#ill actually cry if it looks like shit on mobile

[bdrmhymnz]

Ⅶ. 𝐢𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐧𝐚𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐦𝐞𝐭𝐚-𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐦𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐜𝐞 𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐢𝐟𝐢𝐜𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐤𝐬 𝐝𝐨𝐰𝐧 𝐨𝐧 𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐢𝐭’𝐬 𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐬𝐮𝐫𝐯𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐢𝐧 𝐢𝐝𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐞𝐬𝐬 𝐚 𝐟𝐥𝐢𝐜𝐤𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐥𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐞𝐝 𝐛𝐲 𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐲 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐨 𝐛𝐞 𝐆𝐨𝐝 𝐛𝐲 𝐝𝐞𝐧𝐲𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐆𝐨𝐝 𝐟𝐨𝐨𝐥𝐬 𝐰𝐡𝐨 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞 𝐬𝐮𝐝𝐝𝐞𝐧𝐥𝐲 𝐨𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐫𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐚 𝐩𝐫𝐚𝐲𝐞𝐫 𝐨𝐟 𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐟-𝐝𝐢𝐬𝐜𝐢𝐩𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐞 𝐝𝐢𝐬𝐠𝐮𝐢𝐬𝐞𝐝 𝐚𝐬 𝐜𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐜𝐢𝐬𝐦

bdrmhymnz ; a study in circumstance, trauma, nature vs nurture, religion, and things that go bump in the night. semi - selective / semi-private . heavy content warnings indie oc rp . loved by jace ( 24 . they/them )

rules . navigation . opens . plots . memes

[colorisbyshe]

People are arguing about the effectiveness/moralness of self immolation as a protest tactic in the notes of my post and I neeeed y'all to know you are part of the fucking problem. You are absolutely part of the problem.

Self immolation SHOULD be effective. Something that extreme should be effective (though, obviously not encouraged, please do not kill yourselves) and being dismissive of it and immediately positioning yourself as like... more politically savvy than the person who literally JUST killed themselves is fucking disgusting.

Watching a clip as a man slowly crumbles into himself as he is burned alive and saying "This accomplishes nothing" is gross and if you think my post was doing that, I have failed. Pointing out political action is rarely recorded in the history books wasn't me saying it does nothing--it was me saying "history books" love to suppress actual history if it doesn't fit their narrative. If it threatens the status quo and might inspire others to work for change and strike out against structural powers.

Obviously, no one single act or person can totally change everything. There is no radical shift from one life taken (and his life WAS taken by this administration more than it was taken by himself).

It's about the collective total of ALL of our actions--the big, the small, the palatable, and the ugly, which this was. There's a REASON why the press is refusing to report on his death accurately and there is a REASON he went out of his way to fight that and document his death so clearly, identifying himself, live streaming, declaring his intent and cause with his last fucking breath.

It's because his actions do inspire change when properly witnessed. This isn't something that is meant to make Biden go "Oh, shit, stop the genocide" but it is meant to wake up everyone else. People who loved him, people who served with him, people who didn't serve with him but also feel trapped by military contracts, people who felt the genocide was bad but hadn't quite been pushed to action yet.

Viewing this as a singular political event that was intended to change everything shows YOU are the one who doesn't know what is or isn't effective. Political action is ALWAYS about the COLLECTIVE impact and about mobilizing a larger front.

Immediately dismissing what he did as mentally ill or well-intentioned but ineffective is kneecapping the impact. Just so you can feel smug. It's the same energy as people saying donating in small amounts won't do anything, even if those donations add up to something large.

It's obvious to me when y'all are saying shit just to make yourselves feel above everyone else. Where you're doing everything just to prove you're a smart, moral person. Nothing is derived from empathy or thinking of the collective. It's just about you.

Nevermind that even if it is "ineffective," how fucking dare you look at someone driven to one of the most painful forms of suicide, using his final moments to desperately cry for change and say his death doesn't matter. How fucking dare you. Genuinely, what is wrong with you?

[fictionfixations]

if i had a nickels for every brown-haired fem-presenting protagonist in a mobile game, id have two nickels. also i cant think of any other rn so there might be more (that ive played). also can i just say the visuals are very unique (the surroundings i mean)? like like its. i dont know how to explain it idk this stuff

(this is other protag im referring to. this is mystic messenger. i dont have a better img unlocked so uh. also hi if youve seen my recent mysme posts, i got the good ending :D)

clearly it wants you to explore so i was like 'haha what if ii dont want to'

but like oh

'gosh its just a branch' why did that actually make me jump im crying i just saw something while we were walking and was like 'huh?' and then it cracked when we stepped on it and it startled me i

voiced jumpscare (they(bc idk who tf this is) say 'do not worry' but i pressed past it so ermm oops)

are these guys dateable i know literally nothing about this game im going in blind (which is a first for hoyo games lOl. with the exception of honkai impact since that was my first hoyo game actually.)

his voice is hot. also im playing in jp. idk if theres like some voiced language that is a league above the others, or if youre meant to listen to it in like idk the og language, im just more familiar with hearing jp cause im an anime person

why do i feel like the white doctor person is a villain it honestly reminded me a lot of kafka in hsr's intro (just vibes though..? also vague stuff that probably refers to the future)

also maybe because its the latest actual like 2d sort of visual novel i saw was ddlc, but our protag reminds me a lot of monika. visually i mean. even the facial expressions

oh fuck it kicked me out of the game nOO PLEASE I WANT TO GET INTO IT SEEMS INTERESTING AND I LIKE DETECTIVE LAW SHIT

the pulling animation is pretty but uh. the going through the cards are very bright like the entire screen goes white oh my god this is a bad game to play at 4 am o w oh 💀

i mean like. i dont mind. i play way too many games that arent english voiced to be mad about actually reading

Oh shit it quit me out again WHYYY PLEASEEE

happy that the investigating the surroundings part has like a hint button that highlights what it wants you to find

i dont think anything like that is in danganronpa. or at least v3? i played through it and remember getting stuck on i think it was the 5th trial? dont wanna spoil so ill keep it vague. i got stuck in the investigation portion because i missed that you could click on the sleeve of the jacket (i had to google because my dumbass didnt even think about looking at it 😭)

anyway uhhhhhh

i might make more posts on this? idk. i dont know anything about the story except what ive gone through so far and im starting to get a headache cause words so er im gonna stop here

[scarletcitrus]

pagan min as a dragon.............this idea has been in my head for so long i’ve got like prototype pagan dragons and shit but this is my final design for him

if you want to see me go in-depth about him for reasons that are related to mental illness (i have it and it is his fault) there is more :)

okay so. i’m going to explain his entire design since it makes me happy and i’m going to start with the colors

obviously he’s super flashy and extravagant in canon so i couldn’t just Not let that cross over here. i tried to make him look like a living rainbow without actually making him a rainbow BUT i do have my reasons for each of the colors.

the golden orange-y and yellow parts are obviously, well, to represent gold and the fact that he is ummmmmmm Technically royalty despite stealing the throne? the combination of blue on gold is relative to the golden path and how he and ishwari were a thing yada yada . red is for the primary color his army wears and for lakshmana because her whole shrine is decked out in the color red and pink is for his lovely suit:)

...i couldn’t make it that vibrant pink his suit actually is or it wouldn’t have fit as well into the rest of the colors. also. all the colors are taken off the rakshasa pagan thingy but i gave them meaning to make it fancier ++++ it wasn’t my intention but the way his colors fade into each other reminds me of all the colorful ?dust (i don’t know what it is. is it just powder) in far cry 4 so that makes me happy

speaking of rakshasa pagan, the other parts of his design are very much based off of it. specifically, the bird one in shangri-la. i included the way pagan’s rakshasa face looks as best as i could but the rest of the little intricate details i all sponged off of the bird, like the armor and the crown and the huge talons. the crown i felt especially needed to be included if nothing else bc well. y’know LMAO

the vaguely peacock-looking feathers are because that seems to be his motif for himself and his army and kyrat or whatever tf i don’t really know. all i know is i see peacocks associated with him and BAM he gets some pretty feathers

p.s. ik the pose is weird in that image let’s all hold hands and pretend that he’s climbing down from something

okay bear with me . the wing size might be inconsistent but shhh don’t look at that it isn’t there also thanks to tumblr for maybe tanking the quality of these (we’ll see) . ANYWAY

he gets multiple limbs because of the golden statues (or statue singular? is there just one? i haven’t played it but god i want to) that are in his dlc and it gives me another reason to stretch the definition of “dragon” which is always super fun for me :)

his face is mostly immobile aside from being able to blink and breathe and close/open his mouth but it’s like his jaw is on hinges with the way it can only move up and down (and stiffly) because i want it to really feel like he’s got a mask on or something. like if you look at the rakshasa bird its face isn’t all that. mobile. it is made of some kind of metal i think and i tried to mimic that effect + the idea of his mask in the dlc

another p.s.! let’s all keep holding hands and pretending . this time he’s landing after flying. he doesn’t normally stand on two feet

his wings are heavy to the point that his front legs can’t really support him properly sometimes even though he’s got two pairs, so he often uses his wings as support to walk like how wyverns do. he feels like it’s inconvenient because he doesn’t want to get his feathers dirty and without a beak/easy way to close his mouth it’s annoying for him to preen them but that’s just an L he has to take

and this is just him flying 4 literally no reason. i struggle drawing animals/beings that have wings in flight (and also i struggle with the tucked-in legs that come with those) so i wanted to see if i could. i think it turned out okay? maybe

i hope this made sense and that i wasn’t totally incoherent about this! thank you for reading (if you did) (and perhaps expect more dragons... i’m a big fan of them lol)

[lostacelonnie]

so days ago i had a dream i never really wrote down for some reason so ill drop it in your askbox <(￣︶￣)>

this dream was set in college and the room looked similar except it was like at a high af floor building (this is relevant later) and there was clearly some Scott Pilgrim Shit going on because i had a crush on someone in the class and i was speedrunning what the teacher was explaining and my dream self decided to talk to them and they read my mind or something and gave me a quest to....

play the horror game they made(i have no horror tolerance) before a certain timelimit passed where they would get bored of this timeline and hop to another one "adhd-style" and if i managed to beat the horror game they made in time they would teach me how to timeline hop too and bring me along

i somehow started dual wielding both programming and gaming but my ass was so fucking scared at the horror game because it switched gameplay entirely everytime i opened a door and for some reason it induced eldritch fear in me

eventually a crowd gathered around me to give me moral support but then i had finally beaten the game after some arduous few minutes of me almost shitting myself(figuratively) because of a room where the doors jumpscared you and i just stood up with power brimming out of my soul and i walked up to them and they looked at me like "you are worthy. congratulations are in order" and then they raised their hand and the floor fucking collapsed?

i was sent to an alternate version of the classroom where the floor was part floor and part water and people were boating to get to their seats and leave the classroom and i looked for them around the water version of the classroom but couldnt find them and then i fucked up my boating skilps and fell off flying the tall as fuck classroom and below was a dance competition in a mall that i landed on and the judge said i had nice af moves and asked what my name was and i said "im sorry i just fell here by accident.... ill be taking my leave...." and the judge looked kinda sad and annoyed that i wasnt an official competitor and i wanted to leave quietly but the place was crowded

and instead of leaving through the door i saw a power outlet and since no one was near it and entered it and fucking entered the Cable Dimension which kinda hurt to be in but i managed to move to a different place of the mall and there was a game convention and they were showing this timeline's version of honkai impact as like a non-mobile action game similar to devil may cry and ultrakill and i started playing the demo there because holy shit blorbo from My Timeline????

the gameplay was odd because kiana's moveset was highly different but she looked like white comet still

like she had her normal white comet moveset but Cooler and an ability to turn the game into a 3rd person shooter by pulling out her gun but her bullets had a mechanic where if you hold the fire button instead of tapping and swing the aim fast with the mouse, releasing mid-swing would cause you to shoot a bullet that would curve to the opposite direction (with slight auto aim) and change the way it impacted the enemy

i remember like doing a heavy attack in this version of honkai impact with wildly different gameplay where kiana used a paw from white comet to send the enemy flying like to the left and i used a swinging bullet to the right immediately after the heavy attack and the bullet curved around and hit the enemy from the back and sent them back to kiana

also kiana had glowing orange strings she could throw enemies around and swing around spiderman-style with it was odd

my time on the honkai demo was over so i went to check out another game and it was a fucked up vr fighting game where your physical strength actually mattered and was required to cast your special moves and i met the person from before and i called them out and they just fucking one shotted me in the game somehow

i asked how the fuck they did that if the game is based on actual strength and how they timeline hopped and they just told me "I am this timeline. You are living in me."

so i guess i had a dream where i dated a timeline(?) and they showed me a version of honkai impact that was a mix of ultrakill and dmc and i dont know how to feel other than that this is another idea i could use to draw a yuri webcomic out of if i could draw

HELP ME........ TIMELINE YURI...... big fan of the Cable Dimension btw and also Finally. Honkai Impact 4th. honkai/ultrakill crossover when

[campirebitesarchive]

more medical garbage bitching dont mind me (feel free to blacklist camyellsOW to ignore these)

im liking being able to look back on these before other appointments

im currently on hold with my insurance because my rheumatologist listened to me and he wrote me a prescription for ring splints and I called around to physical therapy offices and found one that has hand therapy and can take my and my appointment is in less than 3 weeks which for PT in my area and PT as specific as this thats AMAZING holy shit. Its actually closer to two weeks than 3 but I feel like im doxxing myself if i say specifics lmao

so im calling my insurance company to see if they can tell me ahead of time if there are a fuckload of hoops im going to have to jump through in order to get my splints

for the first time ever I feel kind of hopeful about my joint health. Were doing a lyme disease blood panel to see if thats the source of my nausea, dizziness, fatigue, and headaches. He ordered a couple more things Im going to google

I told him that I know we need to do physical therapy first but eventually id love to talk to him about a wheelchair and he said no and I started crying again and he was like I think thats a bad idea let me tell you why and I was like NO thats internalized ableism and thats a YOU problem! Wheelchairs are mobility they are FREEDOM. I cannot currently lift enough laundry at once to fill the washer without subluxing my shoulder/collarbone so I have to take multiple trips and frequently have to sit down between trips but with a wheelchair Id have the freedom and capability to just do a load of laundry. I already cook having to sit down. You can have an amazing wonderful fulfillling life in wheelchair that you cant have when youre in bed every day because everything hurts so much. You can tell me not right now or maybe in the future but just a no is the most hopeless answer you can give me. That is a YOU problem.

and he like did a little head tilt like a dog and was like. You know what? Youre right. Thats something I need to reevaluate in my own head. So, youre right I wont tell you know, but Ill tell you first we need to try physical therapy

that fucking honesty is why I love him so much. He was like "you need a therapist" and i was like dude if you tell me that one more time im going to start crying again I KNOW

and I apologized and thanked him for dealing with my anger because i just angry cried at him basically the entire appointment and he just said Its okay, I know Im not who youre mad at. I wont take it personally and holy shit that was just the biggest load off of my back and I was like no youre right im literally just mad at my body. At one point he said "you know im empathetic, I bet it does hurt that bad." Like holy shit Dr G you are a king amongst doctors. He had knee surgery recently and I used it against him and he didnt even get mad. In my angry crying I was like you just had knee surgery. Sitting in bed wallowing in pain all day. It fucking sucks doesnt it? Imagine twenty five fucking YEARS of that! and he just nodded and digested that and was like yeah, I hear you.

This man is the best doctor in the world

at the very least im on my way to my ring splints which will help my quality of life SO fucking much holy shit

I also told him about the highly unprofessional cardiologist i saw who just told me I was fat and showed me his grandsons fortnite youtube channel and he was like wow literally what? and I was like I dont know man. And then he talked shit about cardiologists and how they tend to be fuckin weirdos with egos and i was like yo go off my shady king

but on the bright side in less than a week were placing that heart monitor and it will be recording for two weeks and hopefully after that i can obtain my POTS diagnosis and hopefully thatll put me one step closer to being an ambulatory wheelchair user. Id love to still be upright and use my cane when I can but a wheelchair for bad days would be lifechanging

my oldest childhood friend is able bodied the idea of being able to just get a coffee and walk around target with her pain free makes me want to cry THAT is a hopeful future

[fables-and-foxgloves]

The treatment of disabled people throughout the Covid-19 pandemic needs to be talked about more, because it’s fucking disgusting.

So let’s talk about it. Abled people reading this, I don’t give a shit how much it makes you uncomfortable, because some of you need to hear this. I’m sick of playing the ‘nice and easy to handle’ disabled person that gets used as a doormat, and considering Covid could make you like one of us at any time, you should probably take some damn notes.

We’re being treated like we’re expendable by eugenicist bastards such as the current governments putting out “do not revive” orders and policies for people with certain disabilities [I am looking at you, England], then having it constantly shoved in our face by them that we’re lost causes and better left to die.

Have you ever considered just how many of these new policies are actively killing off disabled people because we’re ‘expendable’? Immune-compromised or allergic to the vaccine people are still being told to pay their own hospital fees if they end up in critical care, and yet the reason they end up in critical care most of the time is because people haven’t bothered to be careful around them or in public spaces to stop the spread of covid around vulnerable communities. Hospital fees which, by the way, if you’re on a disability pension you don’t have the fucking money to pay.

The fact that most testing clinics are drive-by, meaning that the mobility impaired can’t get properly tested. Especially when rapid antigen self-tests are sold out everywhere. They can’t walk there, they can’t have family take them most of the time, and they can’t take public transport or they’ll infect others and be copped a massive fine for going on public transport while ill.

A lack of care about public health, particularly the health of the disabled, is leading to people in wheelchairs whose carers are abandoning them and leaving them to sleep and rot in their goddamn wheelchairs, because these carers don’t have proper PPE or rapid tests on hand or enough numbers left to care for everyone. The mismanagement in the disability and aged care sector right now is horrific.

Then there’s the fact that whenever we raise our concerns about this, we’re told to shut up and wait our turn. That we somehow don’t matter as much as everyone else. Told to “not worry” over it. We’re becoming even more isolated than usual. We’re dying off. We were already vulnerable, and now it’s even worse. The fact that we have to pain-stakingly advocate for ourselves in the middle of not only our usual struggles but also a pandemic to top it off is so much harder than abled people understand.

And then you have abled people crying over the pandemic because they “don’t want to catch covid and become disabled and unable to work, it would end their life” and how they would “rather die than become disabled due to covid”

If there were better supports put in place for disabled people and workers, and better management of public health in general, being disabled wouldn’t end your livelihood. You wouldn’t have most of these fears if you actually fucking put some effort into truely caring for your disabled communities instead of viewing them as sub-humans who you can’t wait for to die off.

So to any abled person out there reading this, start helping your disabled communities for the love of god please, start making calls to your local councils and start actually doing shit to support the vulnerable.

I’m sick of folk shoving us under the rug as if we don’t exist and won’t exist for much longer, because try as you might to get rid of us, disability is something that will be around for the rest of human history.

Because you are just one gene flare-up, one workplace accident, a few decades of old age, or one virus away from becoming like us. It could happen to any of you. We’re humans just like you and we deserve your fucking respect.

[thisisgonnafuxkinkillme]

Pro Heros Comforting an S/O with various chronic illnesses

All Might/ Yagi Toshinori

For being a chronically ill person, you were a big baby about being sick. Well, for you, there was two types of ‘being sick’. One, the usual, was the everyday upkeep of your body, with the usual minimal discomfort of working a machine with missing or loose parts. On the other hand, another type of ‘sick’ would be you hunched over the toilet, or sweating in bed with a trashcan by your face, or sobbing in the shower because of how shit you feel. 

Today was one of those sick sick days. 

You never admitted to anyone when you were having an especially hard day like today, sometimes not even yourself. In between bouts of puking up the small amount of food you should’ve been able to keep down, you’d convince yourself that it was just because it was stale, or that this was a fluke, or even try telling yourself that you were over reacting. 

So when your boyfriend gently asked if you were feeling okay to be home by yourself, you enthusiastically replied, “of course I am! Go ahead and go to work, I’ll be fine!”

So, he did. 

And you were definately not fine. 

Mere moments after he left, you were hovering over the toilet bowl, heaving up bile. You screamed at your body to just stop, to please just give up, but it couldn’t hear you. Instead, it did what it knew how to do best: be sick.

Finally, it was over, and you found refuge pressed up against the cool tile of the bathroom floor. 

You were a mess of sweat, tears, snot, and puke. 

Thinking of that just made even more tears stream out of your puffy eyes. 

Pathetic. 

You shakily turned on the shower. Maybe a cold shower will snap you out of it. Your clothes didn’t matter; they’re just pajamas. So, you crawled into the shower, looking for refuge. 

The ice cold water pelted your blanched flesh mercilessly, providing both relief and shock to your system.

You squeezed your eyes shut, trying your best to ignore your cramping abdomen and pay attention to the cool, refreshing liquid rolling down your back. 

In the end, though, you couldn’t focus on either of these things. 

Someone knocked at the bathroom door. By the way the person knocked, light and inquisitive, you knew it had to be him. 

He called out your name.

“Are you okay in there? Something told me to come check on you one more time,” he asked through the door. You opened your mouth, but nothing came out. He knocked again, a little harder this time. 

Still, you didn’t have the strength to respond. You rested your head onto the shower wall weakly. 

The doorknob wiggled noisily before he was in. 

“Oh, honey...” he murmured as he fully understood the situation. He flushed the toilet and opened the window to let in some fresh air. 

“I’m going to open up the shower now, okay?” 

He carefully pulled back the curtain and turned off the water. His heart panged to see you struggling like this. 

Like him.

He took a moment to cradle your cheek in his palm, cooing your name.

“I’m going to get you some fresh clothes. Don’t try standing up by yourself, okay? I’ll be right back,” he instructed gently. You nodded weakly.

He returned with some fresh pajamas and a towel. You shook your head.

“What is it? What’s wrong?” he inquired, stroking your hair. You couldn’t help but begin to cry. It was so humiliating being taken care of. Hell, even needing to be taken care of was degrading. 

You squeaked out tiny words between sobs. He patiently tried his best to understand what had you so upset, but he just couldn’t hear you. 

So, his only chioce was to continue to clean you up. 

Gently, ever so gently, he dried you with the towel as best as he could with your soaked clothes on.

“Pumpkin, I hate to ask you this, but...can I take off these clothes to help you get into new ones? I promise I won’t look.” 

You sobbed pitifully. 

“I...Let me...let me try,” you managed to get out. He nodded.

“I’ll be right outside the door. Knock if you need any help at all,” he assured, kissing you sweetly on the forehead before leaving you alone. 

It wasn’t that you didn’t want him to see you naked; he already had done that. It was just...you didn’t want him to see you like this.

Shakily, you stood up, grabbing the clothes. Your feet stepped out of the tub, only supported on shakey knees.

Knees that gave up on you.

Within an instant, you were collapsed onto the floor. You gasped at the impact, the wind being knocked out of you.

Toshinori was by your side before you could blink. He helped you sit up, asking tenderly if you were in any pain. You shrugged.

He sighed deeply.

“I...I’m so... sorry. You shouldn’t-“ you stammered before he shut you down.

“No. I should. It’s okay for you to need help. I understand. It’s not an inconvenience.”

“...but... your job... your students...”

“They’ll be fine. Right now, let me focus on you,” he asserted. You nodded, allowing him to undress and towel dry you before redressing you.

“Can you stand?” He asked. You thought for a moment before shaking your head. Instantly, the bathroom filled with smoke, and he appeared to you in his much more muscular form in order to carry you.

He being sick himself could never hope to carry you in his skinnier state.

You didn’t care however he looked. It was just that he was there. That he cared.

You were carried bridal style to your bed, and placed down ever so gingerly. Smoke surrounded you once again, cradling you for a moment before dissipating and revealing your boyfriend in his true form.

He leaned against the bed frame, coughing into a tissue.

A pang of guilt hit you, seeing how he’d sacrificed just a tiny bit of himself to keep you comfortable.

You pushed the guilt away, replacing it with warm love.

Instead of apologizing, you murmured a “Thank you.”

Aizawa Shouta

Today was a good day. Your joints weren’t achey, and you felt good enough to even go to the store with your boyfriend. Usually, he’d go by himself, or do a curb side pickup to save time, but you insisted that you wanted to go.

“Sho, please. I’ll be fine,” you assured him.

“I don’t want you to overwork yourself,” he replied skeptically. He knew your fighting spirit coming through when he saw your determined eyes, so he knew his words were of no use. However, he also was deeply worried about the pain that could show up later on that night.

Those were the hardest on Aizawa. He usually wasn’t home at night, so when he’d come into the bedroom and see the bedsheets strewn across the floor and your pain medications sitting idly on your dresser, the cap on sideways, he’d be instantly racked with guilt. He wanted to be there for you. Even if it meant seeing you in pain. He just wanted to be able to do whatever he possibly could to help alleviate things just a little for you.

Today, though, he relented, and you found yourself at the local grocery store. You chose to not bring your cane, opting to try to pretend that you were a perfectly healthy young person.

Bad idea.

About half way through your shopping trip, you could feel the beginnings of a flare up.

“Sho... Could you help me?”

He instantly took on your weight on one arm.

“Do you need to go home?” He asked quietly as to not stir the other customers. You shook your head.

“I’ll get you something. Hold on.”

And like that, he was gone and you were alone in the bread aisle.

You sighed, rubbing your forehead.

Stupid! You should’ve known better!

It wasn’t long before he was back, riding on a mobility scooter. He stood up, gesturing towards it.

You knew it’d help, but...

“What will people think?” You whimpered before you could even think about it.

He scoffed.

“Geez, baby. I hope you realize that other people’s opinions should never trump your own comfort.”

You nodded, still anxious about how it’d look for someone like you to be using something like that.

“But...what if someone actually needs it?” You ask as you guide yourself into the seat.

“You need it. It’s okay,” he reassured plainly.

That night, you had no pain. All your body was filled with was butterflies as Aizawa gently cuddled you to sleep.

Sir Nighteye/Mirai Sasaki

You’ve always been sick. It was a part of your identity that you’d come to terms with. Sure, your life was shaped different than everyone else’s, but you didn’t mind much. 

You brewed yourself some tea, breathing in the fresh steam from the kettle. The warm air made its way past your oxygen tube, warming you from the inside out. Today was going to be a good day. You could tell that much by the light rays of sun filtering past the blinds, and the way you weren’t a coughing mess by now. Usually, you were signaled to remember to take your meds and do your treatments by your own sputtering and coughing, but today, things were going a little different so far. 

Your boyfriend came into the kitchen, stretching a little, causing his bones to crack and pop. He retrieved his black coffee from the pot, lightly and lovingly brushing his hand across your upper arm as he moved. 

You instantly tensed up.

“Don’t do that,” you frowned, glaring at him, “it’s too early in the morning to think about that yet.”

He raised an eyebrow, feigning innocence.

“Your quirk. Don’t use it on me.”

He put both hands up, “If you wish for me not to touch you, I won’t.”

“That’s...not what I’m asking for and you know it.”

He allowed himself a tiny smile. He did know that. 

You turned around, moving your attention back to your tea. Mirai stared at you lovingly as he sipped on his drink. 

Two sugar cubes plopped into the tea, honey and lemon being stirred in next. Just how you like it.

Just as you were getting enveloped in the whirlpool you made with your spoon, Mirai broke your train of thought.

“Today’s going to be a good day,” he murmured.

[red-the-dragon-writes]

man writeblr is having a normal one huh

anyway the ~woke mob~ is not coming to steal your hands for the crime of not writing about black people or gays or whatever the fuck the terror these people have is. people write all cis all straight all white casts all the time. its harder to get away with all cis straight white male casts these days but i still see those around too. you are literally under no obligation to say "i dont want to write those gross icky minorities" or whatever when asked, because you can also ignore people.

and additionally yeah! it is part of a larger trend of racism in books and writing in general when people exclude anyone who is nonwhite from their potential casts! it is part of a larger trend of homophobia and transphobia when you exclude anyone who isn't cis or straight! if you refuse to write disabled characters it is part of a larger trend of ableism! This is true and pretending like it isn't just makes you look really fucking stupid.

If you really don't want to write anyone who isn't cis straight white and shit like. who is gonna stop you? but you can't be a fucking crybaby about the idea that it might Possibly be racist or homophobic or sexist or whatever. It's how it works. If you decide to join into the centuries-long literary tradition of excluding the undesirables from your writing, you have to acknowledge that you are joining into that literary tradition, and if you conclude you're doing that because you want to, then like. yeah your cast is gonna come over as charged with bigotry. You may not mean it that way but you have to know it's how it works.

like, ill raise my hand, i made up a whole racialized group of fantasy people because i didn't want to deal with the potential issues of writing about Real People and my entire cast is white, pretty much. the intent was different, because i kept running into little racist stereotypes and shit that had gotten into my head when i was younger and hadn't fully unpacked, and decided to err on the side of not writing that shit into my books- but that means that I do have an exclusively white main character cast. Is that kinda racist? Yeah, it is. That's how it works. I'm not running around pitching a goddamn fit about how its sooooo mean that this might possibly be racist.

My cast is also like, out of the main characters I can think of off the top of my head, I have two women and four men. That's not the worst gender ratio ever, but it's not great. That's kinda sexist. It is what it is. You may not change these things but that doesn't mean you get to cry and moan about how its such an INJUSTICE that these EVIL WOMEN are calling your book slanted toward one gender. It is slanted toward one gender. (The reasoning for that is because I made a bunch of fail guy siblings and girlbosses and 3/4ths of my one cast is related, but because the fail guys are actually hanging around and the women have better things to do than dick around during the main plot, they dont wind up being major players in the world's worst cross country road trip. They have jobs.)

Lemme think. What about ableism. I don't think I even bothered thinking about that but looking at my general cast, one comes from an explicitly eugenecist theoocracy so that's supposed to be like a big deal, one of the few brothers who are not in the main story because he's too busy being a badass is missing an eye and has reduced mobility in one arm, but thats all i can really think of for relevant important characters. Since that's an actual theme I am gonna rework that but again. I am under no obligation to. People might not like it, but there is no one who is capable of reaching through my computer screen and physically stopping me from writing a fully abled cast and most people do ! write casts with zero incidences of physical disability!

i do not know how to write neurotypical people so my entire cast is extremely adhd and its also a plot point that literally everyone has ptsd, including the characters who are super convinced they definitely don't have ptsd. You are under no obligation to do this either.

My cast is casually trans off-screen, which is basically just because I came up with everything when I was still in the closet and I kind of don't feel like being like "everyone trans actually", its just a thing that no one comments on and the main character doesn't know is like. allowed. This is functionally the same as having no trans characters. Again. Who is going to come cut off my fingers and stop me from typing on my computer about it.

I know everyone on here follows my reasoning. This is not going to get to the people who need to see it. But anyone crying and throwing a fit about how they're being So Oppressed by being asked about the reasoning behind writing an explicitly exclusively white straight cis cast is, at best, a whiny fucking baby who can't stand having their snowflake ass fucking feelings even remotely questioned, and at worst the most thin-skinned bigot alive. I stand by this interpretation and i will defend it if you want to pick a fight btw <3

[watermelonsugawara]

Hi wife ❤️❤️ give me some jealous Kuroo action please!!! like you’ve been studying w a guy from one of your classes a bunch and he doesn’t like it. It can be SFW or NSFW, whatever your preference is but I would really enjoy a jealous kuroo 🤤

YESSS MY BEAUTIFUL WIFEEE hi :) lemme give u some kuroo foooood

❥ warnings: nsfw; like a lil spice?; a liiiiittle teasing, a liiiiittle grinding, fingering, choking, spitting, creampie, JK A LOT OF SPICE LMFAO

❥ characters: jealous!kuroo x fem!reader

❥ a/n: kuroo can fuck dis pussy up any day. thats literally my only note lmfao. so uhhh here u go yall

ALSO MY BAD ILL PUT A KEEP READING WHEN IM OFF MOBILE LOLL

❥ wc: idk i typed on my phone i’ll figure it out later lol

...

Kuroo continued to tap his pencil against his textbook, echoing throughout the coffee shop. He held his chin in his hand, checking the time every few minutes. 3:43 pm, his phone read. 7 more minutes before (Y/N) leaves, he thought, pouting to himself. He didn’t realize his pout was visible to you until you closed your book and reached a hand across the table to stop Kuroo’s incessant pencil taps. The feeling of your small hand on his pulled him out of his thoughts to look at you.

“Tetsu, what’s wrong?” you asked, rubbing small circles on his hand. Your boyfriend had known you had a partner project that you had been working on for a few weeks, so you’ve been cutting your study dates short to meet with your classmate. Despite knowing every time, Kuroo acts pouty all over again, seeming to count down the seconds before you have to go.

“Nothing,” Kuroo sighed, covering your small hand with his large one, “I’m just gonna miss yoooooooou.” He drawled out the last word and pouted his plush lips.

“We are finishing up the project today, so I’ll be out a bit longer,” you began, and Kuroo’s eyebrows immediately furrowed. “But then I won’t have to leave our study dates early again. I’ll meet you back at the apartment, okay baby?”

Kuroo concealed his jealousy with a soft smile as he nodded in agreement. He watched as you began packing up your belongings to go meet your classmate at the library. It made his blood boil knowing your attention was going towards another guy, even just for some school project. He cleaned up his own books and pushed in his chair at the table. He planted a quick kiss on your lips before you two parted ways.

Kuroo sat on the couch at your apartment, shaking his leg anxiously. He picked up his phone to check the time, the bright screen reading 8:34 pm. He frowned at the absence of your texts and your absence in general. He tried to put his focus back to his homework, but his mind continued to wander. He didn’t even know what this guy looked like anyway. Surely this classmate isn’t more attractive than him ...right?

Kuroo shook his head to clear the thoughts from his mind just as you turned the key in the doorknob. He instantly perked up at the sound, nearly leaping off the couch to greet you. You couldn’t even set your bag down as Kuroo snaked his arms around your waist, pulling you flush against his body.

“(Y/N), I missed you,” Kuroo said against your skin, his voice a little deeper than usual. His voice vibrated against the crook of your neck, sending a spark of heat through your body. You pulled away from the hug to look at your boyfriend, a soft smile painted across his face. You cupped his jaw and pulled him to a kiss that was intended to be quick, but there was a hint of neediness coming from the way Kuroo’s lips moved against yours. You pulled away to look at home once more. “Is everything okay?” You asked.

“Yes, I just missed you... a lot. I hate being away from you,” Kuroo said quietly, his face heating up slightly. You looked at him puzzled, as you’ve been gone to study with friends countless times before, but then it clicked.

“Babe, are you jealous?” You questioned, emphasizing the last word just a bit too hard causing Kuroo’s face to turn an even deeper shade of red. Clearly he didn’t like to say the actual word out loud, you felt his grip on your waist get a little bit tighter.

“Maybe, but is that so bad? You’re my girlfriend and I don’t want any guys getting the wrong idea,” Kuroo responded sharply, his envy getting the best of him. The thought of someone else’s hands on your skin set a fire ablaze beneat his skin, making his muscles tense.

You set your bag down and slipped your jacket off your shoulders, hanging it on the hooks by the door. You held your boyfriend’s face in your hands, seeing the conflicting feelings of envy and desire in his expression. You pulled his ear close to your mouth and whispered, “I’ll always be yours, Tetsu.”

The way you breathed his name against his ear caused his cock to twitch in his sweats. He quickly pulled you into another heated kiss, grabbing the backs of your thighs to lift you up. You pushed off the floor and jumped into his arms with ease, his hands quickly finding purchase on your ass underneath your skirt. You kiss the sensitive spot near his ear, pulling a low growl out of Kuroo. He walks the two of you over to the couch where he sits and you feel his length pressing against your center. You moaned at the feeling, grinding down harder against him. Kuroo slipped a hand between your bodies towards your center, biting his lip at the feeling of your juices along your folds.

“Holy shit, kitten. You’re so wet already,” he breathed, running a finger up and down your slit. You moved your hips, desperate for more contact, but Kuroo quickly took note of this pulls his hand out from your panties and you whined at the lost of contact. “Someone’s eager,” Kuroo smirked.

“Tetsu please, I need you,” you moaned, your hands pressed against his chest, feeling his heartbeat speed up. He wrapped his large hand around your neck, your lips parting at the pressure but no sound comes out. His other hand slips his thumb into your mouth, marveling at how your plush lips suck around his finger, the feeling of your hot tongue making precum leak from the tip of his cock. He dragged his thumb out to open your mouth, and right as you closed your eyes, you felt his spit land on your tongue, letting out a loud moan before swallowing it as quickly as it came.

“Good girl, always so ready for me,” Kuroo praised, releasing a hand from your neck to lie you down on the couch. He pulled your shirt over head and unclasped your bra, wasting no time to cup your breasts and suck on your sensitive nub, pinching and swirling his finger around the other. He peppered kisses down your abdomen before pulling off your panties, his long fingers brushing your slit, gathering your essence. Your back arched as he pushed in two fingers at once, your hands immediately gripping his strong biceps. His fingers pumped deep into you, quickly finding the soft spot that made your toes curl. Endless rambles and gasps fell from your lips as he hit your spot over and over, but he pulled out his long fingers just as the heat in your stomach reached its peak.

Kuroo quickly pulled down his sweats and boxers simultaneously, his thick cock finally free from its restraints. Kuroo uses the juices from his fingers to coat the head, and he hovered over you to line up with your core. He moved his hips to tease your folds with the tip of his cock, causing you to writhe beneath him as you whispered, “Tetsu, please, I want you inside me.”

“Well fuck, when you say my name like that, I can’t resist kitten,” Kuroo groaned and he pushed his cock into you slowly, your walls stretching around the head. Your eyes rolled to the back of your head at how full you felt, and he was only halfway. You wrapped your legs around his waist to push him even further into you. Kuroo clenched his jaw as you clenched around him, the slick of your walls driving him insane.

“My god, kitten you’re just sucking me in,” Kuroo groaned, his eyes locked on where you two were connected. “Your pussy was just made to fit around my cock, wasn’t it?” Kuroo continued to rut his hips into you, going at a relentless pace. He’d pull back until just the head was still inside your pussy before slamming his hips back into you and hitting you g-spot, curses spilling out of your mouth. Kuroo leaned down to suck dark marks into your skin, soothing the spots with his wet tongue. Your hands carded through his hair, pulling it into fists, making him moan against your hot skin. A strong heat began to pool in your stomach as Kuroo mercilessly hit the spongy spot inside of you.

His thrusts became erratic as he neared his release, slowly attempting to pull out before he finished, but you used your legs to keep him inside you. Kuroo looked up at you, his pupils blown just thinking about what you’re gonna say next.

“Fill me up, baby, I want it, I n-need it,” you moaned, sending Kuroo over the edge. He nuzzled his face into the crook of your neck and with a loud groan he came inside you, the feeling of his white ropes of cum inside you brought you to your own climax, crying out his name he fucked you through your high.

Kuroo pulled out and slumped beside you on the couch, both of you trying to catch your breath. You started to feel Kuroo’s cum drip out of your pussy, but before you could close your legs, Kuroo slid his hand to catch it with his finger, sliding it into your overstimulated walls. You bucked your hips at the feeling and looked over to him with wide eyes.

“Oh, you thought I was done with you, pretty girl?”

...

[catboymingi]

bittersweet

navi/masterlist

pairing: mingi x reader

genre: angst, fluff; best friends to strangers to enemies to lovers

word count: 7.7k

warnings: self harm, mental illness, suicidal thoughts (though no behaviour described in detail at all), addiction (alcoholism to be precise), language

a/n: this one’s heavy... also this is heavily based on personal experience so don’t come jumping at me for inaccuracies thank u - also the links during the story take you to the same song as the first link, but they have the swedish og lyrics on hover (sorry mobile users)

när jag var liten kändes alltid som att det var du och jag mot skiten / så jag ville att vi skulle göra allt tillsammans / men jag märkte tydligt att du ville nånting annat / behandlade mig sämst / vi var bara ungar - when i was small it always felt like it was you and me against the world / so i wanted us to do everything together / but i noticed clearly that you wanted something else / treated me worst / we were just kids

you had no idea what happened. you’d been so close with mingi ever since you moved, him being the first friend you’d made in the new school, and eight-year-old you really appreciated him. he fought off the bullies for you, he was always there, but suddenly he wasn’t. you were in high school, and everything had been as always, until it wasn’t. until he started avoiding you like you had a deadly and contagious disease, like you’d killed his parents. he hated you and you had no idea why, had no idea why your best friend suddenly decided that some random people he’d barely ever talked to before were a better company than you, who’d been with him through thick and thin for the past decade. saying that you were heartbroken was an understatement.

it took you so long to get back on track after the day mingi had started avoiding you, hating you, but eventually, you managed to do it. you banned all thoughts of him from your head, deleted all messages, pictures, and other traces of him you had on your phone and got rid of all physical memories, too. your parents knew you weren’t okay, and they were so relieved when you asked them if you could set something on fire in the backyard, because it finally seemed like you were getting closer to healing. it had been months, and they’d been worried for your life, but they had no idea how to get your now ex-best friend to reach out to you. they couldn’t call him up and just tell him that he needed to talk to you before you killed yourself, even though they wished they could.

by the time you started university you were almost back to normal, the only outward signs of what you’d gone through being the scars covering your arms and your refusal to drink alcohol, at all. you got obsessed with your major, studying to become a therapist so that you could maybe, hopefully help people feel understood and okay when they were in a similar situation to the one you’d been in. this passion made you the best of your year, acing all exams because every free minute was spent on revising the materials and taking on extra projects and doing all you could to keep yourself busy.

but you weren’t okay, not actually. the worry was still there, the fear, and it was the reason why you hadn’t made a single friend even when the fourth semester of university was almost over already. it was after a particularly hard exam (that of course you’d aced again) that you, for the first time since your other half had left, agreed to go out with someone, a random dude from your course that you’d consequently ignored up to that point who invited you to some maths major’s party.

“it’s gonna be fun, and we deserve some fun after that fucking hell of an exam” was how he had convinced you, and you decided that it couldn’t hurt.

what you didn’t know then yet, however, was that he’d ditch you the second you’d taken off your jacket at the party that same evening, saying that if he’d known that you were a nutcase he’d never have asked you out.

“you’re hot but that’s just not what i wanna put up with.” and that from a psychology major. great.

the evening got worse when you found out whose party this was. you didn’t even know that mingi went to the same uni as you, and he’d obviously moved out of his parents’ house by now, so the address didn’t ring a bell, either. it was first when you saw him that you realised. and everything came crashing down on you again, all the things you’d convinced yourself you were over. and even though you’d promised yourself you’d never touch alcohol again, not even cough medicine including it, you broke that promise now, going straight for the hard liquor. that seemed to impress the horny idiots around you, how you downed it without even flinching, and because you didn’t care about what you should and shouldn’t do right now you let the first one to make a move touch you up and down, making out with you (which had effectively stolen your first kiss from you, but what did it even matter anymore?) and whispering to your ear just how hot you were. you didn’t care for him, but you knew that the one you cared for couldn’t give fewer shits about you. you were tired of being alone, of being hurt, of being lonely, and you just wanted to forget. so you let this dude whose name you didn’t know and didn’t care to know make out with you on the kitchen counter, because by now there was no way your situation could get any worse anymore, anyway.

your lack of interest seemingly didn’t stay hidden to him, though, so at some point he left you with a displeased grunt. it was obvious he’d expected a little more excitement from you, and now he was looking for the next drunk girl he could get to fuck him. you didn’t care. you got some more alcohol, pushing every thought of your parents as far away as you could, because you knew they’d be so disappointed. they’d always cared, but it hadn’t changed anything for you. the one you needed to care didn’t even notice how you were slipping. you’d be surprised if he’d even known that you got hospitalised after graduation.

but now you were here, in his house, and you hated it, hated him, hated yourself. you wanted to get out, to disappear before he’d ever even notice you’d been there in the first place, so you stole a bottle of whatever was closest to you and left the house.

it was embarrassing that you weren’t even drunk yet. you had no idea how much you’d drunk, but you barely felt tipsy. so when the one you wanted to leave you alone the most came outside after you, you had to deal with the emotions that that caused in you entirely sober.

“the fuck do you want?” you hadn’t expected yourself to be able to be angry at him when you’d get to talk to him again. you’d expected yourself to cry, to break down and beg for him to come back, but maybe at least that the alcohol saved you from.

“i want to check up on you. since when do you drink?”

you hated him. you fucking hated him more than anything else you’d ever hated, except for maybe yourself, and you hated that he thought he had the right to check up on you now when he was the reason you were even in this state at all.

“let’s see. i think you last talked to me on the fifteenth of january, two years ago? so it’s gotta be the sixteenth.” maybe it wasn’t fair to confront him with the effects of what he did like this, but it hadn’t been fair of him to leave you hanging like this either. he deserved this, deserved to know what the fuck he’d done to you. that he’d destroyed the happy, passionate, excited you that you’d been, replacing her with a bitter, suicidal bitch with trust issues through the roof.

“why?” he seemed confused, and you wanted to spit in his face. you wanted to punch him. you wanted anything but to have to talk to him.

“take a wild fucking guess.” and with those words you turned on your heel, leaving him with his emotions as you left with the bottle of alcohol that wouldn’t make it to the next morning.

you were slipping again. picked up all the bad habits you’d had, barely getting sleep because you still had to study, were still obsessed with getting the best grades, but now also had unhealthy habits to feed, so there wasn’t a lot of time left for sleep. it didn’t matter, though - why sleep if you’d only have nightmares either way?

luckily you didn’t see mingi again after that night. that was, until he’d somehow figured out your major, your classes, your schedule, and was waiting for you in front of your classroom after your last class for the day. you tried to bolt, but he grabbed your wrist instinctively to keep you from running away. when you yelped out in pain, though, he let go as if he’d just burned himself. until now he hadn’t even noticed what you looked like. but now that he did, it broke his heart.

“what do you want now? want to fuck me up again? because i can do that by myself now, thank you very much.” your voice shot daggers at him, and he looked like a hit puppy. what made this worse was that he knew you were right.

“please talk to me. i brought vodka.” he didn’t intend to give it to you, but you didn’t have to know that. and his weak bribing worked, which only made him feel even more awful. just how fucking hurt did you have to be to talk to him, the guy you very obviously hated, just because he offered you free booze?

“come.” and you did, followed him to a park near uni you knew was notorious for getting fucked or wasted, and you intended to keep up this reputation as you sat down next to him.

“alcohol.” it wasn’t even a question, you just demanded the bottle, but he wasn’t about to comply.

“first you talk to me.”

the angry glare you gave him could have killed him had you kept it up for longer than a couple seconds, but you sighed in frustration and looked away.

“fine then, talk. but this vodka better be damn good.”

he didn’t know how to start, though. ran his hands through his hair and shifted constantly and looked everywhere but at you. but then, finally, he got his shit together.

“what happened to you?” his eyes were fixed on your arms, the arms whose skin was a lot smoother and healthier the last time he’d seen it, and his voice was soft, almost as if he cared. maybe it was because of that that your reply held less sharpness than the past ones had.

“what do you think?” and his heart broke. he didn’t want it to be him, he didn’t want this to be because of him, he didn’t want to be at fault for so much pain and suffering.

“it’s me.” and when you nodded he wished someone’d beat him up, hard and good, just so he’d feel at least some pain as a payback for all the pain he’d caused you.

your voice was surprisingly soft when you continued, and you didn’t even know why yourself.

“it’s nothing big. i just… slipped, i guess. had a really hard time. i don’t even know what happened to make you hate me like that, and that got to me. like, we didn’t argue or anything, so it wasn’t like i had a reason to stop caring about you. it just felt like without you nothing mattered.”

you sounded calm, collected, but voicing it like this brought back all the hurt, and you just really wanted the alcohol now. you grabbed around him in order to retrieve the bottle from his bag, but he caged you in a hug, effectively making you unable to move.

“it’s a big deal. fuck, y/n, look at you. how is this not a big deal? you can’t even talk to me without getting wasted.”

and even though he was right you hated how it sounded like that was your fault, not his. you hated how it sounded like you were weak for this when he had no idea what the fuck you’d been through these past two years. it made you angry.

“and you’re better? straight up ignoring me for however long it took me to get the hint like some pussy instead of talking to me? we used to be best friends, for fuck’s sake!” you tried to hide your heartbrokenness behind this anger, and once more the person who used to always be there to hold you when you needed it let go of you as if you’d burned him. not even now could he man up.

“you know what? fuck this. fuck your vodka and fuck you. don’t fucking talk to me again. as i said, i’m fucking my life up enough without you there to aid in the process.” and you tried to get up, but he grabbed you by your waist, not wanting to hurt you but refusing to let you go in this state when he hadn’t even gotten to talk to you yet. it was selfish, he knew it was, but he wanted to explain himself. he didn’t know if it’d help you, but he needed the closure. he needed you to know why he’d acted like that and then decide if you still wanted to hate him.

“i’m not letting go”, he said as you struggled in his grip, “not until you’ve listened.”

“i don’t fucking want to hear it!” now you were yelling, and it was only because everyone else in this park was too busy or too knocked out to fully comprehend what was happening that he wasn’t getting his ass beat by a stranger coming to your aid.

“you’re going to listen. you know i’m stronger.” this was an asshole move. it was a massive asshole move, using his strength against you to keep you trapped with him. but your state had him throw out any ethical concerns he otherwise would’ve had, instead pulling you into his lap and holding you tightly.

“then fucking talk and get this over with.” your body had gone slack in his arms, because you knew struggling against him wasn’t going to work. your voice still held the same sharpness to it though. you really hated him.

“you act like i didn’t have a reason”, he started quietly, covering your mouth with his hand when you tried to interrupt him. “but i did. the fuck do you think i felt when you kept being better at everything than me? everything was easy for you, you just went with your feeling, and i was doing awful but i kept trying even though it was hard as shit and you didn’t even notice. you went out to meet people and have a good time while i was sitting home alone trying to keep up. you didn’t even care. i told you i couldn’t join and every single time you just said ‘okay, another time then!’. you didn’t notice how much i missed you. and i got sick and tired of being the only one that’s missing their best friend.”

you listened to what he said and couldn’t believe he was serious right now. he completely broke you because you didn’t spend enough time with him?

“what the fuck, mingi. what the fuck. you wrecked me because you were sulky about me not being around 24/7? let go of me right now or i’m going to break your nose, you know i will.” he knew you would, so he did as you told him to, but not without trying to defend himself.

“it wasn’t that, it was that you never even tried to make follow-up plans! you kept going out with other friends, friends that didn’t have to spend all their nights home studying. you just replaced me.”

“and you didn’t think to fucking talk to me about it? i missed you like crazy, you fucking asshole, but i went out with others because i knew you had to study and because i didn’t want to keep you from that. because i dared to care more about your success than about what i wanted. and then you just dumped me, one day to the next, without an explanation, because you thought i didn’t care? does breaking off all other social contacts look like not caring to you? do hospitalisations look like not caring to you? does this”, you motioned to yourself, “look like not caring to you? i knew you were a coward, but back then i thought it was cute. now i just think it’s pathetic.” you all but spat those last words at his face, and he knew you were right. he knew all that now, but back then he’d been so scared of losing you that he forced himself to lose you. fucking idiotic.

“you act like it didn’t hurt me, too.”

“you sure didn’t act like it when you started fucking around with some people you’d never even talked to right after you decided ignoring me was the way to go!” you were crying now, crying and screaming at him, and you despised yourself for the vulnerability you were showing.

“give me the vodka, mingi.” but he didn’t. and when you tried to grab it he took the bag from you, leaving you staring into the air.

“give me the fucking vodka or i’m gonna leave right now and get my own. and then you’re never gonna see me again.”

but instead of handing you the bottle he all but jumped up, wrapping his arms around you tightly and sounding so incredibly desperate that you felt your anger vanish at his next words.

“please don’t- please don’t do that. please don’t kill yourself. hate me, break my nose, whatever, but please don’t go like that. i can’t handle it. i’m nothing without you.”

and it was now that he started crying, tears soaking the fabric on your shoulder, shaking as if there was an earthquake inside of him that would make him fall to shambles any second. you hadn’t even realised that you might have implied what he obviously thought you meant - what you meant was that this time you’d be the one to ignore him, pretending he didn’t even exist. but his reaction to potentially losing you in a whole new way made you think that maybe, he cared.

“i’m not going to kill myself over you, butthead.” and while your words held a similar level of sharpness to them as they had before, your voice was much softer, calmer - you patted his hands that were linked together in front of your stomach to keep you from leaving, trying to comfort him for whatever reason. he didn’t deserve it, and you were still so angry at him, but he’d been your best friend, your other half, and you still didn’t like to see him suffer like this, even though the part in you that wanted him to feel all the pain you’d felt wouldn’t agree.

“i don’t want to lose you again”, he whimpered against your shoulder. “i never want to lose you again.”

“so what’s your plan? i’m never gonna forget what you did, mingi, i’m never gonna forget how as soon as i start getting happy you come back, crashing into my life as if nothing had happened. i’m never going to let anyone hold me back again.”

“i’m not going to hold you back”, he pleadingly spoke into your skin, “i’m not going to message you, i’m not going to ask to meet up, i’m not going to wait in front of your class, nothing. i’ll only be there when you ask me to.”

“and you think that’d help? having me do all the work again, having me beg for your attention again? you think that’s even remotely what i want?” you weren’t angry at him, because it seemed like he was saying this for you, but you were frustrated. he still didn’t seem to understand at all what you wanted from him, what you’d wanted from him ever since he started ignoring you. you wanted him to fight for you, not vice versa.

“then let me fight for you. let me do the work. i’ll do anything, just please give me another chance. one very last chance. and please… stop all this.” you didn’t need to see him to know what he meant.

“that’s not how it works. i can’t just stop like that when i started. and you’re not gonna be able to fix me, if you think that.”

“i know, of course not, but… please try. it’s summer break soon. maybe then you could… i don’t know what you could. do something. i want to be there for you.”

you didn’t want to give in to him. you didn’t want to believe him. you wanted to keep being angry, you wanted to keep hating him, you didn’t want to risk the same kind of heartbreak you’d felt the first time he left. but this was mingi. and even though you refused to admit it even to yourself, you still missed him like crazy.

“let go.” and he did, hesitantly, but he did as you told him to.

“look at me. look me in the eyes and tell me you know what that’s gonna mean. tell me that you’ll be there when i’m in rehab and can’t go places and i’m angry as shit and hate everything and everyone and mainly you because you made me go to that stupid place. tell me you’ll be there when i relapse, not just once but so many times, and that you won’t get angry. tell me that you fucking know what it means, that you know you won’t be a priority, that there’s gonna be days where i won’t want to hear from you at all. tell me that you know you’re gonna have to fight for me, and tell me that you will. and if you can’t tell me that, let me leave right now to spare both of us the pain because it’s just gonna be a waste of time otherwise.”

“i’ll be there. every single day, or like. whenever i’m allowed to, i don’t know how rehab works. and when i can’t be there i’ll call you and text you, even if you hate me. i’ll hold you until you don’t hate me anymore. even if i have to spend the entire day holding you that’s how it is. i don’t fucking care what i’ll have to do, i’ll do it all. i miss you.” with those last words he pulled you into his chest, holding you tightly as he whispered a silent ‘please’ into your hair. and you didn’t want to believe him, didn’t want to get your hopes up, but part of you was still so soft for him. so, even though your mind was screaming at you to tell him to fuck off, your heart won, your heart made you wrap your arms around him and hold on tight.

“if you fuck up i’m breaking your legs.”

“if i fuck up i’m breaking them myself.” he knew this was his last chance. he knew that if he messed up now he’d be losing you forever, and that was a risk he wasn’t willing to take.

his hands were rubbing up and down your back, as gentle as you remembered him to be, while you were standing there and hugging and trying to calm down. you’d missed him so incredibly much and you wished you could stay in that moment forever.

“how are you feeling?” he could feel you were shaking slightly in his arms, though he wasn’t sure why. it could be the cool air, it could be the emotions running through you, it could be something he didn’t even want to think about. but either way he knew you should probably leave.

“it’s all so fucking much. i’m still pissed at you, but i guess i’m also glad that you’re here. and i’m fucking horrified.”

your shaking was most definitely at least partly owed to your emotional state, because it got worse now, you grabbing his t-shirt and clinging on to it for dear life.

“what are you scared of?” he sounded so fucking soft and calm and you wanted to crawl into his shirt and hide there and never leave for the real world ever again. you wanted him to keep you safe and to protect you because life and the things that were coming for you were scarier than you wanted to admit.

“you. rehab. my parents are gonna be so fucking hurt when i have to go back. fuck, i want the vodka.” but to your surprise you didn’t move to get it, you didn’t try to leave mingi’s embrace.

“you’re staying the night at my place”, he informed you, and you looked up at him in surprise.

“this talk was long overdue, but to be honest even i could use some vodka right now. i don’t want to imagine how you’re feeling, but i know i’m not gonna leave you alone in that state. no won’t count.”

“you know you won’t be able to just make me stop like that?”, you asked, wanting to be sure he didn’t have some weird saviour complex that made him think that just because he was there all your problems would suddenly vanish. but he seemed to know, even though he wished that was how it worked.

“not forever, but tonight’s a good start. i just want to be with you right now.” and even though you really wanted to get drunk you wanted to spend the night with mingi more, something that surprised you, especially considering how you’d just told him he wouldn’t be able to make you stop.

“i’m not going back there yet though, so if anything we’ll go to my place”, was the compromise you offered, and he gladly accepted. he held your hand almost the entire way, refusing to not be touching you in some way now that he might get you back, and this was less awkward than having his arm around your shoulders, which he’d tried first.

your apartment was a mess, you knew it was, but instead of judging you the tall male just kicked whatever trash you’d left on the floor out of the way to make his way to your bed, where he intended to spend the rest of the day and the entire night. he wrapped his arms around you as soon as you’d settled next to him, pulling you close like he used to when you were younger.

“i’m so sorry for all this”, he whispered, “so so fucking sorry.” and even though you’d somewhat sorted what had happened in the past, this was the first time he actually apologised. you hadn’t known how much you needed to hear him apologise until he did, whining out slightly as you pressed yourself closer against him. you wanted him to keep talking, keep apologising, keep promising that he wasn’t going to leave. but he was quiet after that, so instead of his comforting words your thoughts filled the silence in your head.

“keep talking before i get up”, you told him, the choice of words making it sound like a threat but the pleading way you said it making it clear that you were all but begging him. and he complied, luckily he complied, because you wouldn’t be able to keep your thoughts away for much longer.

“i missed you every day. it wasn’t fun to sit at lunch without you, or be in class, or do anything, really. i know it’s my fault, but back then i expected you to fight more, and when you just stopped trying after a while i thought i was right, even though you tried to talk to me every day for like two weeks and every single time i just straight up acted like i didn’t even hear you. i have no idea what i expected you to do, actually. sing me a love song in front of my window?” he chuckled a little, though it sounded somewhat bitter.

“i think that’s what i was secretly hoping for, if i’m real. not a love song, maybe, but some kinda confession. but instead of opening my mouth myself i just hoped that you’d get the hint i never even dropped. guess i really am a coward, huh?” he was running a hand through your hair, gently scratching your scalp whenever he dragged his fingers down because back then you’d liked that and he hoped you still did.

“you’re an idiot”, you mumbled, though his somewhat-confession made you feel all weird inside. you’d liked him back then, too, but admittedly he hadn’t been the only coward. and before you’d ever had the chance to gather the courage to confess he’d cut you off.

“i know. i don’t think i’ve ever done anything more stupid than that. and now i’ve wasted my chance and have to live with the fact that i’ll die without ever having gotten to kiss you. it’s my own fault, though.” there was a hint of playful resignation in his tone, as if this confession was more to get it off his chest than it was for him to actually confess to you - as if it hadn’t even occurred to him that you might feel the same way.

“just do it now.”

he hadn’t expected that, surprise apparent when he asked: “can i?”, and you knew you should say no, you shouldn’t be doing this, you shouldn’t be in your bed with mingi so close and telling him to kiss you, but you’d missed him, and you were hurt and happy and desperate, and you just wanted to feel loved. and though this didn’t have to be love, this didn’t have to mean as much as you wanted it to, you could pretend. you wanted to pretend, so you didn’t say ‘no’ as you should, but ‘yes’ as you wanted.

and he did it, leaning in to press his lips against yours but not moving any more until you hadn’t pulled away even after a few seconds. then he actually kissed you, his one thumb stroking your cheek while the other was fondling with some strands of hair at the back of your head. and you knew your breath was gross, still reeking of the alcohol you’d drunk earlier that day, but mingi didn’t care. you were warm and soft against him and you were there and he’d take whatever he could get from you, even if it was vodka breath.

you didn’t want him to pull away, because you feared that once he did your world would come crashing down again and he’d tell you that now his curiosity was stilled and this should remain a one-time thing.

and you feared that you’d been right about this being a one-time thing, because he apologised as soon as he broke the kiss. but he didn’t apologise for what you thought he’d apologise for.

“i shouldn’t have done that. not like this. fuck, i just took advantage of this entire situation, i’m so sorry. fuck. feel free to break my nose.”

“don’t break my heart and i won’t break your bones. deal?” the big smile he gave you was so easy to see even though it was starting to get dark outside now, and you felt a small smile tug at the corners of your own mouth. he was here, and he’d kissed you, and maybe he’d do it again. maybe you’d finally be able to be okay again, actually okay, really okay.

“i promise.” he pulled your head into his chest, resuming to run his fingers through your hair and telling you sweet nothings.

“you’re so beautiful. so kind and so strong, such a fighter. i’m so glad i’m here right now, so grateful you let me, and i’m never going to leave again, ever. i’m here now, and you won’t have to be alone anymore. i’ll try to make it right, all the things i did wrong. i’m sorry. but i’m with you now.”

you were pretty certain he wasn’t even thinking much about what he was saying, just saying anything that was on his mind, as much for you as for himself. but even if it wasn’t for you that he was saying all this, it still helped you, comforted you, gave you some hope. one thing you had to clear up, though.

“we’re not a thing”, you murmured into his chest, though the way you were clinging to him betrayed your words, showed how much you wanted to be. “we’re not a thing because you don’t know anything. you can’t play a video game on easy and then enter the world championship and think you’ll win. i can’t talk to you for a single day and then think it’d work out.”

and mingi got it. he knew that this was a decision that had to be made logically, not based on what he wanted in that moment. but that didn’t mean he was just going to give up like this. he told you he’d fight for you, and he would.

“talk to me more, then. i told you i’m not going to leave.”

“you say that now.” there was sadness in your voice, resignation. “but it’s different when i’m shitfaced. when i’m crying my eyes out because recovery is hard and i don’t want to anymore. when i call you at 3 in the morning begging you to come over and check on me and make sure i’m not dying because i’m scared i went too deep this time. when i tell you i hate you even though you didn’t do shit just because i need someone to take my anger out on. none of this shit is pretty or romantic and the sooner you realise that, the better.”

“i’m going to be there.” he didn’t say more and you were glad about that, because even though you’d been the one to bring all this up you didn’t want to talk about it, you just wanted to be held and comforted and protected. and he did, he held you until you fell asleep, and was still holding you when you woke up the next morning.

//

it was weird to be back with mingi. it was familiar but completely different, and it was hard, as you’d told him it’d be. but he kept his promise, even though it hurt to see you struggle and in pain, he was there when you needed him and he was there when you didn’t. he was there to hold you when you called your parents to tell them you had to go back to rehab, and he was there to calm your nerves the day before you left, force-feeding you snacks to keep your mouth busy because by now he’d learned the signs of when you really craved alcohol and while he learned that the most he could usually do was to make sure you didn’t drink yourself into a coma that night he made sure you didn’t drink at all, because you were going to rehab the next day and he wanted you to have decent starting conditions and he knew you wanted that, too, and a hangover was the worst starting condition you could possibly have. he was there to kiss you that night, because even though you’d been the one to tell him to not try anything until he’d proven he meant it the snacks just didn’t do it and you needed something else in your mouth. he knew it was just your desperation that had made you beg him to please kiss you, but he did, he was there as he’d promised, even when it hurt like this. he was there to hold you when you cried into his chest after, promising you that it would be okay and that he would be right there the entire time and when you got back, too.

he was there the next day when you clung on to his hand with a force that could probably break his fingers sooner or later, horrified of entering the building in front of you. he was there to hold you in place when you tried to bolt as soon as they started the admission process, he was there to tell you that he was so proud of you and to promise you that it would be okay. he was there to call you that night, relieved that you were allowed to, and he was there to talk you through all your fears. he was there a week later, when you were first allowed to get visitors, with a rather big teddy bear wearing one of his shirts and a self-made card that read “one week sober!”, small celebratory drawings all over.

“i wanted to bring a cake, but they don’t do that with people that just started. you’ll get one at the one month mark though, pinky promise.” you linked your pinky with his for maybe two seconds before you threw yourself into his arms, clinging on to him as if your life depended on it.

“please take me home. please just take me home”, pleaded into his shoulder repeatedly, like a mantra, and he held you so tight.

“it’s worth it, my strong little angel, it’s okay. i promise.” he was rubbing up and down your back comfortingly, continuously saying how proud he was until you let go just enough to look into his face and see the warmth in his eyes.

“you’re going to stay right here until they kick you out”, you ordered, though what you were actually doing was begging him to please not leave you alone until he had to. you felt like the odd one out here, the only alcoholic still in their twenties, and their early twenties at that. the only other person roughly your age was a guy with an anxiety disorder that looked at you like you were the filth of the earth, and that didn’t exactly make you want to talk to him. you missed mingi, you missed seeing him, and having to watch the other patients be able to go out and meet people outside the therapy times when in your state you’d have to stay until the staff could be certain you weren’t going to relapse only made it worse.

“they’ll have to drag me out by the ears”, he reassured you, and finally you smiled, a genuine smile that made his heart hurt a little less.

“call this one mingi”, pointing to the teddy bear that had been discarded when you’d flung yourself into his arms, “and pretend he’s me. not as good as the real deal, but at least he’s wearing my t-shirt.”

“butthead.” but you looked at him with, as he hoped, the same feelings he had for you, which showed him that he’d chosen a good gift.

he brought you a small gift whenever he came by, and after bothering the nurses continuously (which resulted in them begging the staff in charge of your unit to please let him get his way) he was allowed to bring you food, though only in sealed packages which they checked closely for both the ingredients and even the slightest chance of him having managed to put alcohol in. it was somewhat of a hassle, but the way your expression brightened when he brought you your favourite cereal from when you were 12 and which you’d stopped eating by age 15 because it was ‘for children’ was definitely worth it. things still weren’t easy, especially with how cut off you felt from the outside world, and there had been several nights where you’d screamed at mingi on the phone about how much you hated him for having caused all this and then being cut off by the nurses because your phone time was over before you’d had a chance to tell him that you were sorry for screaming like this, but he never got upset with you for that. instead, he texted you an apology to see after dinner, along with telling you how proud he was. and he stayed, as he’d promised you.

your one month of sobriety was the day you were discharged, because you’d been doing surprisingly well and because you’d managed to convince your responsible treatment team that you’d do better if you didn’t feel so alone and cut off, if you had the chance to do things rather than sit in the hospital all day and overthink your situation. you had an outpatient treatment plan and when you’d told mingi about being dismissed he kindly but sternly told you that he’d kick your ass into next monday if you didn’t follow it. and now he was here, picking you up both from the facility and from the ground, twirling you around as soon as you were in his arms. you’d agreed that you’d spend the first few days at his place, so that’s where he brought you now.

the tall male carried the few things you had with you into his flat while you stood next to the car, taking a little while to get used to the thought of being a part of the outside world again. you were glad mingi was there, because while you were so happy to be out it was still scary to know that now it was up to you alone whether you relapsed or not.

you were delighted to see that he’d kept his promise about the one month mark-cake, because while it wasn’t exactly pretty you soon found out that it made up for that in taste, and also because it was so sweet and thoughtful. it seemed like he’d prepared a little party for you, with one of those silly ‘welcome home’ banners hanging in the living room and colourful plastic cups on the table, next to various kinds of juice and soda. you had no idea how, but he’d even managed to organise strawberry soda, something that you hadn’t seen in stores in ages.

“butthead.” you didn’t know how else to react to all this. it was so much, so unnecessarily much that you didn’t know whether to cry with happiness or to smack him because this probably took a lot of time and money. you decided that calling him butthead again would be a good compromise.

“angel”, he grinned at you, entirely unbothered by your (admittedly weak) insult. then his expression turned serious, walking over to stand right next to you with a few long steps before he wrapped his arms around you and pulled you into a hug.

“i’m so glad you’re back, you know that? i missed you like crazy.”

“i missed you too. don’t let go.”

he wasn’t planning on doing that anyway. he’d be so stupid if he did. and he’d be so stupid if he didn’t tell you how he felt.

“i love you. i love you i love you i love you. now break my nose for being a butthead.”

“be my butthead and i’ll consider leaving your bones intact.” you tried to play it cool, but your heart was beating so hard you feared it would jump out of your chest, and this time you could be 100% sure that it wasn’t withdrawals. it was just mingi, the boy who’d kept his promise to be there, the boy who’d helped you piece yourself back together in some way again. the boy who wanted to be with you even though the way you’d pieced yourself back together was so far from who he’d known before you shattered. it was mingi, the boy whom you loved back.

“so the b in bf stands for butthead? that’s what you’re saying?” he was teasing you, just a little, but it was okay because you could tell he was just nervous and scared that he might have misunderstood you and was trying to mask that through his joke.

“or maybe it stands for big beautiful boyfriend, you decide.”

“i’ll take the boyfriend! i’ll take the boyfriend. please let me be your boyfriend.” looking at you pleadingly, though also somewhat excited, and you knew you’d never let him go again.

“then you’re my big beautiful boyfriend. what am i?” 

you were expecting him to joke, but he didn’t. he was entirely serious when he said: “you’re my world.”

and this seriousness overwhelmed you just a little bit, so that you were left speechless. and he continued.

“you’re the most beautiful person i’ve ever seen. you’re my strong little angel.”

“you’re not supposed to be so sweet, i don’t know how to handle it”, you whined out, but he just smiled down at you, taking in every detail of your face.

“get used to it.” you knew you wouldn’t ever get used to it, you knew you wouldn’t ever get enough of him telling you sweet things like that. maybe you’d get better at reacting over time, though. but since right now you were very much not good at reacting yet, you said something that maybe wasn’t the most appropriate reaction to his sweet-talking you.

“you know i still hate you though, right?” even though your voice gave away that you didn’t, far from.

“makes for a great enemies to lovers storyline”, he teased, smiling down at you with entire galaxies in his eyes.

“just kiss me, butthead.”

it didn’t take more than a few seconds before he did. he kissed you slowly, because you had all the time in the world, thumb tracing all your features while your hands were wrapped around his neck. and while your first kisses had been bitter with alcohol and desperation, this one was sweet with cake and love.

[tweetracer]

How would the Boys (Poly!) handle an S/O with EDS? (A disease that affects the joints and connective tissue. Very bendy, very achy)

POLY!LOST BOYS X FEM S/O WITH EDS 

Compared to vamps humans already seemed so much weaker and more fragile so the boys never really paid much mind when you were a little extra cautious in following with their crazier stunts.

And if you ever asked for them to stop or slow down during their haunts around the boardwalk they just chalked it up to being a ‘Human Thing’ and would pester you till you got up.

Being outnumbered- you would just grit your teeth and manage before all of you were back at the cave and you could finally rest.

The others tease you for being a ‘Princess’ because once you’re sitting on the couch or in your little nest you would not be getting up until the next evening. Dwayne was the most likely to indulge you, readily standing to retrieve whatever it is you asked for without complaint. Paul and Marko were a little tougher; Marko would get up and gripe about it- whining that he was tired too! He walked around the boardwalk just as much as you did! Paul would eventually do whatever it was you needed but not unless you did something for him *wink wink*

David on the other hand? “You’ve got two working legs, sweetheart. Get up and get it yourself”

None of the boys understood why this pissed you off so much.

It wasn’t until you were strolling down the boardwalk with the boys picking out tonight’s entree when some drunk surfer charged past you guys and  accidentally rammed into your shoulder.

You were tossed to the ground on impact, and the resounding ‘C R A C K’ was loud even to non-vampire ears. 

Your arm hung limp to the side of your body and the boys saw red. Dwayne and David were immediately at your side, panicked over what to do while Marko and Paul chased after that surfer with the rage of a feral animal, leaving you red-faced painfully aware of the people watching you.

Getting the hint, Dwayne lifted you up (careful not to jostle your arm) before taking off towards the bikes. It wasn’t until they had you set on the cushioned seat of David’s bike that you let out a shaky breath and grabbed your shoulder.

“Kitten? What’re y-”

Even Dwayne looked like he was about to be sick when you popped the joint back in place. When Marko and Paul came back covered in blood looking mostly satisfied you figured you ought to explain yourself.

You explained the loose joints, the thin skin and chronic aches. You explained how if you moved the wrong way a joint would slip and how on some days just thinking about walking made you want to cry

Needless to say

They felt like assholes

All those times they teased you for being a ‘princess’ and making you do stuff in return for them helping you, you were in real pain. You were hurting and they made you feel guilty about it. It was a lot for them to realize and they were crushed.

After the expected amount of wallowing you finally got all five of them to sit down and had a conversation with them about your limitations; about things you could do by yourself, things you needed help with and things that were completely off the table. Turns out having four super strong vampire boyfriends means your mobility is actually pretty freed up.

Dwayne did the most research into EDS, learning the different ways it can manifest and some of the long-term side effects it can have on the body. Not much changed in the way he treated you, he still brings you anything you ask for after a long walk and he’s always down to give you a nice massage when you have a bad pain day.

Paul doesn’t study shit but he does ask an almost endless fountain of questions and while you know you’re not supposed to do party tricks  every once and a while you just need to shut him up by inverting your elbows.

No matter how much he doesn’t want to admit it, David feels bad. He’ll never say it or apologize but he does make an effort to be better. While out on the boardwalk if he notices you struggling he’ll make a point to stop and look at some shops. “What? No I just wanted to see what tapes they had- this has got nothin’ to do with you”. Also down to give you a massage but will put up a big fuss just for show.

Marko is the one who probably feels the worst. He’d been the most relentless with his teasing and would complain about your slower pace. It takes a lot of one-on-one time between the two of you to finally get on the same page. Once he’s back though? Expect to be treated like the Princess he accused you of being.

This boy will stop in the middle of the boardwalk to check if you need a break. If you even mention passively that your knees hurt? Better watch out cause this man will carry you on his back and won’t put you down till you’re home.

With these four at your side even the worst pain days become a little bit more manageable. (And, as David will not-so-subtly point out once or twice, vampires don’t have chronic illnesses)

[anarmorofwords]

Okay since I’m emotional about baby Matthew interacting with his parents, Charlotte having to leave Matthew for the first time since she’s had him (Henry is there so he’s not alone but you know what I mean) and she sneaks into his nursery and lets rubs her finger on his little chubby baguette arm and tells him to be good for papa and Charles and she loves him before she goes to Charles room and kisses him goodbye too. She did this for a long time, every-time she left until her babies weren’t quite babies anymore.

Henry positioning little Matthew on his lap so he can hold his fingers and just bounce before he can walk. Tbh? I think Henry was the one who really liked seeing his kids firsts, like he’s the one who wanted to see them walk and tried to contrive ways for them to have the chance too.

Matthew gave Charlotte a heart attack once because she tried to cut his nails as a baby and everytime she get close he scream and she jump away but then he laugh, he thought they were playing, he is the reason for her first grey hairs, she swears.

Charles and Matthew where the “he’s touching me” / “I’m not touching you” type of siblings. Matthew has pushed Charles into a fountain and Charles has cut Matthew’s doll’s hair off. But Charles would also kill spiders in Matthew’s room if he asked and held his hand to cross the street as a kid unprompted.

Henry did perfect his mobile rocking crib from clockwork princess by the time Matthew was born

Charles once took Matthew out of his crib as he was crying and walked into a room of small party his mom and dad were hosting at 7 and matter of factually told them “make him stop crying, please” and since he’s 7 and has no idea to hold a child the parents in the room all to rush to get the kid out of his arms.

Matthew actually was the tantrum Haver of the two Fairchild children and like he says, if he was going get angry he was gonna make it in eventful, baby fists flying (Charlotte and Henry grabbing his hands and telling him “no, no hitting, violence is not the answer” but he craves violence) screaming like a victim of a slasher film but after he did it a lot of times he Peter out and feel bad about it, after everything is said and done he usually said sorry. But he also tire himself out. Similarly? If Matthew was a screamer, Charles bit people. Horribly teething phase. No one will ever let him live down when he was five and he bit Gideon. All I’m saying is that Charlotte gave birth to hellions while Will have births to angels was the common joke back in the day

Matthew can do pretty good impressions of his parents that actually make Charles laugh, but he denies it. Matthew can do a good Charles too, but Charles finds it less funny.

Charlotte introduced Matthew to Oscar Wild, when she bought home a copy of Dorian Grey, Will insisted she read but “when do I have to read?” But she ended up reading it to Matthew as a bed time story not recognizing it may be a little scary for him but LUCKLY he just ended up stanning him.

Matthew had a little bit of Anna from the first half Frozen energy when it came to the Fairchild Manor. Change my mind.

Charlotte has a pictures of both Charles and Matthew as babies in a locket she keeps in her pocket. Henry has a family portrait as soon as photography was available.

In a similar way, in some ways to his son’s fears, Henry fears Matthew thinks he’s boring and prefers Will who more fun (Oh the irony right?)

Matthew and Charles have only met the Branwell side of the family a number that can be counted on one hand but even that is too many for them.

The academy explosion was the one time Charlotte truly blew up at Matthew over.

Both Charles and Matthew had quite a bit of freedom as young teens that maybe they shouldn’t have had.

hi anon!!!

so sorry for taking so long!

hey I'm emotional now too, was that your plan? :')

*le cry*

Charlotte kissing them goodbye is currently almost making me cry when I'm wearing a mascara, bad idea

yes?!! i totally see him being obsessed with their milestones and firsts (again, his kids are what he's most proud of, and I'll die on that hill)

lil Matthew being a lil shit like that has my heart breaking, thanks

they were. though, aren't most siblings like that??? it's really breaking my heart, because I assume this was very much their dynamic at first, the typical "wanna push you into a hole but I'll hold you while you're afraid of the dark" thing.

mobile rocking crib yes please!!!

the mental image of the entire TID gang scrambling to their feet to take Matthew from Charles' arms is currently killing me, thanks

he was and he would apologize after tiring himself out, yes. i kinda wanna imagine that if it happened during dinners/parties Will was at, he would try to take care of him by redirecting his attention, kinda like Jace urging the baby to fight demins

plz imagine Charles trying to boss Gideon around in TLH (in a political setting) and Gideon just looking at him unimpressed, like, "kid, you bit me when you were 5, shut the fuck up"

Omg yes?!?! acting skills, baby!! (Charles is pissed when he's doing the impression of him, but he's also equal parts impressed and unsettled by the accuracy)

I wouldn't say "luckily" about a 12-13 year olds stanning Oscar Wilde lol (especially that I remember my own existential crisis phase when I was that age and read it), but I like that scenario!

yup!

she absolutely has. also does she have like am office or something? because she so would have them there as well

Matthew being insecure about Kit and Henry being insecure about Will,,,,woah, pain. Though I'd say Henry only started thinking so when Matthew became a teen and started to be more distanced (aka mentally ill lol) and all that. Earlier, I think he was very vocal about his adoration for Henry, if NBS is anything to go by.

I imagine she was really really mad and definitely lost it

i think so too! perhaps it wasn't a bad idea in itself, but so it happened that it ended the way it did...

thanks for sending this dear! have a nice day/evening/night!

[meggie-stardust]

GUNDAM WING - REWATCH - 37 - 38

37. Zero vs Epyon

Ah so we’re still at Just Communication, despite that Rhythm Emotion teaser at the end of the last episode

OZ is like we refuse to say the name Gundam anymore so we will now refer to these suits as The Mobile Suits That Shall Not Be Named, or You Know Who for short.  

Zechs: he’s challenging me. Or is he?

Heero: You were dumb to pick that the Wing Zero, it’s evil. My suit with almost the same system isn’t evil tho, so jot that down.

OZ lost communication with the mobile dolls? Shocking! What an unexpected turn of events!

Duke Dermail: Relena, this tea was handpicked from my garden. It’s only a little poison. 

Duke Dermail thinks prison is Luxemburg 

Duke Dermail gave us the first real maniacal laugh of Gundam Wing 

Oh right Heero and Zechs are still fighting

Heero stop falling on your neck out of a Gundam man

Wing Zero just like falls over and down a cliff....?

Tubarov: that’s the thing about an absolute dictatorship, he says with zero irony 

Tubarov: Hey why are you using an actual mobile suit?; White Fang: Oh better to capture you with

This is HOT DOG HERE. THE CODE NAMES GUYS OMG

Oh shit the White Fang guy. That guy looks like the he’s on the Good Place committee. 

White Fang: We learned everything from you, finger guns

Duo laying down some truth about White Fang right away

Tubarov: ILL GET MY MOBILE DOLLS IF ITS THE LST THING I DO (and it will be)

WUFEI what an entrance. 

Famous last words, Tuberov. It’s just be me and my mobile dolls celebrating victory

Here lies Tuberov, he died doing what he loved, ranting about mobile dolls

I forgot about missions Artemis. Like, that name has no memories for me. 

Zechs: Hey, Heero, let’s just have a heart to heart

Heero: It was built by Treize and I don’t get how that guy thinks. Because he’s always thinking of roses, and bubblebaths, and Wufei. It’s weird man, but you probably get it. 

Heero: We should just trade Gundams. Just kidding. Unless....

Zechs: “Somehow I think Treize would have wanted me to pilot the Epyon” you think Zechs???

Treize built a leash for the Epyon’s beam saber so people stop people showing them into space like a Wii controller. 

Relena: I accept being the head of Romefeller, but I will not stop wearing this uniform, you can’t make me. 

38. The Birth of Queen Relena

Double narrator before and after the title card

White Fang, formally known as the Treize faction, formally known as Oz, formally known as the alliance Specials...

Wufei is a little less Harry Potter Year 5 shouty than I remember, but it’s still a LOT

Noin: Hey, Wufei, I can see your JUSTICE from here

Wufei: OH, you’re THAT woman

Wufei: Project the Sanc Kingdom? That sounds like something a woman would say

The fandom really leaned into Wufei being like “woman, woman, woman blah blah blah” back in the day, and looking back it felt a bit cringey, but it’s not that far off on canon...

Why are Hilde and Duo looking at source code and a baked potato? The fake data in this show is something else.

COWARDS SHOW THE HUG BETWEEN DUO AND QUATRE

FORGET THE HUG SHOW THE KISS

Duo is like maybe we’ve all lost what we’re fighting for. This is the dark, Duo that I love and that fandom did a good job of forgetting a lot back in the day. 

I guess you’ll see what’s his name — DoES DUO NOT KNOW TROWA’S NAME YET. (ok My spreadsheet says “Possibly heard Quatre say it in episode 10” And that he said it in Episode 36. Maybe he’s just jealous? Actually he has no idea what happened does he?) (yes, i have a spreadsheet)

OK that was super gay, those looks between Quatre and Trowa

Cathy: If you really feel that way just leave him; Quatre: BUT I LOVE HIM

Trowa’s ass in that seat is A+

Without his memory, he doesn’t have the reflexes of a cat and the speed of a mongoose 

Quatre just runs into the circus says “you saved my soul” then runs away like a kid with a crush, ok byeeeeeeee

Trowa can hear Quatre crying? Do Quatre and Trowa have space heart connection??

RYTHEM EMOTION AGAIN

THAT LOOK ON TROWA’s FACE. 

I LOVE that they did an exact replica of Roman Holiday dress for Queen Relena

YES Dorothy’s BDSM dungeon mistress outfits makes it’s appearance. Like this is what she wears when she’s not in her school uniform. 

I, Queen Relena, have taken over as queen, but don’t worry about it. I didn’t ask to become Queen, so it’s ok. 

First order business, I dissolve all boarder and create the Earth Nation, because that makes perfect sense.

On a scale of Relena Peacecraft to Padmé Amidala how effective is your 15 year old queen?

Ooh Treize looking like a sexy vampire

Thoughts:

It really struck me that because the pilots have been so fractured that no one has any idea what’s going on. Duo doesn’t know that Quatre nearly killed Trowa, and Quatre don’t know that Wufei and Duo almost suffocated to death on the lunar base. I hope when this is all over, they have a sleepover and braid each other’s hair, and tell war stories. 

Also, look, Tubarov is the worst. But he makes for some amazing memes. We have a whole Tubarov shitpost ready, so be prepared. @mpanighetti​ and I know this is the thing the fandom has been waiting for for years. 

What I think I remember for the next episode(s):

I think Trowa gets his groove back with the Zero system? White Fang is now on the board, and they’re gonna be doing stuff which is morally dubious. And we are getting closer to getting the band back together... or rather together for the first time, there’s no back here. 

[spooky-luvur]

Is it possible for you to do a fic with Dutch with a male s/o who's deeply in love with him but has a shitty, very homophobic and abusive family?

Anything is possible, dearie.

Also, idk how to put in a ‘read more’ on mobile, so until someone helps me do that, you’re stuck with a big block of text sorry.

I really enjoyed writing this. I hope it’s okay. Constructive criticism is always welcome!

-

(Warnings: abuse, mentions of rape, language)

(Sorry for any spelling mistakes)

-

Ranching had been your family’s life since the day your great-great grandpappy had built the entire thing with his own two hands. It was for his wife, Amy Rose. She had come down with a serious illness one day, and she told her husband that before she died she wanted to own a ranch. And he loved her enough to let her have her wish. And so Amy Rose Ranch was born.

You lived and worked here with your parents and two older brothers. Although you wouldn’t exactly say they worked here too. Your family wasn’t...the nicest folk. At least, when it came to you. They thought you were no good, so they left you with the dirty work around the ranch. Which was pretty much...everything.

Shoveling shit, for one. It had to be your least favorite. You also had to do it quickeri than a man could pull a gun on his enemy during a duel. If you took too long, your brothers would come in and force you to clean it all up with your hands, saying the shovel was the reasons you was taking so long.

Ma handled the fancy stuff that didn’t require no shit shoveling or cow milking. She busied herself with the money and who owed them what. Money was a big thing to Ma. She always had to have as much as possible so Pa could buy her that new jewelry set or a fancy mirror. Buyin’ herself all the new clothes and looking more like a queen than a ranch owner.

Pa wasn’t no good neither, but don’t let him catch you sayin’ that. He’s as good as a saint around other folk, but around you, he was as mean and nasty as the devil himself. He’d beat you when he was mad, or when somethin’ around the ranch went wrong, or, on real nasty days, he’d lock you up in the cellar, yelling at you that is was your fault they was losin’ so much money. You never thought too much of it. Honest. It’d been the same for so many years that you’d begun to think it was only normal. That maybe you were the cause of all their problems.

But not this one.

—————

Loud laughter from outside the barn made you pause from laying out hay for the pregnant cow in there. You recognized your pa’s very loud and very fake laugh he saved for folk with lots of money. Shaking your head in sympathy for whatever man stupid enough to fall right into your fathers greedy hands, you turn back to the hay. Before you can finish, though, you flinch at what Pa says next.

“My youngest boy, (M/n), is the one that handles the horses. (M/n)!”

You force back a loud sigh and set down the rest of the hay, pushing open the barn doors to stand next to Pa.

“Yes sir.”

“Take these fine gentlemen to pick out a few horses.”

Your gaze skins over the rough-looking men before you nod.

“Yes sir.”

Before you can turn to lead them to the stables, your father roughly but discreetly grabs your arm and hisses in your ear.

“Don’t screw this up. They have big money.”

You incline your head in a nod, and he lets go, allowing you to lead the men away.

“Dutch Van der Linde.” The nicest dressed man beside you holding out his hands, metal rings gleaming in the harsh sun. You hesitate. Pa had always told to never interact with anyone more than you needed to. For the sake of the other person, of course. Finally getting a good look at the mans face, your breath catches in your throat awkwardly.

By god, he was lovely.

Warm brown eyes look at you curiously. You remember his hand and hurriedly shake it, eyes never leaving his face.

“Uh- I’m- (M/n), I’m (M/n)...”

“Well it’s good to meet you, Mr. (M/n).”

-

“This is Colt. Four years, Thoroughbred. Good if you wanna be fast. Ezra, five years, Paint.”

Dutch nods along as you list off fair horses. The other two men were off somewhere else in the stables after he’d nodded for them to trot off and check out the other horses.

It was all going well, with Dutch asking a question ever now and again, until you were in the middle of explaining how you bred one horse. The sound of a gun cocking makes your entire body freeze up at the unfamiliar sound. You put your hands up by your head like Pa had taught you to.

Dutch’s warm breath fans over your neck, making you shiver. His voice comes close to your ear.

“Now, Mr. (M/n), we’re going to take a few horses, and you’re going to tell your Pa we’ll be back in a day or two to pay. You think you can do that?”

A sinister laugh from the side makes you flinch.

“Aw, Dutch, don’t make the kid piss himself! He’s shakin’ in his boots!” The mean voice taunts, making Dutch chuckle. The cold barrel of the gun leaves your back, making you relax slightly, hands lowering. He turns you around, putting a hand on your shoulder.

“You gonna answer me?”

“Yes sir, I- I can do that.”

He pats your shoulder. “Good.”

-

“What?!”

“Th-they said they was gonna be back Pa, I didn’t-“

He backhands you, making you fall back with a pained noise you cut off in your throat.

“They better. They better come back, and they better pay, or it’s you I’m putting a bullet through next! Understand me, boy?!”

“Yes sir...”

-

A few days later, the men do return. They don’t return on the horses they took, which confuses you a bit, but you don’t have the time to think about it once Pa offers them to have some fancy whiskey in the drinking room.

They laugh like they did when the men was first here. This time, both Ma and Pa were laughing with them. Pa yells for you to come pour some more drinks. You go and do so, handing them out. Once you offer Dutch his, he grabs your arm instead of the glass, making you let out a small startled noise. His eyes meet yours before they move down to your uncovered arm, tracing the bruises left by the many harsh grabs from your Pa and brothers. He lets go after a few moments and grabs his glass, taking a sip as if he didn’t do a thing. You blink, straightening up and taking your place beside Pa’s chair.

“What do you and your men do for a living, Mr. Van der Linde?”

Ma’s honey eyes trail over the mans strong arms, down to his several expensive-looking rings. She flutters her eyelashes, giving him an attractive grin.

“We’re merely men, Mrs. O’Malley. Men that needed horses.”

She gives him a fluttery laugh, trailing her fingertips along her exposed collarbone. To your relief and amazement, he doesn’t even give her a second glance. She doesn’t seem to notice his attention is no longer on her.

“So, Mr. Van der Linde, our money?”

“Of course, sir. We have your money. But first, how about another drink?”

Pa never refuses another drink.

“Of course! You can even pick it out. (M/n)!”

“Yes sir.”

“Show Mr. Van der Linde our selection. Help him choose well.”

“Yes sir.”

The entire way to the room, you can feel Dutch’s eyes burning holes into the back of your head. Neither of you say a word, though. You were still wary of the man that held a loaded gun to your back.

You open the door to the room filled with various kinds of alcohol, bowing your head once Dutch passes.

His eyes skim over the room before he turns to you, making you straighten up, keeping your head down. You clench you’re first to stop them from shaking.

You hear the well-dressed man slowly walk closer and closer, until you can see his polished shoes. Nearly jumping at his fingers curling under your chin, tilting your head up to meet his eyes. His...kind...eyes.

“Your daddy ain’t very good to you.”

It’s not a question.

“I...Pa’s just...he works hard-“

“A daddy should work hard and respect his son.”

Dutch grabs your arm with his other hand, turning it over to look at all the scars and bruises. “This, this is *not* respecting your son.”

Your eyes start to water. “Please...Mr. Van der Linde-“

You look back up, into his eyes, and your face falls completely. That look...a look of pure concern...you’ve never seen a look like that directed to you. Ever. But...they’re not good men. You can tell. Pa can tell. Something’s off. But even with that, you can’t help but feel a pull toward the man before you, as if you need him. Need him to care about you.

But before anything else can happen, the door swings open, making you jump back. Dutch, however, doesn’t move, staying perfectly calm.

Your brother stands in the doorway, eyes wide. He looks between the two of you, putting the pieces together.

Then, his mouth curls into the most sinister and evil grin you’d ever seen.

That’s when you knew, you were fucked.

Pa didn’t say a word to you the rest of the night. You didn’t know if your brother, Alan, had told him what he’d seen. You were tense, waiting for someone to jump up and strike you so hard you’d die.

But nothing happens.

By the end of the night, Pa and Ma are as drunk as a crook. They laugh heartily as they show the men out, completely forgetting all about the thousand or so dollars they still owe them. It was a trick, you realize. You don’t think the men have the money. And Mr. Van der Linde, you realize as the man meets your eye, knows that.

Pa beats you that night.

-

Two days later, the men return. But things are different. Pa is impatient, and is also starting to wonder if they actually have any money, or if they’re the drunk crooks. They take their seat in the sitting room, but Dutch is the only man from his side to sit as well. The other two men remain standing. Tense. Like a guard waiting for a moment to strike.

No drinks are poured.

For the first several moments, no words are exchanged.

Then, Pa asks the question.

“Where is my money Dutch Van der Linde.”

Dutch intertwines his ringed fingers. The corners of his mouth twitch. He looks amused.

“There is no money.”

Faster than anyone else can move, Pa lets out an angry cry and whips up out of his seat, taking the bottle of expensive scotch on the table and smashing it over your head. Foul smelling liquid and tint shards of glass rain down on your face, that and the pain making you cry out, stumbling to the floor. The alcohol stings your eyes and blurs your vision.

Dutch, to the others astonishment, springs to his feet, clenching his jaw as he takes in your crouched form.

“My money! Give me my money!”

Ma gasps as the other two men whip our their guns, both of them pointed at Pa. The man seethes, deciding to turn his anger to you. He kicks you in the chest, making you let out a pained wheeze.

“Faggot! You goddamn faggot! This is all your fault!”

“Settle down, Mr. O’Malley. Your son did nothing-“

“Nothing?! Why are you so concerned for him?! Did he suck your cock?! Did you fuck him?! That’s all he’s good for!”

The air in the room itself seems to pause. All three of the men freeze and look at Pa with wide eyes. He wouldn’t...

“Fine! If you want him so much then take him!”

He pulls you up by your hair, throwing you at Dutch who catches you in his arms. You push yourself into his chest, tears and blood running down your face.

Someone’s gun goes off. Something falls to the floor. Ma’s scream is cut off by another shot. Something else falls, and then it’s silent.

That night, you stand outside the house with Dutch.

“I am...sorry...you had to live like that, (M/n).” He pulls out a nice stack of bills from his pocket, putting them into your hand. “But you don’t have to listen to them anymore.”

You frown.

“You can go into town, take the train somewhere and-“

“No!”

Dutch raises his brow. “No?”

“I...” you shift, embarrassed. “I want to come with you. Please.”

He shakes his head. “My life isn’t-“

“I don’t care!” You force the money back into his hands.

“If it isn’t with you then I don’t want it. I’ll...I’ll never be safe!”

Dutch studies you for a long moment. Finally, he grins.

“Well, we wouldn’t want that, now would we?”

[mldrgrl]

Safety in Numbers

by: mldrgrl Rating: R Summary: The Hanella in quarantine fic some of you have been waiting so patiently for.

It happens so quickly and it’s shocking, even if she suspected it might happen.  Overnight, everything just stops.  An emergency conference call is held and just like that, she’s teaching in a virtual classroom and toilet paper is suddenly one of her biggest concerns.  And the nightmares come, stealing her sleep and leaving her restless.  It’s only been a week.

Unable to sit still to give a lecture, she creates a station for herself on the butcher’s block in the kitchen area.  If her students only knew the things that had happened on that butcher’s block, but she could say that about nearly every wall and surface of the loft.  They’d probably never imagine she was capable, not in a million years.  She’s heard stories of other classrooms turning this new landscape they were in into entertainment - wearing silly hats, creating silly backgrounds on their screens, wearing pajamas - but not her.  She makes it clear from day one, criminology is a serious study and they are to treat it as such.

She’s just ended a discourse on crime scene containment when Hank emerges from the bedroom.  He hasn’t showered or shaved yet, even though it’s noon and she knows he’s been up writing since before she began her lecture.  His eyes are squinted and his lip is curled up as though he’s just eaten something distasteful.

“What timing,” Stella says, closing the lid of her laptop.

“Yeah, I…”  Hank pauses and rubs the back of his head so that his hair spikes up.  “Uh…”

“Something the matter, Watson?”

“Karen just called me.”

Stella is immediately awash with concern.  “Everything alright?  Is someone ill?”

“I don’t know.  She wants you to call her.  Said she would’ve actually called you herself, but she wasn’t sure of your teaching schedule and didn’t want to interrupt.”  

“I’ll ring her now.  Any idea what it’s about?”

“None.  She assured me no one was dying, but that it was important.  I’ve been climbing the walls in the room waiting until your class was over.”

“Well, you were quite prompt.”  Stella crosses the room to the coffee table where her mobile is charging.  She unplugs it and unlocks the screen.  She pulls up Karen’s contact card and initiates the call.

“Oh good,” Karen answers immediately.  “Hank told you I called.”

“Yes, he’s pacing the room like a caged animal.  Do you mind if I put you on speaker?”

“Please, I want to run something by the both of you, actually.”

“Alright.”  Stella sits down on the sectional sofa and puts the call on speaker.  She holds the phone in her palm and points it towards Hank who’s biting his thumbnail and shuffling back and forth along the other side of the coffee table.

“I’ve been trying to get Becca to come up here once this whole quarantining, shelter-in-place thing started happening.”

“We tried as well,” Stella says.

“I know.  And I totally get that she’s an adult and has her own life and all that, but she finally agreed this morning.”

“That’s wonderful.”  Stella glances up at Hank.  “It’s been a concern for us.”

“Well, what I was thinking is that you guys should come up too.”

“Us?”

“What do you mean?” Hank asks.

“I mean, you should come stay in the guest house.”

“That’s a very generous offer-” Stella starts, but she’s interrupted.

“I’m worried about the two of you as much as Becca,” Karen says.  “Have you been outside at all?  Can you even go outside?”

“Not since Hank’s birthday, actually.”

“See.  You guys can be here and Becca will be here and then we won’t have to worry about you.  Stella, Fish said he’ll set you up in his office for your classes.  He’s turning the garage into a studio anyway and isn’t even using it.”

There was muffled shouting in the background.

“And he says the barbeque is ready,” Karen adds.  Hank rolls his eyes in response.

“I think it’s something we’d need to discuss,” Stella says.  “This isn’t likely to last just days or weeks.  We’re looking at months.  It’s possible travel even between states could be restricted.”

“Exactly,” Karen says.  “That’s even more reason why you should come.  If it gets that bad, you may not be able to get here.”

When, Stella thinks.  Not if.

“When are you picking Becca up?” Hank asks.

“Saturday.  Probably mid-morning.  We can just pop over after that and grab you two before heading back.”

“You’ve certainly given us something to consider,” Stella says.  “We’ll have a chat about it and get back with you.”

“I just really think you guys should be with family, you know?”

It’s that statement that tightens Stella’s chest.  She’s been without a proverbial family for most of her life and still lacks experience with feeling accountable to another person, let alone others.  But, she does feel accountable now and though she’d like to write Karen’s offer off as being a polite, albeit meaningless request, she knows it’s not.

They have a few more minutes of lighter conversation and then they hang up with Stella promising they’ll seriously consider Karen’s offer and get back with her.  There’s a few moments of silence after Stella disconnects the call and she watches Hank.  He’d slumped down on the sofa before they’d hung up and began chewing the inside of his cheek and staring out the window.

“Thoughts?” Stella asks.

“I don’t even know what to fucking think right now.”

“Are you inclined to say no?”

“Are you inclined to say yes?”

“I’m not inclined to say anything until we discuss it.”

“You didn’t think it was weird?”

“No more strange than being invited for weekends, really.  And we’ve certainly done that.”

“So you want to go?”

“I’m merely positing that I don’t believe it was a strange or disingenuous offer.”

“I wonder how she wore Becca down.”

Stella shrugs and then slumps back beside Hank.  “I’m glad she’s going.  It’s a better place for her to be instead of cooped up in her flat all alone.  Or here, really, where privacy would be limited.”

“And what if something does happen, like Karen said?  How would we get there.”

“That may not be an option.”

Just as Stella drops a gentle hand on Hank’s knee, he jumps up from the couch and begins to pace again.  She folds her hands over her lap to give him the time he clearly needs to put together his thoughts.

“I can’t fucking believe I’m living in a world where I have to consider moving in with my ex and the guy she’s shacking up with.”

“And your wife.”

“I mean ‘I’ like the royal ‘we.’  There is no ‘I,’ there’s only we.  Us.  Whatever.  You know what I fucking mean.”

“So then we’ll not consider it.  It sounds as though you’ve made up your mind about it already anyway.”

“Feel free to chime in with your thoughts at any time.”  He puts his hands together as if in prayer and bows towards her slightly.  “This feels like a rather one-sided discussion.”

“I could think of dozens of reasons to stay, but weigh that against one very good reason to go and, well...”

“Becca?” Hank asks.

“I know what it’s meant to you growing closer to her since we’ve been back.  It’s actually meant something to me as well.  And, I think I have an idea of what it might be like for you to go from seeing her so often to not at all, with no idea when the next time may be.”

Hank puts his hands to his face and pulls his skin down as he rubs at his cheeks and forehead.  

“What has your knickers all in a twist over this, Watson?” she asks.  “It’s only an offer and we can respectfully decline.”

“I don’t know.”  He shakes his head and drops his hands.  “I just...Karen and I were together for a long time and we’ve been through a lot of shit together.  I love her, but there are times...I suddenly remember how much I fucking resent her and the chain events she started.  And I realize that might sound like...I mean, it doesn’t account for the actual contentment and happiness I have at this time in my life.  I just can’t fucking forget sometimes.  It’s easier to do that when we’re apart.”

Stella is not a coddler by nature.  Offering comfort isn’t something that comes naturally or easy for her, but there are times when the inclination to soothe comes over her.  She stands and takes the few steps necessary to reach Hank.  First she takes him by the hips and then slides her hands up to his chest and then over his shoulders to link her fingers behind his neck.

“Are you thinking you’re sorry you married such a pussyass bitch?” Hank asks.

“Strange as it sounds, I was actually thinking about how much I love you,” she answers.  

“Stop it, Sherlock, you’ll make me cry.”

She pinches his nape lightly.  “Don’t be such a pussyass bitch.”

“And suddenly I’m very turned on.”

“You’re always turned on.”

“Pot.  Kettle.  Black.”

She shrugs.  “I’m not going to give Karen an answer until tomorrow.  I want you to think very hard about what you want to do because it’s not something we can change our minds on.”

“Do you want to go, Sherlock?”

“I told you, I can think of one very good reason to go and many reasons not to.”

“Yeah, that’s what you said, but I feel like that’s an ambiguous answer.  Do you want to go?”

Stella loosens her fingers at Hank’s neck and let’s her hands slide back to his shoulders.  She isn’t quite sure how to express the depth of the anxiety she feels about the situation to Hank or how hard she’s fought to suppress it.  The pages of her dream journal are rapidly being filled though.

“I think,” she says.  “For once, I might like to escape from danger instead of staring down the barrel at it.”

*****

They have one more discussion about Karen’s offer and though Hank still seems torn about what to do, he tells Stella he thinks they should go and asks if she’ll call Karen.  Before she can even grab her phone, he goes up to the roof and so she places the call by herself.  Karen is thrilled.  Stella can feel her elation through the phone, if that’s possible.

“This is so great,” Karen says.  “Bring whatever you need and even if you forget something, I’m sure we’ll have it.  Or we can get it.  You don’t have to worry about anything.  You know, honestly, I expected to have to sell you guys even harder than I did Becca.  I’m so relieved.”

“How did you manage to convince Becca to come up and stay?  She seemed very adamant about remaining on her own when we spoke with her.”

“I think I opened her eyes a little to how isolated she might be.  I also may have shamelessly reminded her that the pool was heated and all her meals and laundry would be taken care of, which was going to be my next tactic with you.”

“Oh, you don’t have to do that.  Well…”  Stella hesitates for a moment.  “Actually, I feel I should warn you that I’m rubbish in the kitchen.  We always order out.”

Karen laughs.  “Well, then you’re coming to the right place, honey.  I love to cook, and it’s way more fun when it’s for more than two.  Or three.”

“My fear is that you’ll tire of us.  I don’t want to be an added burden in any way.”

“Hank, maybe.  You, never.”  Karen laughs again.  “And, honestly, if Hank and I start to piss each other off, it never lasts long.”

“His fear is that the two of you might quarrel.”

“He does get on my last fucking nerve sometimes, but it’s been a really long time since we’ve sworn we’d hate each other for the rest of our lives.  A lot has changed since then.  For the better, obviously.”

“You sound quite certain.”

“The only thing I’m certain of is that if we haven’t killed each other by now, we probably won’t.”

“I do suppose the odds are favorable in that respect.”

“Listen, I want you guys here, I really do.  Maybe I’m being silly or overreacting to this, but I think if we can be together during this, we should.  I think we’ve talked about this a little before, but Hank and Becca, they just function better when they remain in each other’s orbit.”

“Yes, I agree.”

“So, I think this is really in the best interest of all of us to do this.  I know what I’m like when I’m crazy worried about Becca and I know what Hank is like.  But, then it’s you and Fish that have to suffer for it.”

“Well, I wouldn’t call it suffering.”

“But, you know what I mean.”

“I’ve never been a parent-”

“Bull shit, Stella.”

“Pardon?”

“That’s bull shit.  You might have come around later in her life, but you’re a Mom to Becca.  Don’t worry, I’m not one of those women who can’t deal with the idea of their kid having an extra parent.  I only wish you would’ve been here sooner.”

Stella blinks, stunned into a sudden silence.  Her throat tightens a little and her nose stings with the onset of tears, but she swallows them back and takes a calming breath.

“I was going to say that I’ve never been a parent, but having had Becca in my life for these past few years, I can understand the inclination to want to protect and prioritize one’s child.”

“I know you understand.  That’s why we’re all so lucky to have you.”

“Thank you for that, I…”  Stella stops and pinches away the burning sense of emotion between her brows.  “I feel as though I’m the lucky one.”

“Let’s call it mutual.”

“We can do that.”

“And honestly, one of the selling points for getting Becca to come up was that I told her I’d have the two of you on board as well.  You can’t make a liar of me.”

“No, I suppose we can’t.”

“Okay, so we’ll see you guys on Saturday.  I’ll call when we’re leaving Becca’s.  Everything will be perfectly fine, I promise.”

“Alright.  We’ll see you soon.”

Stella hangs up the phone and then sits quietly for a few minutes before she goes up to the roof to find Hank.  The sun has gone down and grey twilight has set in.  Though it was an unusually warm day, it’s gone a bit chilly.  She pulls her thin silk robe a little tighter and crosses her arms over each other for warmth.  Hank is reclining in one of the lounge chairs, a glass of whiskey in his hand.

“Did you tell Karen the happy news?” he asks.

“I did.  She was very pleased.”

“Mm.”

“I don’t think there will be anything to worry about.”

“No?”

“No.”  Stella straddles Hank’s lap over the lounge chair and sits on his thighs.  He puts one hand on her hip and takes a sip of his whiskey.

“The world is so fucking weird right now,” he says.  “I don’t know how to comprehend it.”

“No one does, I’m sure.”

“Even you, Sherlock?”

“Even me.”

He tips his head back to look at her and brushes the hem of her robe aside to slide his hand up the outside of her thigh.  They gaze at each other for a long while, he rubbing the top of her thigh and she plucking mindlessly at the black t-shirt covering his chest.  Her robe slips down her shoulder a little and he reaches up as though he’s going to slide it back in place, but instead he caresses the back of her arm and pets the strap of her tank top with the back of his hand.  Eventually, he sets his whiskey glass down on the little table next to the lounge and unties the knot holding her robe closed.

“Still fantasize about fucking on the roof?” he asks.

“It was never a fantasy, just a fleeting thought.”

“Is it crossing your mind right now?”

“It might be.”

“It’s definitely crossing mine.”

“I can tell.”  

She reaches down to cup the rigid bulge straining the fly of his jeans.  He grunts slightly and rubs the strip of skin showing below her navel with his thumb, between the loose edge of her tank top and lace edge of her panties.  Her skin becomes rippled with gooseflesh.  Within seconds, she’s swollen and pulses with arousal.  

Deftly, Stella pushes the buttons free along the fly of Hank’s jeans, from top to bottom.  He adjusts his hips as she brings him out into the closed heat of her fist.  It doesn’t take but a few strokes and strategic swirls of her thumb to have him panting and groaning under her.  

“Quiet,” she whispers, leaning close enough so she can flick her tongue out and catch his bottom lip.

“Make me,” he murmurs.  

She strokes him a little harder and then stops to raise up onto her knees.  Still gripping him tightly, she hooks her panties to the side and sinks down in one swift motion.  If he misses any extended foreplay, he doesn’t show it.  It’s a shut up and fuck me moment for her where all she wants and needs is his cock inside of her at just the right angle and she can handle the rest.  And he knows her well enough by now to know when to lay back and enjoy the ride.  She’ll make it up to him later by letting him fondle her in the shower, perhaps surprising him by requesting he wash her back, and then her front.  

For the most part, Hank just holds onto the flare of Stella’s hips and lets her set the pace.  She grips his shoulders and uses them for leverage to lift up, to arch her back, to roll her pelvis forward, and then to relax her thighs and do it all again.  They both know, from time and experience, just how quick and effective this particular move is for both of them.

“So fucking good,” he purrs.  He reaches up and grips Stella’s hair at the back of her head and pulls her down for a brief, but deep kiss.  She sinks her teeth into his bottom lip before she pulls away.  He licks the sting of it away.

When his little grunts of pleasure and encouragement grow too loud, she slaps her hand over his mouth and slips two fingers inside.  He bites down lightly and slips his tongue along the seam between her fingers, and she burns just a little more painfully with desire for him.

“Come on,” she says, slipping her hand down from his shoulder to root out his nipple over his shirt.  When she finds the taut little pebble, she gives it a tweak between her thumb and forefinger, grinding her pubic bone down against his as she does.  

Hank gives a muffled cry from under her hand and his hips jerk up.  The muscles in his neck strain when she does it again and his fingers dig roughly into her ass as he holds her in place.  She squeezes him boneless and moves his hand out of the way as he tries to help bring her over the edge to do it herself.  When the tension finally breaks and she splits apart with a terrible tremble, she gives a long moan of relief and then slowly brings herself down to rest against Hank’s chest.  He puts his arms around her and his chin on her shoulder.

“You’re all that makes sense to me right now, Sherlock” he says.

She doesn’t answer, but she finds the spot on the left side of his chest where she can feel his heart beating and presses her lips to it.

******

Saturday afternoon, they’re packed and ready.  Stella took the lead on preparation, experienced in planning for extended time away from home.  Becca and Karen’s arrival is awkward as no one quite knows what the protocol is for both reuniting and remaining distant at the same time.  They’ve talked about keeping cautious for the first week or so and keeping masks and gloves on for safety.

The ride up to Connecticut is gloomy.  It’s drizzled off and on for a few days and today it finally culminates into a steady downpour.  No one knows quite what to say, and even Hank, who normally can’t tolerate silence, doesn’t say much.  When they arrive, they take their bags out to the guesthouse which has been transformed once again with a nautical theme.  The last time they were there, at Christmas, it had a distinctly rustic flare.

“I’m seasick just looking at it,” Hank says, pulling his mask free from his ears.  “I might vomit.”

“The accent wall is a lovely shade of blue.”

“Tell me again we made the right choice.”

“We made the right choice.”

“And this will all work out.”

“It’s going to work out.”

“I’m the best sex you’ve ever had, none can compare.”

“I’m the best sex you’ve ever had,” she parrots.  “None can compare.”

“Smartass.”

“You walked right into that one.”

******

The first week feels endless and strange.  Stella has to utilize the upstairs office in the main house for her lectures and they all gather for dinners outside on the patio, but conversation is stilted and there is tension in the air.

It’s quickly apparent that the situation has brought underlying anxieties to the surface.  Stella’s strange dreams start to bring on episodes of sleep paralysis, something she hasn’t dealt with in some years.  Hank also seems to cling to her more tightly and for longer periods of time when they go to bed.  He doesn’t even try to initiate sex, prefering to hold her than fuck her.  It would bother her, but she also discovers something about herself that gives her pause and makes her re-evaluate her stance on cuddling: when faced with the reality that she is now in the same room on a daily basis as the people she loves most in the world, but is simply not able to embrace them, the ache it brings puts the importance of touch into perspective.  And if she’s feeling this way, she knows it’s exponentially worse for Hank.

Her birthday approaches and she asks Hank to please not mention it, to please make sure it comes and goes without acknowledgment.  Aside from waking that morning with Hank’s face between her thighs and the double chocolate brownies that are served after dinner, it passes unnoticed.  She’s grateful for that.

As the second week comes to a close, everyone seems to exhale and begin to relax.  The turning point seems to come when Fish unexpectedly asks Hank to come and have a look at the studio he’s been working on.  With Hank occupied, Stella asks Karen if she could help in the kitchen.

“You’ll have to instruct me on what to do,” Stella says.  “And don’t assume I know the difference between dicing and chopping.”

“Lesson one,” Karen answers.  “We start with a glass of wine.”

Thus begins the evening cooking lessons.  Becca joins in when she discovers what they’re doing and the three of them spend those few hours a day drinking and laughing while also trying to give Stella a handle on the basics of simple meal preparation.

“What’s your favorite meal?” Karen asks Stella one evening.  They’ve gathered around the kitchen island, making lists of recipes to try.  Karen is looking everything up on her phone, elbows on the counter.  “Something you love,” she adds.  “But that you wouldn’t think you could make for yourself?”

“Oh, that’s a rather difficult question,” Stella answers, but gives it some thought, sipping her glass of wine.  “It isn’t really a meal, but I do miss the Cornish pasties I used to get from time to time at a shop back in London.”

“Mmhm.”  Karen taps Cornish pasties recipes into Google while Becca looks over her shoulder.

“They look like empanadas,” Becca says.  “Wait, go back, there’s a vegetarian one too.”

“We could totally do these.  Put skirt steak, leeks, and rutabaga on the list.  We’ve got enough onions.  And potatoes.  Check to see if there are any carrots left.”

“How did you first learn to cook?” Stella asks.

“Oh, I don’t know, I was studying all the time and stuck at home with this one,” Karen answers, pointing her thumb back at Becca.  “Hank would be at his typewriter and the noise of it would make me insane so I’d put some music on and look at recipes I’d torn out of pages from magazines.  Not because I cared much about what it was, but because I liked the pictures of them.”

“You were trying to design food when you couldn’t design interiors.”

“Yeah, pretty much.  And then I just decided to actually try some of them.”

“She makes the best spinach ravioli,” Becca says.  “I went through a phase where I would only eat Italian food when I was little.”

“Must be because of the garlic,” Stella adds.

“I do love garlic.”

“I know, your dad told me the story of it once.”

“What story?”

“How you were ill one night as a toddler.”

“I don’t know this story.”  Becca looks from Karen to Stella and then back to Karen again.  “Mom?”

Karen looks slightly confused.  “Yeah, I don’t...I’m not sure what story that is.”

“I’m not going to have all the finer details,” Stella starts, suddenly feeling rather embarrassed for having knowledge of an event that Karen and Becca seem unaware of.  “Your dad was telling me once that he’d been genuinely terrified one night when you were a toddler and you’d had a rather high fever.  A neighbor woman, someone in the building you lived in with many children, came up and used some oils on you, one of which had a strong odor of garlic.”

“Holy shit,” Karen says.  “Yeah, that’s...yeah I do remember that.  Kind of.  Oh god, what was her name.  Melanie, or something close to that.  She used to call Becca ‘Pretty Baby’ all the time.”

“I don’t remember this lady,” Becca says.

“You were really little,” Karen says.  “She also moved out of the building by the time you were two.  But, yeah, she put all this oil on you and this little t-shirt and socks.  It smelled terrible, but it did the trick.  And holy fuck, did you smelled like garlic for a full week.”

“I wonder where she is now.”

“That was always the thing about New York.  People were there one day and then they weren’t.”

This subdues the trio for a few moments.  The current reality is that there are a lot of people who have been there one day and then not there the next, and not just in New York, but everywhere.

“And perhaps that’s why you love garlic,” Stella says softly, finally, breaking the silence that followed.

“Interesting.”  Becca contemplates her glass of wine and drums her fingers against the kitchen counter for a few moments.  “I have some writing to do.”

Karen leans forward and stretches her arms across the kitchen island after Becca leaves and covers one of Stella’s hands with both of hers.  “I love that you know that story,” she says.

“It’s something we used to do back when we were still long-distance.  Tell stories.  Mostly Hank, though.  I’m sure you’re aware that he has a need to fill any silence.”

“That’s an understatement.”  Karen laughs.

“Indeed.”

“Oh god, can you imagine if this had happened while you were still doing long-distance?  Or even when you guys were still in London.”

“No, I really can’t.  It would be…”  Stella can’t even think of a word that’s fitting.  Difficult.  Strange.  Unfathomable.  The thought of it actually makes her feel a bit anxious.  Karen nods and squeezes her hand.

Fish and Hank suddenly emerge from the studio and stroll into the kitchen.  Fish stands just behind Karen and squeezes her hips.  Stella reaches out and takes Hank’s hand in hers and brings his arms around her.

“So, what do you ladies have up your sleeve for tonight?” Fish asks.

“Salads and a cold pasta tonight,” Karen answers.  “We’re going to get experimental next week.”

“I like experiments.  I’ll be whipping up some more marinade tonight for the steaks this weekend.  Where’s Beckster?”

“She wanted to do some writing.”

“I can learn a thing or two about discipline from her,” Hank says.  “That’s exactly what I need to be doing.”

“Go on,” Stella says, patting his arms.  “I’ll let you know when dinner is ready.”

Hank kisses the side of Stella’s neck before he leaves.  Karen starts to pull items out of the refrigerator as Fish comes up next to Stella and leans against the kitchen island.

“Your hubs been telling you about his guitar lessons?” Fish asks.

“You’ve been giving him lessons?”

“Refreshing what he already knows.  He’s been helping me teach my group.”

“Has he?”

“He’s gonna duet with one of my kids for the concert comin’ up.”

“Are you still holding that?” Karen asks, lining up mixing bowls along the counter.  “How can you?”

“We’re gonna Zoom it.  That’s how they’re all doing their school now anyway.”

“That’s how I’m doing my lectures as well,” Stella says.

“Well, you ladies are of course invited.  It’s on Saturday, in two weeks.”

“I’ll have to check my calendar,” Karen answers.  “So many places to go right now.  So many plans.”

“Hah!”  Fish comes around to the other side of the island and pinches Karen on the side before giving her a bear hug from behind.  “Funny lady.”

Later that night, after they’ve had dinner and Stella and Hank are lying in bed, she turns to face him and he plays with the strap of her tank top, running his finger over her shoulder to the top of her breast and back.

“I hear you’re playing in a concert in a few weeks,” she says.

“Yeah.  The Trout roped me into that before I knew what was happening.  He’s got me plucking out Blackbird with some 12-year-old.  Supposed to be a confidence booster or something.”

“For you or the kid?”

“He didn’t specify.”  Hank leans over and bites the top of Stella’s shoulder lightly and then rubs the spot with his thumb while he places kisses across her chest to her throat.

“Mm,” she answers.

“Actually,” he says, and pulls away.  “I didn’t know this, but The Trout is like, a gazillionaire.”

“I presumed he was fairly wealthy from his family history.”

“Yeah, but no.  He actually made a shit ton of money on investments after designing some landmark building and so he retired and now he doesn’t have to do anything and his money just makes more money.”

“Why did he retire though?”

“He didn’t like being an architect and just went with the flow of the family business, but he wanted to be a musician.  So he quit and all the lessons he does now, he does it for free with this community program.”

“That’s lovely.”

“I know.  When this whole shitshow started, he actually made sure all the kids he taught for had iPads so they could continue their lessons.  And then because he wants them to still have their spring concert, he’s making sure all their extended families that were going to attend have iPads to watch it.”

“He has a generous soul.”

Hank flops onto his back and blows out a sigh.  “And we’re just sitting here doing fucking nothing.”

“What we’re doing is equally important.”

“What are we doing?”

“Not going out and risking exposure.  For ourselves and for others.”

“It feels like nothing.  Just sitting, doing fuck-all.”

“What would you rather be doing?”

“I have no idea.  I’m barely qualified to exist.”

Stella scoots closer to Hank and drapes her arm over his chest and her leg over his thigh.  He tips his head towards hers and holds onto her wrist as he falls asleep.

*****

In the middle of the third week, Stella is taking attendance at the top of her lecture, as she always does.  She makes note of a student’s absence and starts in on the chapter outline.  At the end of class, she does another attendance check.

“Mr. Diaz, would you please indicate your presence if you’re at today’s lecture.”

A moment of silence passes and then another student’s window comes into her screen.  “Hector tested positive, Professor,” the student tells her.  “He’s in the hospital.”

In her years of training, Stella has conditioned herself to remain emotionally neutral in all varieties of situations.  However, she is out of practice.  She blinks once and then nods slightly, but feels her chin begin to wobble.

“Thank you for telling me,” she says, and pauses for a moment to keep her breathing steady.  “Please be sure to complete the chapter exam prior to Friday’s lecture.  We’ll be starting on new material next week.”

She signs out of her lecture platform to a chorus of ‘yes, Professor.’  After closing her laptop, she places her hands on the lid and breathes deeply.  It’s just like the conversation they were having the other day.  Someone is there one day, and gone the next.  

When she comes downstairs, she finds Hank, Becca, and Fish in the sitting room, tuning guitars.  They’re smiling and laughing about something.  She turns to take the long way around to the side door so they don’t notice her, but runs into Karen in the front room, who asks her to form an opinion on some fabric samples.  She obliges her and then excuses herself under the pretense of needing to review assignments.  

Later in the evening, she musters the enthusiasm to assist Karen and Becca in preparing kebabs for Fish to grill, feigns engagement in the discussion about a Netflix documentary over dinner, helps with the nightly emptying and filling of the dishwasher, and begs off a dessert of sliced fruit to go to bed early.  No one questions her, but she can see the concern on Hank’s face as he looks up at her and kisses the inside of her wrist as she’s leaving.  Karen, too, seems to know that something is amiss, but doesn’t say anything.

Deep into the night, she’s not sure what time it is, but she wakes with Hank breathing hotly against her shoulder.  The ceiling is shimmering with silver light and she has to rub her eyes to see clearly.  She hears a noise, like the soft paddling of a boat on a river.  Carefully, she extricates herself from Hank’s arms and out of bed.  She steps outside and takes the extra time to silently close the door behind her.

The kitchen in the main house is dimly lit with the muted glow of the overhead light above the stove.  She moves towards it almost like a beacon, but stops when she hears the paddling once again and then a soft splash.  Stella blinks into the darkness and is able to make out the silhouette of someone in the pool.

“Karen?” she whispers.

“Oh shit,” Karen whispers back.  “I didn’t wake you, did I?”

“No, I...no.”  Stella steps cautiously towards the pool.  Her eyes are adjusting more to the darkness and she can make out the dark shape of Karen swimming towards her from the opposite side.  She reaches the edge just as Karen does.

“You should come in.”

“I’m not sure where I put my swimsuit.  I’d probably wake Hank trying to find it.”

Karen laughs quietly.  “Who needs a swimsuit?”

“I’ve never skinny dipped before.”

“It’s fantastic.  Especially after midnight.”

“Is that why you’re out here at this hour?”

“Sort of a habit of mine if I can’t sleep.”

“Why can’t you sleep?”

“If I knew, I’d probably be able to sleep.”  Karen suddenly dunks her head underwater and then comes back up and clears the water from her face.  “Come in.  I always bring extra towels down, so don’t worry about that.”

“Alright.”

Stella considers the available options of entering the pool.  She decides to use the stairs in the shallow end and leave her nightclothes on one of the deck chairs nearby.  She undresses with her back to the pool, but doesn’t hesitate to turn around and descend the steps.  Initially bracing herself for a sudden chill, she’s pleasantly surprised that even though she knows it’s heated, it’s still warmer than she was expecting.

As she wades in further, past her knees, past her hips, up to her shoulders, she’s amazed at how different and exhilarating it feels to slip through the water completely bare.  She had no idea the absence of a swimsuit would make such a difference.  Towards the deeper end of the pool, Karen floats silently on her back and Stella glides closer.

“You’re right,” Stella says.  “It is fantastic.”

“Mmhm.”

Doing a half-turn, Stella lays her head back and pulls her legs up before natural buoyancy takes over and she relaxes, floating next to Karen, but in the opposite direction.  There is no moon that she can see, but the longer she stares up into the sky, the more stars appear.

“You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to,” Karen says.  “But, you didn’t seem like yourself at dinner.  Everything okay?”

Stella could easily lie and tell her everything is fine, but even the thought of it feels wrong to her and she doesn’t want to risk putting up walls between herself and Karen.  Not when all she needs to do is share such a small piece of herself.

“No, it isn’t,” Stella says.  “I had a student that was absent from my lecture this afternoon and found out at the end of class that he had tested positive and is in hospital.”

“Oh, shit.”

“I don’t know what the proper thing to do is.”

“What do you mean?”

“I’ve been thinking over it all evening.  I’ve been...reflecting on certain experiences in my life.  One in particular, which was quite challenging.”

Stella doesn’t realize she’s drifted so far until she bumps the side of the pool.  She pushes lightly away until she’s back to center.

“What was it?” Karen asks.  “Or, you don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to.”

“One of the last cases I worked as an active investigator was a serial rapist and murderer.  It was extremely taxing for a variety of reasons, but when we had the suspect in custody, he managed to overpower one of the guards and attack me during an interrogation.”

“Jesus!”

“It was vicious and brutal and to put it bluntly, I was severely beaten.”

“Oh my god, Stella.”  Karen finds Stella’s hand in the water and holds it tightly.

“I’m quite alright.  It was many years ago now.”  Stella gives Karen’s hand a reassuring squeeze, but Karen doesn’t let go.

“I had no idea.”

“It’s alright.  The reason it’s been on my mind is because whilst in hospital being treated after the incident, I had a very kind doctor who sat with me because he didn’t like the idea that I was alone.  It occurred to him, but it did not occur to me, that I might need someone.  I had no close friends, no family, no relationship to speak of because I could not and would not let anyone close to me.”

Karen let’s go of Stella’s hand.  The water ripples around them as Karen comes out of her float and treads water beside her.  Stella also comes out of her float and begins to tread water.

“How did you get from there to here?” Karen asks.  

“I’m a work in progress.  Do you know that it took me years just to be able to hold Hank’s hand in public?”

“No, I didn’t.”

Stella breathes deeply and lifts her left hand out of the water to flex her fingers.  Her wedding ring twinkles softly.  “I called Hank, actually,” she says.  “After the case was closed and I returned home, just a few days after being released from the hospital.  I called him.  I didn’t tell him what had happened, I only asked him if he would come to London to see me and he came straight away.”

“That certainly sounds like Hank.”

“We had only met twice before that.  And both times...to be perfectly frank, our only connection was sex.  I asked him to come to London knowing full well there was a strong possibility he would be angry with me for luring him out under false pretenses.”

“I’m guessing he didn’t do that.  And not just because you guys are where you are today, but because I know Hank.”

“I didn’t know him.  Not at that time.  I only knew that I did not want to be alone and he was the only person I could think of that might not judge me for it.”

“Do you know, that’s something that used to piss me off so much about him?  I always felt like he was such a selfish prick because he would drop everything for anyone at any time, no questions asked, regardless of how I felt about it.  But, really, I was the selfish prick because what I really wanted was for his full attention and to make me his only priority.”

“I had to learn how to bth be a priority and to prioritize someone else into my life.”

“The funny thing is, even when I was his only priority, I still wasn’t happy.”  Karen shakes her head suddenly and then dunks herself underwater.  She comes back up, slicking her hair back.  “Let’s come over to where we can stand.  My arms are getting tired.”

Stella follows Karen towards the shallow end of the pool.  Where Karen can stand with the tops of her shoulders exposed, Stella is still chin deep and moves back just a bit.

“Back to your story,” Karen says.  “I don’t think you were finished.”

“It’s just that what we’ve seen, what we’ve read, I know that those that have fallen ill and are in hospital are alone.  And not by choice.  There is no option to have a loved one sit by.”

“It fucking sucks.  I don’t even like the thought of it.”

“I know.  But, it makes me think back on the training I went through and how it was instilled in me to be calm, rational, to think critically, to compartmentalize my emotions to be able to do the job.”

“You were a really fucking good detective, weren’t you?  Hank said you were.”

“I was.”

“Do you miss it?”

“Yes.  And no.  When I began teaching, I saw it as an opportunity to mold my students into the kind of detective that I was.  I think I may also be guiding them towards the same mistakes.”

“What mistakes?”

“It took me a very long time to learn compassion and empathy, and how to use it appropriately.”

“Is that something that can really be learned?”

“I think so.  I told my students at the start of all of this, we were going to proceed as though nothing has changed.  That this would be a lesson in adaptation to swiftly changing circumstances.”

“And now you’ve changed your mind.”

“I should have stopped to consider the effect this might have on their mental health.  Stressed the importance of self-care.  All I’ve wanted is to prepare them in the way that I was, but I should also be preparing them in the ways that I wasn’t.”

“What do you think you should do?  To prepare them?”

“I don’t know.  What do you think I should do?”

“Maybe just ask them how they’re doing.”

“I thought of that, but in my head it sounds so very superficial.  When I thought about the student that’s ill, it occurred to me that I don’t know anything about him.  Any of them.  I don’t know why they’re in my class except that it’s a required course in the criminal justice curriculum.  I don’t know where they are now or who they’re with or even if they’re alone.  They’re all so much younger than Becca.  I’m...worried for them.”

“I think you’ve got the hang of the compassion thing pretty well.”

“I think I preferred being emotionally stunted.”

“No, you didn’t.”  Karen chuckles a little and then tips her head back.  She slips easily into another float.

Stella pinches her nose and takes a deep breath.  She dunks herself and stays under the surface of the water for as long as she can hold her breath and then rises slowly.  She goes under again, this time doing a front stroke, gliding as far as she can before twisting while still underwater and coming up to her back.  She grows drowsy as she floats somewhere in the middle of the pool, under the stars.  She can finally see the half-moon, cresting high to the east.

“I’m pruning,” Karen says after what feels like hours.  

Stella is slow to follow, only just coming out of her float as Karen is taking the steps up out of the pool, moonlight glowing off her hair and shoulders.  Stella glides to the shallow end, accepting a large, soft towel from Karen even before she’s half-way out.

“Let me know if you ever feel like a midnight swim again,” Karen says.  “It was nice to have someone else with me.”

“Fish never comes down with you?”

“How’s this for irony, Fish doesn’t know how to swim.”

“Oh.”  Stella laughs lightly.  “That is...unexpected.”

“He does come down sometimes though.  Sits on the edge and gets his feet wet.”

“Well, if you’re feeling the need as well and want someone to join you, I’d be happy to oblige.”

“Sleep well.”

“Good night.”

Stella retrieves her nightclothes and heads back to the guest house.  She enters as quietly as she left and tosses her clothes off somewhere in the dark.  It isn’t quietly enough though, and Hank shifts in bed.

“Stella?” he murmurs.

“Go back to sleep,” she says.  She towel-dries her hair and hangs the damp towel up on the hook in the bathroom before she heads to bed.  When she slips under the sheets, Hank rolls towards her and drapes a heavy arm over her.

“Your hair is wet,” he mumbles against the back of her shoulder.  “And you smell like chlorine.”

“I went for a swim.”

“Mm.”  He grunts a little and his hand makes a path from her hip to the back of her thigh.  “You’re not wearing anything, Sherlock.”

“No.  I didn’t know where my suit was and I didn’t want to wake you.”

“Are you saying you went skinny dipping?  Without me?”

“I didn’t want to wake you.”

“If nudity is involved, you should always wake me.”

“It was rather spontaneous.  Karen was-”

“Karen?”  Hank picks his head up and peers over her shoulder at her.  “You and Karen were out there skinny dipping?”

“Is that a problem?”

“No.  No, no.  Nope.  Not a problem.  There are a lot of thoughts running through my mind right now and none of them are a problem.”

“Don’t get any ideas.”

“Well, too late for that.  My ideas even have ideas.”  He pushes his hips lazily into hers and rubs her hip.

“We had a nice swim and a chat.”

“What about?”

“A student of mine tested positive.  He’s in hospital.”

“Fuck.  Really?”

“Yes.”

“Why didn’t you say anything earlier?”

“I don’t know.”

He snuggles closer to her and sighs.  She pats his arm for him to ease his grip on her and then shifts onto her back.  He rolls over as well and they lay in the dark on their backs, similar to how she had just been floating in the pool with Karen.  She reaches blindly for his hand and twines her fingers into his.

“Thank you,” she says.

“For what?”

“The second life you’ve given me.”

“Same.”

She turns and curls towards him, too tired to keep her eyes open any longer.

*****

The pasties don’t turn out quite like how they’re supposed to, but they make her feel nostalgic.  She ends up sharing a few anecdotes from her childhood over dinner that she hasn’t thought about in years.  Then Fish tells a few tales, then Karen, then Hank, and then Becca.  It feels normal and like for a few short hours, the problems of the world fade away.  It gives her an idea.

At Friday’s lecture, instead of wearing work attire, Stella dresses in more casual clothes: a white linen button-down tunic with the sleeves rolled up her forearms to the elbows, and jeans.  She doesn’t curl her hair, merely clips it back out of her face, and doesn’t wear any make-up.

“Good morning,” she starts.  “We’ll begin momentarily, but first I would like you all to know that I believe I was wrong when I told you that we should proceed with this course as though nothing has changed.  We are all living through an unprecedented time that is characterized by fear and uncertainty.  You may be feeling anxious or overwhelmed right now.  You may not even understand how you feel.

“What I would like you to know is that your emotional and mental well-being is just as important as your training.  There isn’t enough schooling in the world that’s going to fully prepare you for what it’s like, emotionally, when you walk into your first crime scene, or speak with someone who’s just been through a trauma, or have to face the mother, father, husband, wife, children of someone who was the unfortunate victim of a homicide.  Or what it does to you after many years.

“We need to be mindful, I think.  More mindful now, more than ever.  If you are struggling in any way, I would like to know.  And I don’t mean just with the course, I mean in any way.  I will help you.”

Stella stops and assesses the gallery of students on the screen.  There is silence in the classroom.  No notifications for messages.  Someone unmutes themselves to give a brief ‘thank you, Professor,’ and others follow.

“In lieu of starting our next chapter on Monday, when we resume after the weekend, the assignment I am giving to you is to think of the place you would most like to be right now.  Any place at all.  Change your background for the day into that place.  For the hour and a half we convene that morning, I want to hear from all of you why you’ve chosen that particular place.”

“Will you be changing your background too, Professor?” one of the students asks.

“Yes.”  She pauses again to glance through the gallery.  “The last thing I’d like to request before we begin the lecture is that you keep Mr. Diaz in your thoughts.  If anyone has any updates on his condition, please share them with me as well.”

Over the weekend, two students will email Stella with the anxieties they’ve been experiencing and one reaches out to tell her that Hector Diaz has been put on a ventilator.

*****

At dinner that night, over lemon herb chicken and grilled asparagus, Stella tells them her plans for Monday’s class.

“Where you gonna pick?” Fish asks.

“I’ve been trying to come up with the answer to that question all day,” she answers.

“Does it have to be somewhere you want to go or somewhere you’ve already been?” Becca asks.

“Any place.  No restrictions.”

“I’ve always wanted to go to Morocco,” Karen says.

“I really liked Japan,” Becca muses, stabbing at a spear of asparagus.  “I think I would go back there.”

“Bora Bora,” Hank answers, reaching under the table to slide his hand over Stella’s knee.  “Hands down, favorite vacation ever.”

“Oh?” she says.  “Not Switzerland?”

He chuckles and gives her knee a shake as he shakes his head.

“Karebear, soon’s this is over and things open up, we’ll go to Morocco.”

“Where would you go, Fish?” Stella asks.

“I like it here.”

“That’s cheating,” Hank says, ratting the ice cubes in his whiskey glass.  “You have to name another place.”

“Why?  I got my BBQ and I’m surrounded by beautiful ladies, not to mention your ugly mug.  Why’d I wanna go any place else?

”He has a point,” Stella answers, leaning into Hank’s side.  He pinches her knee and she slaps his hand in retaliation.

“I also want to go to Greece,” Becca says.

“Greece is lovely,” Stella tells her.  “Definitely go when you get a chance.”

They move on to another topic, but Stella continues to ponder where she’d choose to be, if she could be anywhere.  The sun is setting as they clear the dishes and it reminds her of her wedding day at the clearing behind the woods.  She pauses in rinsing plates and stares out the kitchen window.

Becca waves a hand in front of Stella’s face, breaking the light trance she finds herself in.  She blinks and hands Becca the plate to load into the dishwasher.  “Sorry,” she says.

“You totally zoned out there for a minute,” Becca says.

“The spot through the woods where your father and I were married, do you know the way there?”

“Sure.  It’s down the back path.”

“Can we go there?  Right now?”

“Yeah.”

They leave the rest of the dishes in the sink.  Karen is wiping down the table and Becca calls to her that they’ll be right back to finish up.  Stella follows Becca down the path away from the guest house.  The woods are more lush and overgrown than they had been in the fall of her wedding.  They step carefully so as not to trip over tree roots that have come unearthed, but finally they come out of it onto the other side and it’s just as she remembers it.

The sun is still above the treetops and the sky is a myriad of pastel shades of blue and pink and purple.  She steps onto the manicured lawn and pulls her phone out of her pocket.  She takes her time setting up the shot that she wants and then snaps a few photos.  Becca stands beside her and after a few moments, lays her head on Stella’s shoulder.  They stand quietly and watch the sun go down.

“I’m really glad you guys decided to come up and stay,” Becca says.  

“I am as well.”  Stella puts her phone in her pocket and links her arm with Becca’s.

“I thought I’d be cool being alone.  I like being alone.  And then after a week of it I was already...I guess I don’t like being alone as much as I thought I did.  I like to be by myself, but with other people around.  Does that make sense?”

“It does.”

“Why’d you want to come out to this spot?”

“Because I think that I already am where I want to be.”

“Like Fish.”

“Yeah.”

“I really hope that kid in your class is okay.”

“I do as well.”

“Do you think this will be over any time soon?”

Stella shakes her head lightly.  “Not any time soon.”

*****

Monday’s class goes well.  She starts off the informal chat by sharing that the photo she took over the weekend is where she was married and leaves it at that.  A majority of students have chosen tropical locations as their preferred destination.  One chooses his grandparent’s farm.  Another has a cabin in winter.  She’s surprised to see familiar scenery in one background that pops up.

“Am I mistaken, Mr. Peterson, or is that Kensington Gardens?” she asks.

“Yes ma’am,” he answers.  “My mother is from London.  Her parents lived in Bayswater and we would visit every summer when I was little.”

“Is it safe to say you likely read Peter Pan just as often?”

He nods and laughs.  “I was convinced the more time I spent there it might increase my chances of meeting him and being able to go to Neverland.”

“I have very fond memories of the park from my youth as well.”

The hours fly by and class comes to a close.  She reminds her students to start on the next chapter and submit any questions ahead of the next lecture.  When she closes her computer, she feels lighter.

At dinner, they ask how it went and though she would be able to recite to them every story she heard that day, she limits it to the most interesting or humorous.  It’s a good start to the week and it makes her feel optimistic.

*****

The weekend comes and Hank spends most of the day with Fish, in preparation for the children’s concert.  There are last minute practice sessions and testing of equipment to be done.  Stella is both surprised and amused that Hank has taken such an interest in helping Fish with his students.

At the prescribed time, Stella, Becca, and Karen gather in the sitting room where Becca has set up the Zoom link to appear on the television somehow.  Because the concert is early in the evening, dinner is postponed until later.  Some of Fish’s students are quite young, only five or six years old, and they have strict bedtimes.  The littlest one is a girl that plays Twinkle Twinkle Little Star on a pink guitar so small it’s hardly bigger than a ukulele.  

As the concert goes on, the kids progress in skill.  Hank’s duet with the boy named Dylan is towards the end.  It’s clear the boy is exceptional, but lacks confidence.  There’s a tremble in his voice when he introduces himself and the song.

“My name is Hank, I’ll be joining Dylan tonight,” Hank says.  “Any wrong notes you might hear belong to me and not the kid.”

The first few bars come slowly and haltingly, but once Dylan gets going, the song seems to pour out of him fluidly.  His eyes stay fixed on the screen like he’s following along with Hank, keeping in sync and on tempo.  When the song ends, the boy puffs his cheeks up and lets out a huge breath and his shoulders loosen.

“Virtual fist bump, D,” Hank says, holding a fist out and leaning towards the eye of the camera on him.  “Bring it in.”

There are three more students after Dylan, one other boy and lastly, two sisters on electric guitar playing I Love Rock ‘N Roll.  Even without knowing much about modern music or rock, Stella is quite impressed by the whole thing.

Dinner feels festive that night.  Fish floats high on the success of the concert and fields calls from happy parents as he grills steaks.  Becca reminisces about her time in a band and how much she used to love playing.  Karen finds some videos on her phone from a few of those concerts.  Hank tells a story about buying Becca her first guitar, and Becca follows with a story about Hank getting her an even better vintage guitar from a man that was clearly having a hard time making ends meet.

“He was trying to sell it back to the guitar store,” Becca says.  “He had a little kid with him and you could really tell things weren’t going great, otherwise he would not be getting rid of a ‘61 Les Paul Special.”

“Beckster, I hope you still have that guitar,” Fish says.  

“Of course I do.”

“Pete Townshend plays that guitar.”

“Who?” Hank asks.

“Wiseass,” Fish retorts.

“Anyway, the guy at the shop wasn’t interested,” Becca continues, and Stella recognizes the adoring look on her face as she tells the story.  “But, since we were there to get a guitar, we really didn’t care where it came from.  Dad stopped the guy on his way out and handed him an envelope of cash.”

Hank shrugs it off.  “Dads gotta stick together.”

They part ways for the night after dinner.  After finishing her nightly rituals in the bathroom, when she comes out, Hank is sitting on the edge of the bed with a guitar in his lap.  She stands before him, rubbing lotion into her hands and arms.

“It’s been a long time since I’ve heard you play,” she says.

“Guess I just fell out of the habit.”

“You’re quite good.”

“I’ve been practicing something for you.”

“Have you?”

He nods and plucks the guitar strings softly as he adjusts the tuning pegs.  “Forgive the singing, I can barely carry a tune in a bucket.”

“A full serenade?” she asks with a smile.

“Goin’ all out for you.”

He starts playing and she doesn’t immediately recognize the tune, but just before he starts singing she realizes it’s Elton John’s Your Song.  He’s right about not being the world’s greatest singer, but she doesn’t hear any imperfections.  She only hears the man that loves her playing a song for her.  Never in a million years would she have considered herself to be susceptible to something so cliche and sappy, but she is.  It makes her chest ache in the best possible way, filled with how much she feels for him that she never thought she was capable of.

When he finishes, he looks up at her and smiles.  She takes the guitar out of his hands and sets it aside.  In two steps, she’s back before him and then straddles his lap.  He pulls her in close and she cups his face in her hands.

“Go slow,” she says.

“Really?”

“Yes.”

Despite the request, he leans back just a little and takes the bottom of the shirt to pull it off.  He doesn’t remove her bra though, not yet.  Instead, he buries his face in the valley of her breasts.  He traces her peaks and curves with his tongue and then scrapes his teeth over the satin cups before pulling one side down to take her into his mouth.  She threads her fingers through his hair to encourage him, reminding herself that even if this act doesn’t do much for her, it’s a form of worship for him.

Without warning, he takes a hard grip on the backs of her thighs and stands just long enough to turn the tables and have her on her back on the bed.  He’s above her on his knees and reaches back to grab the collar of his shirt and yank it off.  She dips her fingers into the top of his jeans to pull him to her, but he takes her hands, one by one, and pins them to the bed above her head.

“Slow,” he says.

She nods, but arches up and pushes her chest into his.  He eases his weight onto her to keep her in place and she wraps her legs around his hips.  When he kisses her, he goes in deep and she moans her approval.  He releases her hands and she wraps her arms around his back as he cradles her head.

She’s never told him this, but one of the reasons she prefers hard and fast over slow is that she doesn’t like the time that slowness gives her to think.  It makes her susceptible, vulnerable, and opens something inside her like a deep need for more of him.  Not physically, but emotionally.  The slower he goes, the more she needs him and the more afraid she becomes of losing what she has because it’s so perfect.  Perfectly messy and challenging and exasperating and lovely and crazy and perfect.  Tonight, she thinks that if she were to ever lose him, she would lose so much more than just him. “What’s wrong?” he asks.

“Nothing at all.”

“There’s something.”

“I think I just understand what you meant a few weeks ago when you told me I was the only thing that made sense to you.  Everything is right.  Even if the world seems like it’s falling apart, you feel right.  And...for the first time in my life, I am grateful to have someone by my side.”

“All that and you haven’t even been dicked down yet.  I should’ve been singing to you years ago.”

“Rest assured it certainly wasn’t your voice that led me to that conclusion.”

“Ouch.”

She caresses his back lightly and then holds the back of his neck as her thumbs skim along his jaw.  He leans in to kiss her again and again and again.  They rock against each other.  Stella pushes up and pulls him down just as he presses into her and pulls her up.  They’re both breathless before they even manage to start removing the rest of their clothes.  Her bra is the next thing to go and then his pants, her pants and lastly her panties.  His jockey shorts only make it past his hips.  

They both groan in relief when he enters her.  She folds her knees back towards her chest and takes a firm grip on his ass.  He starts off slow and deep, lazily rolling his hips against her.  There’s sweat at his temples, but not from exertion, from the self-control he’s using to make it last.  He pulls out and rolls them over so she’s on top.

“Giving up so soon?” she asks.

“Just giving you a chance to drive for awhile.”

“You’re a very generous lover.”

“Flattery will get you everywhere.”

She holds his gaze as she sinks down onto him.  “I’m already right where I want to be.”

They play with the give and take for a bit, bantering and bartering for dominance and control of the pace, but then it gets serious.  He brings her to her first orgasm with his hands as she grinds down onto him and he waits for her thighs to stop quaking before bringing her to her hands and knees.  The stinging slap of his hand on her ass as he drives into her ushers in her second release.  He soon follows, groaning out his pleasure as he pulls so roughly at her hips that she can already feel the sweet bruises blooming under his fingers.

They both collapse.  He drags her up against him even though they’re both hot and sweaty and slippery.  Her hair is damp and clings to the back of her neck and shoulders.

“In case you were wondering if quarantine had affected my virility, I think you just got your answer,” he says.

“Your virility is always my top concern.”

“Mm.”  He kisses the back of her arm and rests the side of his face on her bicep.  “What do you think about going skinny dipping?  Unless you can only get naked in the pool with my ex.”

“Now?”

“You have other plans?”

“Yes, I’ve a rendezvous with my other husband in an hour’s time.”

“We can make it a quick dip then so you don’t have to keep him waiting.”

She chuckles softly as he presses exaggerated kisses down her arm and hip and belly.  And then he lays his head down on her thigh and she strokes his hair for some time, content to soak in the afterglow.  He finally gets up, goes to the bathroom, and returns with two towels.

“Come on, Sherlock,” he says.  “I want to get my naked in the pool with you.”

*****

Stella wakes in the morning to the sound of rain.  The room is darker than usual, even for the early hour.  She manages to slide out of bed without disturbing Hank and she grabs her robe to wrap up in before opening her laptop and sitting down at the small table in the corner.  She has four emails from late yesterday evening all with the subject: Hector Diaz.  She only opens the first one and then closes her laptop and sits in silence until Hank wakes.

“No fair not being naked,” Hank mumbles as his eyes drift open and shut.  He rolls over and stretches languidly.  When she doesn’t respond, he lifts up onto his elbows and blinks at her, hair spiking up unnaturally at all angles.  “What’s wrong, Sherlock?  Whatever I’ve done to piss you off before even waking up, I sincerely apologize.”

“My student succumbed last night.”

“Succumbed as in…”

Stella nods and steeples her hands in front of her chin.

“Shit,” Hank whispers and then drags half the bedsheets with him as he tries to get out of bed.  He kneels down next to where she’s sitting and looks up at her.  “Stella, I’m sorry.”

“So am I.”

*****

Sunday is brunch day, another meal where they gather together.  And though Stella has no appetite, she heads to the main house with Hank anyway, determined not to sit and wallow.  Besides, the rain has stopped and the sky is beginning to open up.  As they make their way across the soaked grass and around the pool, he hooks his pinkie finger with hers and gives her a squeeze.  She holds on, feeling anchored in that moment.

“Hey,” Karen greets as Hank opens the sliding door and ushers Stella inside.  “I just put a fruit platter in the fridge.  Becca wants waffles so I was looking for the...what happened?  What’s wrong?”

“Is it that obvious?” Stella asks, already weary.

“Her student,” Hank answers.

“Fuck.  No.  Fuck.  Really?”    Karen is on Stella in an instant, smothering her an embrace so tight it makes Stella’s eyes water.

“It’s okay,” Stella murmurs, patting Karen lightly on the back.

“It’s not okay.  I know you’re being polite, but it fucking sucks, that’s what it is.”

“Yes, you’re right.”

Karen sighs and releases Stella from her embrace, but keeps one arm around her shoulder.  “What can we do?” she asks.

“Nothing.  I need to consider what I’ll say in class tomorrow, but I don’t believe there’s anything that will help.”

“Right.  It just feels so senseless, doesn’t it?  All of it.  So…”

“Yes.”

“However you need to deal with it, we’re all here.  For whatever.”

“Thank you, I do appreciate that.”

Stella does appreciate the sentiment very much, but she knows she also has a long way to go when it comes to openly sharing her feelings without thoroughly processing them ahead of time.  She has spent too much of her life alone and had little use for depending upon anyone else.  And the simple fact is, she’s confused and frightened by this situation.  It’s not something she has authority or expertise in.  She can’t control it or delegate tasks on it and hold anyone accountable.  Even if she was still a DSI Gibson of the MPS, she would be futile.

*****

Stella spends Sunday evening in the upstairs office responding to messages from her students.  As word spreads, her inbox fills with hesitant inquiries if her offer to chat informally is still open.  She does her best to offer words of wisdom or comfort, knowing full well anything she says is inadequate.  

Even though Stella has left the door to the office open, Becca knocks on the frame and waits for an invitation before she enters.  Stella removes her glasses and beckons her in, glad for a reprieve from the glowing screen.  Words have started to blur.

“I’m going to make some hibiscus tea,” Becca says.  “Thought I’d see if you wanted some.”

“No, thank you.”

“Don’t trust a Yank with a tea kettle?”

Stella smiles.  “I can’t think of a thing I wouldn’t trust you with, darling girl.”

“I also wanted to ask if you’ve thought of what to say to your kids tomorrow.”  Becca plops down in the chair across from the desk and slouches, linking her fingers across her abdomen.

“My kids,” Stella murmurs, softly.  “Such an unfortunate age to be in your first years university, isn’t it?  Not quite an adult, not really a child.”

“Every age feels unfortunate when you’re there.  And then you look back and think, it wasn’t so bad as I thought.”

“Yes, I think you might be right about that.”

“Teen angst was just becoming fashionable when I went through it.  And I had a lot of it.”

“I can imagine that you did.”

Becca grins cheekily.  “A lot of it was just for attention.  Back then, with those two, they rarely heard anything except for themselves.”

“I’m glad things are different now for you.”

“I’m just glad they’re different.  I don’t know if the me of ten years ago could deal with the situation we’re in today.  Not like your kids.”

“What do you mean?”

“I was pretty ragey.  I felt really destructive.  Like I wanted to scream and yell and break shit all the time.  I got some of it out when I played music.  And then I started college not knowing what the hell I wanted to do.  Your kids though, they’re probably driven.  I can’t imagine anyone that isn’t highly focused or motivated studying criminology.  Wanting to make that their career.”

“Would it surprise you then to find out that I was more like you in my youth than you think?”

“Really?”  Becca looks at Stella with a certain degree of skepticism.  “No, I can’t really picture it.”

“My outlets were...less creative.”

“Don’t take this the wrong way, but you’re definitely not the artsy type.  That’s for sure.  What were your outlets then?  Breaking shit?”

“Sex.  Drugs.  Self-harm.”

Becca’s eyebrows shoot straight up and she sits taller.  “No way.”

“Very destructive.  Yet, also highly focused and motivated.”

“Then I guess the question is, what would you go back and tell yourself if you were where we are now, but back then.”

“Ah.  That is what I’ve been pondering.”

“It’s like when people say they wish they knew then what they know now.”

“Yes, very much so.”

“I think you’ll figure it out then.  You’re the most intelligent person I know.”

“Thank you, Becca.  For this chat and for the offer for tea.”

“Anytime you want to try my tea, you let me know.  I can be trusted.”

“Absolutely.”

Becca pushes herself up from the arms of the chair and then she comes around to the back of the desk.  She leans down and Stella turns to meet her in an embrace.  Becca kisses Stella’s cheek before she leaves and a calmness comes over Stella.

*****

“I want to start today’s lecture by thanking each and every one of you for being here today,” Stella says.  “For finding the motivation to be present when I know this is probably not how you’d like to be spending your afternoon.  There wasn’t a single one out of all of you who did not reach out to me yesterday in response to Mr. Diaz’s passing.  I find that to be exceedingly remarkable and it speaks not only to your character, but also of the effect that one person can have on your life.”

She pauses, her eyes moving over the kaleidoscope of her students’ faces on her screen.  Tiny boxes holding the weight of grief and despair and disappointment.  

“I wish that I could tell you this soon will pass.  I wish that I could tell you this will be the last time you’ll have to endure what feels so senseless.  But, I also know that you are in my class and on this path because of who you are.

“You are the ones that want to make a difference.  You want to help.  You want to right wrongs.  You want to make the world a better place.  You will only do some of that.  Along the way you will feel discouraged, frustrated, and angry.  What you do with your frustration and anger, your grief over what you can not change, is what will define you, and either make you a better person, or not.

“I want to reiterate my request to you to seek help.  If not from me, from the school resources, from qualified professionals, from family, from friends.  I promise you it is not a weakness, it is a necessity.  And it is something I very much wish that someone had told me when I was in your position.”

Stella ends with a deep breath.  She considers the group in front of her again.  Her kids.  She feels a deep and painful connection with them in this moment that she knows intellectually is a form of trauma bonding, but it doesn’t make it less real.  They are the only ones who know what it’s like to be in this space, together, at this time.  It feels like a watershed moment in all their lives.  She only hopes the ultimate impact will be positive.

“Let us take a moment to thank Mr. Diaz for his contribution to our class and we’ll begin in his honor.”

*****

Stella comes down from her lecture feeling hopeful.  Despite everything, her class was engaged and thoughtful.  She expects to find everyone gathered in the sitting room or kitchen, as they tend to do in the late afternoon, but there’s only Fish, sitting on the kitchen island with a bowl of cereal, gazing out the window.

“Where is everyone?” she asks.

“Beckster and Karebear went for a walk.  Moody took over Dylan’s guitar lesson today so they can continue an argument over who rocks harder, The Stones or Zeppelin.”

“Thank you for giving him something to do.”

“No, thank you.  The kids love ‘im.  He’s helped expand the business.”

“I thought you did this for free.”

Fish shrugs.  “Business is business.  The more the better.”

“I’m sorry I’ve been remiss in thanking you for allowing us to stay with you.”

“Bah.”

“I feel I only ever really speak with Karen about it, but I should be thanking you as well.”

“More the better.  Family’s gotta stick together.”

“Yes, that’s what...I’m learning that.”

“Your class go okay?  Kids alright?”

“I think they will be.  I wish I knew how to do more though.  Actually, I’ve been giving it some thought lately and I think that I might enroll in some psychology courses.”

“Huh.  Would’ve thought with all you’ve done you’d’ve studied some psych.”

“Yes, I have two of my degrees in Abnormal Psychology and Forensic Psychology.  But, I was thinking of studying Child Psychology this time around.”

“How many degrees you got?”

“Hundreds,” she murmurs.  

Fish nods thoughtfully.  “Architecture?”

“I’m afraid not.”

“I got one up on ya then!”

She smiles.  “And I can not play an instrument either.”

“I’ll teach ya.  Come on in the studio some time.”

“I may have to take you up on that offer once the semester ends.”

“Hot dog.  Got a guitar with your name on it even.”

“In two weeks time, I’d be happy to join the ranks of your esteemed pupils.”

*****

The week drags by.  Even the weather seems depressed, raining most mornings and staying overcast throughout the day.  Her students are subdued.  Stella starts sleeping fitfully again, exhausting herself by the weekend.  Sunday morning she wakes alone, which is strange.  She’s usually up well before Hank on any given day and it’s still fairly early.  It’s brunch day, so she doesn’t feel much compulsion to get up, but when she looks at her phone she also realizes it’s Mother’s Day.

Although she wonders where Hank has gone, she’s only mildly curious and not worried.  It’s entirely possible he needed to help Fish with some lessons and forgot to inform her.  She is surprised that she didn’t even feel him slip out of bed or hear him leave.

Stella gets out of bed and opens the closet.  She’s had a gift for Karen stowed away that she’s needed to wrap for a few weeks: a photo of Becca on an evening they’d gone to dinner, back when she’d visited London and Hank and Stella were still living there.  She’d had the photo turned to black and white, printed, matted and framed.  Thank goodness for online ordering.  All she needs to do is wrap it in tissue paper and arrange it nicely in the gift bag she also ordered.

And there’s also the matter of the card.  She’s had it for weeks and has struggled to find the words she wants to write.  It’s times like this that she’s envious of Hank and of Becca and their ability to express themselves so honestly.  She sits at the desk with the blank card and a pen in hand.

Karen,

Thank you for sharing your daughter with me and for welcoming me into her life as well as yours.  You will never know how much I have learned about what it means to be a mother from you.  Thank you for your generosity and wisdom.  You are an inspiration and you will forever have my esteem and my admiration and my gratitude.

Warm regards, Stella

Stella sighs and puts down the pen.  It’s taken her a quarter of an hour to write the card and she’s still not sure if it’s adequate.  It will have to be.  She slips the card into its envelope, seals it, and writes Karen’s name on the front before she tucks it into the gift bag.  And then she gets herself ready for brunch.

It’s surprisingly sunny and warm out.  No rain and not a cloud in the sky.  Karen is sitting at the patio table with sunglasses on, reading a book, when Stella comes up to the house.  She waves her hand slightly as Stella approaches and closes her book.

“We’re banned from the kitchen,” Karen says.  “They’re cooking up some sort of surprise in there.”

“Do we trust them?”

“I think so.  Knowing Fish he would try to grill pancakes if he could, but since we’re not banned from the patio, that’s probably a good sign.”

Stella laughs and sits down across from Karen.  Shyly, she slides the gift bag across the table towards her, grateful that she actually has the opportunity to give Karen the gift while they’re alone.

“What’s this?” Karen asks.

“I wanted to get you something.”

“Oh my god, you’re so sweet.  You didn’t have to do that.”

“Yes, I did.”

“Well, I guess that makes us even because I got you something too.”  Karen reaches down and presents a similarly sized gift bag to Stella.  They both laugh.

“Shall we open them at the same time?”

“Yes.”

Stella rifles through the tissue paper in her bag and Karen does the same.  Since Karen takes the card out first, Stella does the same.  Her name is written on the front in black calligraphy.  The card itself is made of parchment paper and very simple.  There are two birds in watercolor on the front, a large bird and a smaller bird.

Stella - Let me be the first to wish you the happiest of Mother’s Days and know that I couldn’t have asked for a better bonus Mom for Becca than you.  You have enriched her life as well as mine and I am so so so so so so so happy to share this day with you.

Love, Karen

“You’re gonna make me cry,” Karen says, putting the card down and reaching across the table for Stella’s hands.  Stella’s own eyes are watering as she gives Karen’s her hands.

“Words are not my forte like how they are for Hank and Becca,” Stella says.

Karen squeezes Stella’s hands tightly.  “Are you kidding me?  This is an amazing card, thank you.”

“What you wrote means a lot to me as well.”

“Ach, okay.”  Karen lets go of Stella’s hands and then fans her face for a few moments.  “Too much emotion without food.  Let’s see what we got!”

There’s square box inside Stella’s bag and when she slices through the tape holding it closed with her thumbnail, she finds a framed photo of her and Becca from her wedding day.  They both laugh again when they realize they both got each other photos of Becca.

“Obviously, Mom minds think alike,” Karen says.

“That must be it.”

They’re still laughing when Becca comes outside, holding a pitcher.  She gives them both a rather dubious look.  “What’s so funny?” she asks.

“Look what we got each other!” Karen exclaims, holding up her photo.  “Photos of you!”

“You guys are weird.”

“And it’s your fault, Rebecca Moody,” Karen answers, lightly smacking Becca on the backside just as Hank comes out the door with five champagne flutes in his hand.

“What’s she done?” Hank asks.  “Whatever it is, I take full responsibility.  Daughter, I will defend thee to the death.”

“They’re being weird and blaming me.  And now you’re being weird.”

“Actually,” Karen says.  “If you think about it, it really is Hank’s fault.  If he hadn’t knocked me up, we wouldn’t be here.”

“Yes, I will definitely take all the credit there,” Hank answers, placing glasses around the table.  “You’re welcome, by the way.”

“Mimosas?” Stella asks, nodding at the pitcher in Becca’s hands.

“Bellinis.”

“Wow, you guys went all out,” Karen says.

“Thank you,” Stella says as Becca pours her a Bellini, but she looks at Hank when she says it.

*****

Brunch is exceedingly festive.  They eat too much, they drink too much, and laugh a lot.  Becca presents Karen with a necklace and Stella with a bracelet, both of which are sterling silver chains holding three interlocking rings of diminishing sizes in copper, gold, and silver.  When Karen asks if it’s supposed to be the three of them, Becca tells her they’re meant to represent the links between the past, present, and future.  Stella would like to blame the champagne for the tears that spring to her eyes, but she can’t.

Late in the afternoon, she and Hank return to the guest house and she’s full and drowsy.  He lays down with her and she falls asleep to the warm press of his lips on just about every patch of exposed skin he can find.  When she wakes, it’s dark outside and Hank is at the table with half a sandwich in his mouth and papers strewn all over.  He’s shirtless, glasses on, a red pen behind his ear.  He rips a piece of sandwich off with his teeth and chews quickly.

“What’s up, Sleeping Beauty?” he asks.

“How long was I out for?”

He shrugs.  “Hungry?  Made some PBJs a bit ago.”

“Still full from brunch.  You should’ve woken me.”

He takes his glasses off, puts his unfinished sandwich down, and sits back in his chair.  He folds his hands and swivels back and forth a little as he looks at her.  “You needed it,” he finally says.

“I suppose I did.”

“Feeling better?”

“Refreshed, more or less.”  She sits up and slides out of bed with the wobbliness of the freshly woken.  “You editing?”

“Sort of.”

“Mm.”  She rubs her eyes and stretches.

“Promise not to laugh?”

“Yes.”

“I’m writing a song.”

“Really?”

“Yeah.  I mean, trying.  I’m doing the lyrics and Fish is going to write the melody.”

“Oh, it’s Fish now?  Are the two of you, dare I say, best friends now?”

“Let’s not go that far.”

“So, you’ve formed a band?”

“Yeah, the new Simon & Garfunkel.”

“Well, I think it’s lovely.”

“Reserve your judgement until we actually manage to piece together a song.”

Stella slides one arm around Hank’s shoulder and sits down in his lap.  He pulls back a little in surprise, but circles her hips and turns to a more comfortable angle in the chair.  She strokes his nape and touches his face.

“Have you thought about returning to New York at all?” she asks.  “Not that we’re able to, but have you thought about it?”

He holds a breath for a moment and then expels it roughly and shakes his head a little.  “No.  You?”

She shakes her head no as well.  “I think it was a wise decision, coming here.”

“I have to begrudgingly agree.”  He tips his head back and looks down the bridge of his nose at her.  “The skinny dipping may have tipped the scales, so feel free to make that a regular occurance.”

She pinches the back of his neck lightly in response and he gasps and then scoops her up into his arms as he gets up from the chair.  She laughs and holds on as he tries to dump her onto the bed so he ends up going down with her.

“Should we test that virility of yours?” she asks, drawing one finger lightly up his spine.

“I could go for a check-up.”

She hums a little and touches his face.  He presses his cheek into her hand and then turns to kiss her palm.  The bracelet Becca gave her slips down her arm a few inches and Stella stares at it as Hank nuzzles the inside of her wrist.

“Karen was right,” Stella says.

“I hate it when she’s right.  About what?  Coming here?”

Yes, but if not for you, we wouldn’t be here.”

“Funny how it sounds less accusatory coming from you.”

“She’s grateful.  You know she is.”

“All that matters to me is how you feel.”

“Also grateful.  You have given me the family I never knew I wanted or needed.”

“Then I take full credit for knocking Karen up back in the day and we won’t even mention how lousy she was at remembering to take her birth control.”

Stella chuckles and closes her eyes as Hank leans in to kiss her face.  She wraps her arms around him and holds on tight.

The End