#if anyone's self esteem took a hit it was his!! imagine being shamed and hurt by your parents for being yourself

[kairospy]

Wait 👀 I thought I knew canon Reg pretty good, how do we know about him being slightly shorter than Slughorn?

I ADORE your posts!!! You’re saying everything I’ve been too shy to say. Thank you thank you thank you!

hi!!

You know that horrible, terrible, nightmare-inducing pic of Regulus from the movies?

The actor that played Slughorn (Jim Broadbent) is 1'88 cm, so roughly 6'2, and in that photograph they're standing side by side and Regulus doesn't look much shorter than 2 inches (~5 cm) at most.

I'm grasping at straws here, honestly, but everyone in the Black family is described as tall (Bellatrix is literally around 6 ft, and so is Sirius in the books), so Regulus being tiny would make no sense

And thank you so much!! I've honestly just reached a limit, seeing people speak of his character like he'd be someone with social anxiety and fear of setting boundaries and nonsense of the sort. It's true he's 90% fanon made, but let's at least be honest and not project this much -- it wouldn't fit at all into the context we have of the Black family (and what little we know of Regulus from canon)

[pendragonfics]

Bird Brain

Paring: Clint Barton/Reader

Tags: female reader, doctor reader, domestic avengers, avengers tower, age difference -- older man/younger woman, domestic fluff, humor, deaf Clint Barton, Clint Barton needs a hug, fluff

Summary: She's a doctor and patches up the Hawkeye almost every day. He's an Avenger, and somehow, hasn't realised that she's been into him for ages.

Word Count: 2386

Current Date: 2020-02-15

They say that absence makes the heart grow fonder, but whoever said that never had to deal with Clint Barton every forty-eight hours. It wasn’t that you didn’t like the man - what wasn’t there to like? No, it was the fact that the man was constantly getting hurt. Shooting himself in the foot (literally). Falling over, losing his hearing aid, being stabbed by bad guys, needing an emergency tetanus shot when he got cut by a rusted nail and was very due for his shots.

It didn’t hurt that he was quite a looker, under all the bandages. Nice smile, kind eyes, and when he was actually taking care of himself and eating right, he had a rockin’ bod. If anyone caught you favouring him to the other Avengers who came by your station in the Tower, you’d say it was purely professional (when in actual fact, if he’d ever ask, you’d say yes to drinks in an instant).

The hardest part, though, was that every one of the team knew that you liked Clinton F. Barton, except him.

Bucky and Sam had a bet going on between the team of how long it was going to take Clint; so far, the stakes were high, and almost everyone was in on it. It had gone on for years, and only once had Clint almost walked in on a group of them talking about it, but he brushed it off. It seemed that you had chosen one of the densest Avenger as your heartthrob. Early on, Tony Stark had given you shit for being so young (to which Thor smacked him on the underside of his head for). Then, when he got over the age-gap, it was all, if you’re into older men why are you all heart-eyed over the Hawkeye when I’m literally here? Gradually over time, he let it go and moved on to other fish to fry.

After losing his hearing aid again on a mission, Clint is seated before you, looking at his hands. You can’t imagine the pressure he would be under as a man without powers in the Avengers and living with a disability, but he’s never spoken about it. You look up from where you’re running diagnostics, hoping that Tony’s bottomless credit card can purchase some tech for Clint that won’t fall out (his words) next time.

Once you have his attention, you sign, ‘You can tell me if you lost them on purpose.’

There’s a pause, and his face cracks that custom-made Clint Barton grin. He’s running on full-strength coffee or adrenaline these days, and it kills you to see him beating himself up all the time. He’s only human.

‘Blame gravity, not me.’ He frowns, and adds, ‘You believe me?’

‘Sure, and JFK is alive.’ You reply, laughing. He scrunches his nose up at that, trying to not show a smile, but you can see in his eyes, those tired eyes that lived off coffee and adrenaline, that there was some part of him that thought your quip was humorous.

Right then, Agent Romanoff walked in. If anyone had ever the self-esteem feel good about themselves in a room with her in it, they were lying. Her red hair was in a yoga bun, and she wore that black catsuit tied half-down around her waist. The only thing un-sexy about her was the fact there was a growing red stain beneath the button-down shirt. Clint seemed to get the message and signed his goodbyes to both of you as Natasha took his place on your examination table.

“Did I just ruin a moment?” she asked, unbuttoning her shirt unprompted.

There was a bullet in her lower abdomen, luckily the other side of her heart, and judging from the wound, was still inside. You move your hands toward the wound, and quickly assess before you pull on fresh gloves. She watches you, and lies down, administering herself the pain relief that you hand to her. Hopefully, her wound won’t need surgery.

“You say that like you’re sorry for coming in,” you reply, cleaning around the area.

Luckily, she doesn’t laugh, because that would hurt her wound. “But was it?” she pokes.

“Give me a break, I’m in love, not hopeless.” You retort, trying to stay professional. “…I mean, who even shot you, anyway? Didn’t your last mission end yesterday?”

“That’s classified. I’m a bad bitch like that,” she smirks, and unintentionally, you touch a tender area and she winces at the pain. Unfortunately for the Black Widow, she will need surgery. Before you move to page another medic, she places a hand on yours, and you look at her for a moment silently until she speaks. “…I know you’re not hopeless, ________, but it’s been three years, and if he can’t see you,” she gestures toward you like you’re the Mona Lisa or someone worth her time, “he doesn’t deserve you.”

---

Game Night Fridays were a thing, apparently. Something that you hadn’t been a part of until Doctor Banner roped you into being his partner for a table tennis tournament. The only rule was that you had to wear a stripy shirt, use no abilities to win the match, and have fun! (according to a retired Captain America, who you, after all, this time can’t believe survived coming out of the ice). Doctor Banner’s usual partner, the android Vision, was taking a long weekend with Wanda, his new fiancée to Miami.

That’s why you were stood in front of the table tennis table beside the sometimes-Hulk, sometimes-professor, all-times awkward walking Dad Joke Doctor Banner, wearing a striped shirt. On the other side of the table, Thor cracks his knuckles, and Clint flips the paddle in his hand and catches it like a cocky sportsman.

“Remember, to play fair!” Steve calls out, refereeing. He’s exempt of the mandatory ugly striped shirt, and holds a whistle in his teeth, about to blow. He’s very sports coach chic, looking very much an all-American hero.

“Or not,” Sam sasses, before the whistle blows, “and make it a match to remember!” He whoops.

Though the pair of them were Captain America, they had a different taste of how to serve their patriotic justice. The whistle is shrill, piercing, and Clint serves the orange ball.

Bruce hits it back, and Thor returns, and Bruce hits once more. You dive after it when Clint serves it back, and onward it goes. After a while, you take note of everyone’s style. Clint goes for tricky shots, and Thor uses the power behind the paddle to make fast ones. Bruce is reserved and stays on his side of the table, and with everything going on, you’re having to pick up the slack. You have a feeling that if Vision was here, he’d be a formidable player. Your reflexes are nothing on actual Avengers.

When Bruce misses the shot from Thor, you can see your teammate get tense, a tinge of green growing from beneath his collar.

“DoctorBanner, I think you should take a time out,” you tell him, but he shakes it off.

The next hit is quickly lost, and then it’s your turn to hit it. Clint’s making a funny face, and it throws you off momentarily, and you hit air instead of the ball. Thor roars with thunderous laughter. Doctor Banner looks more and more lime-green than his usual olive-tone. When Thor serves, it’s too fast, and it hits Bruce in the cheek, leaving a mark on his face.

The room gets quiet.

You place a hand on his shoulder, looking at the man. “Let’s get some air.”

You lead him away from the main room, out to the balcony adjacent to the main floor of the Avengers Tower communal area. Behind you, the Avengers resume their casual conversation, and the volume of the room goes from sterile to friendly. But just as you walk Bruce to the night air, Tony takes your place. He’s also not in a stripy shirt, and he wordlessly trades places with you, going in your stead to comfort the green doctor.

It’s easy enough to excuse yourself after that. Unlike the Avengers, you don’t get any time off, and the weekends are spent shadowing Doctor Cho at her clinic, and that starts early tomorrow morning. You say a quick goodbye to Sam and Bucky, who half-acknowledge you over their game of checkers (Bucky is playing red, and losing badly), and descend via the stairs. But halfway down, you hear someone behind and turning, you see Clint Barton.

His new hearing aid glows dimly in the hallway, and so goes his goofy smile. But there’s a different look in his eyes than usual, and you don’t know if right now you’re about to feel everything that you’ve been waiting for from him, or not.

He sticks his hand out to you, to shake. “Good game,” he says.

You smile. “Yeah, uh, it was a good game.”

“…it’s a shame you don’t come every Friday, ‘cause that was fun.” He adds, walking past you, continuing down the stairs. You take the cue and follow him the same way you were headed, down to the street. Most people take the elevator, in the once-Stark tower, but the stairs are oddly relaxing. “Maybe we can rush Viz and Wanda into a shotgun wedding, and we can play again some time.”

“I don’t really -,” you sigh, looking down. Clint frowns, and you don’t repeat yourself. You forget sometimes when he’s verbal and wearing the aid that he can’t hear everything. “Yeah. Maybe.”

---

For some reason, Clint Barton does not get hurt for three weeks. For three weeks, he keeps his hearing aids in one piece. He doesn’t get shot, stabbed or become unstable on a rooftop. He’s nowhere to be seen near your end of the woods. You spend your time catching up on paperwork, working on the medical profiles of the Avengers…and missing him.

It’s hard, because every time you give up on him, he comes back. And yet…there’s no sign of him.

Until there is. The Quinjet acts as a medivac, and arrives loudly, landing on the roof. S.H.I.E.L.D. agents escort a stretcher out, and you’re hastily called to action alongside the other medical professionals that have been called in. It’s barely five o’clock in the afternoon, one hour until you’re allowed to go home to binge-watch America’s Funniest Home Videos, but when you see who’s nigh comatose in the stretcher, your heart almost stops.

“How the hell -,” you cry out, starting to worry.

“Language!” says everyone, except Steve Rogers.

“-There was an ambush, Doctor ________. He was shot at by a sniper, but he managed to remove himself from 75 per cent of the ranged weapons range. He has three wounds of varying degrees of severity and is currently on a high dosage of pain medication to get him here.” Vision reports, helping the agents move the bed toward the elevator, to your set up.

“Thank you,” you tell him, and look at Clint. He looks so peaceful and would appear to be sleeping well if not for the two shots by his collar bone. “Okay, I need everyone scrubbed up, I need a dose of morphine prepped for when this wears off, call a surgeon in and - Doctor Cho, ready your cradle.” You speak hastily and remember afterwards that you’re not the head doctor on staff. “…sorry. Just, um, get him better.”

“________...” Clint says, woozily.

You look down to see him. His eyes are partly open, and slowly, his mouth opens to bare his teeth in a loose grin. His hands are soft, and reach for you blindly, but can’t seem to coordinate himself. He’s high off his face on the medicine, and you take his hand in yours, holding it tight.

“Yeah, I’m here.” You reach for his face, pushing his dirty blonde hair back. “It’s me.”

“You’re like, the best.” He says.

From across the room, you hear a nurse snicker quietly.

“You’re so…good at your job,” he slurs. “…and I’m like, Hawkbutt.”

“Hawkeye,” you correct.

“That’s the same thiiing,” he drawls. “…I’m a butt. I am. A. Butt. Heh. Butt.” He prattles.

“You’re not a butt, Clint. You’re a hero.” You tell him.

Doctor Cho comes behind you and places a hand on your shoulder. “I think it’s best if you sit out on this. You’re too close to the patient to take care of him.” She pauses. “It’s for the best.”

“I heard that! My hearing - aid - I heard that” Clint adds. “You’re right, Doctor Cho, she shouldn’t. Because,” he takes a deep breath in, as the other medical professionals swarm around him, readying the assessment before taking care of him, “Be-because I want to marry that lady. She’s the best.”

The room gets uncomfortably quiet, with just the EKG in the background.

His hand slackens off yours, moving over to his chest. That smile of his widens, albeit unfocused. He yawns, and looking your way, says with his hands just as he’s administered another round of drugs, his motions sloppy, but forgivable,

‘I love you,’ he signs.

You feel tears prick in your eyes. “Clint,” you reply, reaching for his arm. His pulse is weakening, the medically induced coma coming on, and he looks to you with his fading consciousness. You sign, just for him to see, ‘I love you too.’

---

It’s another six months until Clint Barton is cleared to go back to fieldwork, but that day comes and goes, and he’s still hanging around the Avengers Tower, this time in your surgery not for health reasons. The archery Avenger follows you around like a lost puppy in love, and to be perfectly honest, you wouldn’t have it any other way. Tony Stark went back to his teasing and kept the security tape of that day, archived in F.R.I.D.A.Y. under ‘Birdbrain & the Doc’ - a file he won’t change the name of. But it’s okay.

Even though he’s older, and you’re younger, he’s a combatant, and you’re a medic, he’s a coffee drinker and you prefer tea, you swear up and down that you’re as fond as ever for the dense archery master Clint, and you wouldn’t have it any other way.  

[whatwashernameagain]

Keep him safe - Chapter 26

You can read the previous Chapters here: Ch 1, Ch 5, Ch 10, Ch 15, Ch 20, Ch 25, Previous Chapter, Ao3 Link, Lo’s, Pat’s and Virgil’s aesthetics, Fantasy AU You are Magical, I’m dying to be with you

Pairings: Logan/Patton, Roman/Virgil

Words: 9.842

Warnings: abusive relationships, anxiety, low self esteem, fear of sexual assault, described injuries, bathing, mentioned striptease dancing

Summary: Detective Logan Sanders and his best friend and dorky partner Roman Prince have made a dear friend in the lovely pattisier Patton. Logan however feels a lot more than friendship for the sweet man, even though he knows he cannot possibly have him. Their routine is broken abruptly when Logan finds bruises on Patton’s fair skin and slender wrists he could hardly have received from his costumary clumsiness. Meanwhile his partner Roman has his own demon to fight, which comes in the form of a little delinquent who seemed to have been pulled into a street gang quite against his will. Roman is determined to help the strange young man. It would be so much easier though if he just stopped hissing at him!

Notes: Late again. No one is surprised. However, I will have more time to write soon and will be starting on the next chapter as soon as I know what exactly I want to write about. Suggestions are very welcome! Thanks again to my amazing beta readers who corrected SO MUCH in record time! @ultimate-queen-of-fandoms2 and @hanramz-the-fander <3

Chapter 26

He couldn’t seem to stop shaking.

He was bundled up securely, his hand and arm hastily cleaned and wrapped by a paramedic that had mercifully patched him up as briefly as possible. He was in a place where he’d never been hurt before – Logan’s apartment – and still the shaking would not stop. He couldn’t focus on anything else. It seemed to seep into his very core, rattling everything loose – his lungs, his heart, his very emotions.

The rattling made him restless. Despite how heavy his limbs felt, some old, animal instinct told him to get up, to move, to find a spot that was dark and tiny which he could crawl into and not be found. He was far too exposed.

Agony shot up his leg as he tried to stand before he’d consciously come to the decision, startling a soundless cry of pain from him. His ankle throbbed with heated, angry sensations, twisted as he’d fallen when Trevor had hit him. Try as he might, he couldn’t seem to manage to put any weight on it, despite having walked off so many injuries. It was the shaking – he was so weak, cold and unsteady, he wanted to pull himself together so badly, he had to, but everything seemed so hazy whenever he moved, nausea and dizziness threatening to overwhelm him whenever he tried to get up, to not be in the way and be noticed and draw more anger towards himself. This was bad, being vulnerable was bad. It invited worse things every time. Every sound made his heart thunder anxiously, he just wanted to hide and not be seen, he felt so ugly. So unsafe.

Patton flinched so hard he felt it in every bruise on his slender body. The knock had been very soft, just a gentle warning against the not quite closed door, but it felt loud. Tears of shame and terror made his vision swim as he was confronted with how gentle he was being treated after causing so much destruction.

“Yes?”

He could only speak the word quietly, annoying and feeble, he’d never be heard this way and everyone would have to wait for him to repeat himself again-

The door creaked open softly. He’d been listened to.

Logan stood on the other side, much more composed than before, and blessedly alone, respecting Patton’s wish for privacy. He could not be seen by anyone else this way, the humiliation of having been so very wrong would break him. Patton felt like he was about to fall apart as it was. Like a fragile little thing with shattered, bird-like bones. Yet his quick gaze took in the man before him on instinct, noting the hunched shoulders, the sock clad feet, the lack of a belt and service weapon, the fact that he’d dressed down to his pristine white shirt to soften his image. There had been blood on his vest and jacket, he recalled shamefully.

“May I come in, Patton?”

His voice was very gentle, almost calm enough to hide the tremor in his voice. Poor Logan, he was distressed!

“O-of course. I mean -you don’t need to ask, this is your room! Please don’t be- I shouldn’t- I really don’t want to- to take up too much space and cause a fuss, you don’t need to worry about m-me or feel sad, I don’t want to- I don’t want to cause t-trouble-”

“It is alright, Patton.” Logan interrupted his increasingly frantic, breathless mumbling soothingly. “You are not imposing. I could not begin to express how relieved I am to know you are here now. I would not want you anywhere else.”

Tears threatened to blind Patton upon hearing the sincere reassurance. Logan – considerate, gentle, wonderful Logan – had tried his hardest to hide how shaken and hurt he was, but he’d never been good at keeping things from the young man. Still he was a steadying presence in the room, large and quiet. Slowly, so as not to startle his guest, he offered the tea he’d left to fetch for Patton to take.

The mug had cooled a little, he noticed, so not to burn his skin. I was a wasted effort, considering how badly his hands were shaking. With his injured hand wrapped and of little use, Patton managed to spill a bit of the hot tea over his bandage immediately.

Logan reached out quickly to steady him.

The flinch caught both of them by surprise. Patton whimpered, flooded with sudden terror. The mug slipped from his numb hand and was barely caught by Logan who must be furious – the white carpet under the bed – he’d – Patton pulled his hands to his chest and curled into himself, silent as a mouse, feeling every single one of his injuries as if he were just receiving them, feeling tiny and terrified. He sensed Logan freeze over him, a wall of muscle boxing him in. Squeezing his eyes shut, the patissier waited for his hair to be grabbed, for the screaming to start.

The clink of china being set down was loud in the utterly still room. Then heard nothing but his own shallow breathing and the rushing of blood in his ears. Though he tried so hard to anticipate what would be done to him, the dizziness and the burning pain of his cuts made it hard to focus. His head felt strange and hazy and he felt exposed.

“Patton?”

Surprise made the smaller man pause. Logan sounded much farther away than he’d expected. Blinking burning eyes open, he found him backed away against the door, wringing his hands anxiously. The mug sat next to his feet innocently. He did not look angry.

“I am sorry for startling you.” He uttered very softly. He hadn’t expected a man so large speak so quietly. “Please, is there anything I can do? Would you like me to leave, or ask Virgil to...”

Patton shook his head. He didn’t want to be alone, yet he was afraid to be approached, to anger someone with his mistakes. He didn’t know what he wanted. To feel nothing, perhaps. To not have broken things so badly in the first place. He wished he hadn’t done all the terrible, dumb things that had caused them all to be here, hurting and sad and burdened because of him. He’d only wanted to love Trevor, to have a family, but all he’d done was cause him pain. He’d trapped him and betrayed him and he’d left him, unconscious, and who knew what Logan would do with him now?

A small sound of defeat escaped the younger man. He couldn’t help him anymore. Logan had seen him hit Patton and he’d be so angry, he’d put him in prison. Oh my gosh, Trevor wouldn’t survive there, he didn’t even know where he was right now, with no one to comfort him after Patton had just… broken him. The memory of his tear stained, twisted, angry expression made cold fear stiffen the baker’s limbs, yet the guilt weighed much more heavily on him. He only noticed that his shaking had turned into painful, rattling sobs when he realized Logan was rambling at him.

“...please, just- let me know how I may help you! I cannot imagine what you are going through right now but I promise we will fix this, somehow. You’ll have whatever you need. Please, Patton, please believe me.”

He looked terribly lost on the other side of the room, unable to touch Patton and therefore barely knowing how to make things better. His pleading cut the gentle man like a knife between ribs that were aching and bruised. He wanted Logan to be alright, he wanted to feel safe in his arms, yet he felt frightened of what he would do to Trevor. He realized with sharp clarity that he had no idea what this protective man might be capable of - the thought scared him. He knew he had no right to ask anything of him and might just make things worse with his insolence – he had every reason to be furious at Patton’s impertinence, yet the irrational plea burst from his lips without his consent.

“Please don’t hurt Trevor!”

Logan stilled. A terrible look washed over his face. It was worse than anger. He looked baffled, hurt, defeated.

He neither raised his voice nor his hand against Patton.

A long moment passed.

“I will not take any measures without your consent.” The promise sounded like he had to rip it from his own, bloody chest. Hearing his voice was like a stab to Patton’s heart. He hated himself for this.

“I’m so sorry.”

The words broke out of Patton like a sob of a frightened child.

None of this would have happened if he had listened to all the people who’d told him – over and over again – to leave, to stop trying, that their relationship was bad. Logan had told him. This very day, he’d looked at this brilliant, well meaning man and had told him he knew better than him. Humiliation made his face burn.

“Logan, I’m so sorry- you t-told me it wouldn’t work. I’m so stupid, you must think I’m the most foolish person and now you’re feeling bad because of me and s-surely- surely Virgil is really distressed and- and I shouldn’t ask you to- I hurt you and I know you shouldn’t- but- but it’s all my fault, he d-didn’t- he can’t help it- please-”

“Patton, please stop.” The detective pleaded. Panic welled in him upon seeing this precious creature’s suffering. He wanted to grab him and press all of his shattered pieces close, yet he hardly dared to touch him. Patton had never looked smaller or more fragile. His lovely face was discolored with bruises, pink and reds bleeding together around his cut lip and swollen cheek. Even his hair was still mattered with blood where it had been pulled too harshly. The brutal sobs shaking him had made his face redden and shine with tears. Logan’s hands felt too big and rough to touch him. He hardly knew what he was doing in ordinary situations, how was one supposed to fix suffering this unimaginable? How would Patton ever recover from this?

“I’m sorry.” The patissier mumbled. Ever attentive, he’d spotted his protector’s helplessness. His chest felt heavy with grief so great it was crushing him. He’d hurt Trevor so terribly, and now Logan was in pain because of him. All he had ever wanted was to help the people he loved so much sometimes he felt like he couldn’t breath from it, like there was not enough space to fit both his lungs and his emotions in his narrow chest.  His face burned as he recalled Trevor’s twisted, reddened face, caused by his failure to love him.

“I’m so ashamed.” He admitted in a small voice, feeling the words break in his throat.

A wounded sound escaped the taller man. He felt his expression melt out of his control – a picture of pain and weakness when he needed to be strong the most. Oh so carefully settling on the bed next to the patissier, giving him time to pull away, the detective cupped his delicate, discolored face in his large hands with utter gentleness. His voice was rough as he spoke, as if the very truth of his words rose from the burning behind his ribcage and scalded his throat with how much he needed Patton to believe them.

“Patton, you have nothing to be ashamed of. Something terrible was done to you by someone who was supposed to love and protect you. Who failed to protect you - like I did. We, the men in your life, are supposed to feel ashamed for failing to live up to the way you accept and care for all of us. Everything you are responsible for is your honest attempt to heal us from wounds inflicted to each other and shield us from ourselves, because we are not like you. You are a man who will love even when everything is lost. It is your primary response to the world and – it will not always work. Sometimes, love is not enough, but that is not your fault. In a world as good as you deserve, it would be.”

Feeling his vision blur, Logan rubbed at his eyes with a shaking hand, unable to see Patton through his tears and frustration. His words kept spilling from him with little more control than he had over the salty droplets falling between them.

“How can I make you understand – Patton - when I look at you I feel – hope. You are too good, too gentle for this world. But that does not mean we get to hurt you or that you need to change. It means we need to reach for your example. Your pain and ours is not your fault but the effect of our failure.”

He gave up on drying his tears.

“Patton, you are not to blame because you gave him your everything. No matter how broken and undeserving a man is, you take him with his flaws, without judgment, and give everything you are, hoping to heal what the world broke not because there is any hope left, but because you refuse to leave anyone behind. The strength it must take to uphold this fight, this life – it humbles me. Patton, you leave me awed whenever I look at you. Even bruised and hurt by a relationship that failed, you didn’t because you are stronger than anyone I have ever met. You were cut and beaten by the world and responded with kindness. I don’t understand it, because I am not – I am not like you, but I admire you for it. I know you are in pain now and that you must feel like you will never recover from this, but even though I have little of your power, I will- I would like to...”

Patton was in his arms.

He felt where the blood had tangled his fair locks together where the smaller man pressed his head under his chin, felt his trembling in the strong arms he wrapped around the slender body. Patton’s breath was ragged where he pressed himself against him, as if he could hardly be close enough. As if the embrace of his man, who saw him not as ugly and broken but as strong and beautiful, could take him to a place where nothing could hurt him. He closed his eyes and held on.

Soft sounds reached them from beyond the walls of the bedroom. Roman’s voice was so deep and honey-rich, Patton imagined he felt it seep into the warm wood of the floors and walls and reach him through the very air around him. Virgil was there with him, responding to a soft warbling with the pitch he’d reserved for the neurotic raccoon stress-gnawing on objects. The sounds were faint, almost drowned out by the steady heartbeat under his ear. He pressed closer, letting the melody of the flat around him flow into the awning hole ripped into his chest by unforgiving hands, sharp words and terrible, suffocating guilt.

“You’re trembling.” Logan remarked softly. His hands were large and warm on his back, yet the coldness in his limbs would not quite go away. His fingers felt icy where he’d twisted them in the pure white of the detective’s shirt.

“I-It’s okay. Just cold.” Patton mumbled.

He was no stranger to this feeling. When things were especially bad and his hands shook too much to dress his wounds for long hours, sometimes this coldness settled into his bones that no desperate amount of blankets he’d wrap himself in could chase away. It happened when his shame and exhaustion were so great they threatened to grind him away to nothing but dust carried away by the breeze. There was no heat left in his brittle form. No will left to keep it warm and alive. In those long nights when Trevor took his frustration and pain out on him and then slammed the door behind him, Patton was pathetically wishing for a warm body to hold him, for Trevor to come back and forgive him, for anyone to wrap him in their embrace so he would not have to feel so alone.

Logan pressed him closer with a gentleness at odds with how firmly he brought them together, as if he could not bear any space between them. Patton’s bruises hurt, but he tried to curl in tighter, smaller, make himself tiny enough to disappear, so he didn’t have to be so cold. His breath caught as he realized he wasn’t alone with the chill this time.

“Would, um-”

The patissier quieted his ragged breathing, noting his protector’s unsureness.

“Would you like me to- to draw a bath? I know you are feeling…”

Hurt, broken, ashamed, needy to be held and hidden from the world-

Patton swallowed the bitter, clingy words with difficulty.

“...unsteady. It is only an offer and I will not- I would not want to push you into anything, but I cannot help noting how cold you are. The shock is likely affecting your system, and I have learned that it helps some – survivors – to feel more safe and clean when they – when-”

“I’d like that. Thank you.” Patton responded quietly. They had no bathtub in their flat, and often standing had been too difficult or the spray of hot water too painful on his body. He felt so drained and tired of hurting and trembling that he wanted to try. Even if the idea of peeling off his bloodied clothes, his last line of defense he’d gotten to keep today, make him anxious.

Logan was as gentle with him as he’d been the whole day. He helped him up with careful hands and pulled him close steadily when he noticed the wince of pain caused by his sprained ankle.

“May I carry you?”

His voice was deep and soothing. Patton closed his eyes and focused on nothing else.

Being picked up by the detective was nothing like being grabbed by Trevor. He was out of control when he was tentatively lifted off his feet, but he knew he would not be dropped or restrained. Not wanting to be seen, he buried his face in the man’s neck as he crossed the corridor, breathing in nothing but his scent. Sounds – Roman’s concerned rumbling, Virgil’s softly treading feet and an excited mewling, reached him from the kitchen, a respectful distance away.

The bathroom smelled nice.

It was the first thing he noticed upon being enclosed in the warm, tiled room and dared to turn his head. Roman had clearly widened his territory and left his many, sweet scented products covering the various surfaces. There was more furniture than last time he’d been here, he noticed. A small table with a dark, wooden chair had been placed close to the window. Various boxes and brushes and other beauty products were scattered around a mirror almost obscured by the spotted orchid spilling its flowers over the table as it grew at an odd angle. The detective had clearly tried to wrangle it under control with sticks and string, but had made little progress so far. Slowly, Logan lowered him onto the cushioned chair.

Quickly starting to fill the tub, he kept his voice very gentle.

“I will be just outside in case you need anything at all. If, um, if you like, I can help you with- with your clothes, only as much as you want me to, of course! And you may of course feel free to wrap yourself in a bathrobe or towel to bathe, if the additional cover provides you with added comfort.”

He was blushing, Patton noticed. Though anxious about the situation, the taller man’s insecurity put him at ease. Logan was far too concerned about his comfort to try to take advantage of him, the rational part of his mind told him. Yet he could not bring his heart to stop racing.

Tentative hands on his own made him realize how firmly he’d been clutching his bloodied shirt. His cut hand was throbbing awfully.

“You do not have to do this, Patton. I can simply carry you back to bed and tuck you in with some warmed pillows. Or I can ask Roman or Virgil to assist you, if their presence might make you more comfortable. I would absolutely understand you not wanting to be so… vulnerable in front of me.”

“No! I can’t- Virgil can’t see me like this.”

He couldn’t bear to be so ugly, so disappointing in front of someone so strong and hurt as Virgil. He’d wanted to support him and make him feel safe, not burden him by breaking apart when he was needed. He had been supposed to be the one to take care of the former gang member. He’d been supposed to be strong and reliable and now he was failing at both.

Roman was out of the question as well. The man was so gentle and sweet, he’d never expose him to something like this. Seeing him suffer by being confronted by someone as sad and broken and sick as Patton – he didn’t want that for him.

It was true that his feelings about Logan were conflicted sometimes. He was still shaken by what the man had done to Trevor, but despite the shame and frisson of fear shooting through him at every sudden move, he trusted Logan not to injure him. Moreover, he wanted him here. Logan was tough and intimidating, overly protective and dangerous, and he was safety. He was patient and gentle and kinder than anyone had ever been to him and his hands and words were steadying and encouraging him every day since they’d met. His voice captured all of Patton’s frightened, jumbled thoughts and brought them here, into the present where Logan was taking care of him and so willing to... it felt like loving him.

Patton’s thundering heartbeat slowed.

“I can undress myself, but… would- would you help me get into the tub?” He asked softly. Something calmed in Patton’s chest as he saw Logan nod vigorously, so willing to serve and protect.

“Of course! I will wait outside. The towels and bathrobe are right here, just call and I will, um… Yes, I will be right outside.” He rambled, backing away as he spoke, clearly awkward. The patissier felt more of his fear drain away, replaced by soft feelings for the man almost stumbling over his feet in his haste to give him privacy.

Undressing was as painful as he’d expected. Bending forward to take off his socks made him terribly dizzy. For a moment, he had to steady himself at the tub next to him as black spots from pain and nausea made his vision swim. Sweat dampened his clothes from the effort as he moved. He knew he was taking a lot of time to peel out of his shirt and pants and was worried about making Logan impatient, he was really trying to be quick, but there was little he could do to speed up the process with his bruised abdomen and bandaged hand and arm. The torn skin on his forearm throbbed painfully as he pulled his shirt over his head. Trevor had shattered a glass so close to him against the wall that the splinters had cut him.

He was quivering like a leaf and feeling weak and helpless once he was finally wrapped in a large robe. Even breathing seemed like too much of an effort for a few long minutes. He was so tired. By the time his icy hands had managed to tie the robe around his small waist, the tub had filled. He felt barely conscious.

Logan stepped into the room quietly upon being called, as if he were afraid any sound would make Patton shatter. There was no hiding the distress on his face upon seeing the state the patissier was in.  His face was pasty white under the discolorations and the robe had slipped down and exposed one thin, harshly bruised shoulder, adding to the gruesome picture of his beaten face. The younger man turned away with shame, fumbling with the fabric with numb fingers. Carefully, the detective grasped the material and pulled it closed.

“It is alright, Patton. You have nothing to be ashamed of.” He promised earnestly. In contrast to the image he knew he presented, Patton was painfully aware of how handsome the other was though. His clear cut features, his dark, clear eyes and long, graceful limbs clad in expensive fabric. He felt small and dirty in comparison. The patissier knew exactly how he looked. He’s seen it in the mirror often enough, late at night or early in the morning, trying to cover up bruises in the cold light of their bathroom.

Trevor was ashamed of hurting him. Every time. Sometimes, that shame made his words about his looks sharp and hurtful. It did not mean they weren’t true though.

Yet, Logan did not look repulsed as they gazed at each other. His expression was very soft.

“May I lift you now?”

Yes, being in the warm water and not having to sit upright anymore sounded like a great idea. And it was. Compared to his chilled hands the temperature felt too hot, yet he knew Logan had made sure not to scald him. His bruises burned uncomfortably in the heat, but the pain would pass. Despite the initial discomfort, after only a few seconds, Patton felt his tense muscles loosening. Laying his head down was a blessing – Logan had even hastily laid a towel at the edge of the tub so he could rest his head against it. The young man tiredly watched him kneel next to the tub fold a second towel over its edge to place his bandaged arm and hand on top of the fabric comfortably. He was having a hard time taking in so much consideration.

Despite the heat, his body was still shivering from a coldness deeper than the skin. In comparison, his bandaged hand felt even colder. Logan appeared to notice and tentatively curled his own, warm hands around his smaller limb. His thumb rubbed gentle circles on the pale skin, distracting him from the pain.

“Would you like me to leave you alone? What can I do?”

A husky laugh escaped Patton that had nothing joyful about it. He still wanted to do more? After saving him and carrying him around like a useless child? He’d already done so much while Patton was doing nothing but selfishly take more, need more from him. He pulled his knees close to his body, feeling small and naked and awkward even with the robe wrapped around his bruised body. When they’d met at least he’d felt he could offer a nice place to stay to the detectives and feed them, take care of them. He’d wanted to take care of them. But the longer they’d known each other, the worse Trevor’s paranoia had grown and the needier Patton had been.

He really only wanted to love and heal everyone he cared about so deeply, but he’d made his own boyfriend distrustful and sad and violent and now he leeched off Logan’s kindness and still failed to respect what he’d given him. His eyes started to burn where they were fixed on the bandage. The perfectly white fabric was stained with the tea he’d spilled and it suddenly felt terrible.

He felt guilty and afraid and he knew he should have taken better care of it and he would not cry anymore. He’d been messy and annoying enough. Biting his lip hard, he tried to pull himself together, almost managing a smile after a moment.

“It’s fine. I’m perfectly fine, thank you so much, Logan. You’ve done so much.” He promised lightly. His hand had grown stiff in the detective’s hold as if trying to avoid drawing attention to the ruined fabric and the possible consequences. Concerned and insecure, the taller man looked down to where Patton’s cold fingers had tensed, fearing he was overstepping.

“I apologize if my contact made you uncomfortable.” He muttered, drawing back his hand. “I should have asked before initiating it. Would it be alright if I changed your bandage? I promise to be quick so not to cause you any further distress.”

Oh.

Patton’s breath caught quickly at the mention of the bandage, fearfully hunching his shoulders. He did not know what he expected, but no more accusations or anger emerged from the concerned detective.

“I’m sorry I ruined it.” The patissier mumbled, fighting the instinct to draw his hand closer to his chest. He shivered despite the warm water lapping at his collar bones like a liquid blanket.

Blinking in surprise, Logan hastened to reassure him. “It is of no consequence. Whenever Roman injures himself, his bandages need changing several times a day when he suffers accidents with his makeup or nail-polish. He irrationally appears to fear his appearance might suffer due to any injury and attempts to make up for it with especially colorful cosmetics. I will take care of it right now, if you do not mind.”

Patton waited for the other shoe to drop, but Logan simply gazed at him patiently. After a long moment, the tense limbs uncurled slowly.

“Oh- alright. I can do it myself, though. You really don’t have to. You must be really uncomfortable sitting on the floor like that and I already took up so much of your time.”

“I would like to do it.”

And that was that. Logan dug out the first-aid kit and unwrapped the cut hand with the utmost gentleness. One layer after the other came off and still nothing but the sound of lapping water and quiet breathing filled the room. More than a little awed, Patton observed the look of concentration on the handsome man’s face as he touched him as if he were a fragile, newborn bird. He had a hard time understanding why he wasn’t angry. Anger always followed him after days like the one he had just survived. And then, he recalled a day early in their friendship. Logan had come to fix his lights with barely cleaned scabs on his hands. Patton had taken care of him. He had knelt before him much like Logan was beside him now and had silently wrapped his hand and arm. He had liked doing it.

Fear and tension finally seemed to seep out of him, making him almost weightless in the warm water. Seeing Logan from Patton’s perspective made him suddenly, clearly understand why the man did all of this. He liked taking care of people. Perhaps… perhaps he was more like himself than like Trevor. What a novel thought, to see Logan not as the hardened cop with the frightening temper – severe and dangerous, but to understand that he was just a man wanting others to feel safe and good, a man just wanting to help, like Patton, and that he sometimes did not know how to do it right – like Patton.

When the detective looked up to check if the changing of the bandage had hurt him, Patton curled his fingers around the larger hand and smiled, warm and loving.

“Thank you.”

For the first time, the words were not spoken with fear or guilt, but calm gratefulness. The tone seemed to shake something loose in Logan’s chest. His posture relaxed with a shaky breath. He smiled back – a small, tender expression.

“You are welcome, Patton. Now, tell me what I may do to make you comfortable, please.”

“Okay.” Patton answered softly. His insides felt very warm, suddenly. What a welcome relief from the freezing loneliness and despair that had nested so deeply in his chest. Yet, the image of Trevor standing over him, raising his fist to strike, his shaking hands undoing his fly, his body lying on the floor unmoving kept threatening to creep up on him. He needed a distraction.

“Would you tell me a story?”

Contemplatively, the detective brushed his fingers over the sensitive inside of the smaller man’s wrist, casting his mind back to find a suitably light anecdote to lighten the mood.

“Did I ever tell you about the incident that led me to arresting Roman?”

Patton perked up, interested and a tad worried about his big friend. Poor Roman, he hoped they hadn’t had a fight! The corner of Logan’s lips turned up at the memory though. The baker shook his head curiously.

“I’m afraid I am not much of a storyteller. You are advised to allow Roman retell the story to you at a later occasion.” Logan warned a little shyly before beginning his tale.

“We had not been partnered for very long and were still working at our first precinct. Roman had been out of commission due to a viral infection for a week while I worked a case of a robbery. It proved to be a stimulating puzzle. Though the evidence I had gathered was circumstantial, I believed to have located a group of five middle aged women as the possible culprits with reasonable certainty. All I required to close the case was a warrant to search the premises they had chosen for their operation in order to identify the serial-numbers on the money I believed they had stored at the apartment. Unfortunately, my previous Captain believed I had imagined the connection on a basis of a misogynist mindset.”

Patton gasped, scandalized at the accusation. “But that’s not true!”

Logan ducked his head, feeling his ears heat upon being defended so passionately. “No, certainly not. However, Captain Smith failed to take my logical reasoning into consideration. Additionally, he did not appreciate my calling out the hypocrisy of his belief that women were incapable of robbing a money transport.”

“I bet he didn’t.” Patton mumbled, feeling his admiration for the other man grow. He could clearly imagine an annoyed Logan telling off a superior officer fearlessly. Surely, he would not be scared to stand up for himself.

“I was frustrated, since I irrationally believed the case would surely be solved already had I been able to rely on Roman’s insight. This assessment, based on emotion rather than evidence, angered me further due to it being unprofessional.” The detective confessed, focusing on Patton’s small hand in his bashfully. The slender fingers looked very delicate in his own, rougher ones.

“To my great consternation, it looked like I would not be able to adequately complete my assignment due to a lack of creativity or ability to convince my superior. Then, however, Roman returned.”

Patton leaned closer, captivated by the little lift in the older man’s voice. Although composed and calm as usual, he seemed fond and pleased at the memory.

“Upon being confronted by my less than tranquil mood, Roman asked me to elaborate on all of the details of the case. After my conclusion, he excused himself briefly and returned in a regular police uniform, grabbed my hand and escorted me outside. Once we had arrived at the apartment building the suspects had taken residence in, he asked me to wait in the car for him so I would not be recognized from the interrogations I had conducted. Then, he proceeded to ring the suspect’s doorbell and to my horror identified himself as a police officer and demanded to be admitted to the premises. Of course, I feared such behavior would not only frighten the suspects into getting rid of the evidence, but also cause them to take legal steps against Roman or the precinct, with would have caused us considerable problems and doomed the case for certain.”

Flushing slightly at having to relay the shenanigans of his friend, he rumbled, “However, I appeared to have underestimated my young partner. After about 20 frankly agonizing minutes in which I feared not only for the case, but for him as well, he emerged from the front door in a rush, dressed in nothing but...”

“But what?” Patton asked, alight with curiosity. The fact that Logan was flushing with embarrassment drove all other thoughts from his mind.

“Dressed in nothing but his- his underwear – preposterously patterned might I add, several bills trailing after him and sticking out of the garment.”

“What? Nooooo!” The patissier squeaked, trying to make sense of what the poor man must have come up with. Logan chuckled at his tone.

“Indeed. Knowing we needed to secure samples of the stolen currency in order to compare the serial numbers of the missing money, he decided to pose as a male police themed stripper. As he had expected, they must have assumed one of them had ordered him for the purpose of celebrating their success and enthusiastically chose to pay him according to his performance. Once they worked out none of them had placed the call to any escort agency, he made a hasty exit with the evidence  without his clothes.”

“Oh my gosh! Did it work?” Patton asked, eyes wide.

“Certainly. The serial numbers matched. Roman gloated for days.”

The patissier cheered gleefully, so easily swept up in the success of his beloved friend and very eager to forget his own feelings.

“That is amazing! He did so well! But - why did you arrest him, then?”

“Well, unfortunately, Roman escaped the building and rushed onto the busy street in quite a hurry. Apparently feeling elated at his success, he yelled ‘Gotcha, ladies!’ just as he jumped outside. At the same moment, a group of mothers heading for their spinning class were passing by and unfortunately received the wrong impression.”

Patton felt terribly guilty. Those poor women must have gotten such a fright by a tall, almost naked man leaping at them and Roman had not deserved to look like a sex offender at all. Yet, he laughed until tears ran down his cheeks and his elated squirming nearly caused the tub to overflow.

Chucking with him, Logan’s face showed nothing but warm amusement as he explained, “In conclusion, by popular demand, I was forced to arrest him.”

His face ached from smiling as he recalled Roman’s pouting and loud complaining as he cuffed him and gently herded him into the back of his car, furtively brushing his hand through his silky locks lovingly while making sure he wouldn’t hit his head on the door-frame. His partner’s face had been flushed from exertion and his hair was in disarray from long nailed, manicured hands running through it. Yet, he’d been proud, so proud, of solving a case for Logan. Around the next corner, he’d climbed into the backseat with his friend and released him, before wrapping him in his jacket. Though he’d griped about the unsanitary nature of the bills and refused to touch them without his leather gloves, he’d been filled with an affection he’d still had no idea what to do with, back then.

“So you were able to solve the case with him after all, like you thought.”

Patton’s admiring observation brought him back to the present. He was right. Despite feeling embarrassment for the illogical wish to have Roman there to confide in and the childish hope to want him to help find some impossible miracle solution he could not see himself, his partner had come back and had done just that. Logan would have never come up with such a ridiculous, clever plan. His friend had saved his reputation around the precinct and had proven he was just as reliable as Logan had wished he would be. Perhaps he hadn’t needed to feel so uncomfortable for wanting his partner with him after all.

Patton watched him with soft eyes, comfortably curling up in the warm water, weightless and safe. He didn’t feel ugly or ashamed when Logan turned his eyes back on him, dark and caring. The closed wooden door of the bathroom enclosed them in soft light and the quiet breaths of two people who did not need to speak to feel connected. Separated from the world outside and all of its cruelty and worry, Patton enjoyed the scent of Roman’s perfumes, the lush greenness of the plants filling up the glass of the windows and the way his smaller hand fit into the detective’s. The moisture of the bath’s steam settled on everything like dew on a spring morning. It coated every surface with a blanket of a softening veil. It washed out all colors and muted every sound until everything took on a pale, hazy quality. The mirrors and windows turned opaque with fog, protecting Patton from the harsh reality of his reflection and the sharp edges of the outside-world. He felt like he could stay this way forever – until he noticed just how itchy his scalp was.

Reaching up unconsciously, he winced as his stomach and bruised torso protested sharply. He whimpered softly, curling around his abused middle slightly. Logan looked panicked and helpless immediately. Patton couldn’t help giggling. He didn’t know where the reaction came from, he’d never dared to do anything like that with Trevor, but his realization that Logan just wanted to help and care and was so good and so bad at it at the same time – he was just so strong and brave and intelligent and sometimes so clueless, it was the most endearing thing he’d ever seen.

“I’m fine, Lo. It’s all good! Just itchy, is all. You can scratch that problem!”

Though in pain, he smiled at Logan contently, finally feeling like himself again. It was astonishing how Logan could consume his very thoughts with his presence and push everything else from his mind. Especially the blank look the man gave him at his very clever pun coaxed a real smile from him.

Now that he noticed the blood crusted around his hair and skin, he could not quite ignore it anymore. He resigned himself to the effort it would take to at least rinse it out. He had to admit that Logan had been right. He wanted the memories of this day washed away from his body completely. Once he woke up tomorrow, he needed as much of the violence that had been committed against him forgotten as possible. He could not bear any more anger and bitterness to touch him. Not here, in this place covered in dark wood and colored fabrics and pet hair. Not here, where Roman nested on the couch with fluffy pillows, fashionable magazines and bright paint, where Virgil had learned to smile again and those poor animals were growing fat and glossy. There was something magical here - healing magic, he was sure of it. And the source of it was this man who would likely scowl at such a ridiculous idea. Patton didn’t care. How could he doubt what he felt was true when those hands were soothing his pain right now.

Logan had reached out tentatively, patiently waiting for the other to refuse it he wanted, before parting his pale brown curls to check on the wounded skin and crusted blood.

“Would you like me to wash your hair?” He inquired. The thought of leaving Patton marked by his violent experiences did not sit well with him.

“Oh, you don’t have to! I’ve washed myself plenty of times after I fell.”

‘After he fell’ - if Logan noticed Patton falling back into old patterns of making up excuses he mercifully said nothing about it.

“It would be illogical to attempt it yourself. I already told you that I do not mind taking care of you, and I shall tell you again as often as you require hearing it.” The detective explained patiently.

Patton flushed slightly, realizing he was right. Accepting help and thus being a burden was just so hard for him to do, no matter how often he’d been told it was okay today. Logan did not sound annoyed though. The way he went about rinsing the blood from his hair with the softest spray from the shower-head did not feel like the task burdened him either. He was utterly focused on the attempt of not aggravating his injuries or getting water into his eyes, so Patton didn’t have to worry about a thing as his bangs were brushed back by long, slender fingers and his locks combed this way and that. It was a soothing feeling.

After a while, he became warm and weightless. Those capable hands in his hair caused pleasant shivers to run though him even as they sometimes hurt a little. Patton didn’t care. Being petted like that made him feel like he was melting. Keeping his eyes open was becoming increasingly difficult, so he allowed his eyelids to flutter closed trustingly, focusing only on the sensation of tender hands rubbing his skull. The moment felt intimate, yet he was not ashamed of his swollen cheek, split lip, discolored shoulder or the way his body was built anymore as he’d become in so many other intimate encounters. Here, surrounded by sweet smells and being touched like something fragile and precious, everything seemed far away. He’d agonize over the things he’d left behind in his flat later. Right now, he was protected and cared for.

A scratching noise, accompanied by a sudden, pleading sort of mewling woke him up from his slumber. Muffled by the door, a whispered curse reached his ears as Virgil hastily tried to remove the escaped kitten. It had grown quite playful and energetic in the last few days, alternated by bouts of sleepy, loving cuddliness. Considering how tired and ashamed Patton had been, they had simply grabbed everything that could cause him stress and locked themselves in the kitchen so Logan could calm him down privately. Virgil could understand the urge to hide better than anyone after all.

Patton appreciated the security the closed doors had provided him with so very much. He still felt anxious and humiliated by the prospect of being confronted with his other friends, even though now that he was reminded of the existence of the tiny, perfectly fluffy kitten, he wanted it.

“Would you like me to help you get ready to go to sleep? If you like, the kitten may stay with you of course. It is yours, after all.” Logan offered gently.

It was?

Patton didn’t have words. Hearing Logan admit so easily to having adopted a pet for him, a thing he’d always wished for, made the patissier feel so- loved.

The detective lifted him out of the tub easily and settled him in the chair in front of Roman’s vanity before handing him a large towel to wrap up in while he went to find clothes for him. Feeling much better than before, Patton managed to get out of the robe and huddle in the towel by the time the knock sounded at the door. His protector helped him get dressed with the utmost respect and gentleness, careful to neither look at nor touch the revealed skin. All of the clothes he’d brought him were well worn and soft from washing them often. The shirt looked like it might belong to Roman -  white cotton with a faded, rainbow-colored crown printed on the chest. He even carefully rubbed the washed curls dry. Though Patton promised he could make it, Logan insisted on carrying him to the bedroom.

The younger man was very small in his arms as he cradled him close. It felt a lot like carrying a cat, this time, since Patton wasn’t shivering and tense anymore, but soft and mellow in the way he yielded to the touch. He seemed to sink into his embrace with a trust born from contentment and tiredness. In his half asleep state, it took the small baker long moments to realize where he was being set down and tucked in.

The comforter that was pulled over his thin, bruised shoulders was midnight blue and smelled of laundry detergent. A single gray hair made his snub nose itch. Finally feeling much calmer, Patton noticed the wooden beams running along the ceiling, the shelf built along the opposite wall filled with colorful books, plants and papers as well as plastic models of what looked like toys at first glance. He spotted a bright red Baymax figurine, a circular replica of what looked like the USS Enterprise, a duck-like model of the star-ship Serenity. Next to the bed, sitting on top of a crimson copy of Isaac Asimov’s collected works was a bluish porcelain figure of Bulbasaur with a succulent planted inside. This was most certainly not the living-room!

“I can’t sleep here, Logan! This is your bed! I’ll just curl up on the couch, I’m sure there is plenty of space left.” Patton exclaimed, feeling dreadful at the thought of chasing the poor man from his room. It was clearly a very personal space for him. No matter how very intrigued he was at encountering actual toys in Logan’s room (how endearing!), he would not impose! As it had become a pattern for them already, the detective refused his attempt to make himself small and invisible with admirable patience.  

“No. You are injured, Patton. I will accept no refusal. Please allow me to do this for you.”

His voice and the strong hands pushing him down carefully left no room for refusal. He was blushing, Patton noticed as he was covered securely. The mattress was just perfect under his body that was so tired and painful to move, taking the weight from his throbbing ankle and the pillow was so downy – his eyelids grew heavy. Yet there was a restlessness in him again that did not allow for the other man to just – just do everything for him! He had to- to- he wanted to help. To be useful after being so-

“I should see if Roman and Virgil are okay. I probably scared them, poor things.” Patton rambled, trying to rise and escape the unpleasant thoughts of being useless, being worse than useless, creeping into his mind.

“Patton, you have no obligation to think of anyone but yourself right now.”

“Of course I do!”

How could he say something like that? He’d been so selfish already!

Logan looked tired as he caught him around the upper arms and pushed him back down slowly and deliberately.

“No, Patton. I must once again ask you to rest now. I can see that something causes you to feel agitated, but whatever the issue is, it will be dealt with in the morning, with our help. I can ask Virgil and Roman to visit you while they bring the kitten to you if that is agreeable to you?”

It was. Having Logan take the lead and simply forbid any attempts to move and talk and helplessly try to make things less terrible was a relief. He sighed thankfully and closed his eyes for only a moment.

He must have been more tired than he’d thought. The next thing he noticed was a soft purring rumbling under his chin as a silky furred tiny cat rubbed itself against him. It felt like a living little engine, rumbling and happy.

Virgil was there.

He’d knelt next to the bed, pale and thin and anxious. His long fingers were twisted in his hoodie, hie shoulders hunched, his dark eyes bruised with bluish shadows. A hurt sound escaped Patton that was not caused by the stinging pain of opening his arms for a hug.

Virgil crawled into the offered embrace with a little hitch of his breath and held on oh so carefully. The patissier buried his face in his neck and clutched at the bony sides of his kiddo, feeling too much, too hurt, too exhausted. Yet he loved Virgil so much – his thin body in his arms, it made his throat almost close with rising tears.

A grumpy warbling sounded from the side of the mattress Virgil had just climbed, followed by a dreadful tearing sound of little sharp claws ripping expensive fabric. A little despairing noise escaped the older detective.

The top of the fat raccoon’s head was appearing at the edge of the bed, suddenly boosted up by a large, helpful hand under the furry bottom. Patton flinched almost violently.

The whole room stilled in shock, especially the tall, handsome detective who’d unintentionally caused the frightened reaction. Roman looked devastated.

Curling his prettily manicured hands to his chest, he stepped back to Logan’s side, green eyes wide and guilty.

“Oh- dear Patton, I apologize earnestly for- for frightening you. I’ll just- I’ll leave you and the others alone.” He muttered, giving him a brave, unsteady smile. Patton almost fell off the bed trying to stop him. Both Virgil and raccoon rumbled a complaint while the kitten simply rolled where it was moved with a jostled purr. Though his bruised face paled from the pain, the baker’s voice was strong as he called his friend back.

“NO! Ro, please c’mere! I’m so sorry, it was my fault, I love you bunches, please come and let me hug you!”

The plea did not have the desired effect though. Roman’s lovely eyes filled with tears. Holding back a sob only barely, he slowly sank down on the mattress (ignoring a hiss as he almost settled on a striped tail, there were too many animals, okay?). He cupped Patton’s reaching hand carefully, telling him seriously “Patton, darling, you do not need to apologize or take care of me. We are here to protect and aid you. You do not have to be strong for everyone all the time. And- of course I love you like sunshine on flowery petals as well, but how about you relax and I hug you for a change, my dear?”

Oh. Okay, he would like that actually, as long as it helped his sweet RoRo not to look so crushed because he couldn’t handle the simplest situations again. After waiting for his nod, Roman slowly crawled behind Patton to envelop him in his careful embrace. Though Patton had agreed to the contact mainly to show his poor friend that he loved him and did not want him to feel abandoned, now that he was there to loosely hold him, it felt really good. Safe. Roman smelled as nice as the products scenting the air in the bathroom, especially his thick caramel locks. The kitten wormed its way back under his chin, briefly making Virgil splutter as he got a mouthful of hair. He’d been very quiet, the poor kiddo.

“It truly loves you.” Roman rumbled gently at the tiny baby cat started to knead the cotton shirt contently.

“The feeling is mewtual.” Patton promised truthfully, hoping for the sake of his friends that his tone sounded light and unconcerned. It was easier than he’d expected to push the frightening coldness inside of him aside. He imagines it coiled and moved inside of him, icy and alien with its tentacles that suddenly shot out and turned to ice in his throat at unexpected moments. Patton could barely remember a time where it had not been settled inside of him, this thing that had crept down his neck in terrified nights where tiny Patton had squeezed himself between the couch and the wall as his father had screamed. It had been there so long, he sometimes feared its tendrils were growing into his flesh and becoming part of him, make him colder and colder until he could not move his limbs anymore, leaving him frozen and trapped the way he had been as a child. Helpless.

He’d learned to live with it, nested like a parasite next to his fluttering, full heart. Sometimes, late at night, he imagined feeling it grow, taking space from his excitable little heart. He’d lain there, silently wrapped his arms around his chest and had been afraid.

This time however, Roman’s arm was wrapped around him. Virgil had gently laid his head against his ribs. His heart grew, taking back some of the space stolen from it. It beat strong, surrounded by quiet company as he was. Logan had settled on a comfortable looking brown leather chair by the large windows, briefly battling a bunch of feathered fern leafs that tried to take up too much space over his shoulder where the adorable rat apparently needed to sit. Roman’s tense muscles were loosening behind him where he had the feeling of being able to protect Patton from the cruel world and Virgil – well, he was still very small and quiet in his arms, but he was holding on.

Patton got distracted from his worry by a weight dipping the soft pillow at his head. Cat was stomping around it, trying to find a comfortable spot close to, but not too close to her humans. She finally settled on her side like a fat sausage with an audible ‘thud’, her head curled adorably with her furry belly resting against Virgil’s head. Her foot was close to the patissier’s face.

Was that nail polish?

Distracted, he sent a questioning look Logan’s way. He’d know what was going on. Sensing the attention, the detective looked up from petting the composed rat in his palm and examined the now professionally cleaned, pointy claws. The sigh that escaped him could only be described as long-suffering.

“Roman, you can not put nail polish on a forest critter.” He reprimanded his partner severely, trying to ignore the sheepish look the little delinquent attempted to hide in Patton’s shirt upon hearing the accusation directed solely at the young detective.

Roman’s metaphorical feathers rose immediately. “I beg your pardon? Your- stray showers with you! How is that not worse than adorning this poor beast with some culture and beauty?”

Patton tuned the argument out, for once not feeling too concerned since he heard Virgil’s soft snort at the detectives’ expense. He quite liked the burgundy coat that decorated the pointy claws actually. They looked snazzy and went well with the golden spot at the tip of the striped tail. It swished slightly, landing in Virgil’s hair and mixing with purple locks. The patissier’s blinks turned longer and longer as his limbs grew heavy and he was lured to sleep by the gentle rumbling of Roman’s words resonating through his chest where it was pressed against his back. Both detectives had gentled their deep voices, now exasperatingly arguing softly about the acceptability of clipping an actual miniature diadem on a raccoon. He fell asleep thinking it would be a cute idea. For once, there were no stressful thoughts of having to disentangle himself from the people he loved to go back to a flat covered in cold, white tiles and bone-pale leather furniture. The comforter wrapped around him was ironed smooth and warm and the air was thick with the scents of perfume, plants and animals. Virgil’s breath was soft and quiet on his skin and still, the kitten was rumbling its love.

______________________________

If anyone has ideas about what might happen next, I’m more than happy to hear them! My mind is a little empty right now >.< Comments make me happy weather you have ideas or not though <3

Check out the art and writing which always makes me the happiest of people!

FICS:

You can enjoy this incredible take on what could have alternatively happened in this chapter if you feel like reading more. It is absolutely moving and wonderful! Link

ART:

This graphite drawing made by @charmingkari shows a lovely image of Virgil after he got caught by the Scorpions. It’s very sad though.

@dweeborg drew a really intense close up of Virgil which I really love.

@bangthekobrakid colored in a drawing of Roman with the long hair for me and made it really really cool looking!

Next Chapter

[avadarain]

Let’s talk about Tweek x Craig, mkay? :

Notice the difference in the eyes:

Craig has the ‘panic’ or 'worried’ expression. He’s just straight out terrified. While Tweek just has bags under his eyes, but his eyebrows do show expression. But he’s not as bad as Craig though.

Tweek’s family came off as accepting, even proud of their son.

I’m going to take a wild guess and say Craig’s family didn’t even mention the rumors, making Craig even more paranoid. Which is why Craig’s face is more worried than Tweek’s.

After the fight

When PC principal calls Thomas to tell him his sons has been in a fight, PC principal reefers to it as a 'Lovers quaral’ which causes Craig to say “God Damnit.” Would Craig be worried about that certain wording, especially when PC principal is saying it to his homophobic father?

But look at Tweek.

Notice the difference in their eyebrows.

Tweek doesn’t react until Craig reacts negatively. Then just goes along with it.

The break-up scene

Things obviously go way out of hand, totally off track. And Tweek’s performance actually took an impact on Craig, “I was totally wrong about you. I opened myself up, and let you in…” Could this line have triggered something in Craig in some way? Because then he stood leaning forward with his mouth open, up until Wendy gave him an angry look. Before Tweek said this, Craig was just angry, now he’s stunned, and in shock.

Even if it was acting, really good acting- could it have actually emotionally got to Craig? Craig knew he was acting, that’s why we was angry, but then- he’s wide eyes with a gaping mouth. Whatever it was, it did something to Craig.

And then we have the walk of shame, cue iconic sad music.

Craig’s house: Usuing masculinity trying to cover up homosexuality

This scene is very important, he’s working on a bike. Why a bike? Most kids in his grade are still riding tricycles. Now, take what I say with a grain of salt but my closeted gay friend said most closeted men try and prove their masculinity such as working on mechanics or heavy lifting (ect.) “I always felt I had to prove my manhood just because I was gay, or else the other guys would tease me about going shoe shopping or some other gay stereotype” I’m NOT saying all men are like this, but I’m saying this could POSSIBLY refer in Craig’s case. And men’s confidence and self-esteem can greatly depend on how ‘manly’ they feel, and how manly they believe other men and women see them as being. There’s no way Craig would be able to ride that bike, his short legs wouldn’t even reach the pedals. But maybe Craig was feeling his manhood was in danger, just because he may have feelings for a guy? So it should be no surprise that some men go overboard to prove – to themselves and everyone else – that they’re not only ‘real men,’ but super-manly.

Tweek confronts Craig

Craig doesn’t wanna hear it. Basically tells Tweek to fuck off. He was angry, angry that the school hates him, angry that he’ll never get any “chicks” and angry that Tweek just betrayed him.

Tweek opens up to Craig, stating he made him “believe in myself in a way I never have before.” And that Craig “changed something in him”, I’m pretty sure this is where Tweek accepts his feelings for Craig- it doesn’t matter the gender, it just matters how they make you feel. And to Tweek, Craig is his rock. His support. His reassurance. Craig has made Tweek feel something that in all his 10 years of living, he’s never felt before. Craig is someone special to him, Craig makes him a better person. Then it hits craig-

Realization

Making him realize, maybe he does actually have feelings for Tweek. Or at least, something sparked between them in that exact moment. Maybe everything Tweek just said, he felt he could relate to all of that with Tweek. BUT–

But then after Tweek’s line, you could hear Thomas cry. I’m sure Craig heard it too. Right when he cries, Craig looks down, saddened. Reminded of his unaccepting father, which then causes him to tell Tweek to “go be gay with someone else.” Tweek is obviously saddened by this, saying “Alright Craig, alright.” If they were actually “doing this for the town” wouldn’t it be easy to go be gay with someone else, instead of being stuck on one person? All the town really cared about was a pair of kids that were gay, didn’t matter who. But Tweek didn’t want anyone else but Craig.

Coming around

Cut to Thomas Tucker, explaining to his wife “I can see how much they’re both hurting, but… Can’t you understand that in my time we just didn’t accept this?”

So there we have proof that Craig was showing obvious sadness around the house. I don’t think it was about everyone hating him at school either, as we all know Craig is known to either be angry or he just doesn’t care. He was angry about the school. But not sad. He was saddened over Tweek. He’s never showed any sad emotions on-screen up until now.

I have a feeling Craig automatically regretted what he said to Tweek, he obviously didn’t want him to leave, or to find someone else. It didn’t seem long after Tweek left, that Craig was being a lil’ emo in his room of darkness. The animators actually went out of their way to exaggerate the sadness in his eyes.

Thomas comes and comforts his son, as the Official South Park Wiki explains it– “Though he was raised in a homophobic home, when he realized his son seemed happier with his boyfriend, he decided to let go of his prejudice.” All he cares about in the end, is Craig’s happiness, and Craig didn’t seem happy without Tweek.

He told Craig, “Son, you need to listen to me. You can’t fight being gay. I used to think that being gay was a choice, but, you don’t get to decide. Japan picks who they pick, and that’s that. I don’t understand this stuff. but… I do know that if you try and resist it, you make yourself miserable your whole life. Everyone was so proud of you, Ah I was just being selfish. I wanna be proud of you too. I like gay Craig. I love you. Here’s a hundred dollars.” Now, a few sentences stood out. 'You can’t fight being gay’ Craig was obviously trying to fight it this whole time, but in the end, he missed Tweek. 'I used to think being gay was a choice but, you don’t get to decide’ I think Craig has already figured that out by this point. He was obviously upset about the break up, shown in the walk of shame plus obviously upset that Tweek left. ’I do know that if you try and resist it, you’ll be misserable your whole life.’ –and what is Craig right now? He’s absolutely miserable. He’s in his room. In the dark. Extremely sad. 'I wanna be proud of you too’ this whole time, Craig was worried about his father’s acceptance and what he would think, well in very statement, he finally got his approval. ’I like gay Craig, I love YOU.’ I think this speaks a lot. Thomas just said, gay or not, he still loves him. If he’s gay, great, if he’s not, that’s okay too.

Ending

After Thomas’s speech, Craig goes and finds Tweek, walks up to him, and holds out his hand. I could understand the speculation this ending could cause and why people would think that they’re just pretending. But I really loved it. It leaves it up to the viewers imagination on what happened.

-Epilogue-

But they gay, it’s official, so gtfo of here with that “They’re faking for the town.” Bullshit.

Anyway, thank you for sticking around if you made it this far. I appreciate it! :) Some of what I said, you probably knew already. But while waiting to play The Fractured But Whole, I thought I might as well make my own episode analysis to Tweek x Craig. I’m just a boy that is obvious creek trash. *Drops mic* Lys, OUT! *walks off stage while flipping my tail coat*

[hati-skoll]

NOCT ME UP

[AO3] [Kinkmeme Prompt]

You are receiving this email because you've chosen to subscribe to Noct Me Up's weekly e-newsletter, if you no longer wish to receive exciting updates about our booty-licious prince's daring exploits, please click here.

Greetings fellow Nocturnes!

We interrupt the month-long memorial for His Royal Highness Noctis Lucis Caelum with exciting news. Our beloved prince is alive! That's right, folks, the sexiest bachelor of Insomnia can be felled by no giant, laser-blasting daemon.

There have been numerous sightings of our lovely angel in black corduroys all over Leide, Duscae and Cleigne over the past couple of weeks, accompanied by a presently unidentified trio – likely candidates include Ignis Scientia from the noble House of Scientia, Prince Noctis' loyal Chamberlain; Gladiolus Amicitia from the warrior House of Amicitia, steadfast shield to our future king; Cor Leonis the Immortal; and Prompto Argentum, Prince Noctis' high school classmate. Anyone who is able to provide further information pertaining to His Highness' companions will be generously compensated. Please direct all relevant emails to princewatch@noctmeup.com.

In light of the heartening news, this week's issue of Noct Me Up will feature a collection of personal accounts detailing Prince Noctis' post-invasion affairs.

Prince Noctis is flawless.

This is a fact we're all very familiar with, but it appears those outside the walls of Insomnia have yet to be blessed by the blinding glory of our esteemed prince. Nevertheless, a chance encounter with his illustrious personage has sent the patrons at Hammerhead reeling.

"So, uh, everyone out here knows, if you wanna get your car fixed, you go to Cid. Best mechanic in these parts, y'know? I mean, of course you do," says starry-eyed customer, Moretum Caesar, "So anyway, I've bust my engine just that morning when I was out on an errand for ma, I don't know what I did to it, I mean if I did, I wouldn't be at Cid's. Had the car towed to the garage and Cid tells me I gotta get in line. Turns out a couple of unlucky schmucks got their car in a pretty bad shape.

"Happens all the time out here. The roads are pretty mean; they'll wear out your tires the way a pack of sabertusks'll run down a weary hunter- Sorry, got a little gruesome there.

"Anyway, the roads here ain't nothing like the shiny black asphalt they've got back in the Crown City. So I'm feeling pretty bad for these guys, might've lent a hand, I don't know, offered them some of ma's fresh leiden pepper- We've got the freshest produce in Duscae, and they're only going for twenty gil a piece!

"Uh, right, but then, when I was walking outta the garage, I saw her. No, not Cindy. The car. It was massive. Built like it could take on a behemoth. I was staring at her thinking, [REDACTED]. That's a damned fine ride. Didn't look anything like any of the cars in these parts. Insomnia-make, could tell from a mile away. And maybe I was feeling… a little less charitable towards… city-folks, you know. Probably rich kids, who've had it good all their lives.

"And that's when I saw him. Well, them. But him. Yeah, I think they were trying to go, what's the term, 'in cognito'? Yeah? Sure ain't cognito from where I was standing. They were wearing the crown's colours, all black. And the prince. Man, I ain't one of those poetic types. But I'd sure as hell try for him. See, he was running towards the garage from across the road – not looking both sides, because all the cars in the world would stop for His Royal Highness.

"I'm not being snarky. With a face like that, and an ass- this isn't going to get me in trouble with the Crownsguard, is it? No? You're sure? Well, an ass like that, all perky and tight, could stare at it for years. Not that I'd ever think of touching. Ever. I mean, he's the prince. So there's no need for any of the Crownsguard to be knocking on my door in the middle of the night.

"Yeah, anyway, he jogged over, hair flipping like in one of those fancy hair commercials. The light all golden and rosy around him, and his skin looked… astral-kissed, all shiny and soft.

"Then he stopped right in front of me, kind of looked at me through his bangs. And he said, hey. He said hey. Hey. Can you imagine? The prince! I think I was standing there for fifteen minutes or something even after they left. And that's when I was hit with the epiphany, you know."

Yes, we do, Prince Noctis is flawless.

I hear his hair's insured for ten million gil.

After assuring Tom Laesus, part-time hunter and self-proclaimed lamialogist, that no, we're not from the empire, and no, we wish no harm on the honourable Crown Prince of Lucis, the NMU team is treated to a most delightful tale of His Highness' never-ending compassion, and surprising insight into the royal beauty regiment.

"Prince Noctis saved my life! He just swooped in and, kapow, wham, bam! Magic sword! And then whoosh, right across the field. And then he did this thingy, and it was like ziiing, glowy weapons all around him. And then he pfkuk, shzoosh, krrek the [REDACTED] out of those [REDACTED] voretooths, and I swear a giant mother-[REDACTED] astral appeared and it was huge and then it was like BOOOOOM!

"And I was- Huh? You want me to back up a little?

"Okay. Yup. [I took up a hunt at] Wiz Chocobo Post. We've been running low on gil lately, and Jen – that's my little sister – needs to see her paediatrician. She's got a lung condition. And it was supposed to be an easy job.

"I'm not suicidal! One gigantoad isn't so bad. I'm a pretty decent shot, so I can kinda snipe it from afar? Anyway. I bagged the job, and I was heading back to Wiz to collect my gil. But this [REDACTED] pack of voretooths showed up all of a sudden, and they were right on my [tail]!

"I knew I had to get to higher ground or I'd be [in serious trouble]. But it was raining, and I just spent half an hour sniping a gigantoad and I was tired, which means careless; and yup, one of them messed up my ankle pretty bad, before I found a decent ledge to take cover on.

"I thought I was going to be daemon fodder for sure! The sun was setting. I was out in the wild, my leg hurt, the voretooths were still out there. We're talking major, major [REDACTED]-fest. Chances of survival looked close to nil.

"So whatever, I started yelling for help. Pretty sure no one would hear me. But… I wasn't just going to lie back and think of Lucis while daemons made mincemeat out of me!

"And Prince Noctis appeared. Prince Noctis! Can you believe it? I thought I was hallucinating. Or dead! Or dead and hallucinating! But there he was! Just schmosh! Cutting the voretooths down like they're… like they're flies!

"He had the guy with glasses hand me a potion after they took care of the [REDACTED] beasts. Prince Noctis was totally chill about it, although I think he was kinda upset that they messed up his hair? I mean, it still looked pretty [REDACTED] awesome to me!

"Uh, I might've told him I'd pay for the damages. Brain to mouth filter went down after all that splooosh. His big, brawny bodyguard dude told me not to bother – kinda implied I wouldn't be able to afford it. Which is, well, duh. I hear his hair's insured for ten million gil or something.

"Although the insurance company's probably under Niflheim control now, if it still exists-

"Guy with glasses was promising the prince to cook up some fancy tomato hair paste? While they were walking away? Prince Noctis didn't seem too psyched about it."

I hear he does car commercials. In Altissia.

The hunters around Cape Caem were a lot more tight-lipped about Prince Noctis' whereabouts, but we are nothing if not tenacious when it comes to news regarding His Royal Highness. After several days of scouting the area, the NMU team chanced upon a friendly restaurateur who's been dealing carrots with a "quite charming" group of four. We've been led to believe that the Prince's retinue is growing a farm right on Cape Caem. But it appears Prince Noctis has bigger plans than agriculture in store.

"Ah, yes. They've rather capable green thumbs, those boys," Tony Cauponi says fondly, "Even though one of them seems to detest carrots quite profusely. Such a shame, caem carrots make for a most delectable palate, quite the rage over at Cupona.

"Hm? A description of the boy? Black hair, blue eyes, I believe- About my height? Yes, I'd say about there. And a penchant for black, which his friends share.

"Handsome lads, all of them. I hear they're in the fashion industry, just enjoying a bit of nature in their free time. The blond one said something about being seaside supermodels. He was taking a lot of pictures, probably for their portfolio. That's quite important for models.

"Anything else I heard? You're fans of the lads, aren't you? Well, let's see…

"The muscled one – he's a sports model, isn't he, considering his physique – was telling his more genteel, high-fashion friend – the one with coiffed chestnut hair and glasses? – that Blue Eyes had been 'taking forever and refused to put the rod back in'.

"I think Blue Eyes replied with, 'All you did was tell me to 'put my back in it'. It was frickin' huge and my arms were tired, alright?'

"Ah. I'm not sure I want to speculate on what they were talking about. Could be plenty of things. Like sex, or… gravure modelling? Or… sex?

"The bespectacled gentleman praised Blue Eyes for his persistence and assured him that he's 'getting much better' and that he does in fact have, ahem, 'a good sense of when to relax and when to use his muscles, although he has been rather tensed lately, so maybe they ought to take some time that night to massage him properly and get him adequately loosened up?'.

"I didn't catch Blue Eyes' response, but he must've been on board with that plan, because there weren't any protests coming from his quarter.

"The smaller blond one was chattering about the quality of Altissia's beds, so maybe that's where they're heading for their next shoot? He said something getting a car on a boat, and how that'll make 'a wicked picture'.

"Huh, I'm guessing, sea-themed car commercials? In Altissia. Sounds like an interesting concept."

Well. If Prince Noctis' looking for a career change, then I'm sure his future works will be highly anticipated!

One time, he met First Secretary Camelia at a bar. And she told him he was pretty.

If that isn't enough to excite you, we're sure the next account will have you on the edge of your seats. One of our subscribers sent us an email a couple of days ago with a few attached pictures. With her permission, we're publishing the contents of the email below: (We're sure you'll find this as interesting as we did!)

Hey girls, you'll never guess who I saw down at Maagho bar.

[princesexyaf1.jpg]

Tell me that isn't His Royal Sexiness Prince Naughty Noctis. I dare you. Tell me it isn't him. He's even more gorgeous in person dfdahbjvfa Like you can't see in the photos, but I swear those eye lashes are just wasted on a guy. Are we sure he doesn't use mascara? Like are we actually sure?

Anyway, he and his boy toys showed up out of the blue, looking all sensually dishevelled mmm… I wonder what they've been doing to get their hair and clothes all mussed like that. [Friendly reminder that Noct Me Up frowns upon hate mails directed at any of His Highness' love interests.] Came sashaying in like they totally do not have the empire riding their asses.

[princesexyaf2.jpg]

Also, you see that second photo, where he's standing with his hip cocked and his shirt riding up? Our boy has abs! And he was totally flaunting it for his boyfriends, I kid you not. Bending over every flat surface like he's asking for a pounding. The blond one, Prompto iirc, Prince Noctis' classmate(?), he was taking photos like his life depended on it.

Ok I tried to secretly video them, and let me tell you, it was hard. It's like those boys have ESPN or something. They turn every time I have my phone camera up. But whatever, at least I got Something.

[princesexyafnbfs.mp4]

The footage is shaky and grainy, tilted at about 60 degrees off-centre, but it focuses on Noctis' figure as he leans over a barrel – back arched and ankles crossed. Prompto laughs, bumping into Noctis' side as he enthuses about something. It's inaudible due to white noise and background static, but he's pointing at his camera. They move closer, so their bodies are pressed flush against one another, almost huddling. Ignis draws Noctis' attention after a few seconds, and Noctis turns to him. After a short exchange, Ignis leans forward. It's unclear from the angle, but one might assume the prince's advisor is taking liberties. Gladiolus soon enters the frame, casually mussing Noctis' hair with a smug grin. Noctis tries to duck. He fails, and his pout is visible despite the bad video quality. There's a bit of rough-housing, before Gladiolus abruptly freezes. He turns to stare directly into the camera, at which point, the camera spins and the feed cuts to black.

And it's like so obvious they've a Thing. I mean, c'mon. Did you not see that kiss? That was so obviously a kiss. They make such a cute couple. Or foursome. #LOVEWINS Look, all I'm saying is, if Prince Butter-My-Muffins wants his muffins buttered, then who are we to judge? Plus that's some very Fine men he's toting about, I wouldn't blame him for wanting in on that meat sandwich.

Now for the juicy deets, First Secretary Camelia popped by all casual-like to have a word with His Royal Pinchable-Cheeks. Totally not suspicious at all, no siree. Walked straight right up to Weskham and asked for his "pretty boy guests" because everyone's clearly been waiting for Prince Noctis to show up after that announcement about the Oracle.

They were talking real soft and secretive, but I swear the First Secretary invited Prince Noctis back to her apartment 'to discuss terms'. I'm betting they're here for amnesty, the prince and his boyfriends. It only makes sense, since Accordo's the only place with any sort of independence from the Empire. Am I right or amirite?

Since the treaty's screwed six ways to Sunday, he can even tie the knot with one of his boy toys. That's what couples come to Altissia for – no, not the view. Cheap marriage licenses!

You think they'll have a fake King Regis officiating, or is that too tasteless?

One time he stabbed me with his sword. It was awesome.

Our last entry comes from a mysterious man in a fedora who has identified himself as Nydra Ainuzi. He approached one of our Accordo-based NMU associates shortly after we received the email informing us about Prince Noctis' impending elopement. Nydra considers himself, "a well-informed expert on Lucian royalty, their retainers and all other matters concerning the Crown and Crystal," and he has been "paying special attention to the so prodigious last son of Lucis Caelum."

"Where do I begin, where do I begin? Oh, there is just so much to tell about the beautifully tragic Prince Noctis.

"Shall we begin with his battle habits? I think we shall. Behold, the brave and heroic Prince Noctis. He's nimble and quick and oh so skilled with his weapons, and [sharp intake of breath] dear me, is His Royal Highness carrying a moogle plushie into battle?

[ardynsphoto1.jpg]

"Heavens, who would have guessed that the prince was so attached to stuffed animals? To think he'd be childish enough to lug one around while fighting, such disappointing disregard for proper battle etiquette- I do need that photo back. It was stolen, as in borrowed from someone.

"Yes, a blond-budding-photographer someone.

"Well. I guess he wouldn't miss it.

"Hm, I see you're quite charmed by the prince's utterly unprofessional attachment to toys. But have you seen this appallingly indecent cosplay he did for that crass video game festival?

[ardynsphoto2.jpg]

"Oh, you're swooning. Yes, it's awfully risqué of the prince. What a blatant lack of respect for decorum, showing so much skin- No, you cannot have that photo. It's borrowed.

"Oh fine.

"You seem quite pleased to have seen Noctis' n- nipple. I can't say I understand the appeal.

"I beg your pardon?

"You wish to know of the prince's steamy dalliances with his secret paramours? Oho, I can definitely help you with that. Let's see here.

[ardynsphoto3.jpg]

"Feast your eyes.

"Indeed, how terribly promiscuous- Such unruly behaviour from a scion of the distinguished line of Lucis, no less. I'm sure you're all quite horri… fically excited.

"Because it is obviously a cause for celebration – to have a sexually active prince, enamoured with his very male attendants. No cause for concern at all. None at all. The lack of heirs would be sending no one into a state of panic.

"Do you even-

"Why, I'm sure you would even be pleased to know that the prince once stabbed me with his sword. Quite brutally. Are you excited about that, hm? Do his violent tendencies not faze you?  Do they not cloud your sunnily enthusiastic support of whatever that brat-

"I don't think I expected so shrill a reaction, but it's rather flattering to know that you feel so strongly about my well-being- What?

"Was it what? Awesome? Are we on the same page?

"Was it awesome to be stabbed by Prince Noctis' sword? I- Do I look particularly prone to masochistic tendencies? Well, I suppose being tormented and ravaged by daemons for two thousand years does that to-

"You know what, yes. Yes, it was awesome. I absolutely enjoyed being impaled on the pointy end of his magic metal phallic symbol. You can put that down in your little publication. Good day.

"And keep that photo."

And there you have it, the life and times of our ever beloved, ever righteous Prince Noctis Lucis Caelum. Watch out for next week's issue of Noct Me Up to find out more about His Royal Highness' devoted bedmates and their amazing sexcapades.

Please view our Terms and Conditions, or refer to our Privacy Policy for more information. Noct Me Up is a Noct-for-Profit organization, dedicated to delivering the naughtiest Noctis content for all the ardent con-noct-sseurs out there.

[theartofbeinganerd]

Working on other fics tonight, so here’s another one from my collection of one shots. I wrote this either the day of or the day after 4x12, because hearing about Fitz’s father of course made me think about Fitz as a father - which led to Fitzsimmons talking about babies, obviously. 

And since we’re talking about Fitz’s crappy dad, there are of course brief mentions of child abuse, but nothing explicit.

(Ao3)

-

Jemma could remember with ease the very first time Fitz had mentioned his father to her, all the way back during the summer following their first year at the Academy. Of course she’d wondered about the lack of father whenever Fitz talked about his home life, only ever “Mum” this and “Mum” that, but no matter her issues with decorum, even Jemma had known that that wasn’t something one just bluntly questioned.

Finally, after six months of friendship, it had been June, and Jemma and Fitz had spent hours talking on the phone, much like they did every other day. They both had gotten teased by their respective families for their tightly bound friendship (really, Jemma thought, they should’ve known that what they had went far deeper than friendship), and after several calls up the stairs to hurry up off the phone and that Fitz would still be there tomorrow, her father had finally knocked on the door and reminded her that they needed to get going to her grandparents’ house. It had been Father’s Day, and they’d planned for some time to celebrate with her one living grandfather, her mother’s father.

When Jemma had breezily explained it to Fitz, hurrying to finish the conversation so as not to make them any later, Fitz had gone eerily silent on the other line. She’d prompted him several times, worried that something was wrong, and eventually he’d answered with a simple “oh”. Another pause had followed, and then he’d told her to have fun.

But, even though she’d only known him for six months, she already knew him better than she imagined she knew anyone else. She knew his expressions and his moods and his tones, and she knew that something was paining him, something was tearing at his heart, and she could just tell that it had something to do with his strangely absent father.

So she’d told him softly, gently that he could talk to her if he wanted to, but he didn’t have to, she was always there for him.

There had been a shuddering breath on the other line, then another, and then the floodgates had opened and he’d tearfully spilled the whole story to her.

Jemma had curled up in her bed, pressed up against the wall and with her face buried in her pillow to hide the angry tears, to muffle the broken sobs at Fitz’s long-held, undeserved pain. She’d excused herself from the party at her grandparents’ and instead stayed home, pressing the phone to her ear and listening to every painful admission of inadequacy Fitz had, whispering fiercely to him that none of it was true, balling her hands into painful fists in her sheets as she imagined what she’d say to the man that had torn her new best friend to shreds when he’d been so vulnerable.

When moonlight was peeking through her bedroom windows and she could hear her family returning to the house downstairs, she and Fitz had said their soft goodnights. With a sniffle, he’d thanked her for listening, for being there, and Jemma had made a silent promise to herself at that moment that she would spend every single second she had with Fitz working to make him believe that he was more than enough.

Much to Jemma’s shame, she’d unintentionally broken that promise when she’d left for HYDRA after the pod and Fitz’s coma, and it was something she still struggled with at times, something that still plagued her when she least expected it. But, as Fitz (Fitz, the incredible, unspeakably amazing man that he was) was so fond of reminding her, it was what she’d thought was best at the time, that she’d never intended to hurt him in the way she had, and that she couldn’t have known the effect it would have on him.

Since then, she’d been doing her level best to make up for it, and now that they were together, her words of admiration for him came easier, and truly Jemma had never seen his self-esteem healthier (and it was likely only partially due to their fantastic sex life).

However, with the recent stirring of the pot and reopening of old wounds thanks to Radcliffe, Fitz’s self-esteem had taken a hit, his damnable father’s words coming back to haunt him, if only for a short time. He’d assured her that he was over it, that he didn’t want to talk about it anymore, and that he just wanted to move on. But, as they lay side-by-side in their bed, hands held loosely between them as they watched an old episode of Dr. Who turned down low, she could tell it was still on his mind.

When it finally came, it was abrupt, the words spoken with no preface, no warning. “I just can’t imagine someone saying those kinds of things to a little kid, y’know?”

Jemma turned her head to glance at him, resting her cheek on her pillow and finding him with his narrowed gaze focused on the ceiling. “I know,” she murmured, giving his hand a gentle squeeze, stroking her thumb lovingly over his skin. “Neither can I. But he wasn’t a good person, Fitz. He was a horrible man, one who didn’t have the same values, the same decency that you or I have.”

Fitz shook his head absently, letting out a frustrated sigh. “It’s just… I mean, sometimes I try to imagine that there’s some circumstance where maybe it’d make sense but…but I can’t. I would never say that stuff to my kids. Never.”

“I know,” Jemma repeated, her tone earnest as she reached over with her free hand to grip his between both of hers. “Because no matter how horrible your father was to you, you still became the incredible man I see before me, the man our children will be so lucky to have as a father.”

For a moment, he didn’t respond with more than a vague ‘hmm’ that showed he wasn’t really listening to what she was saying, too caught up in his own head. However, then he went rigid, his eyes popping open wide as he turned to stare at her in shock, his mouth falling open in disbelief.

“What?” Jemma asked in concern and a bit of self-consciousness. “It can’t really be that shocking, can it? I mean I know we haven’t talked about it, but…” She trailed off, her anxiety rising the longer he stared blankly at her, as though she’d just started speaking in an entirely foreign language. “Oh dear,” she murmured, her cheeks heating in embarrassment, “I’ve overstepped, haven’t I?”

Wincing at her incredible inability to just talk like a human being, Jemma opened her mouth to begin spouting apologies and pleas for them to forget all about her slip, but before she could get another word out, Fitz pounced.

Her gasp of surprise was muffled against his lips as he eagerly pressed her back into the mattress, his hands gripping at her waist, her hips, her face, her hair, all over her. Her own hands fluttered about, unsure for a moment at the complete one-eighty, but then his teeth tugged at her bottom lip and it dragged a moan from her, her hands finding their rightful place holding the back of his head to make sure he stayed where she wanted him.

The desperately passionate kiss went on for a long moment, and when Fitz parted from her, both of them panting for breath, she couldn’t help her little moan of loss. Fitz dropped his forehead to rest against hers, his eyes dark and intense from pupils blown wide as they stared into hers. “You wanna have my babies?” he asked, his tone filled with awe and his voice low and rough from desire.

Jemma was only human, thank you, and one of her weaknesses in life, she’d found, was Fitz’s accent when it became thicker and rougher around the edges when he was turned on (when she turned him on). As such, a shudder was sent through her body at the pairing of that accent and that question, and she very nearly let her legs fall open with an enthusiastic “hell yes, let’s start now”.

Thankfully, Jemma had managed to hang on to a smidgen of self-control, so she took a deep breath and fought down the hormones and instead cupped Fitz’s beloved face between her hands. She brushed her thumbs over his cheeks, tracing beneath his eyes and over his nose and around his lips as she smiled breathlessly up at him. “Of course,” she murmured sincerely. “There’s no one I’d rather start a family with, Fitz. Are you really that surprised?”

“Well…no. Maybe. Caught off-guard, I guess. You’ve never mentioned it before,” Fitz admitted, his expression becoming a bit more shy and boyish as he shrugged sheepishly, but he was no less attractive to her, no less dear to her.

“I suppose there was never a reason to mention it.” Smiling lovingly up at him, she felt her cheeks growing warm once more as she confessed quietly, “But I’ve thought about it. Perhaps more than I reasonably should.”

Fitz’s eyes fell closed, his head bowing slightly as he was overwhelmed with emotion, and Jemma lifted her head from the mattress to press a kiss to his forehead. After a moment, his voice gravely, he said, “Me too, Jem. God, me too. You have no idea.”

“Good. Then we’re on the same page.” Gently, she lifted Fitz’s head back up so that their gazes were once more locked, and she bit her lip against a ridiculously giddy smile as told him, “We’re in agreement that someday, we’re going to have beautiful, blue-eyed, curly-haired children who will take apart our microwave and build functioning rockets in our garage.”

“Hey now,” Fitz started, a frown tugging at his lips, “why can’t they be gorgeous little brown-eyed, freckled children who bring dead rats and squirrels into the house and dissect them on the kitchen counter?”

“Well I don’t know why you think they’d do that,” Jemma shot back, pressing her lips together to hide her smirk as she insisted, “Any dissections they do will be proper, in a lab, where there shouldn’t be food.”

“Oh not this again,” Fitz groaned with more exasperation than he clearly felt, given the way his eyes were shining. “It was lunchtime, which obviously meant to put away the disgusting cat livers where they belonged, not drop them right on the table next to my sandwich!”

“You know I never eat lunch when I’m on a roll! Why put a groundbreaking discovery off for something as trivial as lunch?”

“Oh, for the love of –” He cut himself off when he leaned down capture her lips once more, kissing away anymore arguments she could’ve made (arguments she’d already made many, many times over the years).

When they parted that time, Jemma let out a soft, breathless laugh. “I like having that fight so much more when it ends like that.”

Fitz grinned a bit guiltily, giving a chuckle as he agreed, “Me too.”

They simply gazed at each other for a moment, nothing needing to be said, but Jemma eventually broke the silence to offer quietly, “Wouldn’t it be even more perfect if they were brown-eyed, curly-haired children who build rockets and dissect squirrels? Or blue-eyed, freckled children who have their mother’s practicality and their father’s warm heart? Some kind of utterly perfect combination of half-you, half-me, as if someone took all of our genes and mixed them up in a bag, picking and choosing until they’re left with the both of us put into the most adorable little packages.”

The look on Fitz’s face just then was one she was now intimately familiar with, one that made her heart clench in her chest and her stomach twist up in delightful knots. It was a look she equated with his love for her personified, made real and tangible and visible in his eyes as they burned into her, as though it was too much for him to contain inside of himself and it had no choice but to spill out of him through his intense gaze. She honestly wasn’t sure how long he’d been directing said look at her without her notice, but she was infinitely glad that he was no longer afraid to let her see just how deeply his love for her ran, because she would never get tired of that look.

“Yeah?” he questioned lowly, his voice nearly breaking on just the one word, and Jemma couldn’t find her own voice, instead nodding in answer, her gaze soft and loving and only for him. “They’ll be perfect. Incredible. The most…the most amazing little kids in the whole damn world.”

Her breath catching in her throat, Jemma shifted her hands back to hold his face between them, tears beginning to build in her eyes and a tiny smile curving her lips as she told him, “See? Not even born yet, not even conceived yet, and you’re already a better father than yours could’ve ever hoped to be. You could never be him, and I hope you know that, Fitz. All I want is for you to see yourself the way I see you. If you could… If you could, you’d never have to wonder about being enough again.”

Fitz let out a shaky breath, and there it was, that look again as he shifted his weight to rest on one arm, lifting the other to stroke the backs of his fingers down her cheek. “I love you,” he whispered hoarsely, “I love you, Jemma. So much.”

“I love you too, Fitz.” She skimmed her hands down his neck and shoulders to his back, gently tugging at him until he lowered his weight to rest fully on top of her, their arms tightening around each other in a tender embrace. She let out a content sigh, her eyes falling closed as she turned her head to press a kiss to his temple.

No matter how many years passed, Fitz’s father was always going to be a dark mark on his past, coming back at the most inopportune times to remind him of all the awful things he’d tried to convince Fitz he was. But, no matter how many years passed, Jemma was always going to be there as well to pull Fitz back from the depths of his dark thoughts, to remind him that he was none of the things his father had called him, that he was good and warm and smart and enough.

And perhaps, maybe, when they someday did have their own family, when they’d left the danger in their pasts and begun a new story in Perthshire with a brood of beautiful children, he’d be able to fully put his father behind him to focus on his new family, the one that loved and appreciated him for who he was and would never dream of leaving him.

Jemma was so content, in fact, that she nearly felt herself drifting toward sleep, when Fitz suddenly shifted slightly, lifting his head to whisper near her ear, “Hey Jemma…d’you wanna start practicing for making those perfect babies?”

Even as she snorted in disbelief at his proposition, Jemma already knew exactly what her response to it was going to be. She was only human, after all.

[rochellecrete]

My testimony- Healing from trauma and abuse

ok just a quick rough draft. Here it goes......

My Testimony - Healing from Trauma and Abuse

Rochelle Crete

God has brought me an amazing way. From where I was in the ashes and pits of despair to becoming an overcomer and walking in the victory. What I'm about to share with you today is not easy. My life has had many struggles and heartaches. I'm not sharing what I’m about to share with you for you to feel sorry for me or because I need to get it off my chest as it is pretty heavy subject matter. The reason I am about to share some of the hardest moments in my life as raw and real as it has happened is because of what God has done to bring me out of it. See I went through some heavy trauma and abuse in my life. Not just once or by one abuser and not just one form of abuse. I experienced every form of abuse and trauma you can imagine from sexual abuse from a very early age to physical and mental abuse. The first time I met my first abuser and the one who abused me sexually I was three years old. He was our next door neighbour and soon his daughter and I were best of friends. We still are to this day. The first encounter with him at 3 years old I was scared of him. I saw dark figures surrounding him when I walked into his backyard one day by mistake and stared at him through the window. I went home terrified of this man only running into him for a few seconds and went home and told my mom a bad man I was scared of lived next door. She laughed thinking it was funny. Later I discovered that this was one of the first incidents that led to me not trusting myself and my own gut feeling as well as my judgement on hearing Gods voice. This was not discovered till I was 41 and at a cleansing stream retreat where it was revealed to me in a vision where God healed that brokenness. I was later abused by this man until I was 14 and we moved to Canada and therefore were no longer neighbors. This brought a huge amount of shame and guilt and self-hatred to how I saw myself. I don't exactly remember when he first started to abuse me but I also don't remember a time when he wasn't. I know it was really bad and escalated between ages 12-14. After that I blocked out this memory. I will share more on this later.

I was away from this man for the moment but my mom got remarried as my parents divorced when I was 3. This man also abused me but this time it was physical abuse. I was beat and hit and went to school with hand print bruises on me from him pinning me to the ground. This was done not even when I did something wrong, but even if I got a phone call from a friend. That was enough to set off his temper. I had to take myself to the hospital several times for concussions due to this but yet never said a word to anyone.

I moved to my dad's shortly after this to get away from him but that was not always a whole lot better. There was a lot of fighting there as well and also a lot of manipulation and emotional abuse. I started turning the abuse on myself and started abusing myself as well. I began to be self-destructive including cutting myself. I was numb and broken and depressed inside and I always felt unworthy and dirty and had very low self-esteem. I began college at the local community college and I was working three part time jobs on top of that. I was getting roughly 3-4 hours of sleep at night. It was during this time that the memories of the abuse came flooding back as my friend's dad was also a professor at the school and started stalking me in the halls. I had a nervous breakdown that led to my first hospitalization. There were many more to follow. I was diagnosed with depression and anxiety and later told I was bipolar.

When my mom was in the hospital after having a heart attack and quadruple bypass even though I was an adult this man beat me again. This time for the last time. All over letting the dog in the house which my mother told me was ok to do. He pinned me to the ground and bashed my head against the tile floor. He also threatened to shoot and kill my dog and he had a gun ready. This time I called the police on my cellphone and he ended up staying in jail and his guns taken away.

I had one more man that abused me. This one I let into my life on my own as I married him. Things got bad quickly and the violence, emotional and verbal abuse escalated fast. He worked at a beer warehouse and spent his paycheck on beer rather than bills or groceries. We went without heat often in winter. He would even take my car keys and take the phone right out of the jack and take them to work with him so I couldn't call anyone for help even if it were an emergency. I was so sick at this point that I couldn't use my legs. They simply couldn't hold me up and so I used a wheelchair the majority of the time. I also had trouble even getting to the bathroom on my own and often just left alone to lay in bed feeling completely alone and helpless. This was probably the lowest point in my life. I wanted to die. I felt dead inside. Along with the other forms of abuse he also forced himself on me when he came home from work drunk. He made me feel useless, unworthy, broken and empty. I was lost.

One day one of my friends came over and I finally had the courage to tell her what was really happening in my life and at home and how I felt I no longer even wanted to live. How I felt suicidal even. On the subject of suicide, because of the abuse and trauma and how horrible and empty and alone I felt I had attempted suicide multiple times. Luckily I was not a success at this. My friend that stopped by took me home to her house and let me stay with her and helped me get away from my ex husband. This was not an easy process though. He not only threatened my life but everyone that helped me. Those friends' life's as well as the pastor's life that tried to help me get out as we turned to her for marriage counselling but with no success on his part to do much participation. She finally realized that it was a matter of safety and suggested I stay in a domestic violence shelter and we all got a personal protection order out on him. It was the scariest time of my life.

This abuse affected me for a long time, I had nightmares and flashbacks, I'd get so sick I'd throw up from just the trauma of the memories.

So where was God through all this you ask? Well He was right there with me. I just couldn't see it because I was clouded with the cloud of depression, shame, guilt, rejection and self-hatred but He was still there none the less. And he eventually got me out of it as well. I'll share more on this later.

My relationship with Him at this point was a bit distant. I grew up going to a conservative Lutheran church where I also attended school. I remember as a young child loving church service and the worship music and I held onto that feeling tightly, but God still felt distant. I had loving grandparents who also took me to church with them and they were my saving grace. If it weren't for them I don't think I'd be the person I am today. They were nurturers and loved greatly. They were the two people that never once mistreated me or said anything hurtful or critical and like I said they were my saving grace. They were my heroes.

When I was in third grade my mom was working many hours as a nurse and she would watch kids during the week to be with me and cover a double shift at the hospital on weekends. Because of her busy schedule we stopped attending church for the most part. This led to being excommunicated from church followed by me being removed from the school. I then attended public school from 4th grade on and we never really regained a church life.

It wasn't until I was a young adult that I started attending church again. I first tried a catholic church during the time I lived at my dad's but it didn't really fit me. Still I was searching. I didn't find what I wanted though so I didn't continue looking long. When I moved to Texas in my 20s I started attending a unity church. It wasn't what I needed but it was a stepping stone. When I moved back to Michigan I moved in with my friends I mentioned earlier that got me out of an abusive relationship with my ex husband. They were a wonderful Christian family who later brought me to the Lord and I began attending church with them. This is actually where I met my ex-husband and since you already know that situation and how it ended I won't repeat myself. However, I will state that once others found out about the abuse after I came forward instead of making him leave the church they made us leave instead. So, the two churches up till this point that I regularly attended I was told to leave from even though I didn't do anything wrong. This turned me away from church for a while and I had a bit of a rebellious period. It didn't last long but it was still there and it still effected my walk with God. He felt even more distant now as I felt rejection from church.

After I was free from my ex-husband I moved back to my condo in Ann Arbor. The abuse however and distance I felt from God still affected me. I was struggling but still had a desire to find what I was so desperately searching for. A friend recommended a church for me to try. It was the Ann Arbor Vineyard. I attended a bit reluctantly and a bit shyly sticking to myself. I finally felt home here. I finally found God here and Christ as my savior. I finally felt acceptance and freedom here. I felt the beginning of healing and wholeness but God was not even close to being done with me. I was baptized in the spirit at this church. Met some great spiritual mentors, and experienced some of the first stages of a deeper healing and a deeper relationship with Him. Even though I loved this church and always will and I am forever grateful for what I experienced here I also got hurt here as well. How or why doesn't matter so much but I stopped attending regularly and started partying a little harder. I wasn't celebrating but rather drowning my pain and struggling with my mental health.

Skip a few years ahead and I find out my mom has breast cancer so I moved back to Canada to help her out. I went through a really bad time of depression that eventually led to being hospitalized again. Many of you may remember this time and just how low I was. I did get help and got back up again but it was a long struggle. I was attending wpa at that time but I was struggling both in my mental health and my spiritual health. At times I wasn't even sure what I really believed.

When I went to camp in summer 2016 life changed. I received so much healing from God through prayer and words of encouragement from so many there. I felt the pain, anxiety and depression lift completely. I felt different, I looked different, and I was different. It was life changing for me and many remember my testimony from then. However I struggled when I got back and still slipped back into old ways. The depression and anxiety also returned, not as bad but still there.

My mom while I love her with all my heart often criticizes and puts me down and I still slipped back into the depression and doubt again. I was still doing a great deal better than before and even started working. I really wasn't looking for a job when I got my job, I was looking for a bus. I met Sandy at work and she became my boss. I liked and felt comfortable with her right away which is not the usual for me. I loved working there but I was still struggling with depression and anxiety. I started having nightmares of the abuse again and had one panic attack so bad it led to taking a month off of work. I wasn't even aware at the time that it was the abuse triggering my panic attacks. After a month off and starting back up I felt like I needed to talk to my boss about what triggered my panic attacks. She had an uncanny way of calming me down when I had one at work and therefore I felt safe to talk to her about it. I had no idea however how much support she would be or how much of an impact this would have on me. I felt strength and I felt freedom in just telling someone the whole story and was overwhelmed with the love and support I was given. My nightmares stopped and they changed to her being a superhero with me fighting the bad guys with me. We even ran them over with the bus. I felt a strength and confidence I have never felt before. This lovely lady now means the world to me and I am forever grateful for her support. It has given me the strength to get to this point in being able to publicly share my full testimony in a raw uncut form.

I also feel like God is going to use this to help others greatly as many people suffer in silence from both mental health as well as trauma and abuse. There is a stigma attached to both of these that needs to be broken. Breaking the silence breaks the stigma so that is why I am choosing to break the silence and share this so openly and publicly. It is hard, it is frightening and terrifying, but in that there is also freedom and strength. As Joyce Myers always says "I may not be where I need to be, but I'm far from where I used to be." God has brought me so far in my journey, in my healing and with my walk with him. He has brought me out of the brokenness, out of the shame, and guilt and fear. He has made me unbroken, fused me back together. He has made me whole and has me walking in victory. He never meant for any of this to happen but he certainly will use it for His good and His glory. What Satan meant to kill and destroy God will use for good. That is certainly what He is doing here. If I reach just one hurting person who has struggled through what I have it will make it worth it. I highly doubt that God is stopping there though. I feel He will use me to reach many.

So, If you feel broken or unworthy or suffered through abuse or even if you didn't but still feel broken I want to pray with you. If you are reading this feel free to message me, call me, text me. I will listen, I will pray, and I will understand.

Feel free to share this as it needs to be heard to help others. Thanks for taking the time to read it.