhancing chemicals because Hair Gel’s girlfriend had asked a fair question about the smoothies on the menu, barely batted an eyelid when he came back with, “And you smell a lot like hotdog water for someone who apparently doesn’t work with food.”

“This was the WORST thing I’ve ever put in my mouth!” Exclaimed a woman with an unidentifiable crust caked around the corners of her eyes and an ill-fitting shirt that was advertising some essential oil brand.

“I highly doubt that,” Ness mentioned, raising an eyebrow as he took the plate (which was suspiciously much emptier than when he’d first brought it out) from her table, “but whatever you say. . .”

“Oh! Thank you!” A tiny boy who couldn’t have been older than seven chirped, bouncing in his seat when Ness placed a sundae down in front of him.

Ness had been about to reply, but the boy’s mother—a lady who was trying very hard to look posh (but not succeeding very well due her asymmetrical haircut, as well as all the little green marks around the jewelry she was practically drowning in)—cut him off.

“You don’t need to thank him, sweetheart,” she’d instructed, reaching across the table to corral her son. “That’s his job.”

That one had, admittedly, forced Ness to take a deep breath and appeal to his higher self for a few seconds. Despite this, he’d still made sure to look that Karen dead in the eyes when he observed, “I’m not sure what your problem is, ma’am. But it must be hard for you to pronounce.”

(At least the boy didn’t seem to be too influenced; his bright eyes were nothing but apologetic when Ness came back with the check.)

The relative silence was shattered by the jingling call of that little bell suspended over the front entrance. Ness blinked, his train of thought screeching to a halt. He glanced over in the door’s direction, grinning at a familiar sight.

Another regular; one that Ness got to have actual conversations with on nights like tonight.

Mason glanced around at all the empty tables, brushing back his nearly shoulder-length raven hair and quickly getting the hint that he could just seat himself.

A golden retriever trotted beside him, connected to a leash in his hand via a pink vest that’d been fastened around her shoulders and belly. It was adorned by black velcro straps that read THERAPY DOG in a bold white font. The forest-green sherpa hoodie Mason always seemed to wear was only about half as fluffy as her fur.

Ness ducked into the kitchen. No more than three seconds had passed before the last cook on duty for tonight—a lanky blonde guy who was perhaps the most unapologetically flamboyant foodie you could ever have the honor of knowing—called, “Order Up! Your buddies’ Usuals, fresh from that babbling kiddie pool of oil.”

Dylan set a triad of dishes onto a waiting platter: the first held a stack of waffles (much like Sparky’s pancakes, their recipe was a secret that his very own grandmother had entrusted him with) and fried chicken tenders. The second supported a small mound of bacon. The third was adorned by a couple club sandwiches with a side of mozzarella sticks.

“Thanks, man. Right on time,” Ness called back as he hefted the platter up, balancing it on the anterior region of his forearm like he'd been taught so long ago, and traipsed back out. The door swung to and fro behind him as he headed over to Booth Five.

Though she wasn’t actually in the booth, Checkers was still right by her owner’s side, sitting in a way that could almost remind you of those lion statues guarding the entrance to a Chinese temple. She spotted Ness before Mason did. Her ears perked up, tail starting to wag. Her tongue lapped in and out of her mouth like a party favor as she smiled in that way only dogs could.

Mason, who’d been gazing through the window and fidgeting with his hoodie’s drawstrings, ever-so-slightly flinched as Ness began setting the plates down on the table with a chorus of small clunks. He blinked at the food, as if suddenly remembering the weekly tradition he’d made here.

“How do you always do that?” Mason asked as he turned his head toward Ness, a small smile etching its way across his features.

“Magic,” Ness answered. “Careful, it’s hot.”

He carried the now empty tray back over to the counter. There, his hands became a blur as he snatched up the coffee pot and produced a trio of mugs. After stirring memorized amounts of cream and sugar into the fresh brew, he returned to the table, setting two of the beverages beside the plates.

Ness hovered, his own cup of smoldering caffeine in hand, and glanced around the restaurant. Aside from Mason and those two writers in the corner (who, as Ness had learned, took generous amounts of time with the shakes they always ordered), Sparky’s was empty tonight.

With that in mind, Ness dragged a chair away from one of the other tables, positioning it at the end of the booth. Yeah, he could’ve just sat on the opposite side of Mason, but that part of the booth was typically reserved for another one of his friends.

Subtle relief washed over Ness’ knees as he took a seat; he’d been standing and walking pretty much all day.

Mason plucked a strip of bacon from one of the plates, checking to make sure that it was nice and warm without threatening to burn the palette. He then lightly tossed it over to Checkers, who snapped it out of the air almost like a frog catching flies. She lowered her head as the treat crunched between her teeth.

“How’ve things been?” Ness inquired, taking a sip of his coffee. “The theater’s gotten busy, yeah?”

Mason nodded as he took a fork and knife into his hands, cutting a piece off of one of the waffles and dipping it into the complimentary cup of syrup. “Yeah, it really has. Feels like whenever one movie runs its course and is taken off our roster, two more pop up in its place. Especially now that Scream 3 is finally on the market."

“. . .Oh, that’s right! It is!” Ness ever-so-slightly jumped in his seat. After enjoying the first two movies, he’d been meaning to give the latest installment a look. But so far, whether it was Sparky’s being slammed on the more favorable days or Royal Edgar’s Cinema being too crowded for his liking, things had just kept getting in the way.

Acting on instinct, Ness fished a pencil from one of his waist-apron’s pockets. At first, said pencil might not have seemed like anything special. But then you saw Fabio: a priceless treasure shaped like a rubber chicken’s head covering up the eraser. Ness started spinning the pencil between his fingers, causing Fabio to wiggle as though it was alive.

“Have you seen it already? Is it good? I have so many ideas about where the story could pick up from—”

“Hey, hey. Slow down," Mason remarked with some clear exasperation. “I haven't, but I am scheduled to project its last showing sometime next week. . .” He took a bite out of one of the chicken tenders, humming thoughtfully as he chewed. He must’ve seen the glint in Ness’ eyes, because he offered a sly smirk and lowered his voice as he continued.

“Tell you what: I’ll find a way to sneak you into the projection booth. That way, we can check it out together when the day comes.”

“Really? You’d do that for me?” Ness asked, jokingly clutching his mug in both hands and bringing it close to his heart.

“Sure. It’s really not too different from the customers smuggling their own snacks past the ticket desk,” Mason shrugged, though his mischievous demeanor briefly turned deadpan. “So long as you don’t play detective the entire time. My boss would rip me a new one if I just paused the movie every five minutes to let you brainstorm and talk.”

Ness scoffed, rolling his eyes. “It wouldn’t be every five minutes.”

Mason raised an eyebrow. “You’re right; it’d probably be every two minutes.” He forked up another bite of the waffles, firmly ignoring the offended waiter noises.

“Oh, and don’t try to guilt-trip me out of my food, either. I’ve already got one moocher to deal with.” Mason scratched Checkers’ ears, to which she responded via tilting her head to the side, an undeniable trace of smugness in the warmth of her amber eyes.

“You drive a hard bargain,” Ness pronounced, his voice dripping with much more sarcasm than usual, “but fine. I can work with that.”

“Uh-huh. You’d better,” Mason snorted, reaching over to shake hands with his friend as though the two of them were lawyers who’d just settled on some sleazy business arrangement.

Mason was a complex person. Everyone had issues, and he was no exception to that. Not like he was at all open about said issues, but once you got to know him, you’d start to see them. (Plus, that just seemed a lot nicer than describing him as a swarm of issues shaped like a man.) He was the type to constantly shift in his seat, to give most people the side-eye, to get lost in his thoughts and grimace at nothing until he snapped himself out of it.

At least he seemed content working at the theater. Even with the spark of horror that never seemed to leave his eyes, Mason was clearly a creative bastard. Sometimes he’d bring notebooks in and take breaks from his meal to fill their pages with paragraphs or sketches. He really did seem to have the potential for acting, maybe even directing. If his critiques and commentary on the movies he had to watch from the projection booth were anything to go by, then the projects he could possibly work on would be nothing short of awesome.

He’d actually been one of Freddy’s past security guards. Ironically enough, he and Ness hadn’t met there. Not that Ness minded, since A. if that’d been the case, there probably would’ve been way more confused screaming than there usually was at Sparky’s, and B. considering the fact that Mason’s employment had apparently lasted a whopping one singular night. . .

Ness still didn’t know the full story, and he could tell pressing Mason for info wouldn’t end well. But with the few snippets Jack had carefully enlightened him with. . .well—

Speak of the devil.

The front door’s bell only had about half a second to chime yet again, almost drowned out by rapid footsteps.

“You’re late,” Ness jokingly chastised as he caught dark brown skin and black hair in his peripheral vision. He shifted in his chair, moving his legs to make some room under the table as another one of his regular-friends hurried over to claim Booth Five’s empty seat.

“Yeah, yeah. Sue me,” Jack retorted, instantly propping his elbows on the table to knead at his forehead. It took a few long seconds for him to notice how one of his favorite dishes had apparently been waiting for him. He squinted at the food, then at Ness. “. . .I wasn’t sure I’d even be able to make it tonight?”

“And yet, here you are,” Ness replied, the definition of coy with how his shoulders popped up and down again.

Jack might’ve wanted to ask more questions, but Mason cut him off. “Look, I don’t get it either. He doesn’t know, but he just knows.”

Jack considered this, then tilted his head to convey the type of acceptance that only came when you couldn’t really question things that probably should be questioned because you already had too many things to focus on.

“Thanks, dude,” he murmured, nodding to Ness as he plucked one of the mozzarella sticks from his plate.

Ness nodded back, taking a few more gulps of coffee. “No problem.”

Jack paused mid-bite, eyes darting over to the brew that’d been poured for him. He scrutinized it, then raised the mug up and started chugging like a champ.

The display made Ness glad that he’d taken the time to experiment with coffee so long ago. There was no doubting how he could now calculate exactly how much time it took for coffee to go cold. Yeah, this particular serving had been fresh out of the pot a few minutes ago, but by now it had to be at optimal temperature. Neither scalding nor tepid: just nice and warm.

After about a moment, Jack pulled the now empty mug away from his face, taking a deep breath as he set it back down on the table.

“Rough day?” Ness inquired, specific parts of his brain starting to tick.

Something seemed off.

It wasn’t like he had any room to talk about slight bean juice addictions. And he certainly couldn’t blame Jack for a dependency (especially since he’d even shown some undeniable intrigue at Ness’ argument that coffee was a type of soup). Sure, Jack wasn’t narcoleptic, but when a day-and-night operating cabbie didn’t have access to some perks, things just wouldn’t go well for him or his passengers.

But whenever Jack popped in for a bite and a chat, it was easy to assume that he’d be heading home and going to bed right after his meal. Right now, however, his demeanor was anything but tired. His shoulders were rigid. His eyes were more or less threatening to pop right out of their sockets. In fact, he almost seemed to be weighing the options of never sleeping again.

Jack chewed his lip as he glanced in the waiter’s direction. He slowly nodded. “. . .You could say that.”

Ness exchanged glances with Mason, who had obviously seen the signs for himself. As did Checkers, since she quietly maneuvered around Ness’ chair to rest her head on Jack’s lap, peering up at him with an almost human-like air of understanding. Jack didn’t hesitate to pet the shiny fur along the dog’s neck, to which her tail started wagging but she otherwise remained still.

“What happened?” Mason asked, sitting up a little straighter. “If the vibes you’re giving off got her attention, then it must be something serious.”

Jack grimaced, closing his eyes with what seemed to be more force than necessary, taking a few long seconds to rub at their lids.

“Did you see any rabbit-shaped things out by the dumpster? I think they only come around once a month or so, but I always feel strange if I look at them.” The words glided out of Ness’ mouth and into the air before he could think.

Self-induced humiliation wrapped its awful, clammy hands around his ribcage as two confused glances were aimed in his direction.

“. . .What?” Jack and Mason blurted in near-perfect unison.

“What?” Ness echoed, blinking as his voice instantaneously grew a smidge louder than before. He rushed to plaster his typical, happy-go-lucky demeanor back onto his face, hoping that pretending he hadn’t spoken at all would convince his friends that he actually hadn’t.

Not only did his latest sentence sound weird as all hell, but it’d also been downplayed as all hell. Because when Ness had said strange, what he’d really meant was the pounding, churning, pummeling agony that should only ever be present in your stomach after you’ve accidentally swallowed a few dozen live rats that just so happen to be whacked out on cocaine for whatever godforsaken reason.

And while he wasn’t a perfect angel, Ness would never wish that particular pain on anyone else. So, the fewer people who knew about the floppy-eared cryptids (which Ness could’ve sworn looked like they’d been covered in mucus) that were apparently engrossed in gang warfare with the local raccoons, the better.

“Ah, did you get a bad passenger today?” Ness coughed. Jack had to deal with as many entitled idiots as Ness, if not even more. Hell, taking turns venting about that stuff was something they’d initially bonded over.

He peered through the window next to the booth—Jack’s cab was parked close enough to see that there wasn’t anything to indicate an accident. Not a life-threateningly serious one, at least.

“Not exactly,” Jack replied, following his gaze. Where Ness’ eyes were curious, Jack’s were currently anxious and mistrusting. That was another red flag: Jack may not have treated his taxi like it was his baby, but he still took pretty good care of it. “Just a few more weirdos.”

Mason hummed, tilting his head. “How weird specifically?” He’d heard plenty of Jack’s tales from the road; as he called on Jack for rides somewhat often, he’d even ended up being part of those tales.

Jack knitted his brows, fidgeted in place. “You don't want to know."

“. . .Then why did you make it sound so damn vague?” Mason retorted, now dripping with incredulousness. “The less specific details are, then the more they’re gonna nag at someone’s brain.”

“He’s got a point,” Ness agreed, lightly tapping Fabio’s pencil against his mug.

“Like that’s my fault,” Jack snorted. “Most people wouldn’t believe me if I told them.”

Ness offered an encouraging smile. “Good thing we’re not most people, then.”

Mason nodded. “Damn right. C’mon, Jack; are you really saying something could top the crackhead I had to share the backseat with last month?”

“Yes, I am,” Jack whisper-shouted through gritted teeth, “because it was a bear!”

Silence (save for the soft click-clack of keyboards from the corner of the diner, that is).

Jack pursed his lips, looking equal parts exasperated and worried. He sighed yet again, reaching up to press his fingers against his temples.

“. . .What kind of bear was it?” Ness eventually tried.

Mason, who’d previously been squinting while his mouth opened and closed with no words coming out, turned his head to face Ness with such speed and force that he might’ve actually given himself whiplash. “That’s the first thing you focus on?!”

Ness made a shaky lame gesture. “It’s a fair question! What’re you focusing on?” (He wasn’t wrong. There was a lot of variety among bears, after all. And a bear that lived in the woods and had huge claws and could outeat, outrun, outswim, and probably even outdrink the average person would be a lot more to handle than one of the bears that had attended the latest local Pride parade.)

“Oh, I don’t know. Maybe the fact that you,” Mason declared, returning his attention to Jack, “look significantly less mauled than most people who get close to bears! Seriously, how is your face still connected to your skull?!”

“I didn’t mea—!” Jack was about to go on the defensive, but stopped short. “What, were you expecting me to get ripped to shreds tonight? So damn sorry if I didn’t get the memo!”

“No! Of course not!” Mason contended. “Look, you can’t just say you had a run-in with a bear and leave it at that!”

Jack threw his hands up. “Well, I told you you didn’t want to know!”

“How the hell can we not NEED to know now?” Ness pointed out. Though he was growing just as confused as Mason, he tried to keep his voice even.

Jack gave him an exhausted look before craning his neck to rest his head against the booth’s seat, staring at the ceiling.

“It was a huge robot,” he finally clarified. “Looked like it’d been at the bottom of a scrap heap for years; I’d guess it was older than my dad. But its eye glowed blue like the machines inside it were still working. It made the car shake—I’m honestly surprised the back tires never gave out. And God damn, the smell. . .rust and blood and mucus, I swear!”

Now it was Mason’s turn to go rigid. A tidal wave of emotion seemed to sweep through his features; first surprise, then recognition, and then dread. He placed a hand on the nearest corner of the table as if to steady himself.

“It was wearing a black top hat and bowtie, wasn’t it?” He murmured. It sounded much more like a statement than a question, and the way his tone had become so hollow didn’t help.

Jack lowered his head, clearly unsure whether or not to make eye-contact as he nodded.

“Sounds like the way Freddy was designed. . .” Ness mused without quite meaning to.

Memories of the huge sign that had been built to loom over the old pizzeria’s front entrance flooded into his head. The blinking lights that bordered the establishment’s title and seemed to chase each other around and around and around. The life-sized cutout of the one and only Freddy Fazbear himself, using one paw to adjust his bowtie and the other to wave, seemingly beckoning customers to wander inside.

Those memories dissolved as Ness winced and glanced back at Mason, who was now reaching up with a shaking hand to grasp at his hoodie’s collar, tugging it to cover up the top of an old, deep scar that dragged along the skin of his neck. Ness shuffled in his seat, trying not to stare at how quickly the color drained from his friend’s face.

Checkers was back by Mason’s side in an instant, bracing her paws against the seat as she licked at his face. Mason blinked, a huge shudder rippling through his chest as he hugged his pet.

A few minutes dragged by, feeling like an hour apiece and jeering at the trio as they went.

“So.” Mason finally announced, still keeping his gentle-yet-obviously-desperate hold on Checkers. “Let me get this straight: that. . .that thing got into your cab like it paid rent just a few hours ago?”

Jack pursed his lips, nodding again. “There was a kid with it, too. A little girl. She didn’t even seem scared at all. The whole ride, she was smiling and hugging the bear’s arm—”

“Wait, you actually drove it somewhere?!” Mason demanded.

Jack sputtered. “What other choice did I have?!”

“I mean, that’s kind of literally his job,” Ness mentioned.

True, he was grappling with the fact that he and his friends had apparently been transported into some cheap bizzarofiction novel. And yet, somehow, this wasn’t even the craziest story that’d been relayed to him from a customer. He peered down at Fabio as though it was about to start contributing to this conversation. “Where did you take them?”

Jack raised an eyebrow at Ness (which he guessed couldn’t be helped. Ness already had an idea, but it was rude to just assume, wasn’t it?). “Where else? That old pizza joint you’ve been trying to write an encyclopedia on.”

Mason was about to say something else, but stopped short in favor of turning his shock toward Ness.

Ness raised his hands in a defensive gesture. “Look, I know you don’t like that place, but just remember that I don’t question what you do with your free-time.”

“That’s right. And even if you did, you wouldn’t have to, because I don’t spend my free-time poking around the fourth Circle of Hell!” Mason snarked.

“I won’t lie and say it’s not creepy,” Ness admitted, unable to stop a chill from racing down his spine at the memory of the restaurant’s grimy wall posters, the draft that always seemed to be in the air over there, the disturbingly sour tang of what he’d hoped was just ancient pizza sauce, “but that still seems pretty harsh.”

Mason gawked, fragments of words leaking through his teeth.

“If we’re looking at the bigger picture,” Jack coughed, probably attempting to steer Mason away from a potential stroke, “then nothing really happened tonight. The bear didn’t even make a peep the whole time. I didn’t get hurt, and that girl didn’t get hurt. She even left a handful of change when we got to the restaurant.”

Ness squinted and tilted his head at that. As far as he knew, the rules Jack applied to his cab were pretty lax and basic, but he’d always been firm on never taking money from lone child passengers.

Then again, if the child passenger in question was traveling with a huge robotic animal that apparently had enough sentience to use a taxi in the first place, it was probably best to just go along with whatever happened and leave the sanity-questioning session for later.

Jack fiddled with the zipper on his jacket. “. . .That actually wasn’t even the worst part of tonight’s shift.”

Mason leaned back against the leather seat, looking very much lightheaded. His eyes bulged from their sockets as he furiously motioned for his friend to elaborate.

Jack hesitated before explaining, “Well, once the girl and the bear were out, I decided to just call it a day. After I got far enough away from the pizzeria, I parked by one of the downtown curbs and switched the car’s sign to Off Duty. I was trying to get a catnap in—”

“It’s a miracle you could even try to sleep after that damn bear basically held you hostage,” Mason interjected.

“—when someone knocked on the window. I told ‘em to read the sign and come find me later, but they opened up the door and got in anyway. So, I was about to kick them out and. . .” Jack trailed off, shaking his shoulders as though a few dozen cockroaches had spontaneously taken up nest in his jacket.

“And. . .?” Ness echoed, the curiosity-concern cocktail in his mind getting stronger.

“And there was some tiny doll in my passenger seat,” Jack concluded. “Looked creepy as hell.”

Ness hummed in consideration. “Sounds like it could just be a weird prank? The teens in that area are always following strange trends.”

Jack nervously shook his head. “I couldn’t see anyone outside the cab. It only took a few seconds for me to look; there’s no way anyone could move fast enough to hide after they put the doll in.”

“A tiny doll. . ?” Mason’s brow furrowed in thought for a couple seconds, then promptly returned to its collision course for Mars. He leaned over the table. “Did it have bug-eyes and buck teeth? Was it wearing one of those stupid propeller hats and holding a red-and-yellow striped balloon?”

Jack’s face contorted in confusion as he nodded. “. . .That pretty much sums it up.”

Though his expression was still grim, Mason’s fear quickly metamorphosed into some good ol’ fashioned aggravation. “That’s the bastard,” he seethed, knuckles turning white.

Jack blinked, perplexity slowly overtaking his latest case of heebie-jeebies. “Wait, you’ve seen that thing before?”

“I have, unfortunately.” Mason grimaced. An odd type of adrenaline etched its way across his face. “Is it still in the cab?”

Jack nodded again. “I didn’t want to risk touching it.”The words were barely out of his mouth when Mason rose from the booth and stalked outside through Sparky’s front entrance. Checkers trotted after him, the tiredness of an actual nurse flickering in her eyes.

Ness and Jack basically had frontrow seats to observe their friend approaching Jack’s cab, ripping the passenger-side door open and fishing something out before slamming it closed again.

With that, Mason raced to the edge of the parking lot and proceeded to dropkick what had to be the mysterious balloon-toting doll out of sight.

Despite his shock, part of Ness still felt relieved that Mason hadn’t simply deposited it into the dumpster. Just in case those awful rabbit-looking things happened to be paying a visit tonight. . .

@sammys-magical-au @that-bat @th3w00ds @bee-the-matpat-simp @touyubesposts @crazy-obsessed-enby @i-used-to-wear-the-fedora @holyawesomestitches @s-e-v-e-n-24 @sotogalmo @ciphershadow @deethedustyassdumbass @theechoingmadness @its-a-goddamn-ass-race @zam-witch @box-goat @redd-byrd @icantmakeupagoodname @pleasedontmind-the-emerald @transparentghosty @vegaslvrr @itzqueers-blog @wannabeavocaloidmystery @shivr0ygf @ciara-clycone @not-made-of-actual-rye @m0on-shro0m @imafruitbowl @azure-trash @il0v3mus1cals @v1r-x @kafkaisnotdead @junaslagoon @alicethemenace @ilovenikkisixx @m00nlight-mexican @w0rd3855 @head-without-a-fucking-brain. @unkn0wn-nys @not-made-of-actual-rye @101k-t101 @theonlykala @dividel @riff-is-on-a-fucking-crisis @roselily2006 @max-afton @abe-the-detective-blog @floating-above-sea-level @madhare051

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kiankiwi · 1 year ago

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This is my first request ever so I’m sorry if it’s not making sense or whatever lol but could you do one where Elvis is teaching his little (girl please) how to ride a bike or something along those lines and she falls and gets hurt? Include Jerry please and all the pet names 🥰 thank you so much!! I love your fics and imagines!!

"Yeah baby, go go go!" Elvis screamed as he watched his daughter, Molly who just this morning requested Elvis take off her training wheels and teach her how to ride her bike like all the big girls in her class. Elvis couldn't say no to that! He even had Jerry there filming to make sure they documented this Big Girl milestone.

So the father spent the next two hours balancing her on her bike while Uncle Jerry filmed as she learned to pedal and then as she got better at that, he pushed her ahead and he ran behind her.

Molly was doing really well if Elvis did say so himself. Until she attempted to speed up and forgot how to stop. "Daddy!" She screamed, realizing she was heading straight for a big bush. "You gotta stop baby!" "I-" She was cut off just as she slammed her bike against the house and fell right into the bush. "Oooh shit!" Elvis cringed. Jerry sprang into action and put the camera down and both men ran toward the crying girl.

Elvis got to Molly first. "Okay, okay, can daddy see darlin'? Oooh yeah you're alright. It's all okay." She was wailing even though all Elvis could see was just a little blood and a scrape on her knee. "Oh it's okay, it's not to bad baby, just a little scrape." Elvis hugged her while Jerry sat in front of her and checked out her injury. Molly more scared than hurt screeched when Jerry tried to see if she got any rocks in her open scrape. "No touchy please! Owie!" Jerry immediately put his hands up. "Okay okay, I'm sorry I won't touch lovey. Can we take you inside and get you fixed up?"

Molly tried to act as brave as she could and wiped at her eyes. "Yes please." Elvis picked her up in a bridal carry and carried her into the house and into the downstairs bathroom. Elvis sat her on the counter of the bathroom and she smiled. "I feel so tall daddy!" She said. "You are so big baby!" Elvis smiled and booped her nose, happy she was a bit distracted.

Jerry turned the sink on and wet a hand towel. "Alright, you little miss are gonna be just fine but this may sting just a little bit. Can you hug daddy really tight?" She nodded and pushed her face into her daddy's chest. "Oooh you're so strong baby!" Elvis praised as Jerry wet her knee, cleaning up the blood and dirt.

"OWIE!" Molly yelled, her little voice still muffled in her daddy's chest. "I know sweetheart. Almost done, almost done!" Jerry said as he washed off her knee.

"Okay honey, which bandaid do you want, Peppa Pig or Strawberry Shortcake?" Elvis asked. Molly came out of her daddy's shirt to inspect her options.

"Peppa..." She whimpers. "Good choice love!" Jerry said as he opened the bandaid and put it on her scrape.

"There you go baby! You were so brave!" Elvis exclaimed as he picked Molly up and bounced her in his arm a bit. "I did very good job!" She yelled, giggling. "Yes! You did!" Jerry and Elvis confirmed.

there we go! I tried to put some pet names everywhere I could! I hope you liked it! I love some dad elvis!

@yumm1-yuk1 @elvisthesillygoose @mooodyblue @arianatheangel-girl @vintagepresley @sillybookmarks

#dad!elvis #elvis and his little girl #kiwiswriting

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where-dreamers-go · 1 year ago

Text

“Scattered Emotions” Dick Grayson x Reader

(A/N: A Part two for “Emotions Read” soulmate au where we jump back in to Reader and Dick’s new relationship and see what changes and reactions are happening. Their relationship is platonic—they’re still becoming friends! 1960s Robin time!

Warnings: Reader has social anxiety. Minor angst. Use of (Y/N).

Word Count: 5,126 words)

~~~

A sunny morning at the stately Wayne Manor and all was calm. In the main sitting room, Bruce Wayne continued reading the weekend newspaper as his youthful ward and yourself pushed through homework.

Sitting beside your soulmate on a Saturday morning was something you wanted to get used to. Truly. Homework being included wasn’t ideal, but it wasn’t terrible. It would be completed. Plus you had good company.

Two weeks since the baseball game. Two lives learning to intertwine. Two very studious people.

Even though you went to separate schools, subjects were no different. Algebra was still algebra. Languages still had many verbs to memorize. Although you both had teachers who had differing teaching techniques. That came in handy.

I’ve been here twice before now and I’ll count Mister Wayne was a teacher, you thought. He’s like an encyclopedia. In the best way. And he’s turning Dick into one.

Jotting down another answer for your science homework gave a little boost to your confidence. There was no rush to finish. No guardian eager to do more than sit around.

You felt comfortable in the Wayne Manor. They welcomed you with bright smiles and warm greetings. Pressure to start random conversations didn’t exist. You didn’t have to put on a fake smile or hide your amusement. It was wonderful.

Beside you, Dick knocked your knee with his as he hid a smile in a textbook.

Goof.

Your happy mood was not a mystery to him. Never. He could do something about it now that you knew one another. Many possibilities.

Discreetly, you tilted your wrist back and poked his arm with the eraser of your pencil. Only once.

You both brought out a playful side when in the other’s presence. Refreshing and incredibly fun.

Moments and feelings you wanted played over and over in your mind. Mainly fun ones. It did make you wonder about his average days. You wanted to know if Dick always did his school work in that room. Was he always in such a good mood? A day to see him laughing at your stories even if it was all true and not too exciting would lighten your day’s stresses, surely. What would you two do two months in the future?

Time had not sped by since officially meeting your soulmate. There was time to process the news. But there wasn’t enough hours in a day to speak to one another. It was nice still. Lovely, even. You wouldn’t change any of it. You were both having fun and happy to know the other. It didn’t matter what activity you were doing—usually school related so far.

You hoped it would last. Naturally and genuinely, you wanted the connection to be real.

A firm blink of your eyes and you refocused.

Everything’s fine. You thought, considering yourself silly for a moment. We’re the only soulmates I know. It’s fine. Truly fine. And he’s safe and doing fairly well. Really well. Mister student council. Impressive and busy. How’s he find time to sleep?

It was a wonder Mister Wayne and your guardian could schedule study sessions on the weekend. It would not be every weekend nor a random weekday. Everyone was busy.

That didn’t mean you hadn’t crossed your fingers.

Over to your right, Dick progressed to the next algebra problem. Dark eyebrows pinched together as he surveyed his options.

He might fight off ‘x’ before he finds it, you thought, amused. Or—wait. No. He still has to—it’s after—

“Holy homework,” Dick murmured.

Leaning closer, you read over the problem from the textbook. Your cheek almost touching his shoulder.

“Hmmm.”

“Yeah. ‘Hmmm” is right.” He sighed.

“Well, hold on a second. Wait.”

Starting with the first step, you checked over his work. You backtracked near the end. Double-checking where he had stopped.

“Oh.” You pointed to his paper. “You were suppose to subtract two from both sides.”

“Gosh, (Y/N).” Dick sat back against the couch cushion. “I should have remembered that.”

“Hey,” you said softly. “We’re still learning. That’s one of the purposes of school.”

“They’re right, Dick.” Mister Wayne added in from behind the newspaper. “Learning takes time and commitment. Forming a well-rounded education is a key stepping stone into becoming a contributing member to society.”

Wow.

“So true.” Dick nodded.

“That should be on a poster in school,” you announced, completely serious.

Your soulmate smiled as Mister Wayne hid his expression behind paper.

Does he always speak like this? Gosh. Was he an inspirational speaker for fun? And Dick is hearing this at home. Explains a bit.

Your guardian never gave life advice like that. Then again, they cringed any time you mentioned schoolwork. You guessed they didn’t have the best memories in association.

Before getting back to the work at hand, you glanced over to Dick once more. He took notice.

“I got ‘x’ equals four.” He turned the paper for you to see.

“Nicely done.”

His lips upturned happily. So proud and charming.

“I can make you a copy of my notes, if you’d like? I put examples.”

“Really? Oh…you don’t have to.”

“I want to. If it’d help.” You bent the corners of your paper.

“That’d be great. Thank you.”

Swirls of leaping warmth grabbed your attention. His gratefulness expressed in more than words.

It gave a little tug to your heart.

“Of course.” You smiled and pulled your textbook a closer on your lap. Eyes only glancing. You fiddled with your pencil. Anything to get back to the task at hand lest thoughts of his smile claimed your concentration.

It’s just notes. You thought and attempted reading over a question. Again.

Borrowing school notes. Giving notes to someone? It was an offer you had never given your school friends. Not once. Then again, they only ever complained or never discussed homework at all. You couldn’t blame them. Schoolwork wasn’t a fun topic. It was more tiring than anything. But Dick…was alright with it, fine even.

Dick could talk about school with light in his eyes. I just…it just is.

Not to admit that you saw a pattern, but it did appear that you spent more time with education than free time in other activities. Did you have much choice? Kind of. No wonder your guardian was just glad you were out of your room and socializing. Although, they were very extroverted themselves. So you saw why they pushed for you to do the same.

Or they’re bored. But it does go against the ‘do well in school’ household rule. Or not? You thought. Both can exits. Like mammals that can live in water and breathe air. Birds that can fly and sim. Of course penguins are among the exception.

You blinked twice.

Why am I thinking about penguins?

In one movement, you sunk back into the couch.

How did I even get there? The next question is about biomes.

Dick shifted beside you.

All it took was one look and you remembered.

The consistently bright and sweet smile of his.

What made his so different? Surely being soulmates had no effect. It was an expression.

No wonder his apology that day I came over worked so well.

Lost in thought, you hadn’t noticed Alfred walk in.

“It’s the phone, sir.” Alfred announced.

Dick leapt to his feet, excitement rapidly radiating from him. It all but startled you. His textbook discarded to the coffee table.

Alfred proceeded to whisper something to Mister Wayne.

Hesitation hit Dick’s posture as he went to turn in your direction. He wouldn’t meet your curious gaze.

What could get him so excited about a call?

Mister Wayne stood up. Professionalism coating his demeanor.

“It’s an old college chum of mine. He’s in town for a short time. He’s invited me to look over his photography portfolio of his last trip to Europe.” He looked to his ward. “Dick, this could be an excellent opportunity for you to experience other forms of art.”

“Oh.” He glanced to Alfred.

“Please forgive us for the sudden change of plan,” Mister Wayne apologized.

“That’s perfectly alright, Mister Wayne.” You smiled Kindly and started collecting your belongings. “I have some things to take care of at home.”

Stepping forward, Alfred said, “I would gladly drive you home.”

“Thank you, Al—Oh! Before I forget.” You took out a book from your bag and offered it to Dick. “The one you talked about the other week.”

“Gosh, (Y/N). You remembered?”

“Of course. You can borrow it if you’d like.”

“Thanks.” He grabbed the book. “Is it alright if I call you later?”

“Sure.”

“Great!” Dick hurried out of the room followed by Mister Wayne.

You stood there grinning to yourself as you felt your soulmate’s expanding excitement, but there was an unexpected uneasiness lurking. Partially odd for him. You reasoned it was the sudden end of your visit and decided it best not to dwell on it. He was still happy.

“He really loves learning new things, doesn’t he, Alfred?”

“Indeed.”

✧ ✧ ✧

A tall cave ceiling and expansive area of incredible technology lay ready. In the center: the Batmobile.

Robin slid down his designated Batpole. Landing softly, he exhaled. He felt a bit torn. The further he moved to his destination, the more he noticed.

Jumping into the Batmobile gave him a thrill and a sense of duty. A routine. Ready to help and solve a case. To bring justice to Gotham City.

Not a word was spoken as the engine roared. It was time to be the dynamic duo.

Giving an excuse in order to head over to check out brewing trouble wasn’t new. However, lying to you gave a nasty twist in his stomach worse than lying to his aunt. It was so much harder. He knew he should have better prepared for it. What they did was for your safety as well. He would have to be grateful that he didn’t feel distaste, anger, or annoyance from you after he left. That gave him room for relief.

They really meant it was alright.

Speeding down winding roads, the Batmobile gave Robin time to reflect and think.

Study sessions were becoming regular, but how many would be interrupted?

He wanted your blooming relationship to be smooth. No complications to distance you two. He had barely known you a month, he didn’t want to chance spoiling it. He liked you. Everything he knew thus far intrigued him. From your study habits to your taste in music, there was much to know.

Dick was thrilled to have found his person who he’d share his inner most thoughts with. All considering they sensed each other’s feelings, he figured they could share more if they were each comfortable. He didn’t want to hide everything of himself.

It’s different with them around, he thought. Even Aunt Harriet was thrilled to see me with a friend over, but she’s wanting to know more about them. I can’t blame her. So do I.

Taking a glance to his left, Robin saw Batman’s focused expression. More serious than earlier. No newspaper in sight.

Bruce was happy to schedule study dates, er, hours. Robin leaned into his seat more. (Y/N) seems to like it.

Education was important. Bruce wasn’t about to let either one of the young soulmates forget that nor let their habits drop. He basically welcomed you to the household.

Even Alfred was delighted to see you in Dick’s life and in the manor. You brought a unique light of your own; as he told Dick.

The youth felt a giddiness just thinking about it all. What happened was real. He was lucky to have noticed your emotions as he first saw you. Not everyone could interpret in the moment. Perhaps it was due to the experience he gained as Robin.

His life held growing responsibilities and learning opportunities. It was the secret ones that made him worry about you.

Being Robin meant protecting.

He did not want to burden you with knowing. Having you worry or at risk for knowing he was Robin was not something he was willing to live out.

Even if it meant pushing down an emotion, he couldn’t let you know his hero identity.

✧ ✧ ✧

Midday light struck you as you exited a local bookstore. Shielding your eyes with one hand, you held a bag of books. Treats you were willing to share. Dick had recommended one of them some time ago.

Adjusting to the light took a minute. Thankfully the sidewalk wasn’t busy.

I didn’t mean to spend more than an hour, you thought. Time flies when you’re absorbed in finding good reads. And when I’m not paying attention.

You dodged a woman’s purse and picked a direction.

Home for lunch. I told Alfred I would.

“Oh.” You stopped in your tracks.

There, parked by the sidewalk was the Batmobile. No hero in sight. A variety of citizens stood by the vehicle, curious. Amazed.

Guess I’ll hear about it on the news later.

You took a step to the side in hopes of navigating around the people. Their distraction left them blocking a majority of the sidewalk.

Your mind was apparently your distraction.

A hand touched your shoulder. A quick prevention from bumping into one another. A green glove.

“Sorry—.” Words were cut short as the young man looked at you.

The absolute surprise in his blue eyes matched the sharpness coming from your soulmate.

He froze.

No breath came from you and no words for that matter.

The Boy Wonder was staring at you and you at him. An unlikely meeting.

“Robin.” Batman’s voice tore through the thick confounding moment.

Cape billowing behind him, Robin bounded off towards the Batmobile.

You blinked as the black vehicle raced away.

“What the heck just happened?”

No, no. No, no, no. Not real.

Your mind went full throttle with connecting the dots.

Same hair style. Eyes. His voice. Just a word. Holy—

You weren’t sure you were ready for that ride of information.

A secret! You thought and hurried in the direction of home. No one knows Batman and Robin’s identities. No one is suppose to! It protected them. Their loved ones. The mystery brought fear to criminal minds. They. Are. Heroes. Fighting crime! They’ve been against the Penguin!

Walking faster, your emotions overpowered those you sensed from your soulmate. Heart pounding in your ears the whole way.

Please let me be imagining things. Please.

✧ ✧ ✧

Speeding back to the Batcave to analyze a clue, Batman had his hands full.

“Deep, slow breaths, Robin.”

The youth’s grip on the windshield and seat was concerning.

“Focus on a ten count. Breath.”

The thumping of Robin’s heart and the whoosh of wind battered his eardrums.

…seven, Robin counted and stared at the road ahead. He could hardly hear his own thoughts.

He closed his eyes and all he saw was you. Wide eyes seeing straight through his mask.

Taking in a sharp breath, he restarted his slow breathing. Concentration for the case felt miles away. Robin placed a hand on his abdomen.

It’s like vines are coiling my insides—with thorns. I can breathe, but…

“I’m worried, Batman.” He let his gaze roam all of the buttons and switches.

“I know, old chum. I know.”

Robin held on through the ride. On the inside, under the mask, Dick Grayson’s fears were highlighted by his soulmate’s emotions. Shock, anxiety, and panic all mixing together with barely a filter into him.

Breathe, (Y/N), please.

✧ ✧ ✧

Hours later, a late afternoon snack was well deserved. Being home the whole afternoon gave you ample time to pace and stare at the wall to collect your thoughts. And eat. All after hiding in your room for a couple hours with the music blasting louder than your thoughts.

I’m ready to sleep, you thought. I must’ve sent Dick a storm of emotions. Way to go.

Sipping on some water, you glanced up to your guardian who sat on the adjacent armchair.

“Glad to be home?” You questioned, voice neutral.

“My feet are happy I’m sitting down.”

“I’m sure.”

“Did you have fun today?”

“Uh, yeah.” You thought back to sitting beside Dick and quietly getting each other’s attention. “I finished all of my work too.”

“That’s good.”

And I’m still trying to stop thinking about the high probability of Dick being the Boy Wonder. What am I suppose to do with that? He saw my face. He knows I wasn’t calm.

“You really like visiting the Wayne Manor, don’t you? You’re more eager to go.”

“Yes. They’re really nice.”

“I’ve never seen you take your homework anywhere else.” They laughed, amazed. “Or compliment everything. Can’t say the same about the trip to visit my cousin and you’ve known them for a least ten years.”

“I don’t have much to talk about or do there,” you reasoned.

“True, but you haven’t been to that one friend’s house in months. The tall one. Not the one with ripped jeans. They love having you over.”

You sighed quietly, suppressing a groan.

They keep inviting me over, you thought with a grimace.

Information needing to be told. No time like the present.

“Well. I don’t like going.” You stated flatly. “Every time I went over, their dad interrogated me. He doesn’t think I’m that good. He keeps trying to figure out what’s wrong with me. And he keeps questioning if I ate.” You explained as shortly as possible. “I can’t just sit or have fun. It’s ridiculous.”

Your guardian was silent. Their eyebrows set in a deep frown.

“You don’t ever have to go there again,” they said firmly. They looked at you seriously. “Why didn’t you tell me before?”

“I don’t know…I guess, that’s just how it was and I had to deal with it.”

“Absolutely not. Thinking you’re a bad kid,” they scoffed. “If I see him, I’ll give him a piece of my mind.”

“Yeah. And I’d rather not go, especially now because….uh.” You shut your mouth. Thoughts switching to how that friend in particular was judgmental of others and you did not want them to know about your new friend—your soulmate. “Well, nothing I do there is normal for them.”

And I’d rather them not make outrageous and stupid claims about Dick Grayson. They don’t know him.

You leaned your head on your hand. Completely ready for the day to be over.

In the other seat, your guardian muttered. Spilling out frustration for the other adults from the forefront of their mind.

“It’s no wonder you like visiting the Grayson boy. He’s all smiles when he sees you. Very polite.”

Tiredly, you answered shortly, “Yeah, he is.”

In a final huff, your guardian reached for a snack on the coffee table, however stilled their hand at the sound of the telephone ringing. They sprung up from their seat and headed to answer the call.

You stifled a laugh.

Their demeanor changed, however underneath their light voice answering the phone lay someone ready to start a heated argument.

At least I never have to go to that house again.

“It’s for you.”

What? Why?

The confusion must had shown on your face because they sent you a smirk.

Your heart nearly leapt from your chest.

“Who?”

They only gestured for you to get over there.

Please be Dick Grayson. Please be Dick Grayson. Pl—wait. What would he need to say? No.

Placing the phone on your ear, you focused on one word.

“Hello?”

“(Y/N)? Hi. It’s Dick.”

“Hi.”

“I wanted to apologize again for this morning. I’m sorry we had to end our….time short.”

Standing there at home, you were receiving waves of nerves from him like an incoming tide.

“It’s fine. Really.” You assured him. “Did you like looking at the pictures?”

Because I definitely saw you in a mask.

“I did,” he answered quickly. “How was your day?”

“My day was productive.”

“Productive?”

“I might have spent about an hour or so in a bookstore.”

“Oh.”

A tickle of amusement came from him. Light and airy.

“And I bought a few books and I think you might like one.” You twirled the cord of the phone around your finger. “So I got that too.”

“Thank you. You didn’t have to get me anything.”

“Well, I, uh… You know what? How about this? If you won’t read it, I definitely will.”

You heard his light laugh from on the other end.

“Sounds like a good read, uh?”

“I’ll let you judge it for yourself.”

“I’ll look forward to it.”

You were more than glad the conversation turned into something more light-hearted. Books were an easy topic. You definitely could not bring yourself to ask him about being Robin. Not even hinting at it. That was not a conversation to have over the phone. Especially with your guardian less than fifteen paces away.

Your grip on the phone relaxed a fraction.

Entertaining him with a story came naturally. For that, you were grateful and relieved. Another tale from school you forgot to mention that morning. One about a cobweb in the back corner of the science classroom where a spider proudly named Jorge lived. Updating Dick on how a student tried feeding the spider, but the teacher stopped them as they were climbing the counter.

Sure, school days could be boring, but you managed to witness a few wild occurrences. It gave Dick something to think about, you were certain. If not, he got a laugh out of the story.

All nerves were forgotten enough to not be felt.

Was it guaranteed that neither of you would ever mention Robin? No.

Could you act regularly while knowing? You hoped so. There were many other things that tended to gain your attention. A few being: new books, possibility of more phone calls with Dick, fresh dessert, and literally knowing your soulmate.

You would always consider yourself lucky in that perspective.

“Hey, Dick?”

“Hmm?”

“Thank you for being you.”

✧ ✧ ✧

A cool, cloudless evening settled above the Wayne Manor. Inside, the young ward Dick Grayson sat deep in thought.

Dick hadn’t seen his soulmate in practically a month and found himself missing you more than he anticipated. Calls weren’t quite enough in the two weeks, however he never complained.

Yet his calls did not go unnoticed.

When he and Bruce were out of the house, Aunt Harriet had been asking questions. Alfred had informed him again not too long ago. It was a giant reminder that he held another secret.

Golly, Dick thought.

“Bruce.” He said just above a whisper. Quietly, he watched as the man set down an old volume.

“What is it, Dick?”

“I need to tell Aunt Harriet about (Y/N). I want to tell her, especially now that we’re not busy.”

“It’s your call, Dick. If you’re ready.”

“I am.” He stood up. “Aunt Harriet should know.”

“What should I know?” Aunt Harriet walked into the sitting room.

Her abrupt entrance made even Bruce get to his feet.

“Perhaps you would be more comfortable sitting down.” Bruce said calmly and evenly.

“Oh?” She let her nephew lead her over to the couch. “Is everything alright?” She looked between the two.

“It’s good news.” Dick informed her and sat beside her. “Just…big news.” His hands clenched together.

“Alright.”

“I found my soulmate.”

Her eyes widened.

“It’s (Y/N).”

Aunt Harriet gasped loudly, “Dick Grayson, are you sure?”

“Yes, I’m positive.”

“Oh!” Opening her arms, she brought him into a hug. “Why on earth didn’t you tell me sooner?”

“Forgive us, Aunt Harriet,” Bruce explained, “we had to be absolutely sure before telling you.”

“Gracious me.” She softened, emotional. Releasing the boy, she raised a hand to her heart. “I just can’t believe Dick found his soulmate. And at his age!” She hugged him again and squeezed him tight for a moment longer. “And they’re so sweet.”

And a great person. Wonderful! And as nervous as I am about people knowing.

“Aunt Harriet, I need to ask you to please not tell anyone.” Dick held her hands between them. “I’m not ready for more people to know.”

“I won’t tell anyone. Not one.”

Dick allowed himself to fully grin.

“Thank you. It really means a lot to both (Y/N) and I.”

Her smile doubled at that. Consumed by joy. Too soon, her curiosity took over.

“Why haven’t they been around lately? Are they alright?”

“They were studying for a big test,” Dick explained. “They’re fine.”

Disappointment did linger from when you had to turn down an invitation to the manor. Understanding your need to study at home and not with him didn’t take much effort. You couldn’t be together all the time. Dick knew your decision impressed Bruce with your studying.

Aunt Harriet seems to be both disappointed and glad. It’s great. I just want to know how well they did. Dick thought. And see them. It feels like months have gone by. I hope they’re not still troubled after seeing Robin.

A hand patted his own.

He glanced up.

“I am very happy you told me.” Pools of unshed tears shined in his aunt’s eyes. She sighed softly.

One less secret.

Dick sat back against the cushion.

“It’s too bad (Y/N)’s been busy,” said Aunt Harriet.

✧ ✧ ✧

Gotham City illuminated the night.

Comfortable in an armchair, you were smiling to yourself once more from a burst of your soulmate’s joy. You flipped a page in your biology textbook.

Something must be happening, you thought. He’s been in a really good mood for the past couple of hours. Kinda wanna know what it is.

Not too far from where you read, your guardian spoke on the telephone. They had been chatting since some time after dinner.

You were simply glad of your ability to tune them out. Being cooped up in a room with a textbook again wasn’t high on your to-do list. You’d erase it if it was. You had plenty of that in the past two weeks.

Knocking on the front door startled you.

Holy heart palpitations.

Setting the textbook aside, you headed to check it out. Quietly of course. It was an unexpected guest after all.

You peeked through the peephole and saw your well-dressed soulmate.

Dick!

Unlocking the bolt quickly, you swung open the door.

Standing in cleanly pressed clothes was Dick Grayson. No mask or cape to hide himself. Only an unabashed smile.

“Hi?” You could laugh at how happy you were to see him.

“Hi.” He beamed, his expression brighter with each second he looked at you.

Moving aside, you gestured him inside.

He held up a book after you closed the door.

“You’re returning the book you borrowed?”

“Yes.”

“After eight o’ clock at night?” A small laugh weaved into your question. “There wasn’t any rush.”

“I know.”

Taking a moment to review his surroundings, Dick asked, “Where do you keep your books?”

Right! First visit. And he’s alone? Wait. Why’s he alone?

Dick held the book in front of himself patiently. Always so patient with you.

“Over here.”

You walked him passed your guardian who waved and into a small room. Two bookcases, art on the walls, and a desk were the main decorations in the room.

Is he alright? He must be fine. He’s been nothing but happy. You thought as you stood by the desk.

As if on cue, his voice grabbed your attention.

“Do you spend a lot of time in here?” He asked and handed you the book.

“I’ve basically taken claim over the desk on weekdays.” You set the book down.

That incredibly charming and contagious smile of his appeared. Warm and genuine.

Why’s his smile so distracting? It’s kind of unfair. I have questions!

“You came all this way to return a book?”

“Yes and to tell you something.”

“Yeah?”

Color me intrigued. Did he set a record at school?

“It’s nothing bad,” he said. “I promise.”

“I trust you. Now, come on. What is it? You’ve been on cloud nine for hours. I’m curious.”

“Oh. Right.” Dick’s smile turned sheepish. “Today I told Aunt Harriet about us being soulmates. I hope that’s alright. She was excited and asking where you’ve been.”

“She was excited?”

“She likes you.” He reassured you. “I asked her not to tell anyone and she promised.”

Relief flooded you like a warm bath.

“Aunt Harriet was talking about you through most of dinner.”

“Oh boy.”

“She likes having you around too.”

“Too?”

“Everyone does.”

Oh-kay. That’s a lot. Good though.

You ducked your head for a moment to collect yourself.

“I guess I’ll have to go over soon.”

Each ounce of Dick’s joy passed through to you immediately.

“I hope so.”

“We’ll figure something out.”

Almost too quickly, your thoughts roamed back to your guardian. They loved how you were spending time at the Wayne Manor. Going to be with anyone instead of being by yourself made them proud. There was just something bothering you. The unknown.

“I still haven’t told them,” you announced and gestured towards the door. “I just…the time’s never right.”

“I understand.”

“Thank you…for the hundredth time,” you murmured, “for understanding.”

“We don’t have to rush. We agreed on that. Tell them when you feel ready.”

You nodded.

He’s right. It’s fine. I can take my time telling them and he—goodness—he doesn’t have to tell me anything about running around in a cape. I can barely watch the news. He’s out there.

“(Y/N)?”

Dick gave you a concerned look.

Exhaling, you calmed yourself and stepped into his space. Without a word or sound, you hugged him tightly. He returned the gesture tenfold. Each of you pouring your relief into one another.

It was the first hug you two shared.

Time ticked away; yet neither of you were willing to let go. Not yet.

Every day you were reminded of the other. Emotions were never silent for long. Each morning was a healthy reminder that the other was there, somewhere. A friend and teammate in life no matter how it was navigated.

You didn’t have to be alone. Dick wasn’t a stranger. All could be as you two wished in your little corner of the world.

Neither of you had a word to say as you walked him to the front door. The door was left ajar.

Taking a step forward, you pressed a kiss to his cheek. A soft silky feeling filled your chest, like it didn’t need any more than what it was. It could exist without words. A soothing nature keeping all safe and unhidden.

“Goodnight, Dick.”

“Goodnight, (Y/N),” he said softly. A tender look in his eyes.

Holy butterflies.

(If you love my writings and want to support me, I have a Ko-Fi where you can buy me a coffee. I would be eternally grateful.

~~~

Part 3 --> "Emotions Ignite"

~~~

coffee

Best wishes and happy reading.)

~~~~~

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