#i hope justins recovery is going well

[skijumpingf1]

Awww Richie and Justin are there to support Selina

[luveline]

𝐰𝐞𝐚𝐫 𝐢𝐭 𝐰𝐞𝐥𝐥 | 𝐚𝐚𝐫𝐨𝐧 𝐡𝐨𝐭𝐜𝐡𝐧𝐞𝐫

when internet trolls poke fun at your appearance while working on a case, hotch is there to make you feel better. fem!reader, 3k

tw cyberbullying, poor eating habits, criminal minds typical violence

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

You're not a media liaison or anything close, but with JJ off for maternity leave and Penelope in Quantico, there's a face needed for the press announcement on TV, and you offer to step in. 

You aren't particularly eager to do it, but Hotch doesn't have the time or wherewithal and such a high intensity case, not while Spencer is at half-mast, migraines rendering him ineffective and stubborn. You're trying to keep the ship sailing smoothly, doing your part of the profiling while juggling media and supporting the police sergeant that's heading the tip line.

You're not expecting to become a joke. After a red-eye, three sleepless nights trying to find a missing woman in Oklahoma —the domestic violence capital— and a full day without something to eat, you're aware you don't look your best, but you aren't sure what that has to do with your missing person. 

The FBI — fugly bitches International. #FindDanaLangley

Damn, are they not letting those agents sleep or what? She looks terrible ! 

she should be less worried about Dana Langley and more concerned with the dead woman in the mirror, ew 

hope theu find her just so they stop putting this creature on TV #FindDanaLangley

"Well," you murmur, wondering if it would be inappropriate to burst into tears, "these aren't especially helpful." 

Derek looks at you, his gaze measured, and you know he's not sure how to react to you or what's happening. He settles on his usual loving encouragement, because he's a very good friend. 

"Don't listen to all that," he says, throwing his arm around your shoulder, "those trolls wouldn't know beautiful if it hit them in the face. But we could always try it?" 

You sink into his hold, needing the reassurance even if you wish you didn't. "No hitting," you say, covering your mouth to hide a large and possibly fugly yawn. Your head is racing with regurgitated insults. "It doesn't matter, Derek. Promise. We have bigger stuff to deal with." 

The door opens and Hotch and Emily step inside, Rossi just behind them. You're thinking Hotch is going to agree with your sentiment, no time for comfort when a woman's life is at stake, so you move away from Morgan to sit in front of your laptop again. 

"Is something wrong?" Hotch asks. 

You meet his eyes just long enough to smile at him. "Nothing. What did Amandla have to say?" 

Emily retells the alibi of Dana's ex-girlfriend and is clearly suspicious but without proof, you're forced as a team to move on to the next lead. Spencer returns shortly afterward and you try to brainstorm your next step. 

It's Penelope that pulls through. "You asked me to cross reference the neighbours at Dana's previous address with people crossing state lines, right, after that one guy ended up being kinda icky? Well I did that, and nothing came up, which was–" 

"Garcia," Hotch interrupts. 

"Right. Long story short, one of the neighbours recently had an extreme falling out with Icky Guy after a years long friendship, his name is Justin Mantova, he has extreme PTSD with documented episodes of confused aggression, and he's been seen coming in and out of a storage unit in Paseo Storage Solutions for the past four days." 

"Address?" Hotch asks. 

"Already sent to your phones." 

"Thank you, Pen," you say. 

"Just go catch the bad guy, pretty girl," she says. 

Ah, so she's seen the tweets too. You frown rather than smile, reminded again of what's been said and wishing you could be anywhere else. 

You get your wish and forget all about personal grievances for a while, concerned with the safe location and extraction of Dana Langley. The operation is clean, and she's hurt but has a great chance at a full recovery. It's quick, it's professional. 

You're falling asleep in the SUV on the way back. Hotch at the wheel, Spencer in the backseat, you rub your eyes from the passenger side and try not to look suspiciously morose, but it's impossible. Hotch is too good at his job. 

"Are you sure everything's okay?" he asks. With Spencer's window open and the wind whipping, it's hard to hear him. 

"Hm?" 

"Is everything okay?" 

"I'm just tired." You don't look at him. It's rude of you, but if what they've said is true —you'd seen the photographs, and you looked tired, sure, but you still looked like you. "Just tired," you say again. You snap your mouth closed when your voice wobbles. 

Hotch is regularly too sweet on you. Most of the team say it's a crush. Emily calls it 'character development. Whatever it is, he's nice to you. He warmed up to you near immediately when you first joined the team, and he's been as welcoming months later as he was in your first week. 

Maybe he feels sorry for me, you think, submerging yourself inch by inch into self pity. 

The three of you regroup with the others at the police station to pen immediate recounts of what happened before you can forget, tying up loose ends. 

Finally you're able to go back to the hotel. Another half an hour and you're in the lobby.

"We'll go home in the morning. Nine AM flight, meet in the lobby at eight thirty," Hotch says. "Get some rest." 

You disband. They've squeezed you in all over the place, and you're lucky enough to be next to the elevator on the second floor. Hotch is the third floor, and everyone else the sixth, so you say goodbye to your colleagues and exit the elevator, stepping onto the second floor with a parting smile.

You can't know it, but Hotch notices the way your smile falls before the doors have well and truly closed. Your shoulders slump in defeat. 

You trudge into your room and don't bother turning on the lights. The door closes behind you and the mask you'd been holding up starts to crack. You put your laptop in the closet despite temptation to boot it up, knowing no good can come of looking at the tip hashtag again. 

You head into the bathroom to pee, and you're confronted with your appearance as you wash your hands. 

You stare at yourself. 

You look tired. 

Tears well as you look at yourself. You're not those things those people said. You're pretty, and when you smile everyone knows it. There's nothing so beautiful as a smile. You can't summon one, but you know it's the truth. 

Or, it should be. 

A single tear falls down your cheek, quickly followed by a second, and a third from the other eye. You ignore them, tracing the line of your bottom lip, the texture of your skin on your cheeks, the slight sunken effect of your under eyes. 

A knock makes you flinch. "Fuck," you say, wiping your cheek with the back of a hand, twisting on the spot like looking into your room might reveal whoever it is at the door. Probably one of your team. "Hello?" you call. 

"It's me. It's Hotch. I know it's after hours, but I wanted to speak with you."

Whatever reassurance he has to give might actually make this all much worse. You don't want any pity from anybody, you just want today to be over. Still, you wiggle your toes into the plush hotel carpeting, debating only for a moment about the pros and cons of pretending to be asleep. 

"Hey," you say, opening the door. You wipe your eyes and hope he takes it for a tired gesture rather than a method of hiding the glassy sheen at your waterline. "Hi, Hotch, how are you feeling?" 

"Fine. Tired. Thank you for asking." 

"Do you want to come in?" you ask. 

"Please." 

Hotch follows you into your room. There's an armchair across from the bed next to a desk and an old TV sitting atop it. Your suitcase is still open on your bed, your pyjamas crumpled in the shell. You close it before Hotch can see. That's another thing to add to your list: being a slob. 

"It's very clean in here," he says. 

You startle. "What?" 

"It's clean, considering how long we've been here. Have you ever seen Spencer's room at the end of a case?" he asks. 

"No, is it bad?" 

"It's like a paper hurricane."

You look down at your knees, hyper aware of his gaze on your face, tired of feeling uneasy in your skin. 

"I wanted to say thank you for doing the press release yesterday. You did an amazing job. It's something to be proud of." 

Of course he's talking about the press release, the one thing you need to not think about. 

"Did Derek tell you?" you ask. 

"Tell me what?" he asks, voice sharpening.

You look up. Hotch is a picture of concern, professionalism slightly off centre. 

"Nothing." 

"Something's been bothering you. Something Derek should've told me, I'm guessing." 

You chew over your words. "Uh. Hotch, it's really nothing, it's a hiccup. The press release, I…" You really don't want to have to say it. The words get stuck at the back of your throat.

He leans forward. "What?" 

"I looked sick. On TV. I looked really unwell, and it– it actually–" Why are you stammering? What's wrong with you? You laugh and it's not your laugh but it's better than your nonsense stuttering. "Sorry. On the press release, I didn't look my best, and it was a hot topic. That's what I thought Derek told you about. But I don't need anyone feeling sorry for me, Hotch." 

"I don't feel sorry for you." 

You wince, "No, of course not." 

"Two seconds," he says, putting his hand forward in the air between you. "A hot topic? I don't understand." He looks genuinely apologetic. 

"The tip line got clogged up with comments about my appearance," you say. You phrase it as a professional error rather than the embarrassing event it represents in your personal life.

His lips curl downward. "Saying you looked tired." 

"Saying I looked unagreeable." 

"As a friend," he says, tone softening, "could you tell me what they said?" 

Heat blooms in your cheeks and behind your eyes, your throat aching as you scratch at a nonexistent itch in the crook of your elbow. "Um. Well, there was a lot of them, and they weren't all about me, but the ones I saw, they seemed to think I needed more sleep. That I–" 

Hitch rarely interrupts, but something in your voice must impel him. "What did they say?" he asks again. 

"That I looked like a creature. That they hoped Miss Langley would be found, so that they didn't have to see my face on TV again. Hotch," you say, your throat sounding as tight as it feels, "it was pretty bad, but it really doesn't matter." 

"I think it matters if it's upset you," he says. 

He has the warmest voice when he wants it to be, so dulcet, almost melodic. You'd think it was a practised phrase, but he speaks freely. 

"It didn't," you lie. 

Pointless in your line of work and automatic anyways. Hotch doesn't deny you the safety of your untruth, but he doesn't entertain it, either. 

"You're beautiful when you're tired," he says. 

You don't mean to, but you hold your breath. The silence that follows his remark is deafening. 

"You're beautiful," he says, again, as though you could've missed it the first time. "Regrettably, you're very tired, but you don't look any less pretty. Don't think what was sent in to the tip line has any merit." 

"Are you saying that as my friend or my boss?" you ask. It's meant to be a joke that lightens the mood. 

"Neither," Hotch says.

You gawp, and then falter. "Why…" 

Hotch is close enough to offer a hand, and you're feeling stupid enough to take it. He squeezes tenderly, looking you straight in the eye. "I'm sorry about what's being said. I had no idea. We can pull the video, and the tipline should stop now Dana's been found, but it doesn't erase what's already happened. I'm so sorry. It's not right, and it's not fair." 

"It's a hard job, right?" you ask.

His hand is so so big, and not as soft as you'd pictured. It doesn't make a difference, not when he's touching you like you might shatter. 

"That's not the job," he says.

"It's silly to care, though. About what other people think." 

"I hope you care about what I think. The merit of an opinion comes from the person, and the relationship you have with them. Anyone who knew you would know that you're beautiful." 

"Inside that counts," you say, not fully comforted, but trying to give him an out. 

"You're beautiful on the outside," he says, giving your hand a small shake. "You're an amazing woman, of course. But I, for one, enjoyed seeing your face on TV."

You try not to smile too hard, directing your gaze at your joined hands lest he get a read on you.

Hotch must know how you feel about him. He'd be an awful profiler if he didn't. You fawn when you're around him even now, months down the line from your very first meeting when you were sure your heart would ricochet from your chest, the intensity of your instant crush like nothing you'd felt, not even as a schoolgirl. He'd been tall, striking, classically handsome and completely unaware of the fact. Now he's sitting across from you and he doesn't seem so tall, nor so striking. His caring side shines like a gem. It's blinding, and it really does make you feel better. 

"I cried in the bathroom," you confess, rubbing your thumb against his in minute, near imperceptible circles. "I wish it didn't matter to me, how I looked. I know I was doing something important, and there wasn't time to freshen up. Maybe I should've just asked somebody else." 

"You did it perfectly. You were perfect. No one else could have delivered the profile to the public that professionally, and that astutely." 

Hotch stands up, and you don't know what to do. You decide to look up at him just as he takes your face into his hands. 

"No crying in bathrooms, okay? It would… it breaks my heart thinking about it. You come to me."  

Such a dramatic statement, yet Hoch lays it out like it's an unquestionable truth. No bravado, only a sincerity that makes your throat hurt. His frown slides back into place as his palms warm your cheeks. 

"You're so busy, I could never," you say, shaking your head. 

"Time and place, sure, but. I will always try to make time for you. I hope you know that by now." 

You nod dazedly. Hotch's hands drag with a pressure down to your neck, your shoulders, leaving tingling skin in their wake. He looks at you and time stretches, a few seconds pulled out of order. It's his closeness, and his affectionate, empathetic smile. 

You nod again. 

He relaxes. 

"Try and get some rest, okay? You need to take care of yourself. I know it's hard to ignore how you feel, I know today was hard, but you're one of the strongest people I've ever met. I have faith in you." He gives your shoulder a final squeeze. "Are you alright?" 

"Yeah," you say. It comes out much more quietly than intended.

"Rest, honey. Call me if you're upset again. I mean it." 

He smooths your cheek with the back of his forefinger and you wonder if this is some weird fantasy. Hotch makes for the door, and you know for sure it's real when he says, "And no more caffeine tonight." 

"No more caffeine," you agree. 

He doesn't realise he's twice as bad as a coffee. Your heart races all by itself, his phantom touch on your cheek. 

—

"Hi, beautiful," Derek says. 

"There's the girl of the hour," Rossi says. 

You roll your arm in a bow, eyes stinging from the bright lobby lights but otherwise quite happy. Hotch called you beautiful last night. Hotch called you honey. People on the Internet who have nothing better to do thought you looked gross, but Hotch thinks you're pretty. It's hard to focus on the negative with a positive that good. 

"Good morning, my favourite boys," you say sweetly. 

Spencer looks up from his book. "Hey." 

"You didn't say hello," you say, "you excluded yourself." 

Spencer frowns and goes back to his book. You offer him a mini cookie from your pocket and he perks up, better when you whisper, "You know you're my favourite, Reid." 

"We all know that's a lie," Emily says, rolling her small suitcase to your left and nearly trampling your foot. 

"Unfortunately so," Rossi agrees. 

"I'm afraid I don't know what you're talking about." 

"Hotch looks chipper this morning, doesn't he?" Derek asks, nodding. You follow his nod too quickly and give yourself away, earning a scattered round of laughter from your tired team. "Got you."

"Laugh it up," you say. You're on a high that can't be killed, even with their collective teasing. 

"Why are we laughing?" Hotch asks from behind you. 

You jump half out of your skin. 

"We were laughing at Y/N's swift observational skills, but we spoke too soon," Emily says.

Hotch takes a moment to smile at you. "Hey, you look a little more rested. Feeling better?" 

A flush rises to your cheeks. "Much," you say, sounding foreign to your own ears. 

Hotch gives a pleased nod and clasps your shoulder gently before manoeuvring around you. "Let me go see where JJ is." 

He walks around the lobby corner and into the hotel restaurant. You have your face in your hands before he's gone, harassed by quiet whistles and giggling. 

"She's so embarrassed!" Rossi cheers, like a proud dad. "How hopeless, young love." 

"Someone please shut him up," you beg, rubbing your aching eyes. It's an excuse to hide your smile a moment longer. 

"Are you still tired?" Spencer asks. "You look tired."

"She does not," Derek says severely. 

You raise your head with a smile. Tired or not, Hotch thinks you're beautiful. He liked seeing you on TV. You lavish the memory.

"I'm genuinely exhausted," you say eventually, a smile stretching from cheek to cheek as you stand tall again.

"I want whatever kind of tired you're feeling," JJ says as she arrives, Hotch a step behind her. 

You meet his eyes. You think he might not acknowledge what's been said between you —it wasn't strictly professional to have held your face in his hands like that, after all— and the beginnings of disappointment creep in, until he stands at your side, his fingertips brushing yours. It cannot be accidental. 

"She wears it well, doesn't she?" he asks the group. He gives no time for an answer. "Everyone ready?" 

You practically vibrate your way to the SUV. Not a bad case, as they go. 

 ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

thank you for reading, so much! I hope you enjoyed! if you did and you have the time, please consider reblogging cos it makes me happy <3

[madsworld15]

New WIP snippet for my Diabetes Universe (Brian/Justin): Love's the Only House Big Enough for All the Pain

Just a heads up, this is very emotional and heartbreaking. But be aware that the majority of my plans for this fic will be loving and wonderful.

Synopsis: It's been a month, and Gus is still recovering from his injury, which is causing its own turmoil with his dads. Then, Brian receives good news about Kinnetik and he makes moves to expand their reach for other kids like Isaac.

“Hey, Mr. Taylor.” Isaac smiled as he finished his apple and then washed his hands. “Can I help you cook?”

“Sure, Isaac. I’m always happy for another set of hands.” Justin smiled his signature loving smile at the teen.

“I have a few things I need to finalize for work. I will go into the bedroom since I need to be on the phone.” Brian excused himself. Without even thinking about it, Justin breathed a sigh of relief.

He enjoyed the companionable silence that fell between him and Isaac as they worked on finishing up dinner. Isaac was never an overly talkative boy. And ever since his father had kicked him out, Isaac had retreated even further within himself.

“Can I ask you a question? It’s kind of personal, so you can tell me to butt out if it's too much.” Isaac finally spoke up as Justin put the enchiladas into the oven. 

“Sure, what’s on your mind?” Justin grabbed the sponge and started to clean off the counter they’d just been using for prep work. Isaac grabbed the broom and started to sweep the floor before he finally asked what he’d been itching to speak about since he arrived, or so Justin assumed.

“Gus has been in the rehab center relearning how to walk and properly use his hands for almost a month now. How come Mr. Kinney is the only one who went to visit him?” Isaac’s eyes met Justin’s, and he knew his aching heart was visible on his face.

“It’s complicated,” Justin began.

“How? You're his dad, too. Why weren’t you there?” 

Justin took a deep breath and focused his attention on the countertop instead of answering Isaac’s innocent question. Sure, on paper, it makes sense that Justin should’ve gone to visit Gus at the rehab facility, but how did Justin tell the young man before him that it was Brian’s steely demeanor that had stopped him?

“Sort of.” Justin finally breathed out. His gaze flicked toward their bedroom, but the door was closed up tight. It wasn’t likely Brian could even hear him.

“Medical situations are always complicated for those of us who don’t have any official rights to Gus. So, I decided Brian had enough to worry about with Gus’ recovery. He didn’t need me getting in the way.” Justin’s voice came out tentative and soft.

“Why didn’t you just ask him if he wanted you there? Gus asked me all the time if I’d seen you.” Isaac shrugged as if the situation was that easy to solve.

Justin knew that Isaac wasn’t going to let up, so he sighed and went for the truth.

“When I was in high school, a classmate saw Brian and me at the prom together, and he decided to take a baseball bat to my head. I went to therapy, but Brian never dealt with it. So, this accident brought up some complicated issues between us.” Justin gave what he hoped was a convincing smile.

Isaac studied Justin for a moment as if he was analyzing all the facts. Then, he placed a hand on Justin’s shoulder.

“Mr. Taylor, I think you are blaming Mr. Kinney for your own fears about Gus. That’s why you didn’t go.” Then, Isaac turned on his heels and disappeared into the spare room. 

Justin was thunderstruck. How had he missed that? His fears of being forced to face his own TBI were masked by Brian’s emotional distance. Justin felt his eyes well up with tears. Everything that had happened in the past few weeks weighed him down, forcing him to feel every ounce of the pain.

All of a sudden, Justin found himself breathing into the soft fabric of Brian’s favorite lounge sweater. Brian’s arms were wrapped around his back, trapping him in the cage of love and adoration. With that, Justin let it all out. The sobs wracked his chest so hard he felt sure his ribs were breaking.

“I blamed you.” Justin blubbered out, not lifting his face from Brian’s chest. “But really, I was just afraid. I was terrified of facing our son.”

Brian’s chin hooked over Justin’s head, and he found it soothed him, calming every nerve that felt on fire. Then, the older man shifted, and his cheek found itself pressed against Justin’s head. All the while, Justin kept sobbing.

“I know. Shh. It’s okay.” Brian’s voice was no louder than a whisper but it sank below Justin’s skin just the same. 

In the distance, Justin could hear the doorbell buzz. Brian didn’t move to disentangle himself from Justin’s arms, but the blond could feel someone walking past to open the door. Isaac. Justin made a concentrated effort to pull himself together. 

“I’ve always wanted to be a dad, but I abandoned him when it mattered most,” Justin spoke into Brian’s chest, attempting to stop his tears.

“You had an emotional response to a reminder from your past. Gus will understand you couldn’t help it.” Brian leaned back and planted a kiss on Justin’s forehead.

Justin was about to respond, negating Brian’s assertion that Gus would understand, when he caught sight of the guys entering their home. Justin steeled himself and pulled away from Brian’s embrace, wiping his eyes discreetly by rubbing his hands down his face. Justin plastered a smile on his face and moved around Brian to greet their friends.

“Em! Ted! Michael! It’s great to see you guys. Too bad your husbands couldn’t make the trip this time.” Justin wrapped each of the men in a warm embrace. His hug with Emmett lasted the longest of everyone.

“Baby!” Emmett squealed and kissed Justin on the cheek. “You look fabulous!”

Justin laughed briefly, knowing that was a lie. “I appreciate the lie, Em.” Justin’s hand cupped Emmett’s cheek as he moved toward the kitchen to take the enchiladas out of the oven. They were slightly overcooked; the edges browned beyond acceptable amounts.

His emotions were still barely contained below the surface, and so the sight of his meal practically ruined caused Justin to take pause. He focused his attention on the food before him and took slow, deep breaths. Justin couldn’t let his tears start up anew. It would cause too many questions he didn’t want to discuss right now.

“Hey.” Brian was suddenly next to him, whispering while his hand rubbed Justin’s back.

“It’s ruined.” Justin sucked in his breath forcing the tears to stay where they are. “I need a minute.”

Brian must’ve nodded because Justin felt him move away from his side and address the room at large. Justin slipped toward their bedroom and the attached bathroom without a word to any of the inquiring eyes.

“Sorry, Justin just needs a minute. The food overcooked, and it’s been a long week so…” Justin heard Brian say as he closed the bedroom door, locking him away from their friends and the world at large.

The moment he was surrounded by the silence and solitude of their bedroom, Justin felt his muscles relax. This had been more than he could handle. All the events over the last few weeks had now culminated in his emotional breakdown. He’d hoped that going into their bedroom would allow him to get a handle on his emotions and buck up a bit. Unfortunately, the silence and solitude gave his heart permission to unleash everything.

He curled up on their bed and buried his face in Brian’s pillow. The scent of his partner helped comfort him as his mind fell apart. His mind turned to all the unnecessary pain he’d caused Gus in the past few weeks by using the excuse that Brian hadn’t asked him to be there. When really, it was his own brain telling him he shouldn’t go and see a physical reminder of his past trauma. Add to that he was now losing one of the few people he could always rely on to be there when he felt most untethered in the world.

I couldn’t bear to face what I’ve already experienced. I let Brian push me away when Gus got hurt because it gave me the out I didn’t realize I was looking for. How can I possibly be considered his dad if I abandoned him? I let my own trauma stop me from being there for him, and he wanted me there. But I couldn’t bother to show up. Just like when I was recovering, and all I wanted was to see Brian, but he wouldn’t show up. Only, unlike him, I wasn’t even secretly showing up.

Back then, I didn’t understand why Brian wouldn’t come see me. There’s no way that Gus is going to understand my reasons, either. Because I don’t even understand my reasons. I’ve never backed down from things I am passionate about. But, somehow, I backed down from this. What the fuck is wrong with me? The universe is disappointed, so it’s paying me back by taking away my mom. Mom’s death is punishment for me abandoning the child I’ve helped raise.

Brian’s hand landed on Justin’s back, bringing him back to the present. His thoughts still swam with all the guilt he felt about Gus and now his mom. As he became more aware of his surroundings, he realized how quiet the brownstone was despite their bedroom door being open. He looked at Brian, confusion covering his every feature.

“Where are the guys?” Justin wiped the back of his hand across his eyes to clear the remaining tears.

Brian sucked in his lips and shook his head. His eyes went soft and he focused in on scanning Justin’s face. Justin knew that Brian wanted answers, but Justin didn’t know how to formulate the necessary words. How do you tell the love of your life that you’re sorry for neglecting the child he loves beyond reason? How do you tell the man who has been like a second son to your mom that she is most likely going to die within the year?

“I’m worried about you.” Brian finally spoke, breaking the sad silence filling the room. “It’s been over a decade since the last time you shut me out. I thought we were past all this.”

Justin opened his mouth to say the words, but the concern in Brian’s eyes just brought about a new set of tears. So, Justin did the one thing he could and leaned into Brian’s chest for comfort. Once more, his partner’s hands wrapped around Justin’s back, holding him in, protecting him.

“Did you send them away?” Justin knew focusing on their friends would help him get a better grip on his emotions, but also knew it would likely irritate Brian.

Sure enough, Brian leaned away so that he could meet Justin’s gaze. “Is that really what you want to talk about?”

Justin sighed, closed his eyes, focused his thoughts on their friends, and then spoke slowly and quietly, “No, but it’s the one thing I can control my emotional response to. So, please answer my question.”

Their eyes met once more, allowing Justin to see the moment his words registered with Brian. The older brunet moved his hands to Justin’s shoulders and began to move them up and down each arm. Hazel eyes met blue ones, and a small, almost imperceptible nod was given by Brian in acknowledgment of Justin’s mental state.

“I told them we’d meet them for breakfast tomorrow before going to the rehab facility to pick up Gus. Then, we’d all meet back here to have lunch once Gus was settled in his room.” Brian relayed the information steadily. “Gus doesn’t want a big to-do about it, but I also know we bailed on them today, and they came all this way to see us. So, Gus can shut himself in his room if he doesn’t want to socialize.”

Justin nodded, giving himself time to formulate his response. “Does he still struggle with words?” 

Brian took the slight shift in subject change in stride. After years of being together, he’d learned that Justin’s brain often switched gears very quickly. Especially so when he was upset about something. Justin smiled at his partner, knowing that Brian was considering this as they veered into a difficult conversation.

“Yeah. When I visited this morning, he couldn’t think of a word and it upset him so much he had to leave the room.” Brian’s eyes swept over Justin as he spoke as if to nonverbally check-in.

“I should’ve told you about that. I could’ve warned you that frustration and anger become second nature and that talking would be hard.” Justin bit his lip and ducked his head, Brian’s gaze too revealing.

Brian reached out and grabbed Justin’s chin forcing him to regain their eye contact.

“Don’t. Justin, please don’t blame yourself. No one is blaming you for not being able to handle a TBI. You lived it. Seeing it reflected isn’t easy.”

“But I’m his dad! I should’ve shoved that down and been there for him. Instead, I cowered behind the excuse that you didn’t ask me to be there.” Justin placed his hand on Brian’s cheek, begging him to see the ugliness he felt.

“I know you feel guilty, but just know that we don’t blame you. Gus understands.” Brian tried once more to placate Justin’s anxiety.

“That’s just it. Isaac told me he doesn’t. He said Gus kept asking him if he’d seen me and if I’d said why I wasn’t around.” Justin barely held back his tears, and the minute Brian’s face crumpled, they pooled over.

“He thinks I abandoned him. And he’s right.” Justin continued through his tears. “I’m a shitty father. And to punish me, the universe has decided to take away my mom!”

As he uttered those final words, Justin lost it completely. He fell against Brian’s chest once more and sobbed hysterically. His breath kept getting caught in his throat as it closed up from the tears. Saying it out loud made it impossible for Justin to ignore. His mom had Stage IV Breast Cancer. Justin wrapped his hands around Brian’s torso and grabbed at the plush fabric on his back. The tears were coming down like waterfalls now. 

“What’s happened to m-mom?” Brian’s voice caught on the phrase he reserved exclusively for Justin’s mom. It just made Justin grip the man tighter.

“S-she h-has c-c-cancer.” Justin stumbled over the words. “Stage four.”

Brian’s hands reached up and grabbed at Justin’s shirt as he reciprocated the pressure of Justin’s embrace. Justin felt Brian’s first tears as they hit his cheek. The two men cried together as Justin comforted his partner in his gut response to the news that had rocked Justin’s world for the last 24 hours.

“Jus. This is what that call was about last night, isn’t it?” Brian turned his head ever so slightly to place a kiss on Justin’s cheek.

Justin nodded in response. “I just needed time to wrap my head around it.”

They pulled away from each other completely after that. Brian moved to lie on the bed next to Justin. Once they were resituated, Justin leaned his head onto Brian’s chest. Their hands interlocked in the space next to Justin’s face.

After some silence, Brian finally responded, “And somehow you landed on this was a punishment for what happened with Gus?”

Justin sniffled and let his fingers flex a few times before he responded, “Why else would she get sick? I wasn’t there as a parent like I should be so the universe decided I don’t need my parent.”

“Sunshine, the universe doesn’t have that kind of power. Shitty things happen to good people while the fucking worst scums of the planet get to walk around scot-free.” 

A silence fell once more, but only for a moment, as Brian decided to amend his statement. “Also, you are ten times the dad I am. You gave a shit about Gus more than I ever have, especially in those early years. So you missed a month of rehab. You were there for him all that first night when it mattered the most. Most importantly, you were there for me.”

“I can’t do it without her. I don’t want to say goodbye.” Justin finally revealed the root of all his fear and guilt.

Brian’s embrace on Justin tightened, and his voice caught as he spoke, “You’ll be okay. If you’re anything like her, which I know to be true, you’ll be okay.”

Then he added, “I don’t want to say goodbye, either.”

__

As always, I would like to thank @winderlylandchime @maryp50 and @lostcol for their support of my writing efforts.

[teaandfiction-28]

Happy Saturday! 💛

I hope you’re all well and enjoying the lovely Spring weather!

I’m hoping to have Chapter 10 of Turn Back Time published in the next few days... the writer’s block is slowly lifting! 😅

In the meantime, here’s a sneaky peak of what’s to come - hope you enjoy 🙂

“I can’t believe I’m doing a pregnancy test in the damn locker room.” Kate grumbled from the middle stall, listening to the muffled thud of footsteps and the rustling of fabric as Hank paced the length of the room.

“I won’t put you in the field pregnant.” Hank said stubbornly, folding his arms across his chest as he waited impatiently for Kate to exit the cubicle.

Despite being a father of three, Hank found it ironic that this was the very first time he had anxiously waited to see if those two pink lines would appear in that little window. Camille had already been to the doctor when she told him over dinner that she was pregnant with twins and the way he had found out about Alexis was well-documented so the tentative bubbles of excitement blooming in his chest was a novel experience for him.

He stopped in his tracks at the sound of the toilet flushing, turning on the spot to see Kate exiting the stall with the thin white stick in hand.

“You’re being unreasonable.” She muttered, placing the test carefully on the counter before hunching over the basin to wash her hands.

“I’m not being unreasonable!“

Closing her eyes with a sigh, she turned off the faucet and yanked a few paper towels from the dispenser on the wall to roughly dry her hands.

“I just meant I could have stayed at the district today if we caught a case.” She explained patiently, stepping into his space to wind her arms around his waist, forcing him to unfold his arms and follow suit.

“Honey, I know my recovery was hard on you.” Kate’s heart clenched in her chest when he swallowed thickly, his beautiful russet orbs softening as he tightened his hold on her body as though the mere discussion of her injuries ran the risk of her wounds reopening. “But I love our daughter more than life itself and I struggle every single day with the guilt that I almost got her killed.”

They had talked about this at length over the last year, how she shouldered the crippling weight of knowingly putting her unborn baby at risk by chasing down a gun-wielding maniac with an axe to grind. Though some miracle they had both made it out the other side but Kate had been steadfast in refusal to put their future children in the same precarious position.

“You won't get any arguments from me about getting benched if those lines appear.” She added, jerking her head towards the granite countertop where the test sat face down.

He dropped his forehead to hers with a long sigh of relief, his tense muscles relaxing in the knowledge that this wasn’t something they would have to go to war over but he was also acutely aware that it wouldn’t be long before she would ask the same of him.

She wanted their children to have both of their parents around for as long as possible and, having lost his own father when he was just a child and knowing that Daniel only recognised Justin through photographs, it wasn’t as though he could argue.

Their few moments of intimacy were interrupted by the chirrup of Kate’s alarm signalling that their three minutes of waiting were already up. With a comforting peck on her forehead, they made their way back towards the vanity, both of them gazing apprehensively down at the test as though it were a stick of dynamite.

“Ready?” Kate whispered, glancing up just in time to see him nod before she lifted the test from the counter and slowly, almost reluctantly, turned it over.

[recaffeine]

11/6/2024

The jaw surgery was a level of the season finale of 2024. With it came a lot. It marked a higher level of closeness again for the Foodie Four. It also was the end of the Victoria arc for quite some time. During 2023, I have to admit, I was doing my best to prevent with what the world was giving me. I was trying hard to protect the ones that I love and cherish.

What I've learned this year is that life must take its natural course. Like the waves of the ocean, it will ebb and flow; leaving me with little control over the final product. To be present and to be content means acceptance of whatever changes will happen in the future. That is what it means to grow. Growth is uncomfortable and rightfully scary.

Timeline of the jaw surgery:

24 hours before: I am able to sleep decently knowing that Alec, Anh, Tom and Julie will be there to help me get through it.

1 hour before the surgery: I remember being calm and the fear isn't there anymore. I'm ready to do this.

48 hours post surgery: I am pumped up with antibiotics, anti inflammatory medication, and pain medication. I appreciate that I chose Anh to be my life partner because she stays with me the first full 24 hours. She didn't eat much and having her there made me feel safe. On Day 2, she leaves the hospital for a few hours to eat and shower. I'm alone for just a few moments and I realize how absolutely terrifying it would have been without her.

Day 3: I check out. I was told that only 10% of Dr. Alfi's patients stay two nights at the hospital. Most choose to leave on the first day. My first meal of choice is pho broth from Pho Binh. It is a restaurant that Justin and his family used to take me growing up. It brings a lot of comfort to me.

Day 4-5: These are the most difficult days. I struggle stomach pain which could be from the inflammatory medication taking its toll on my stomach lining. I always had issue with my left jaw joint before the surgery and it starts to be extremely painful when I apply any form of pressure to my left side. I am only able to sleep on my right side at the moment. I try to ration my narcotic medication. There are only 10 tablets. I try to only take half doses every 6 hours.

Day 6-7: Recovery is going really well. I am able to be outside the entire day Saturday hunting pokemon cards at Collect-a-con. The event gives me a reason to move around. Day 7, we leave Houston and the ride back is not easy but it wasn't excruciating either.

Anh is the MVP of all of this.

Food/water: The training I obtain from the braces in the first year and a half allow me to transition quite easily into liquid diet. I am mostly drinking pho broths, egg drop soup, crab and asparagus soup, and wonton soup. We try using the immersion blender but it is quite messy and the consistency is not thin enough to use an oral syringe.

Mental health: I have spent the last 4 years fortifying my mental health. I believe because of my fiery spirit that I'm able to really power through this surgery without a hiccup in my mood.

Power up: If being a pharmacist was the mark of me becoming a super saiyan, my therapy/healing/knowledge journey of the last 4 years being super saiyan 2, this jaw surgery would propel to be ultimate gohan. My energy levels are out of this world and I'm able to make it through without any caffeine and adderall to make it through the day. I believe that this will be integral towards my dream of writing a successful book that will help others.

I have to admit that this year, I've spent a lot of it taking care of myself. I try to be there for others but it's not at the level that I'm normally accustomed to. I'm hoping that after my jaw surgery healing is complete, that I'm able to work towards my goal to help others with my writing.

Until next time.

[emberlynnrayne]

8-12-24

I'm trying to take better care of myself.

I'm not doing a great job, but I'm getting better.

Started with my new therapist today, and I'm optimistic.

Start my new job tomorrow, and I am nervous, but confident. I am good at what I do, just hoping I mesh well with the family.

One month till move out. Gotta get packing.

Been thinking a lot about Hali lately. I've come to realize I wouldn't let her back in now, if she tried. Our friendship falling apart has weighed heavy on me, but I think I'm making peace with it. The further into my recovery I get, the clearer I see my past relationships for what they were. We weren't all bad, but she was stuck in unhealthy patterns that only got more severe with time.

I dunno. Now shes made another series of impulsive decisions and isn't happy with where it got her. And she's stuck there now.

I won't make the same mistake twice. There will not be another Hali, another Jill, another Justin, Jason, or Alex. My standards are set and I'm no longer giving passes to patterns.

Patterns.

I'm watching everyone all the time. Watching myself. Watching for patterns and

...

And ready to run.

Fuck. Is that still where my head is at? That I have to be ready to run at the drop of a hat? Why am I surprised by that? I've recognized it in different terms- the fear that everything could crumble at any moment, for example. But running. Am I escaping or staying on my feet? In fear, or hitting the ground running again? Does it matter?

Where is my faith?

Ha.

I'm held together by pure stubborn force of will. I will not stop. Ever. If my heart is dead my body will keep going through the motions until it beats again. I will not stop. That is where my faith is.

There is a fire in me that just won't die. I've always had this certainty that I was here for a reason, and that I would find and live a happy life if I just did my best. So I am. Always. Trying.

But I am watching for patterns in the people around me. Skittish of danger like a bunny in the meadow. Ready to start back into my hole at the first movement of shadow.

I am so tired of hurting. I understand why I'm not in a hurry to invite that potential again.

I literally cried, utterly bawling the other night. It was a moment of realizing how deeply I loved my partner, and how profoundly terrifying it is. They're so deep in my heart. The hurt they could cause is just... Blinding.

I feel so guilty sometimes. It's not that I don't trust partner. It's not that I think they'd be malicious. It's not about them. This fear is seeping from my scars.

I won't let the FOG control my life anymore. I live through my fears and love through the scars. As much as I can.

Ugh. My brain goes in circles. Always searching for my flaws and mistakes. Always on the lookout for danger. So afraid of myself and every damn one else.

My therapy homework was to write 5 of my own daily affirmations.

1. I deserve grace.

2. I am good.

3. I am capable.

4. I am likable.

5. I

These feel not good enough, but I am tired.

Goodnight.

[griffinequestrian]

The Many Emotional Stages Of Rehabbing A Horse

By Justine Griffin for Heels Down Mag

It’s the worst string of words for any equestrian to hear: “stall rest, followed by months of rehab.”

Your show season comes to an abrupt end. The future of your riding career with your equine partner may be in jeopardy. Weeks feel like months and months feel like years. Rehabbing injuries, from soft tissue to surgery recovery, can feel like the worst kind of purgatory.

I’m in the thick of it now, rehabbing my Thoroughbred gelding who suffered a suspensory injury. We’re only a few months in and I feel like I’ve experienced a wide range of emotions already. I’m coming to learn there are “stages” one goes through during an injury/recovery/rehab process. Bear with me as I try to outline them for you here.

Grief.

Naturally, the shock of the injury hits you right in the face. Quickly the grief sets in. Your world is ending. How will you go on without being able to ride your horse? You try to think that well, it could be worse. They could be dead… then you try to trick your brain into not going to that dark of a place ever again. So you settle into your grief. You cry at the barn. You cry in your car. You cry ringside when your trainer is giving lessons. You cry at home over a bottle of wine and tub of ice cream. You. Feel. Everything.

Hope.

It’s time for your first scans after weeks of rest and treatment. God, you’re so nervous. What if the ultrasound reveals no healing at all? What if it’s worse?!?!! Your vet does their best to temper your feelings and expectations. It’s not like you really know what you’re looking at anyway, with the squiggly lines and stretchy spots. But enough time has passed to show some semblance of healing and thank the Lord, this is the best news you’ve ever gotten in your life. Better than when your husband proposed. Better than the birth of your child. But you’re not out of the woods yet.

Dread.

Finally, your horse graduates from stall rest and can handle short hand walks and isolated paddock time. You should feel elated – this is progress. It’s all moving in the right direction. But your horse, who has been stuffed in a box for far too long, has other plans. He comes out the first day like a fire-breathing dragon. The sedative the vet prescribed to keep him mellow and all four feet on the ground is having the opposite effect, it seems. Your horse is a kite, and still a dragon, and you’re just along for the ride at the other end of the lead rope. Hang on tight!!!!

When you finally feel like you’ve built up the courage to turn him out in said small paddock, you hold your breath as you slip off his halter and pray he makes good decisions. He promptly does not. And right then and there, another grey hair (or two) sprouts from your scalp.

Frustration.

Those first few days of walking and turnout time go awry. You face setbacks – some inflammation is back and more scans show fluid build up. The vet waffles on whether your horse should be stuffed back in the box for a few more weeks. You feel awful and guilty and frustrated. You waste hundreds of dollars on unproven therapies and supplements that he’s just going to pee out. Will you ever get out of this stall rest hell? Will you ever ride again? Will you ever find happiness again in this lifetime? Will you ever escape the upside-down?

Pure Bliss.

Luckily the bad boy hand walks and turnout antics die down and you find a rhythm and understanding with your injured horse. In just a few days/weeks it feels like the tide is turning in your favor and you are grateful. The time you spend on the ground with your horse becomes your reprieve. You’re bonding with him in a new way you didn’t think was possible. Maybe, just maybe, you’ll get through this tough time together.

SEE ALSOSPOILER ALERT, STORIES

Fun Facts: The Legendary Bruce Davidson

Paranoia.

It’s time for more scans. The vet is pleased with your horse’s progress and grants you the opportunity to put a saddle on his back again. But not so fast – you’re only walking under tack for five minutes at a time. In a few weeks, it will be 10 minutes. No turns. No lateral work. No soft footing. The driveway to the farm becomes your new home. Five minutes always feels like it goes by too fast. You worry that perhaps this is happening too soon. What if the weight of you and your middle-aged amateur glory is too much, and this is it, the moment you do him in. Should he go back in the box? You ice his legs incessantly after every 5-minute hack. Your friends at the barn are scared to talk to you, you’re so jumpy. Even your horse is like, “wtf, chill dude.”

Cautious Optimism.

You keep walking, even though with every clip-clop down the driveway, you expect him to crumple onto the ground. Weeks pass and the vet returns. He’s still healing. It’s going in the right direction. You can trot for longer now. The hopes of completing one full 20-meter circle are on the horizon. The vet is encouraging, he tells you to keep going. So you do. Even if you cry sometimes and scream into the void that is your empty car on the way home. You’re almost there, you tell yourself. Stay the course. The two of you just might climb your way out of this after all.

Love.

It’s healed. You can’t believe it. Your horse is cleared to go back into work. The moment these words come out of your vet’s mouth, it’s like an out-of-body experience. You’re floating above yourself right then, watching yourself stare stupidly back at your vet in disbelief. But it’s real. You made it. You book a lesson – A REAL LESSON – with your trainer again. Though you’re nervous, and you know 100% you’re going to play it safe and stay in Long Stirrup Land for far too long, you’ve never felt relief like you do now, knowing your horse is healthy and he made it. You both made it. You’re on cloud nine. Everything is perfect. Everyone around you is grateful too, that you can finally behave like a Real Functioning Adult again.

You did indeed, escape the upside-down

[lindsaystravelblogs3]

Days 29-31 – Friday-Sunday, 23-25 June, on to Malta.

Friday

Nothing to report.  I stayed in bed all day and felt rotten.  Heather stayed in as well in the hope that a restful day would aid both our recoveries.  And Heather was now also on some of the antibiotics that our wonderful GP Justin had sent us away with – Justin case!

Saturday

Another day in which I stayed in bed all day.  I was still feeling pretty awful, but perhaps a tiny bit better.  The doctor came again during the morning and pronounced me slightly improved and able to travel on to Malta the next day.  Apart from that, it was resting up all day with little to eat – how can you eat and cough at the same time?

Having said that, we did go out to eat dinner at night. There was an official dinner that everyone else went to (I think it was out of town somewhere) but we just walked down a block to a little roadside restaurant and had a light meal there, before retreating back to bed for another cough-filled night.

Sunday

The antibiotic has started to work and I felt up to tackling breakfast in the breakfast room.  Most people gave me a wide berth, but plenty of others were coughing, so there were other people more contagious than I probably was.  Quite a few people said that it was good to see me and that I was looking better, but I was just holding things together and couldn’t speak without bursting out with another few minutes of uncontrollable coughing.

We left Sicily (and the rest of Italy) for Valetta in Malta today.  Our bus took us to Pozzalo where we caught the hydrofoil to a completely new country for us.  We didn’t arrive in Valetta until almost 10pm, so we bought some food on the ferry – I had something approaching a pie.  It was not like a Four and Twenty or a Mrs Macs, but at least it had a pastry crust and some meat and veg inside – a bit dry, but still quite edible.

I think we were told that Valetta is the most heavily fortified city in the world, and it certainly has massive stone walls encompassing several large tracts of land, so I can easily believe it.  Out hotel is built into the city wall with the Reception area being inside the city walls on level six and our room being outside the walls on level one.  It is quite a strange arrangement and we have part of the city wall less than five metres outside our balcony with just some garden and a gravel strip between us and the wall.  The garden contains some trees and we are serenaded by a few Eurasian Blackcaps in the trees most of the day.  They are almost impossible to see in the heavy foliage, but their song is distinctive and we have glimpsed enough of them to be sure of their identification.

Valetta was the original home of the Knights of Malta, aka the Knights of St John of Jerusalem (the St John’s Ambulance service is one of their legacies), and there is strong evidence of that wherever you look.  The eight-pointed star looks back at you in many places and the original hospital still stands as a monument to their care for the sick.  They became very rich and powerful through some of their possibly dubious rules, but this enabled them to build the massive fortifications and churches that rival any in other parts of the globe.

Fireworks are a major part of the local culture and there are many houses in which fireworks are manufactured all year round.  A couple of years ago, one of the houses exploded, killing several people making the fireworks, but it is still a major industry.  We have seen almost no fireworks other than an occasional flash of light, but they are used extensively for several of their local festivals and we have heard numerous hours of continuous booming like cannon-fire – with not a second’s pause, often for close to thirty minutes at a time, at all hours of day and night.  There are also the official Gun Salutes when cannons are fired at noon and 4pm (and sometimes 8am), Monday to Saturday (and maybe some Sundays).  It can be a very noisy place.

[octopus-reactivated]

Title me Miss: the Photo

Hello everyone! I tried to show some more of the Juli's past this chapter. I will eventually have to write full flashback chapter, but right now enjoy this!

Tw/cw: Pet whump, whumpee thinks Caretaker is the new Master, humiliation. (tell me if i missed anything)

“I’ll let you dry yourself. I left you fresh clothes” 

What a mercy! Not only was he given clothes, but also more than one set of them! It almost felt unreal. Sir left, again giving him some privacy. 

Well, probably it was more of “I don't have time to look over you 24/7” but it was nice to imagine.

He quickly changed into given clothes, and dried his dair a bit, then, carefully opened the door.

He hoped he wouldn't mess up. He needed to be good. 

The question was: what was his purpose there? Was he supposed to help around the house or be more of the lapdog? He wasn’t given a list of chores- except the meal company- so far. But maybe he was supposed to know what to do without Miss spelling it out to him. 

Sir was sitting in the living room, doing something on the table. Juli sneaked up and quietly kneeled nearby. 

“Will you mind if I do my work now?” Sir asked him. Why was he asking him that? It was supposed to be the other way around, Juli asking for permission to eat, sleep and breathe. 

“I won’t disturb your work”  he settled on.

This must have been what Sir meant, right? He probably just phased it like that, because he was used to being polite, but he must want to confirm Juli will be quiet.

Well then, Juli had to make sure, he won’t be a distraction. He remembered how hard it was at the training’s beginning. He was getting bored and eventually started to squirm. But after many corrections, he learned that staying still is so much better than various flavors of pain. Now if the quiet starts to be too much, he would start counting seconds, or describe in thought what he sees or remind himself of the rules or start dreaming…

Dreaming, yes. At the shop he often dreamed of someone taking him away, giving him one chance to show he was good. During retraining he liked to imagine someone taking pity on him. He was aware that it was unlikely, he was useless and an active risk, but he hoped someone would see he was trying. Before that… his Master. Well, first Master. Back then his dreams were different. He did not try to stay, on the contrary, he wanted to be thrown out. Not returned to the shop, but thrown out. He was convinced it would mean he could just go whenever he wanted and don’t worry about rules and Owners. 

Now he knew better, and oh how stupid his little dream was. But at least the other one came true and now he just wanted it to last as long as possible.

He stole a glance at Sir Justin, who was writing something on some papers, then reading some other papers and then writing some more. 

A piece of paper lying on the table’s edge flew down graciously and rested on the floor. Juli wanted to show he was useful, so he grabbed it, intending to give it to Sir. 

But, accidentally he saw what was on the page. He didn’t care about the letters around, but there was a photo. A Man, on the floor, blood trickling from the back of his head, and this unmistakable glassy eyes of a dead person. 

 __________

Justin wished he could give Juli more attention, but the boy was already shaking every time he looked at him. And the work needed to be done. 

It was one of the most dull parts of his job, to write up reports, staple papers together and put them in the folder, but that was why he was able to do it there, instead of sitting in the office.

The table became a bit of a mess, since Justin tried to put every single page on top, so he could find it, and the only way to do that was to put every page separately. 

Everything was going fine until one sheet fell on the floor.

And just like some malicious force was determined to make this recovery as messy as possible, this was the one with the worst photo of the body - bloody and messy. 

Before Justin managed to do anything, Juli grabbed the paper. He was trying to give it back for sure, but then his eyes lingered on the photo. Oh no.

The boy froze. 

“It’s not like that,” said Justin quickly. Who knows what boy would think when he sees blood. Oh, Juli was already hyperventilating.

__________

“It’s not like that,” Sir said. Not like what? “Juli, look…” he got down’t to Pet’s level. “I’m sorry you saw that. It’s photo evidence. I'm a homicide detective.”

Oh.

Justin was one of the scary guys then.

“I collect those so i can put evil people into prison, where they can’t hurt anyone”

Into prison?If Sir was allowed to do such a thing to a human what would he do to him?

He trembled. The world became blurry and words lost all meaning.

But it all made sense now. Why Miss had taken him in, even if he was so broken. She had her friend, who was used to dealing with all sorts of criminals. All sorts of murderers. If Juli was about to break the tiniest rule, he would throw him into Pet-Prison. 

Would it be worse than retraining? Could anything be worse than retraining? He was forced to think about what he did day and night. And then… And then about the future.

“Who would want you?”

“How could you do that?”

“How could you do that to your Master?”

“You’ll be lucky if someone takes you as punchbag”

“Why did you do that?”

“Why did you do that?”

“Why did you do that?”

His trainer's voice became indistinguishable from his own thoughts.

He desperately needed to be good. He needed to show he was good. Not like he intended on not doing his best before, but now his desperation rose tenfold. 

He needed to show that he would never, ever do anything out of line. He will not make another fatal mistake.

__________

Taglist: @kim-poce @whatgoeswhumpinthenight @kween-pinescales @wolfeyedwitch @myst-in-the-mirror @dont-touch-my-soup @obsessedwithegos @cicatrix-energy

[object-show-analysis]

I’ve seen some discourse in the ii fandom recently and I wanted your take on it. Did Mephone try to bring Bow back to life before Marshmallow asked since he already knew what would happen if he tried?

This question sort of answers itself. But it’s definitely something worth talking about! The whole scene is definitely an important one, and you know I love writing full scene analyses. So let’s talk about it!

MePhone tries to bring Bow back to life: a full scene analysis

So as we all know, the scene stars because Marshmallow misses Bow and feels guilty about her death. She transfers that guilt into anger towards MePhone when she realizes that he’s able to bring everyone else back to life, and he hasn’t brought Bow back.

When she approaches him, we get the first indication of Cobs’ existence through the malicious update that MePhone was about to click “read more” on.

This update would supposedly turn him into a MePhone7, which we see later in the show is an almost lifeless killing machine. According to one of the show’s creators, Justin Chapman, he was about to “sleepily activate it.”

This tells us he was either previously asleep or tried, and would have probably activated the update if marshmallow had not come to interrupt him. Very interesting, but not necessarily relevant to the question we’re trying to answer.

When Marshmallow says that she wants Bow back, MePhone is confused. As if he wasn’t expecting anyone to actually miss her. Which makes sense, given how much he didnt like her in season 1. This is when Fan shows up, backing up Marshmallow and insisting that the season is sub-par without Bow, which is consistent with the views of the in-universe fans of season 1.

Both MePhone and Marshmallow seem surprised, and even a bit disturbed by Fan’s appearance. MePhone specifically asks him how long he’s been standing there, which Fan deflects. MePhone’s disturbance could be explained by the fact that, as I mentioned before, MePhone may have been asleep right before this, and depending on how long Fan has been watching him, this may imply Fan was watching him sleep. Which lines up with his obsessive early season 2 behavior. Again, interesting, but not relevant to our main point.

Fan quickly changes the subject, asking why MePhone hasn’t brought Bow back to life if he can do that with every other character. And while MePhone is unable to bring Bow back to life, he doesn’t admit to that right away.

Instead MePhone simply says it’s “not gonna happen” which seems to imply he wasn’t aware of the real issue, and simply didn’t want to bring her back. However we quickly learn this is not the case.

Fan then accuses MePhone of only not bringing her back because he hates her. This seems to upset MePhone a lot, and pushes him to finally admit the truth.

Now it’s definitely worth noting how much Fan’s accusation effected MePhone. He seemed awfully stubborn when it came to admitting the truth, so the fact that he so quickly admits it implies he really didn’t want anyone to think he’d keep someone dead simply because he didn’t like them. This tells us a lot about how MePhone views his job as the only system of recovery.

We can assume from this that he wouldn’t just pick and choose who he brings back to life based on his own personal opinions, because of how upset he gets at the very idea that he would do something like that. So we can assume from this alone that he must have tried to bring Bow back to life before. But there’s more evidence.

When he shows them exactly why Bow can’t be brought back, he’s not surprised. He also says “See?” Implying he was demonstrating to them what happens. He already knew Bow wasn’t going to be recovered when he pushed that button.

So why didn’t he tell them?

Well he says right afterwards “I didn’t wanna disappoint you guys”. We know from his earlier shock that he hadn’t expected anyone to actually care that Bow was gone, but when Marshmallow and Fan show that they loved her and wanted her back, apparently he was afraid of disappointing them. So this is why he kept the truth to himself. We know from future actions that MePhone does actually care about his contestants, so it makes sense that he wouldn’t want to upset them with such distressing news.

So all in all: yes! MePhone did attempt to bring Bow back to life before Marshmallow asked, or at the very least already was aware that it wouldn’t work if he tried. I hope this clears things up!

[jessicafurseth]

Reading List, Participation edition.

"Joy demands something of us. It requires us to participate. To pay attention. To find beauty in darkness. To be awe-struck in otherwise mundane moments. To celebrate what is in front of us." Anna Brones

[Image by Equal Parts]

*

"Which digital rhythms are we actively following because they make us feel good, and which are we entrained to? Entrainment, a term that originated in biology and then spread to the social sciences, refers to the alignment of an organism’s physiology or behavior with a cycle; the most familiar example would be our circadian rhythm. ... Letting go of one overwhelming rhythm, you invite the presence of others. Perhaps more important, you remember that the arrangement is yours to make." What Social Media Does to Our Sense of Time [Jenny Odell, The New York Times]

"Perhaps, looking back, we should consider “millennial cringe” as less of an embarrassing phase we’d rather forget and more like the last gasp of what humor on the internet looked like before it became impossible to keep up with it." Towards a unified theory of millennial "epic bacon" humour [Rebecca Jennings, Vox]

“The CIA ... encourage most officers to have a social-media presence because, quite frankly, it’s a red flag and it looks strange if you don’t. You’ve got to blend in and look normal. I would argue that some of the Gen Z–and-younger folks, their networks are so huge online, it’s almost a blessing. You can’t figure out who their close friends are because they’re friends with everybody. It almost negates the exposure.” The CIA Is Trying to Recruit Gen Z—and Doesn’t Care If They’re All Over Social Media [Jessica Goldstein, Washingtonian]

"What if some of the things people describe as mental disorders are purposeful, not pathological?" Evidence grows that mental illness is more than dysfunction [Justin Garson, Aeon]

Patrick Burleigh entered puberty at age two. It was ... a lot. [The Cut]

"We need strength and energy to live with illness; reducing my workload gave me the reserves I needed not just to live with chronic pain, but to begin on the path towards recovery from it." Permission to recover [Gavin Francis, Wellcome Collection Stories]

I for one found the Netflix documentary about Prince Harry and Meghan illuminating, but among British columnists, even the ones who sympathise with Meghan for the racist bullying still can't help but point out how annoying they find her. As the documentary points out, being Black was a big part of what Meghan did "wrong" - but another is that's she's American. Here's a comment piece that actually articulates what that means [Charlotte Kilpatrick, The New Statesman] 

"Augit means to be able to stay with the good bit of your life. To stay with the good augit is to find the good in an experience.” Lessons from my dying therapist [Phoebe Greenwood, The Guardian]

A Month in a Tuscan Villa Didn’t Fix My Burnout [Alanna Bennett, The Cut]

On Raising Teenagers [Rachel Cusk, The New York Times]

"In any relationship, there is an expectation of privacy. There is also an expectation of respect. Violate the latter and you relinquish your right to the former." My boyfriend, a writer, broke up with me because I’m a writer This story by Isabel Kaplan in The Guardian is spectacular. So is this response to the story by Rachel Connolly, in Slate: "It can feel embarrassing to admit how attached we are to situations and people that we know are not serving us well. Mortifying to admit the extent of our agency in desire, and how much of ourselves we willingly give in the hope of getting something that is valuable to us back in return. Shameful to acknowledge that a degrading situation was one we chose. But then, so many commonplace, even definitional facets of the human experience do feel deeply humiliating." 

Time Has Run Out for the Leap Second. The fascinating story of how we're disposing of the leap second, and thereby severing the "the timekeeping of atoms from the timekeeping of the heavens". [Alanna Mitchell, The New York Times]

"I stood over the table, sending this photo of fresh ripe tomatoes and bonito and razor clams out to a paltry few hundred viewers, watching and waiting for the twenty-four hours to pass, when the story would disappear. I looked for meaning in it, and in the hundreds of other images that flooded my screen and filled my brain, of other meals and of make-up routines and dancing teenagers and neo-fascist marches and runway shows and old churches and drone strikes. I looked for meaning and all I thought was ‘Soon, I will die’." A History of the Culinary Selfie [Huw Lemmey, Vittles]

[selfdestructivecat]

If ur still doing the headcannons asks, John and Justine pls?

Ooh this is interesting! Full disclosure, it’s been a while since I’ve played AAI2, so I haven’t seen these two in a hot sec. But I did my best with what I remembered of their dynamic, so I hope you enjoy!

Realistic Headcanon:

Justine has a bad habit of babying John. She doesn’t mean to be patronizing, but John often interprets it that way. It’s a huge hurdle they have to navigate, in which Justine learns to allow John some more independence and John realizes that his mother is a simply bit over-protective, and that she doesn’t think that he’s incapable or anything like that.

Unrealistic (but Hilarious) Headcanon:

They 100% have those courtroom-esque family arguments, where John has to plead his case before his mother like he would a judge in court. And often, Justine accidentally reverts into Judge Mode and is a bit harsher with her “sentence” than she intends (something she immediately apologizes for and fixes as soon as she realizes), but unless it’s something really serious, John is usually amused rather than angry.

(More Headcanons Below!)

Heart-Crushing and Awful Headcanon:

Justine’s job is more dangerous than you would think, given how she has the power to send people to the death row or to allow them to go free. Many people, whether it’s relatives of the judged or the defendant themselves, hold a grudge against her, and sometimes that grudge is acted upon.

It’s rare that this happens, and given the security at the courthouse Justine is usually well-protected, but sometimes luck is not on your side. On one occasion, Justine was injured pretty badly, an assailant’s dagger hitting a vital spot and leaving her hospital bound for a few days. John is absolutely inconsolable, his previously aloof demeanor completely shattered as he fears for his mother’s life.

Eventually she makes a full recovery, but John is still acting differently. He is no longer snappy with his remarks, instead silently doing everything his mother asks of him and barely speaking otherwise. It takes a while for him to regain his previous sass, especially towards his mom, but he still harbors a slight hatred for Justine’s job and the danger it puts her in.

Unrealistic Headcanon That Will Probably Never Happen:

I love the headcanon that Edgeworth adopts Sebastian, but I also adore the idea of Justine adopting him! Which means that John and Sebby would be brothers! I’d think that John would resent Sebastian at first, given how most of his mother’s attention would be on helping Sebastian adjust to his new life. Sebastian would be confused and hurt, wondering what he did to make the younger boy hate him so much.

But they’d warm up to each other eventually, probably after a conversation between Justine and John where the former reassures that she isn’t abandoning him and that she doesn’t love him any less.

Thank you for the ask! ^.^

Send Me a Character or Relationship (Platonic or Romantic), and I’ll Give You Some Headcanons!

[coriel-muroz]

Huntsville Revived #414

Margery had taken a poison to end her life. Justin had saved her, giving her the antidote just in time. But nothing is that simple. 

“I’m okay, Justin. Honestly. You don’t have to hover like that,” Margery told him as she ate the meal he prepared. It would help heal her stomach and aid in the recovery. She might not be at risk of death anymore, but she had put her body through a lot of strain.

“You just tried to kill yourself, so, no. You aren’t okay.” Justin tried to say it as calmly as possible, but it was very difficult to remain calm.

“I’m glad I didn’t succeed,” Margery told him honestly. It was terrifying, now, to think how close she had come to being gone. The pain she would have put everyone she loved through, just because she felt like she had failed the Watcher in her vows.

What she didn’t say, though, was that she felt a tremendous relief and freedom. After all, she had died. Her vow to Finn could now be left behind.

“I am clearly more messed up than I have admitted about my divorce.”

“You are. And, for my part, I am sorry that I rushed you. I shouldn’t have done that.”

“Wait, Justin, I didn’t...this wasn’t because of you. I do want to begin again with you.” Panic welled up in Margery. Would she now lose Justin? She couldn’t blame him if he didn’t want to be with her. She obviously had things to work on.

“I’m not going anywhere, Margery, but we do need to slow down even more. And you need to get help.”

Margery was more than happy to agree to that. He was right.

They told Faraday and Gaellen, but not the kids.

“There’s a great program in Ashford City we’ll enroll you. Once that’s complete, Gaellen and I will make sure you go to therapy as often as necessary.” Faraday was not going to allow a repeat. Matthew was beyond furious that no one had realized Margery’s precarious mental state.

“I’m not going to fight you on this. I promised Justin I would go, but I know I need to go for myself,” Margery assured Faraday. It was funny, though, she knew therapy was important, but she didn’t want to die and now that she had, she didn’t care a fig that her relationship with Finn was in the past. She was looking forward to the future.

“Once you have finished the program, you and Justin will date. He can take you out for ice cream, or something,” Faraday promised.

The teens thought that the vacation was extremely successful, as did Margery. Faraday and Gaellen knew better, and Justin could only hope therapy would help Margery and that more therapy would help him. He couldn’t lose her - it had been too hard to lose Elisandra. He couldn’t put his kids through that, either. But he couldn’t not be with her either.

[avidreider]

Journals Part 5 ~ recovery (Spencer Reid x Reader)

Based on the song, “Recovery” by Justin Bieber. 

CW: Cursing, Regular Criminal Minds Stuff

Sorry that it’s taken so long for an update, I wasn’t sure if anyone enjoyed the story enough to write anther part, but here I am. 

Key: Y/N = your name, italicized = unspoken thoughts, bold = texts/emails/notes, bold + italicized = song lyrics.

-- I do not own any rights to the gif or the song. --

Things had been going well with Spencer. Lila seemed to have disappeared after Spencer convinced you that the two of you should just block her and erase her from your lives, which both of you did. You felt kinda bad, since she clearly has some things going on in her life that cause her to feed off of drama, but like Spencer pointed out, that is not your problem to worry about. If she wants to heal, she will, and if she doesn’t, then she will just bring everyone down with her. 

You still were a bit jealous and somewhat nervous about his relationship with JJ. The photo that Lila sent you wasn’t necessarily bad, but you knew about the crush he had on her for the longest time, and you weren’t actually sure if it had gone away completely. Nonetheless, you decided to push it to the back of your mind and enjoy the moment with your boyfriend. 

Spencer has been the perfect boyfriend. He has been there for you as much as he could with both of your work schedules. He pampers, pays attention, and adores you as much as possible. Things were finally looking up after weeks of darkness. 

The two of you were enjoying each other’s company, watching a movie on your shared couch when the doorbell rang. It was Lila. That was incredibly unexpected. You both ignore it, and pretend you’re not home. 

“Spencer, Y/N, I see your cars out here. I know you’re in there. I just want to talk.” 

“I’m just gonna buzz her in,” you say. 

“Are you crazy? We finally got rid of her and now she’s back,” Spencer whispered. 

“We’re in a better place now, Spence,” you smile as you buzz her in. 

As Lila gets up to the apartment door, she knocks and you swing the door open. “So why are you here?” you ask. 

“Listen, I know you two don’t wanna see me, so I will just say it quickly. I acknowledge that I have hurt you both individually and as a couple, and I wish that I could say that was never my intention, but that would be a lie. I fell in love with not Spencer, but with the idea of him. He is very handsome, and sweet, and flirtatious,” she smirked at him. That one stung a little bit, but it helped that he glared back at her. 

She continued, “He’s very smart and charismatic, and I haven’t had a healthy relationship in my entire life. I thought he could give that to me, finally. But, I have come to realize that what I thought we had was superficial. A fling, and it can barely be called that. I wanted him at the time though, but then I met you. And you have such a big heart, to have tried to befriend me and care for my feelings during all of this, and then to have been able to forgive Spencer for everything. I just wanted to say that I am sorry, and I really hope you two know how lucky you are,” she smiles. 

Spencer couldn’t stand hearing that, because he had the intuition that the entire speech was insincere, so he had retreated to the bedroom. As Lila begins to walk out the door, she quickly spins around to face you. “Oh, I almost forgot! Here,” and she hands you a plastic bag. 

“What’s this?” you ask. 

“Oh, some of Spencer’s stuff he left at my place. It’s a pair of sweats, his boxers, and the box of condoms. We only used 2, and I’m sure they’re still good!” she says and nearly runs out of the apartment complex. 

You are stunned. Everyone talks about fight or flight responses, but you froze - the less common ‘f.’ 

Without a word to Spencer, you leave the apartment. 

---Spencer’s POV--- 

How could she even think that she could come to our home? Why would Y/N let her in? 

Surely Lila is gone, I wonder what else she said to Y/N. I hope she didn’t fall for that fake apology. 

“Where are you babe?” he called out, with no response. 

Y/N’s cell phone was sitting on the kitchen counter. 

So was a bag with some of his belongings. 

Shit. Shit. Shit. No way. When did this happen? What did Lila say to her? Where could she be?

Spencer grabbed his keys and bolted out of the door, driving to the first place that he could think of. Y/N’s best friend’s house. 

Spencer knocked obnoxiously, and finally the door was answered. 

“What do you want?” Jo asked. 

“Is Y/N here?” Spencer asked. 

“No, she’s not. Go fuck with that tramp some more and leave Y/N alone,” and with that, the door was slammed. 

Without knowing what else to do, Spencer called Garcia. 

“Hello Boy Wonder. What’s up?” She answered the phone cheerily. 

“Hey Garcia. Listen, I don’t have much time. I think Y/N’s in trouble, and I need you to track the GPS in her car please,” he felt kinda bad for how deceitful he came off, but he couldn’t risk Garcia refusing to tell him and letting Y/N get further away from him when they were just starting to repair their relationship. 

“Okay do you want me to call the team?” She asked. 

“No Pen, that’s okay right now, but I’ll call you if anything changes, okay?”

“Okay. It looks like her car is parked at ‘The Chug’ on the west side of town.” 

“Thanks Garcia, bye!” 

Spencer made a quick U-turn and headed for the bar. It was one that Y/N had never been to to his knowledge. He’s wondering why she’d go there now. He throws up a simple prayer that Y/N will at least hear him out despite his complicated religious beliefs. 

First, I'll acknowledge All trust has been broken A successful recovery I pray for us at night

Grants me with a second chance Never thought I'd see your face again Learning life through trial and error Just tryna make it right

---Y/N’s POV---

“I’ll have another shot of tequila with lime, please.”

“Hey, you,” Some tall man with a beard says as he sits next to you. 

“Do I know you?” You respond rudely. 

“No, but I’d like for you to,” he responds as he grabs your arm and tries to pull you onto the dance floor. 

“Get off of me!” you shout and as sudden as his arm was around you, it was gone. And standing there in his place was Spencer holding onto his bloody fist. 

“Did you just punch him?!” you exclaimed.

“Yes, he was making you uncomfortable,” Spencer said shyly.

“I appreciate it, but that doesn’t mean that I forgive you. Spencer, I think it would be best if we just took a break for a while. I think we got back together too soon, and I don’t think either of us were ready for it. I mean you told me that you didn’t do anything with Lila. That was clearly a lie. What else have you been keeping from me? I feel like I don’t even know who you are anymore,” you said through tears. 

“Honey, Lila is lying. I never slept with her. Never even went to her house. I promise you are the only person that I want for the rest of my life. Please let me be there for you.” 

“This is your last chance, Spencer. I can’t just let you keep hurting me. That isn’t a life that I want for myself.”

“I promise baby.” 

Missing your good intentions Missing you from a distance Hope you did the same

I know that I caused a problem Know that I left you livid Pushed you far away

Learned it don't pay to lie 'Cause I don't wanna see you cry Sayin' nothin gets you nowhere fast I'ma hold it back inside

But now that I'm back around ya Nothing else really matters Hope you feel the same

“We will talk about this later. I’m going to run over to a friend’s house, I’ll be home later,” you say. You wanted to stop by Jo’s house to vent. 

“Okay, have fun at Jo’s,” Spencer said with a smile. 

You sat at the bar for a few more minutes to make sure that you were sober enough to drive. Once you decided that you were fine, you started to walk toward the exit so you could go to Jo’s, and Spencer was probably already home. As you were opening the door to your car, you felt a strong hand grab your waist and put a rag over your nose. The last thing you remember is a familiar face before blacking out. 

---Spencer’s POV--- 

“Garcia, can you track her car again?” Spencer said to Penelope after she hadn’t returned home in several hours and Jo was adamant that she never stopped by. 

“Sure... But I’m calling the team.” 

“I found her before, but I’m getting worried that she’s not here.” 

“Her car is at the same place as before, it hasn’t moved.” 

Did she change her mind? Is she choosing to move on and find some rebound? I should have stayed, I should have tried harder and made her feel more important. I didn’t put nearly as much effort into convincing her that Lila was lying and that I would never cheat. 

I'm going through all the motions Trying to find a reason That we ended that way

Nothing in life is perfect We'll be changing like the seasons That's what they used to say yeah yeah

If it's going to sleep alone at night

I don't wanna close my eyes

Wanna give you all I have to give I'm not holdin' back this time

Now that I'm back around ya Nothin' around me matters Hope you feel the same

First, I'll acknowledge All trust has been broken A successful recovery I pray for us at night

Grants me with a second chance Never thought I'd see your face again Learning life through trial and error And tryna make it right

“I’ll call you back,” Spencer says as he heads for the door again. 

Once arriving to the bar, he sees her car and gets a bad feeling immediately. He’s worked crime scenes, but this one stung him like others never had. He instantly recognizes the sign of a struggle. 

He dials a familiar phone number. “Garcia,” he screams breathlessly, “call the team. Y/N’s been taken.” 

[salty-ironstrange-shipper]

May I has moar cherik fic recs please??

damn, y’all are GREEDY for cherik fics .... I, of course, have more, but damn

as usual, in order of shortest to longest

Brandished Steel, Wicked Rook

Words: 1,057

Rating: Explicit

Summary: Charles’ bare skin is awash in flame and darkness as he lies there, hair splayed over his forehead and eyes as black as crow feathers, glistening. His lips are bright and wet and red. And he says, in his red way, “All hail, Macbeth.”

AU in which Erik and Charles are Macbeth and "Lady" Macbeth, respectively.

Inspired by both the original play and the film version of Macbeth (2015) directed by Justin Kurzel.

Opinion: This is a weird one because it’s very short and not something I would usually read - but at the same time, the dynamic and writing style and reference makes it feel like it was written for me specifically. Macbeth is my favorite Shakespeare play by far, and Fassbender is very good in the 2015 film. This fic makes me wish it was 60,000 words. If at some point I actually finish my current WIPs, I might force myself to write a long cherik Macbeth AU, and it would be incredibly self-indulgent, smutty, and morally grey/dark. Because I deserve it.

Spark Me Up

Words: 3,007

Rating: Explicit

Summary: "This is Erik raw. This is Erik lost. This is Erik looking at Charles like he is the only piece of wreckage in a vast ocean. The only star in the sky.

And such a look does things to Charles."

After ten years, they are both starving for each other.

Opinion: This one’s a little different. After years in solitary confinement (taking place in Days of Future Past), Erik is very touch-starved and he and Charles ..... get to touching. 

Erik is asexual in this fic and tagged as such, so if asexual characters participating is sexual acts is off-putting to you, maybe give this one a skip.

Never a Place

Words: 3,047

Rating: Teen and Up 

Summary: It takes some getting used to. Charles hasn’t seen Erik cheerful, actually cheerful without a homicidal intent of some sort in a very long time—perhaps never.

Or. Charles takes Erik up on his offer while trying to process everything. Erik is remarkably patient until he isn't.

Opinion: Erik and Charles in Genosha post-Dark Phoenix! Very cute!

You, you, you are what I want

Words: 4,803

Rating: Explicit 

Summary: "Erik was so sure Charles was interested in him as well that whenever the telepath backed away from him it felt extremely confusing."

Opinion: Got some trans!Charles Xavier and Erik being smitten. Always a good combo.

On a Beach, With You

Words: 6,495

Rating: Explicit

Summary: Charles Xavier meets Erik Lehnsherr on a beach in Israel.

Opinion: Charles and Erik meet, fall in love, and get married in like, 2 weeks. It’s cute, it’s fun, it’s well-written, the smut is good, and you kind of think to yourself “yeah normally getting married after knowing each other for so little time is a bad idea, but damn if I don’t think these two can make it”. Definitely worth a read!

Emissary Requiring Interplanetary Cooperation

Words: 15,584

Rating: Explicit

Summary: Charles is drunkenly wandering home one night when he sees a bright light in a field. To his delight, the cause of the light is a gorgeous alien in the form of a man with the biggest dick he's ever seen.

Opinion: Incredibly fun and cracky smut. Enjoy. I know I did ;)

Made To Be Broken

Words: 18,220

Rating: Explicit 

Summary: Charles makes a New Year's Resolution: “No more straight men,” Charles repeated as he began scrolling through the apartment directory for Emma’s name. “No more futility. No more pointless hoping and heartbreak. In 2013, I never want to hear the words ‘exception,’ ‘experimenting’ or ‘phase.’ If, God forbid, I hear ‘bicurious’ even once, I may take a hostage.”

Then he goes into the party, and Erik is there.

Opinion: This is one of those fics you read on a whim one night when you have nothing to do, but keep coming back to weeks after you finish it because it’s so. Damn. Good. Well-written. Shockingly emotional. Smutty. Interesting discussion of relationships and sexuality. I got caught up rereading my favorite parts while making this list. I love this fic and you will too, or else. 

A Wedding Planner Walks Into a Bar

Words: 19,451

Rating: Explicit

Summary: When Raven hires Erik to be the bartender at her wedding, he becomes quickly infatuated with the wedding planner, Charles Xavier, who he thinks is her fiancé.

Opinion: This one’s fun. A bit more chill than some of the others. Plus you have the classic idiots-in-love-don’t-realize-it-because-of-a-misunderstanding-that-could-be-easily-solved-but-won’t-be. 

We’ll Show Them All

Words: 19,529

Rating: Teen and Up 

Summary: Pacific Rim AU. Ten years later, the monsters are back, and newly-instated Marshall Charles Xavier needs to pull a team together to prepare for the coming war. That means finding his talented sister a Drift-compatible copilot -- even if that turns out to be his old flame Erik.

Opinion: This is one of those things that reminds me I need to watch Pacific Rim. It’s good if you haven’t though, and I’m proof of that. Erik and Charles are so angsty here but so in love. Plus, Raven content! Love that for us.

Five Nights In Nuremberg 

Words: 26,138

Rating: Explicit 

Summary: When Charles escapes from the mutant prison he has been held in for the last two years he knows that he’s going to need help to avoid being recaptured.

What he doesn’t expect is that help will come in the form of a mysterious German man who rescues Charles and takes him to his home; a handsome stranger who, frustratingly, doesn’t speak a single word of English…

Opinion: This one has potentially triggering content in the form of mutant camps and discrimination. Approach with caution. Otherwise, it’s very good.

Appropriate Boundaries

Words: 33,346

Rating: Explicit

Summary: Charles has been having serious problems with back cramps in the year and a half since he's been in a wheelchair. His doctor prescribes massage therapy. But when Charles meets his masseur, Erik, in some ways they begin to heal each other. So how do you cross the boundaries between professional touch -- and the personal?

Opinion: Erik and canon disabled Charles navigating sex and a relationship. It’s cute! It’s hot! It’s fun! It’s well-characterized! It’s emotional! I’m running out of words to describe these fics, I mean I wouldn’t be reccing them if I didn’t think they were good- 

April

Words: 56,225

Rating: Explicit

Summary: In the sharp, unforgiving plains of the Canadian Arctic, Erik is since long adapted to solitude and silence. Separated from civilization, dedicated to nothing but his research, he has formed a life that suits him. There is nothing he would ever want to change. So, naturally, the arrival of grad student Charles Xavier upends everything Erik ever thought he wanted, for better or for worse.

Opinion: Charles and Erik basically locked in a shack together with no one else for human contact?????? Internalized issues and homophobia?????? Fluff and angst???????? Yes???????

Thou Shalt Not East Stones

Words: 77,422

Rating: Not Rated 

Summary: Two months after Washington, Raven found Erik in a skeevy motel off the Florida interstate.

“They have Charles, Erik,” she said.

The bedframe shrieked. In the bathroom, the showerhead snapped in half and clattered into the tub.

Opinion: This one’s got everything. Humans being dicks. Protective Erik. Hurt Charles, and pissed-off Charles. Trauma recovery. Rebuilding a relationship. Love. Pain. Everything.

That’s all folks! No one ask me for more until at least after New Years, or I swear to Magneto, I will PUNT YOU

[eryiss]

Summary: Freed and Gajeel were total opposites in every way, only connected by the guild. When they were forced to train together under Makarov's orders, they expected antagonism and mistrust. Instead, they were given a lesson in how quickly opposition can turn to attraction. The issue: let the budding relationship simmer away, or let it explode. [Freed x Gajeel Multi-chapter]

Notes: Hey everyone, welcome to the last chapter. Thank you so much for reading through this. I know it’s a crack ship and not everyone’s cup of tea, but I really enjoyed writing it. I hope you all enjoyed it :)

Links: FFN, Ao3, Chapter List

Chapter Ten - Moving Forward

Two Weeks Later

"You feelin' okay?"

That was a loaded question, and one Freed wasn't yet ready to deal with. He and Gajeel were walking from the guildhall infirmary side by side, the first time that Freed had been outside since his demon had left him. It was mid morning and an entirely pleasant day, and Freed found himself angry at the sun beating down on them both. If it were raining or stormy then at least it would feel appropriate for his mood.

A cane. For the rest of his life, he would need a cane.

In terms of a mage's possible injuries, ending up with a cane wasn't much to complain about. People had been killed, mutilated and injured beyond recovery, so having to walk with a cane was hardly the worst that could happen. But every time he thought about it, Freed could only see a future limited by a piece of wood he would need to lean on.

The demon, it seemed, wasn't only eating away at his soul. It had slowly been sapping away at his energy both physical and magical, and the effect was more physical than Porlyiusca had thought. Porlyusica had said that, though she didn't know how long it would take, the demon would have eventually started to make Freed wither if it had been left to stay inside of him. The issue had been that, as the demon was being dragged from his soul, it's influence had exploded and affected Freed greatly, particularly in his lower right leg.

Porlyusica had said the influence had been like an ocean, slowly wearing away the coast. But as the demon was taken, it had turned into a tsunami.

He had been assured that the injury wasn't life threatening, and it was something that he could more-or-less get passed. Eventually, he would manage to bring the strength back to his leg, and when that happened the cane would only be a precaution for the occasional moments where the injury flared back up. Apparently he would be able to work as a mage again once the recovery began, though would have to change his fighting styles and work back up to the missions he had been taking.

Maybe he should be thankful that he would be able to continue working at all. He wasn't.

"Conflicted," Freed eventually said, walking beside Gajeel and determined to keep pace with him despite the unfamiliarity of the cane. "I'm glad you're here, though. Thank you."

"I wasn't gonna be anywhere else," Gajeel said firmly, and that was something of a consolation.

There was a lull in the conversation, and Freed knew what it was. Gajeel couldn't think of anything to say, because there was nothing that he could say to make the situation any better. No doubt, Gajeel knew that Freed wasn't fond of pity, and a lot of what a person might say in the situation might be seen as pitying, and so Gajeel was probably remaining quiet. Freed hoped this wasn't going to be a sign of things to come.

As if reading his thoughts, Gajeel suddenly perked up and looked at Freed with a mischievous smile. It was forced, but Freed didn't want to linger on that and so pushed it to the side and quirked up an eyebrow in a question.

"The stripper and the puppeteer are making Sparky and the flirt do their punishment this week," Gajeel said, and Freed laughed a little. "You wanna see them makin' asses out of themselves while being ordered around by two assholes."

"They actually went through with the butler idea?" Freed chuckled.

"Yeah. Even the thing about them being in their underwear and everything," Gajeel grinned, and maybe he was just happy to hear Freed amused. The last few weeks, he had been downcast at the best of times. "Even made sparky wear bunny ears. Though he was gonna fry all of us with how pissed off he looked. We were all laughin' pretty damn hard,"

"He takes bets seriously," Freed smiled. This topic, as stupid as it was, was a welcome distraction. "Are you sure you wish for me to see my ex in such a state of undress."

"Fuck yeah i do," Gajeel grinned. "You see him, then you see me and realise how much better you are now."

"So you intended to strip off too?" Freed probed. "I am being spoiled."

"Anythin' for my prince," Gajeel said.

Prince. Gajeel had been calling Freed that a lot over the last few weeks, and it always made him blush just a little. There was something so honest about the way he said it, as if Freed really were a man of importance to him as well as being someone to be revered. Freed wasn't the type of man to need complete adoration from a partener, but the fact Gajeel was so unquestioningly open about his reverence for him made Freed delighted. It was certainly better than city-boy, too.

And when he said he would do anything for Freed, it sounded like he meant it. Not just in the sense that he would do anything to make Freed's life easier now that this had happened. No, it felt like Gajeel was naturally happy to do things for Freed because he wanted to. Freed felt the same as Gajeel in that respect; he would do anything for him.

"I think maybe I'd like to go home for tonight," Freed eventually said, and Gajeel nodded.

"Thought you might," He said. "Don't worry about groceries or anything, I sorted 'em out. Spoke to yer team, so I've got everything you normally have, I think. Might make a cottage pie for dinner, Sparky said you like 'em. And I went to that bakery downtown and got you a banoffee pie for dessert."

And with a few statements, Gajeel had gotten Freed to cry.

The man who, less than a month ago, had been nothing more than a tedious acquaintance of Freed's was now somehow one of the most treasured people in his life. Because how could he not be? How could Freed not be entirely enamoured by a man like Gajeel? A man who had visited Freed every day in the infirmary, even sneaking in some nights despite rules saying he shouldn't. A man who, despite being known for his antisocial nature, had spoken to Freed's team to find out what he liked and what he did when the world was getting on top of him. A man who knew that something so trivial and comparatively not important as an empty fridge would be Freed's first thought after what had happened.

Gajeel noticed his sudden emotion and turned immediately. He looked at Freed with such open concern on his face, cupping Freed's cheeks with his large and calloused hands so carefully that Freed might swoon. Damn this brute of a man and his hidden fragility.

"It'll get better," Gajeel whispered. "I know it's shit now, and I ain't gonna tell ya how to feel 'cause that'd be shitty of me, but you'll get past it. Yer Freed fucking Justine, remember."

"I know," Freed chuckled, blinking a few times to cut off the tears. "Thank you."

"I ain't gonna let you do this alone, neither," Gajeel kept on. "Anythin' you need, anytime, I'm gonna do it for you. And you know you've got a whole guild full of people who'll do exactly the same. You'll get through it."

"I will," Freed whispered, and smiled at Gajeel. "You're too good to me."

"Like hell I am," Gajeel argued. "Now move yer ass. I wanna get in that damn bed of yours again. Mine feels shitty after havin' yours and yer runes would only let me in when I was bringing groceries."

Freed laughed at that. Gajeel certainly wasn't going to be treating him like glass. Good.

They walked down the streets of Magnolia side by side. For the most part it seemed normal, and on the few occasions where Freed's grasp on the cane wavered, or his leg buckled under him, Gajeel would help him back to being stable, held him while he walked for a few steps, and then acted like nothing had happened. Respectful, unpatronising, but there for him.

Gajeel was going to be there for him, and at that moment that was all Freed needed.

——

One Month Later

"Come on Prince," Gajeel yelled. "Nearly there, baby. Yer so close."

Gajeel was clapping as a form of motivation, standing on the side of the lake. He and Freed were in the forest that their relationship had begun in, having spent the night camping under the stars. The morning was a brisk and cold one, but Gajeel didn't care, as he watched his boyfriend keenly and with a ridiculous grin across his face.

Freed was so close. He was so close to getting there and Gajeel was so damn proud of him.

The couple had spoken at length about how Freed was going to move past his injury, and Freed had been adamant that he wanted to be as fit as he could and return to his missions as soon as he could. While Gajeel had been a little hesitant, he had worked with Freed on how they would accomplish that, and they had settled on building up his leg's muscle in small bursts. They would make goals for Freed to accomplish, and once he had accomplished one, he would move onto something more strenuous.

Swimming the entire length of the lake was the first goal. Although swimming didn't rely too heavily on his leg muscle, it kept it moving and put some on some burn. Multiple times a week they would get to the forest, and Freed would attempt it. So far, Gajeel had needed to dive in after and help him.

But this time, it looked different.

Freed was getting closer and closer to the shoreline and Gajeel could feel that this was the one. Finally Freed was going to get to the other end of the lake without any assistance. The water parted with each swift motion, and Gajeel was grinning from ear to ear as his boyfriend got closer.

"You can do this baby," He yelled again. "Yer fucking amazing. Yer so close."

Maybe Freed heard, because he seemed to speed up. As he approached the shoreline, Gajeel picked up his cane and rushed to where Freed was going to end up. He was going to do it! He was going to make it.

The moment Freed's hand hit the side of the lake, he removed his head from under the water. A look of shock turned to something close to joy, and Gajeel relished every second of it. To see the man he loved so happy, so proud of himself, was tremendous. Better still, Freed pushed himself out of the lake with no assistance, perhaps on an adrenaline high, and managed to stand up. It was wobbly, and he reached for his cane the moment it was within reach so he could prop himself up on it, but the fact he could do that after pushing his body so hard in swimming was incredible.

"Shit," Gajeel grinned. "You fucking-"

He was cut off when Freed grabbed Gajeel by the collar, pulled him down into a strong, passionate kiss. Gajeel stepped into the kiss and wrapped his arms around Freed's waist, not caring for how wet his clothes were going to be. He kissed back with as much passion as he could, because fuck - Freed had done it!

When they pulled apart, Freed had his left hand wrapped around Gajeel's neck. He looked practically giddy at his achievement. Fuck that was a handsome look on Freed, and Gajeel wanted to see it more. He pulled away, looked his man up and down and grinned.

Bastard shouldn't be able to kiss like that while dressed in a speedo.

Only Freed would be able to take the choice to give up sex until he was feeling reovered and turn it into a game where he'd try and turn Gajeel on every chance he got, just to piss him off. Motherfucking tease

"How d'you feel?" He asked, because Freed's health was more important than his arousal. "Nothing hurting too bad?"

"It burns, but like my arms do after lifting weights," Freed said, tentatively raising his right leg and moving it slightly. "But overall, I feel fantastic. Better than I have since everything began, I think."

"I'm glad," Gajeel grinned. "You wanna have some breakfast. Brought some pancake mix from the store if you wanna try it."

"Great," Freed grinned, and began to walk beside Gajeel to where they had set up camp. He looked up towards Gajeel with a spark in his eye that had been missing for some time. It was incredible to see it again. "I want to try and do it again tomorrow, to make sure that it wasn't a fluke. Would you mind sleeping here another night?"

"Of course not," Gajeel said immediately. Freed didn't need to ask.

"Once I'm sure that I can swim the length consistently, I think it makes sense to start working on exercises that focus on my leg, rather than using it as a secondary point of focus," Freed continued, seemingly unaware as Gajeel wrapped a towel around his bare shoulders. "I have a leg press at home which I could use, though perhaps that might be too much too soon. I suppose we can test it, can't we? You wouldn't mind being there, just in case something goes wrong."

"That's fine," Gajeel nodded, grinning at his boyfriend.

"Or perhaps some kind of ankle weights would be better," Freed continued, walking towards their camp as if walking on air. "They're not the most elegant solution, but they would certainly help build up muscle without too much strain. Perhaps you could make some for me, if you found the time of course. Maybe a continuous piece of iron that would snake around my calf, that way the weight would be distributed better around the leg."

"Makes sense," Gajeel said, chuckling. He was fairly sure he wasn't really a part of this conversation Freed was having with himself.

"I did want to start work on making the barn at the back of my property into a gym, but I've kept putting it off," Freed continued. "The space is rather a mess. Maybe the two of us could clean it out together. That would get me moving and help me be physical while using the cane," He then looked up to Gajeel and frowned. "Why are you smiling like that at me?"

"Yer cute when yer scheemin'," Gajeel grinned. "Glad I get to watch it."

Freed looked like he wanted to argue, so Gajeel leant over, pressed a kiss on the crown of his head, and smiled. Things were getting better.

——

Two Months Later

"Freed, no," Bickslow said firmly. "You can't do this to us."

"Why did you think this was a good idea?" Gray demanded, resting his head in his hands. "You've doomed us all."

"You're all so dramatic," Freed chuckled, leaning back in the chair and moving the wrapped box so it was out of sight again. "And I'm afraid that, when I'm choosing a gift for my boyfriend, I didn't prioritise the opinions of my friends."

"You should have," Evergreen huffed. "This is going to be awful."

The guild's New Years party had been going for hours now, and it had been a fun affair. People had drunk, made fools of themselves, and shared tender moments with their fellow guild members. While Freed hadn't engaged in much of the action, other than beating Max, Loke and Natsu in an arm wrestling contest, he had enjoyed a night of people watching and drinking with his friends and boyfriend.

As the night wore on, The Raijinshuu had flocked to a corner and sat at a table. Not only The Raijinshuu though, as Gajeel, Gray and Elfman were now mainstays of their table. It was odd, how quickly their small group had expanded and how easy these new friendships had been formed. Even Laxus, who had openly shown frustration at the fact he could have to go through the torture of becoming friendly with new people, had managed to find common ground with their new partners, even if he did pretend to be annoyed by their presence.

Or perhaps he was distracted. He and Loke could often be found glancing across at each other in subtle moments. Perhaps being forced to dress as sexy bunny-butlers had brought them together in a way fighting side by side just couldn't.

They were less subtle than Evergreen and Elfman, though. It was frustrating.

At that moment, Gajeel and Laxus had gone to the bar to collect the latest round. Freed had taken the opportunity to have a little fun with everyone else sitting at the table, and told them what his specific gift for Gajeel was. They had been less than pleased when they found out what it was, which only made Freed even more sure he had chosen the correct present.

"Hey," Gajeel said, placing a tray of drinks on the table and kissing Freed atop the head as he passed. "Why does everyone but you look pissy?"

"I told them that we couldn't open our gifts without you and Laxus being here," Freed lied smoothly, ignoring the roll of the eyes from Gray and Bickslow. "They were so enthusiastic to see what we've all got for each other, they didn't want to wait."

"Okay?" Gajeel frowned. "I don't believe ya, but if that's the story yer gonna go with, then I ain't gonna fight ya."

Freed chuckled. Gajeel really could see right through him.

Even though he didn't believe Freed's lie, the group did begin to open the presents they had gotten for each other. Elfman and Evergreen exchanged gifts first, doing so with the maturity of a woman who didn't know how to show off her affection, and the blush of a man who was delighted at even the smallest of compliments. Next, Bickslow and Gray, who had similar minds and had gotten each other gag gifts; Gray had been gifted ten coupons for a night with Bickslow, Bickslow had been gifted a pair of mens lingerie. Even Laxus had been given a gift from an 'anonymous' source, who had gotten him a small pendant shaped like a lion.

They really needed to be more subtle.

When it came to Freed and Gajeel, Gajeel offered his wrapped gift first. The box was long and thin, and Freed looked at it with curiosity as he began to unwrap it. When he looked at Gajeel, the dragon slayer was nervous.

"If you don't like it, that's okay?" Gajeel said, and Freed frowned. "It was kinda risky. So don't feel bad if you wanna change it back."

Not entirely sure what to expect, Freed opened the box. Inside of it was a new walking cane, one made of both wood and metal, a hell of a lot nicer than the one he'd gotten from Porlyusica. For a moment he wondered what Gajeel had been so nervous about, and what he meant by 'change it back', when he saw the handle. Rather than a simple handle, Gajeel had placed the hilt of Freed's sword on top of it.

The sword had been a constant burden for Freed over the past few months. He couldn't use it as his hand was occupied with the cane, so he had been forced to retire it. Looking at it was like a reflection of how much he had lost, and it had gotten so bad that he had put it in the attic and locked it away. Gajeel had apparently found it.

"I know the sword meant a lot to ya, but after what happened it made you feel shitty," Gajeel explained. "But I wanted it to make you feel good. Not something from yer past, but something from yer future."

"It's beautiful," Freed whispered, running his hand over the metal that had once been his hilt.

The sword had been the first thing he had brought with his own money, and the hilt had been the deciding factor over all the other weapons the armory had. For most of his life, it had been his most prized possession. Now, with the hilt attached to something that he could use, rather than something that taunted him with it's past importance, he could look at it with fondness and pride again.

"You sure?" Gajeel asked.

"Yes," Freed said earnestly. "It's perfect."

"You ain't seen everythin' yet," Gajeel was grinning now, and Freed removed it from it's box. "If y' push it into the ground and twist it anti-clockwise, you'll see what else I did."

Freed did as instructed, and heard a small click come from inside the cane. He lifted it up, and a thin blade was revealed to him. He looked at the shining metal with wonderment, and slowly brought the blade towards him. Another sword, more lightweight and agile than his previous blade had been, which worked better for his current state.

"I smelted down the old one and made it from the same metal, so it'll carry all the enchantments you put on it," Gajeel explained. "Thought you'd need one for when you started working again."

"It's perfect," Freed whispered, grinning at the blade. "Thank you so much, Gajeel."

"Happy new year, prince," Gajeel mumbled, pressing his lips against Freed's for a chaste kiss. "Yer gonna kick ass, I know it."

"I certainly intend to," Freed smiled, reaching for his gift to Gajeel. "While I admit it's not as thought out as yours was - I don't think anything could be - I do hope you enjoy what I got you."

Gajeel grinned and began to rip open the present, and everyone at the table who knew what he'd been gifted seemed downtrodden at the thought. Gajeel, however, looked into the large box with sparkling eyes and the biggest, most excited grin on his face. A moment later, he brandished his new electric guitar with anticipation rushing through him. Yes, Freed had definitely gotten him the right gift.

"Holy shit," Gajeel said with an excited laugh. "This is fucking kickass."

"I'm glad you like it," Freed smiled. "I should say, I expect a show."

Everyone groaned, but Gajeel ignored them. "Fuck yeah yer getting a show."

Before leaving, however, Gajeel leant down and pressed their lips together in a passionate kiss that was perhaps too deep for the situation. But with the constant PDA from Gray and Bickslow, the love/hate flirting from Elfman and Evergreen, and whatever the hell Loke and Laxus had between them, Freed felt he was allowed to kiss his boyfriend how he pleased.

"I should say," Freed murmured into Gajeel's ear as he pulled away. "I find musicians very sexy."

"Y' do, huh?" Gajeel grinned, voice a little husky.

"And if a musician were to dedicate a song to me, I could be persuaded to let him do anything at all to me," Freed continued, voice a sexy tease which he hopes would go right down Gajeel's spine. "Including, perhaps allowing him to bind me to my bed with the manicals that he thinks I don't know are hidden in the spare room," Gajeel's breath hitched. "I might let him keep me there all night, even. Though, I suppose, once I was bound, he'd be in complete control of me, so I'd have to do as instructed no matter what."

"Fuck yeah you would," Gajeel growled a little, and Freed smirked.

Once Freed had been recovered enough, the two men had restarted their sex life. Freed was happy both topping and bottoming, but Gajeel had shown himself to enjoy taking the top roll with sadistic glee. Freed had been happy to accommodate, and he'd been beaten and bruised by the man night after night.

"Something to consider before you start," Freed grinned, pulling away from Gajeel's ear to lean back in his seat.

Gajeel walked to the guildhall's stage with purpose, hefting his new guitar and plugging it into the amplifier. It seemed like everyone but Freed was unhappy with this turn of events, but neither man cared. This was for them, and they were going to enjoy themselves.

"I'm gonna dedicate this to my Prince, the hottest motherfucker in this guild," He looked towards Freed with an evil grin. "And this is a warnin' baby. You better be dancin' now, 'cause yer gonna be too fuckin sore to do it tomorrow."

Freed laughed, raised a glass to toast the sentiment, and sat back to watch his boyfriend perform.

——

Nine Months Later

Gajeel woke up with Freed wrapped up in his arms, and he still smiled at the sight of the sleeping man despite how much he'd seen it.

One year. He'd spent one year with Freed, and enjoyed every damn day of it.

Even if the start had been rocky, both with how they first felt anger towards each other as well as the difficulties Freed was facing with his leg, Gajeel wouldn't have changed a single day. Without their arguments on that first week, then Gajeel couldn't be sure that their passion would have turned into something more beautiful and more important than Gajeel would have ever predicted. And while he would give anything for Freed not to have had to face the demon and all the consequences of its possession, Gajeel was so proud of Freed for fighting through it all and was so glad he could be there to help him.

Now, Freed was a lot better. He was stronger on his feet and his cane was rarely needed, even if he always kept it with him. He could go on missions, both with Gajeel and with his team. While they weren't as action-filled as his previous missions, Freed was relearning his craft and creating a new fighting style that could accommodate his needs.

He was a fucking badass, and Gajeel loved him so much.

Life had changed for Gajeel too. Months prior, his contract in the shitty apartment had ended and Freed had invited him to move in with him. Now, every morning he got to wake up with Freed in their shared bed, in their shared home, in their shared lives.

Life was good.

With careful movements, he pressed his lips against Freed's to coax him awake. One thing that hadn't changed was Freed's adorable habit of sleeping in as late as he could, and normally Gajeel would be happy to accommodate. But today was their anniversary and he wanted to spend as much time as he could with his boyfriend. The afternoon and the evening were all planned by Freed, but Gajeel had a few ways of making the morning more fun.

"Wake up, baby," He murmured. "I got a surprise for ya."

Freed, as he always did when he was woken up before he wanted, blinked a few times and pushed his face into Gajeel's chest as if in protest to waking up. Gajeel chuckled, stroked his hand through Freed's hair, and gently pulled the man out from his chest. Freed was sleep worn and tired, but still smiled up at Gajeel.

"Morning," He greeted through a yawn.

"G' mornin'," Gajeel said with a grin. "Y' better not be tired all day. I've got plans for ya."

"Oh have you," Freed grinned lazily, hand resting on Gajeel. "Do tell."

"Not like that, y' horny fucker," Gajeel grinned. Of course, part of the day would be dedicated to screwing Freed senseless, but just not now. "Put on a robe or somethin', I'm gonna make ya breakfast."

Freed raised an eyebrow, but did as instructed and slowly removed himself from the bed. Once out from under the covers, Gajeel saw the man in his naked glory and smirked. Over the year, Freed had shown an interest in getting more piercings, and Gajeel had happily obliged. He had rings decorating his other ear, a stud on his nose, and a single barbell at the base of his cock. That was Gajeel's favourite. Day by day, he was turning his prince more punk.

In response, Gajeel had gotten himself some new tattoos in the shape of Freed's runes. They hadn't figured out how to implant actual runes, but the tattoos looked just the same. He now had the runic word for Dragon on his left arm, and he looked fucking kickass.

"When you said you were going to make breakfast, I hope you meant food," Freed teased gently. "Because at the moment, you look ready to eat me."

"Later, Prince," Gajeel promised, wrapping an arm around Freed.

They walked to the kitchen, and Freed sat at the table while Gajeel got to cooking. Freed mainly cooked for them both as he was better, but Gajeel was by no means bad when tasked with a meal. He also knew each and every one of Freed's guilty pleasure meals, and as such had decided to cook them both pancakes and bacon for their breakfast. They would need the energy for the rest of the day. No doubt Freed had something good planned, and then of course there was the double date dinner with Gray and Bickslow.

Apparently, according to Bickslow, they shared an anniversary, and as such had to celebrate together.

"Y' see that box on the table," Gajeel spoke over his shoulder. "Got you a present. Open it."

"I thought we agreed not to," Freed said, picking up the box.

"Yeah, I know. I had this already and thought it would be good for ya," Gajeel smiled to himself as he whisked the mixture. He heard paper ruffling behind him, and grinned when he heard Freed laugh. "Put it on. Every prince needs one, after all."

It was the wooden crown that he had carved when worrying about Freed in the forest. Once he had been sure Freed was okay, he had gone back to the forest and found where he'd left the carving. He had promised himself that, if he and Freed made it a year as a couple, he would give it to the man. By the amused expression on Freed's face, he had made the right choice.

Freed placed the crown on his head, rolling his eyes a little but smiling. Gajeel grinned and sauntered over to him. He pressed their lips together, grinning.

"Never thought I'd kiss a real prince," He teased. "Ain't I lucky."

"Not as lucky as me, I fear," Freed teased, running a hand up Gajeel's arms. When his fingers traced his runes, he stopped and smiled. "I never did tell you what this meant, did I? I suppose I was embarrassed. Would you like to know?"

"Yeah!" Gajeel exclaimed. He had always been curious.

"It means 'ownership'," Freed chuckled, and Gajeel's inner dragon leapt with joy. "It seems my magic has claimed you, Gajeel."

Gajeel grinned, wrapped Freed in his arms and kissed the hell out of him.

Yeah, life was pretty fucking good.