#ill be normal in the morning and probably wont remember this so its all good

[anxiously-awaiting]

lovewhen my brain wakes me up out of nowhere and makes me insane for no reason

[itsalwaysdark]

and when i live on my own ill be able to decorate like real life decorate ive never gotten to do that in real life b4

[ivysprophecy]

please please please

word count; 1644

summary; turning off your phone and shutting out the world isnt the best way to handle your problems but its what you do. and jjs had enough of it.

warnings; i dont think there is any? mentions of anxiety attacks? tagging @murdockcastleslut @kimoralov3 @arkofblake

masterlist

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divider by @bernardsbendystraws

"well hey there stranger"

i turn from my book to look behind me, seeing the boy id been actively avoiding for the past two days. carrying his surf board.

i shouldve remembered he'd come here to surf. i just wouldn't have guessed this early in the morning.

"hey jayj."

"oh thats all i get? 'hey'? no 'i miss you so much'?" he sets his board in the sand taking a seat next to me on my blanket.

guess im not finishing my book today. "oh my god jj! youre here! ive been dyingggg to talk to you! i cant believe youre really in here in the flesh! there. better?"

"oh dont be like that- cmon mama whatd i do?" i feel bad with the genuine concern on his face.

okay was ghosting him out of nowhere awful of me? probably. i just didnt know what else to do.

after that night at the bonfire i realized that with my feelings for him growing it wasnt a good idea for us to continue our casual... something. it played with both our emotions. it isnt fair to either of us.

especially after his 'i love you'. that really did it in for me.

"you didnt do anything jj. trust. i just... ive been in a funk. needed some me time thats all."

"well... do you still need your 'me time'?" he looked so hopeful. how could i say yes? where jj maybank is concerned ill easily fold every time. "cause you havent answered my texts so i couldn't ask you to surf with me this morning."

"... i dont have my board. but i suppose i can hang out with you for a little while."

"im honored," he smiles laying back on his elbows, "but really. are you good? i like to think i know you pretty well and this whole MIA thing was not normal."

turning to face him more, i sigh, what the fuck am i supposed to say? 'yea im just so in love with you i cant be around you' yea that would go over really well.

"i dont know. just gotta lot of stuff goin on. you dont have to worry though. im good."

"well do ya wanna talk about it?"

"trust me jay you dont wanna hear about my problems. theyre trivial at best."

"what are friends for if not for listening?" he nudges me with his shoulder urging me to talk. i really dont think i can do this. i was not prepared.

"youre not a very good listener," i point out, to which he immediately takes faux offense. jaw dropped and everything.

"oh thats just not true! i can listen!"

i run a hand through my tangled hair in frustration. this cannot be how i tell him. it just cant. i came here to get away from thinking about this and now hes right here in front of me acting so unserious while im spiraling.

"jj i really appreciate how eager you are to help me but its really not necessary. i didnt really prepare myself and its just too much-"

"prepare yourself? mama what the fuck are you talking about? does this have to do with that night after the bonfire? i mean obviously it does who am i kidding you havent talked to me since then. did i do something wrong? was- was it bad?" he leans in closer, lowering his voice thats laced with worry and guilt.

oh my god that is the absolute last thing i expected him to say. shit i really fucked this up. and honestly just not true.

"what? no! no jj you didnt do anything wrong and it was perfect. promise," i try to reassure him but i know deep down hes gonna over think this whole thing if i dont tell him straight up

i may love him but i never said he was the brightest in the bunch.

"okay so whats the problem?"

"the problem is that it was perfect," i cant help but let out a sigh before hiding my face in my hands as the words leave my mouth.

god my heart is racing, im not ready for this conversation. maybe if i pass out i wont have to. yea if he has to call an ambulance then we can avoid this all together. but an ambulance is also like five grand so...

shit.

"... youre mad at me because you had a good time?" his face contorted in a weird fixture of confusion.

"no! no- god youre so dense sometimes!"

"mama i dont have a fucking clue what youre saying! how does that make me stupid??"

i hide my face in my hands again trying to compose myself because what the fuck kind of confession is this?

"jj im avoiding you because ive been developing feelings for you and i cannot in good conscience keep being so casual with you and sleeping with you knowing this and i know that you do not want anything serious so i figured id just make it easier for the both of us and just take myself out of the situation entirely so that nothing bad happens and i cannot stop fucking talking so please for the love of god say something or do something because i feel like my heart is about to beat out of my chest and-"

oh my god im getting my book moment. he just kissed me to make me stop talking!!! oh my god hes kissing me.

is this where i kiss him back?

of course i kiss him back!! what the fuck!!? and oh my lord does it feel nice, so so so nice.

the way his tongue presses against mine, the way he cups my jaw and pulls me close to him. it was slow and confident and loving and everything he knows i like. his hands find my hips like muscle memory, pulling our bodies together, eventually having me on his lap. where he takes my hands and places them on his chest so i can feel his chest rise and fall with deep breaths.

“… mama you need to learn to breathe.”

“that’s not funny right now jj. im actively having an anxiety attack, horrible thing to say really."

"what're you so anxious about? i think we're havin' a pretty calm conversation, dont you?"

"i mean yea- but thats not-" he interrupts me while shaking his head with a shrug.

"listen, i get why youre a little nervous to say that, all things considered. but i thought it was pretty obvious i was into you, i just didnt wanna push you because you made your boundaries clear so i just took what i could get."

my eyes bug out of my head in shock. am i the dense one? i mean yea hes a really good kisser and i can feel he cares deeply about me when we do stuff and makes me feel safe and supported but that doesnt mean-

yea im stupid. he all but outright said it. actually he has. thats what started this panic.

"... okay yea- maybe. but you agreed they were a good idea so i figured that meant you wanted them there too. and i dont know- it just kind of got overwhelming and i didnt wanna be one of those girls who expects something huge after sex so... you know what i mean? and truthfully youre not what i expected for me."

"what does that mean?" his face showed a little offense.

"i just mean- ya know. for one i didnt expect to love my best friend. and then on top of that i didnt think id love a guy who was a treasure hunting, or- adrenaline junkie i should say."

he leans back putting some space between us, "is that supposed to be a bad thing?

"no! no jay im not saying this right- i-... youre a fighter and youre adventurous- a lot of things im not. if that makes sense. all im sayin is a few years ago i wouldnt have expected to be here. but i like it here. love it here even," i smile at him teasingly trying to ease his worries. the last thing i need is to say the wrong thing right now.

"so what youre saying is that you love me?"

"youre such an idiot."

'but do ya? because i think you do mama."

i roll my eyes chuckling, "yea. yea i do maybank," i press a small kiss to his cheek leaning back into him.

"does this mean youll let me make you a maybank mama?" his eyebrow was quirked up as he teases his question.

"lets not get ahead of ourselves. how about we take this slow?"

he looks down at my button up shirt i was wearing over my bikini to shield me from the ocean breeze, and i could tell he was debating taking it off of me. giving me that same look he always does.

"slow? mama i dont think we're gonna be too good at that."

"all 'm sayin is we dont have to jump the gun, we both admitted it, doesnt mean we gotta change the way we act or announce it or nothing. we can just enjoy this ourselves ya know?"

"you embarrassed of me mama?"

"not at all baby, just want you all to myself. is that too much to ask for?"

he shakes his head leaning up against me, our faces inches apart, "nah i dont think so. i like the sound of that."

i meet him the rest of the way pressing his lips to mine, smiling into it. pulling him as close as humanly possible. i need him under mind skin, in my blood, you know?

"i do too, so we agree? we'll keep this between us for now?"

"whatever you want mama. yes maam."

[akaakeis]

sav the terriblest thing has happened......... i joined english coaching.............

okay its not that bad the guy was my ninth grade english teacher and hes kind of a w

i also found out my current english teacher is mentally ill and not one of her students got 90+ in english like..

#notmepls

ANYWAYS

this Means that i shall be offline when ur usually first online during the day on sundays tuesdays and thursdays throws up

ive alr been so busy and i was like omg #textingsav and then i realised we probably wont talk today and also the only time we'll talk is

wait omg no school tmr we WILL talk tmr which will be ur today

the way im just. rambling in ur inbox but its ok bc ur u and im me #neverdoingthisanywhereelse

next thing . wait i forgot im remembering

oKAY remembered 👍 ERM i got like a. 68 on my english test and apparently this mentally ill woman marked it wrong and i shouldve gotten an erm. wait calculating. at least an 88 LIKE GIRL WHAT THE FREAKKKKKKKKK

in other news erm why i cried in the last four days list .

i love my sister

i love my friends

english grade

teacher yelled at me

there was no garlic bread at home

i got disconnected from dti

i didnt want to get up and change

the electricity cut off five times and i couldnt play genshin properly

tumblr wasnt loading

86 eighty-six

hashtag periods i love periods

in other news i also love maths like i WAS a maths girl i AM a maths girlie i will always BE a maths girlie it is THE subject of all time and if anyone disagrees then they're wrong (unless it's u because what can i say. i always agree with cute girls🤷‍♀️)

also like i said id tell you about the smau but literally erm. i forgot.. what was supposed to happen.. i have two lines ill dm them to u or something 😭😭😭😭 WAIT I JUST REMEMBERED SOMETHING ELSE AND THEN I FORGOT IT IM GOING TO SOB.

OH YES spilling school tea

our chem teacher used to tutor this one girl and he flirted with her mom at 1am on wahtsapp and facebook and then his wife divorced him😭😭

this one girl's picture got taken. like a norm picture. and then her bf and some people fought over it. like physically. at coaching. LOL INSANE

english physics and chemistry departments of our school are failing everyone is underpaid and leaving

my english teacher is senile but we mentioned that already i think

ANYWAYSSSS UNINTENTIONAL YAP ASK I LITERALLY JUST CAME HERE TO SAY IM MORE BUSY THAN BEFORE LMFAO. look where we are. oh omg im so #scared #excited #terrified for us w/o u part 2 thats flipping SCARY IM SCARED anyways how are u? feel free to yap in the answers if u do answer it and uhhh take care stay safe love u mwa mwa dm me whenever

LINA MY LOVE!! this is gonna be long i fear. oh dear.... ok so english coaching is not fun good luck with that 😕

well at least the guy is cool ‼️

im sorry but lowkey... #wbk about that one i fear!! I ALWAYS THOUGHT SHE WAS A LITTLE MENTALLY ILL? IS THAT JUST ME OR

anyway if u dont get 90+ in english send her my way I WILL FIGHT FOR YOUR GRADE SO HARD you deserve a good grade!!! i can tell you've been putting in the effort + im proud of u!!1!!1!1

NOOOOOO WE WONT BE ABLE TO TALK AS MUCH 🙁 lwt me think so today is thursday and youll be on on mondays wednesdays fridays + saturdays as normal presumably? THATS OKAY i usually wake up latw on thursdays because i sleep late and its a whole mess... i was nearly late this morning harhar ANYWAY POINT BEING WE WILL STILL BE ABLE TO TALK TO WE'LL BE GOOD

girl me too <//3 was so locked in on tuesday you should've seen me writing my article for the magazine + writing out the rest of my speech and finalizing ITS SO BUSY RN ICB IT

these timezones are confusinf me hello i am so lost as i read this! 12 hrs apart w you ahead is all ik regarding this

ANYWAY WE WILL FIND TIME AND WE WILL MAKE IT WORK ITLL JUST TAKE A MINUTE FOR ME TO FIGURE IT OUT

its okay i live laugh love for ur asks actually im sitting in my room smiling as i type out this reply to ur ask... inbox yap hour MY FAV

A 68 IS ACTUALLY INSANE GOODBYE how did she screw up the grade so bad 😭 she can catch these fists for that one LIKE HOW DO U GET IT 20% OFF THIS IS NOT A CLEARANCE SALE MISS!!

HELP all of these reasons are equally valid 😞 periods really get me fucked up fr i think im about to get mine too smh

that is SO valid lina math is honestly a good subject 🙂‍↕️ not my fav but i honestly enjoy the class cause it's 1) simple for me 2) my tablemates are so odd to the point of being hilarious and 3) my teacher is gay and we found his grindr profile so i always giggle when i think about that HAHDBDN so math class is just heaps of fun

NOOOO I WAS SO EXCITED TO HESR ABT THE SMAU U NEED TO SEND ME THE TWO LINES U HAVE SOON!!1!!1!1 STOP I HATE WHEN THAT HAPPENS BUT IT HAPPENS TO ME SO OFTEN ITS AWFUL

ok THE CHEM TEACHER??? wow okay so thats crazy! HIS WIFE DIVORCING HIM TOO PLEASE SO DESERVED everyone point and laugh!!! L man!!!!

HELP WHY WERE THEY EVEN FIGHTING IF IT WAS JUST A NORMAL PICTURE THATS SO WILD?? 😭 like guys its not that deep </3

WHAT. so like is this hyperbole or is literally everyone going to leave bc of being underpaid and whatnot CAUSE THATS SO BAD 

senility✊😞 what a trooper/j

ITS OKAY I ENJOYED READING ALL OF THAT!!!  PLEASE PRIORITIZE ALL YOUR STUDIES THEYRE THE MOST IMPORTANT <3 I HOPE YOU DONT BURN OUT FROM BEING MORE BUSY THAN BEFORE BC I KNOW I DEFINITELY DID WHEN I HAD VOLLEYBALL.. SO TAKE THINGS EASY AND DONT STRESS YOURSELF TOO MUCH PLEASE!!! ILY ILY ILY!! oh okay so us without me pt 2 is probably gonna be BAD BAD cause it will b talking about how he was actually in love w eden since BEFORE he had moved and all that so itll be extra angst talking about before he had moved 😸 basically timeskips briefly showing how he gives you less and less affection as the time he leaves draws near AHAHAH ITS GONNA BE BAD

+ im alright!!! no homework for once in a blue moon so im sitting here relaxing i feel so good rn <3 i have an iced matcha latte and a cake pop I AM LIVE LAUGH LOVING

so i dont have much to yap about at this moment but i just got back from school SOOOO ill yap about that!!

starting off strong i woke up an hour + 15 mins late and had 20 minutes to get ready and eat... i was almost late this morning BUT i have fitness first thing in the morning on my a-days (we work on an a/b schedule!!) and my teacher always comes late to that!! so i had time to dress down and i BOOKED IT to the weight room + made it!! in that class we basically just do weightlifting + my usual partner wasnt there bc she had a golf tournament... so i was with some of my other friends for lifting!! was kinda thriving bc my other partner usually does heavier weights + they did lighter ones SO I WAS REALLY REALLY FAST W MY SETS i was very proud!!

then i went into second period (i have bio) and we were doing a lab where we examined some cells in onions, tomatoes, + the inside of our cheeks (ew) but basically we had to group up and im not rly fond of one of the girls that r in my group cause she doesn't talk much she just squeezes in to look through the microscope so it annoys me 😞 ANYWAY THE LAB WAS LIGHT WORK GOT IT DONE IN 30 MINS and then i had like an hour of free time after that so i asked for a hall pass and i roamed the halls for a bit 😸 after that i have to go to advisory + i was just helping people w math hw and doing some of the nyt games to kill my boredom (oh and drivers ed stuff!!)

at lunch i was just sitting with some of my friends and playing imessage games with them 😭 then we went into the gym and played volleyball for a bit!!

after lunch i had geo and i was taking notes like a madman i fear... dk if ive said this before but like ohhh man everyone makes a point of telling me how small my hand writing is its so annoying 😭 i heard that three times during class today and i was literally done LIKE STOP LEAVE ME ALONE PLEASE ‼️

theeeen i had my speech + debate CLASS not to be confused with my club!! i already finished my oratory so i just played games the entire period 😻 lots of fun would recommend!!! i just hate the teacher cause he's always telling me to go back to my seat WHEN IM HELPING HIS STUDENTS CATCH UP ON WORK like ok! sorry for trying to help you fix the mistakes you made when teaching them how to make their speeches! goodness! my bad! anyway hes my opp 😒

AND THATS MY DAY!! anyway take care stay safe i love you!!! MWAHH <3

[milqueandsugar]

🏵 Dream Smp With A Sick S/O 🏵

Warnings: None

Characters: C!Technoblade | C!Ghostbur | C!Fundy

| Technoblade |

Immediately knows something's wrong

Even if you try to hide it or down play your symptoms he knows something's up and it doesn't take him long to figure out what it is

Puts his chores on hold, well the outside ones at least, to take care of you

The man is a little new to illness, to be fair he is a piglin and is unfamiliar with human sickness

Hes trying his best though!

If he knows one thing it's that rest curse all, and he makes sure you get lots of it

If your resistant and try to claim your fine he wont fight you over it

That being said hes not letting you do anything either

Certainly not go outside, it's like -45° you're not going out! It's fine, philza can get the wood

He tries not to show it but he's certainly worried about you and doesn't let you stray to far while hes working

If you need anything he's always in ear shot and is more then willing to get you anything you need, with a few weightless complaints thrown in there of course

If you continue to get worse or he fears that his cure of ' just take a nap ' isnt working he might finally cave and ask Philza for some advice

Over all pretty good sick buddy 8/10

| Ghostbur |

Given the fact the two of you live in an actual sewer it's no surprise that one of you got sick, even less of a surprise that it wasn't the ghost

Some of the ghosts fondest memories are raising Fundy, especially taking care of him

The second he hears coughing from your shared bedroom he's there

If you're too sick to get our of bed that's completely fine! He'll bring you everything you need

Water? Already on the night stand, blanket? Here's fifty, you have the chills? Friend is already in bed with you

Seeing as he doesn't have to worry about getting sick he spends all of his time with you doing things that he uses to for Fundy

He plays you what little songs he remembers on his guitar, even making some new ones too!

He reads to you and tells you stories (mostly made up ones)

The only time he really leaves you is to brew up some more healing potions for you, or to get a new book

Even after you're healthy again he still dotes on you for a while

With his support and his surprisingly good care it doesn't take long for you to get better, and soon you're both settling into your normal routines.

| Fundy |

Honestly, probably doesn't even notice for the first hour

He's a man with a lot of shit on his plate its not his fault!

That being said when he goes to kiss you good bye in the morning and you're incredibly hot under his touch he realizes something is wrong

And boy does he feel guilty!

Honestly out of the three of them he worries the most

Brings you warm blankets, Fresh water, Medicine he stole from Niki hes really doing his best

Even if you aren't that sick he treats you like you're dying

If you happen to have work or chores to do around the house consider him done, hes anxious about leaving you alone for so long but he also doesnt want you to be worried or have a bunch of work to catch up on when you're better

When he finally gets home from doing both your and his chores he fills you in on everything that's going on

During your time sick the two of you talk quite a bit, seeing as you can't really do anything else

Despite being quite sick it was some good time spent with your worry wart of a fox boyfriend.

[unsettledink]

Gotcha Chapter 6!

(Trying something new and posting the full text here as well as AO3? It feels too long, but I’ve posted longer things here before, Idk.)

Read on AO3

Peter: sorry im on my way!

Peter: iswear im just running late

Peter: i will be there supr fast!!

Peter: sorry!

Quentin stares down at his phone and somehow, manages not to sigh. It’s a full ten minutes past when they were supposed to meet, and he doesn’t even want to be here in the first place.

Quentin: Don’t worry, it’s fine.

Peter: im sosorry

Peter: my alarm got set for tomorroow instead of today

Peter: i dont even know how

Peter: adn i just woke up and i dont even sleep this late like ever

Peter: but i willl bet there soon i promise

Peter: sorry!

Quentin: Really, it’s fine! There’s no hurry.

Quentin: We’re not exactly on a schedule or anything.

Peter: its so rude tho

Peter: for once it wast me losingt rack of time!!

Peter: im still sorry!

Quentin had given himself a little extra time this morning, just to remind himself of all the many, many reasons he is doing this, in this particular way. Had spent that time summoning up every bit of patience he could find to get through this day, because he had a feeling he was going to need it.

It feels like he’s already used half of it.

And of course he won’t be able to comment on Peter’s lateness, not even as a joke.

Peter: im like hafway there already illl just have to chagne and then ill be there!

Peter: seriously i am so sorry

Normally he’d be all for hearing Peter apologize, but it keeps happening every other word, Quentin will lose his mind.

He’s already losing his mind.

Well, he’s not going to just stand here until Peter does show up. He glances around for somewhere to sit; there’s a coffee shop just across the street. Perfect. He’s going to need that.

Quentin: Hey, don’t rush!

Quentin: I’ll just grab a coffee okay?

Quentin: I’ll be over at Kaldi’s, it’s just across the street. Can’t miss it.

Quentin: You want anything?

Peter: you dont haveto!

There’s no stopping the sigh this time. God.

Quentin: Not what I asked, kiddo.

Peter: um

Peter: suure?

Peter: someting with carmel i dont care mych

Peter: ill be there realy soon tho!!

Quentin: Then we can just sit for a bit.

Quentin: You’ll probably need it if you just woke up.

It’s a little funny how… drastically downgraded Peter’s texting is when he’s apparently still half asleep. Or maybe it’s just that he’s in a hurry. Or—

Quentin nearly stops in the middle of the sidewalk. He— surely, Peter isn’t—

Quentin: Are you texting AND webswinging?

Peter: …maybe?

No wonder he goes through phones so fast.

Quentin: You’re going to drop your phone

Peter: hey! imst icky! i wont drop it!

Quentin: Then you’re going to fall from being distracted

Quentin: And I won’t feel sorry for you.

Peter: :(

Quentin: I’ll laugh

Peter: :( :( :(

Quentin: You brought this on yourself.

He spends the time until Peter gets there reviewing Lynn’s newest plans for the miniaturized drones; they actually aren’t too bad.

Of course, they’ve probably had them sitting, waiting, for months, what with how they’ve harped on and on about how this should be a priority.

It won’t do to let them get too full of themselves, so along with the praise he sends back plenty of potential revisions. Even brings up some entirely new bits for them to consider; should keep them busy for a bit.

“Hi!” Peter says, flinging himself down across from Quentin. He’s flushed and still out of breath, his hair sticking up. “I’m here! I’m so sorry!”

Quentin allows himself a slightly amused smile. “Hi,” he says. Pushes Peter’s drink—some sort of ridiculously sweet caramel flavored thing that’s barely coffee at all—across the table to him. “Sit. Drink. Relax a bit, okay?”

“Yeah,” Peter says, running a hand through his hair and only making things worse. “Yeah, okay. I’m sorry, though. I’m just… it’s really embarrassing to be that late when this was my idea in the first place and—”

“Peter,” Quentin says, cutting him off. “Breathe! It’s fine, I promise.”

For once, Peter listens, and takes a deep breath, holding it in for a moment. Lets it out and relaxes the smallest bit, and grabs his drink. “Oh,” he says. “This is good! Thanks; you were right about me needing it.”

Quentin watches while he unwinds; Peter’s latest idea regarding ‘things they could do together’ was to show Quentin around Queens, so today they’re wandering. Quentin’s thrilled.

It could be worse. Peter had been all set up to take him to the most popular, well known, touristy spots, and Quentin had barely been able to hide his dread at the thought. It’d taken a little work, but he’d manage to convince Peter that Quentin would much rather see Peter’s favorite places. Even if they were nothing fancy or exciting, or little hole in the wall type places, or silly.

Even if they bored Quentin to tears.

Not that he can let Peter see even a hint of that. There’s a special kind of… vulnerability in sharing the smallest things you like, something different than exposing the larger, more damaged pieces of yourself. Something oddly hopeful about showing someone the unexplainable, intimate things you like and waiting for them to enjoy those things as well. Or at the very least, not reject them, in a way that suggests they’re rejecting your tastes as well.

Not rejecting you.

He’s started to prove to Peter he can handle the bigger things, the superhero stuff and the feelings nearly suffocating Peter; time to show that he can be trusted with the little things too. That Peter can come to Quentin with anything at all. Anything. Everything.

“So,” Quentin says. “What’s first?”

He was right; it is pretty boring. Not… awful, surprisingly, but not Quentin’s sort of thing at all. Peter’s apparently decided to try and cover as many miles as he can in one day, dragging Quentin from one end of Queens to the other. And then back; Quentin’s going to take tomorrow off for sure. Peter just has so much energy.

Has so much enthusiasm, Quentin thinks, as they poke through a small used record store that isn’t nearly as hipster as he expected from Astoria. So, so much enthusiasm, for the smallest things. It just bursts out of him once he gets comfortable and isn’t second guessing every single word he says.

Once Quentin has seemed interested in the first few things Peter shows him. Peter’s nervous about it, trying to explain away any shortcomings before Quentin’s even gotten in the door. He’s just desperate for approval, for acceptance. For Quentin to like him.

It’s not that hard to, actually.

It’s never been that Quentin dislikes Peter. Sure, Peter’s causing him grief and can be incredibly annoying, and sure, about half of what he feels for Peter is pity, but those can exist alongside the fact that Quentin kind of likes Peter.

Has liked him, ever since he started compiling research on him, ever since he’d met Peter as Mysterio and shook his hand and watched him get so excited over the existence of multiverse. It’s harder not to like Peter, not even a bit. He’s ridiculously smart, and stupidly good-natured, and—

He throws himself into everything he does; goes full out, with his heart on his sleeve. It’s no wonder he gets anxious as hell, if his first impulse is to practically flaunt all his soft spots, open and eager and expecting the best. It’s going to go poorly more often than not.

Must have, judging by the way Peter pulls himself in and hides, overrides that instinctual reaction so quickly it’s just a flash, a glimpse Quentin keeps catching again and again. He’s been taught to second guess himself somewhere along the way, by someone—probably a lot of someones—who saw those tender spots and couldn’t help poking them, taking advantage of them.

Just like Quentin’s doing; Peter should be better about spotting that sort of thing by now.

It’s almost a shame to fix Peter just to tear him apart completely, to have to use him like this, but… well. In the end, Peter’s nothing but another obstacle scattered in Quentin’s path. There are far more important things to worry about than the fate of one kid.

Peter grins at him when Quentin admits that this dinky little secondhand bookstore in Jamaica was worth a stop, even if it’s just for the most comfortable couch Quentin has ever sat on. Smiles when he points out a mural he loves on the way to the next attraction and admits he’d actually webbed up someone who started to tag it.

Straight up laughs at Quentin’s face when Peter shows him the most supremely creepy things in some huge thrift store, full of weird antiques and vintage crap. God, it’s disturbing that the things Quentin had as a kid, even as a teen, are considered vintage now.

“Jesus, Peter,” Quentin says after he has to look at a one hundred percent haunted taxidermied squirrel. “Why would you make me see that? I’m going to have nightmares.”

“For that exact face,” Peter says. “Oh my god, you look like you think it’s going to bite you!”

“It might,” and it’s unfair that Peter just laughs harder. He glares at Peter, but it might be slightly put on.

He’s allowed to like Peter a little, Quentin decides, watching Peter nearly double over with giggles. It’ll make having to deal with him easier, if nothing else, and it’s not as though liking someone has ever stopped him from using them—even disposing of them—in the past. It sure won’t this time.

They wander some more, Peter chattering on and easily filling the silence as long as Quentin remembers to make the appropriate listening noises occasionally. Every now and then, Peter hesitates, a nervous stumble in his words, something throwing him off, and Quentin reengages fully. He can’t afford to let Peter get too caught up in his thoughts.

But a few questions—carefully designed to make Quentin seem far more interested than he is—are enough to get Peter going again, bouncing from place to place until Quentin suggests they could use something to eat.

“Oh my god, yes,” Peter says. “I’m starving and didn’t even realize it. Ooo, last time we were down here, Ned and I found this awesome truck that does crazy good Korean barbeque, you’d love it.”

“No,” Quentin says without thinking, the sweet tart burnt smell so strong he can nearly taste it, can feel it stinging when he draws in a breath.

He twitches, shrugging it off, and tries to walk back how sharp that had come out. “Uh, I’m not big on sweet sauces and meat?” he says. “Got another recommendation?”

Peter drags him to a place that has the weirdest chimichanga combinations—and normal ones too, thankfully—and once again, attempts to pay.

“You know,” Quentin says as he pokes Peter out of the way, immensely irritated that Peter is still pushing him on this. “I didn’t realize your memory was this bad.”

“Hey!” Peter says. “It’s not! What are you talking about?” like that doesn’t prove Quentin’s point exactly.

“I seem to remember a bet I won,” he says, “relating to this exact situation.”

Peter opens his mouth to protest, and then closes it. “Um,” he says.

“Yeah,” Quentin says,raising his eyebrows.

“Okay,” Peter says, “okay, you can’t blame me for trying!”

“Hmmm,” Quentin says, passing over one of the foam trays. “You’re forgiven. This time. Just don’t do it again.” It’s always a good idea to get Peter into the habit of following Quentin’s rules, of remembering not to challenge Quentin too much.

Of remembering that Quentin will forgive him anything, easily.

“Fine,” Peter says through a mouthful, so mature.

They eat on the way to the next stop on Peter’s little tour; Quentin had been hoping they were approaching the end, but when Peter looks at him and asks, so hesitantly, if Quentin is tired and wants to call it a day—

Well he can’t say no.

Quentin finds himself dragged on to little half hidden shops, with any signage and down stairs that Quentin has to ask how Peter could have found in the first place. To statues Peter likes, to places he feeds pigeons—why he’d want to, Quentin doesn’t know—places with great views of the Hudson.

And, over and over, once Quentin catches on and starts pushing it, places to eat. Because Peter’s metabolism is a thing of wonder.

It’s interesting watching Peter banter back and forth with an older man about his sandwich; Quentin had gotten the impression Peter was uneasy around strangers, all his awkwardness amping up. But the way Peter’s interacted with people today is much more relaxed, much easier. Peter has a sharp sense of humor that Quentin has only started to see, as Peter gets comfortable around him.

Why do all these strangers get it right off the bat?

He watches Peter dart over to help get a stroller over a curb and— they’re not strangers. Not really. It’s not just that everywhere they’ve gone is somewhere Peter has been again and again, to the point where he knows people.

This is Peter’s home ground. His comfort zone, and the people in it— they’re his people. And when he’s helping them, his nerves disappear. His awkwardness becomes a tool of its own, disarming, downplaying the threat Peter could so easily be.

This is what he wants to be when he’s Spider-Man; the guy on the street, helping in a hundred tiny ways.

That’s fine with Quentin. Perfectly fine; now how does he get Peter to stay there, with EDITH looming over his head?

He can practically hear that in William’s voice, ugh. He’s working on it.

They wind up in Kissena late in the afternoon, almost early evening, really. Peter steps off the path once they get into one of the more wooded areas, and there’s a grassy spot past a few bushes, with a truly massive tree near the center, smaller ones scattered around it. It’s well hidden.

“Alright,” Quentin says, as he has with every other place, “what's the story behind this? How’d you find it?”

“So, when I got bit, when everything changed?” Peter settles down at the base of the tree, cross legged. “One of the things that was like, a huge pain, was how all of my senses got crazy amplified. Everything was turned up to eleven, you know?”

Quentin sits across from Peter, stretching his legs out as he leans back. Ugh, grass; he’d better not end up with bug bites. “Okay,” he says. “Sounds like that was pretty overwhelming.”

Peter groans. “You have no idea! It was really hard for a while, because even once I started to get used to everything being too loud and too bright and too smelly and— things tasted weird and my clothes made me feel like my skin was crawling and it was—” He stops, tipping his head back against the tree and looking upward.

“It was a lot,” he says. “Eventually I sorta started being able to deal with all that sort of… feeling stuff? I mean, physical, sensory, not like feeling feelings.”

Coherent; Quentin does not roll eyes through sheer force of will.

“But I was still really struggling with the, um,” Peter frowns, tips his head back further until Quentin can’t really see his face. “The stuff in my head. Actually doing things, thinking about things or even focusing on one thing was all so hard. It was like…”

“It was like what?” Quentin asks, after a few moments have passed.

“Everything was a distraction,” Peter says, slowly. “That’s still not right, because normally, before, I’d get distracted thinking about something else I wanted to do, or I’d be daydreaming, or, um, just, good stuff? Stuff that I’d want to focus on, just not right that second.”

“This wasn’t like this.” Peter looks down and starts to fiddle with a bit of grass, pulling up blades one by one. “This was like so much noise inside my head, like every little detail about every single thing was right there, grabbing my attention. I’d be trying to do one thing and all that would be clamoring at me nonstop.”

He closes his eyes, scrunching his whole face up. “People talk about wanting super sense a lot,” he says, “but it sucked so much at first.”

“People generally don’t think through those kinds of wishes very much,” Quentin says. Honestly, for the most part people don’t think at all.

“I’m pretty much okay now,” Peter says. “I figured out how to filter things most of the time; when there’s a bunch of stuff at once I can get so caught up in trying to ignore it that I ignore everything, and then that’s it’s own problem.”

“I noticed,” Quentin says, dryly. “Makes you pretty jumpy.”

Peter huffs, almost a laugh. “Yeah,” he says, brushing the ripped up grass off his pants. “I’m still working on getting the kinds of focus right?”

Quentin leans further back on his hands, crossing his legs. “You said something about focusing on me that one time,” he says, and Peter goes faintly pink. “That the sort of thing you’re talking about?”

“Something like that,” Peter says. “If I have one thing I can focus on, almost completely, then I can make it into… uh, white noise, I guess? Or it makes everything else into white noise. If that makes any sense at all.”

Not one bit, but whatever. He can press that later. “Sure,” Quentin says, waving his hand. “I’m following.”

It’s actually something to consider— if Peter manages to function better in difficult situations by focusing on one specific thing, what happens when that thing is taken away? Is ripped away from him, in fact. Would there be a moment of disorientation they could take advantage of? Maybe they could set Peter up to focus on what they want; he’s already using Quentin as a focal point, apparently.

He’ll have to watch Peter, Quentin thinks. This fumbling little explanation leaves a lot to be desired, but he doesn’t have much faith Peter actually could explain it better even if he tried.

“That helps,” Peter’s saying, “but it’s still really exhausting after a while. Sometimes I want to just… stop. Just not feel it at all, not have to try not to feel it.”

He glances at Quentin, and Quentin nods. Peter looks oddly shy, so he’d better pay close attention to what he’s showing.

“I’ve found a couple of places like this, but this is probably my favorite,” Peter tells him. “I can come here and actually relax. If I stop trying to block things out, or stop focusing on one thing, it doesn’t matter.” He tips his head back again, looking up at the tree.

“It's quiet here, pretty much all the time,” Peter says; the light through the leaves is diffuse, dappled on his face. “Even the noises that I get are like, soft things. Leaves and wind and things walking on grass. People talking, yeah, but that’s more distant and almost like background noise. It’s still shadowy in here when it’s super bright out, and there aren’t any super gross strong smells either. Just dirt and water and uh, green stuff.”

He darts a glance down at Quentin without moving his head. “Don’t laugh at me!” he says, and it’s right on the edge of plaintive. “I don’t know what else to call it.”

“I’m not,” Quentin says. He understands; it’s not something a city kid would be around that often, would probably even notice without senses like Peter’s. “I wouldn’t. I know what you mean, Peter.”

“Okay,” Peter says. Looks back away from Quentin and then closes his eyes. “It’s nice. And when I have to go back to the real world, it’s not quite as hard to handle.”

Quentin watches him. Watches as he slowly, slowly unwinds. Peter doesn’t move, aside from his head tipping slightly to the side, and Quentin—

He’d thought, earlier, that it was interesting how much Peter loosened up around people he felt comfortable with, places he felt safe. He’d thought it was a large degree of relaxation—and it was—but it was nothing compared to this.

Nothing compared to the way the tension drains from him with each passing second, from every single bit of his body, until he looks calmer than Quentin has ever seen.

Happier.

If this is how he looks when truly relaxed, the level of stress Peter must carry with him every day, everywhere he goes—from the physical tension to the mental, the anxiety, the constant background level of effort that other people don’t have to think about—must be ridiculously high.

He doesn’t want to say anything, do anything, that would break the stillness that seems to have spread over the entire glade. Poor kid. He might be doing a great job at being a pain in Quentin’s ass, but he isn’t cut out for this superhero shit.

Everything Quentin sees just convinced him further that taking EDITH from Peter really is doing him a favor. He’d never intended for that to be true, but— it’s not a terrible byproduct.

Peter sighs eventually, a barely there breath of a thing, opening his eyes halfway. He looks dazed, almost half asleep.

At least, until he notices that Quentin is watching him, and then he flushes. Looks down, the moment dissipating. “Anyway,” Peter says. “It’s— it’s a nice place for me,” like he’s admitting something embarrassing.

“I can tell,” Quentin says, offering him a small smile. “You deal with a lot every day, don’t you.” He shifts against his tree, trying to get more comfortable without Peter noticing and getting all fussy about it.

“I guess,” Peter says.

He picks up a leaf, twirling it through his fingers absently. “It’s getting really frustrating,” he adds. “Because it’s been almost two years, right? So I should have a better handle on this! I shouldn’t still be getting tripped up by such little things. And—” he makes a face, shoulders starting to hunch again.

“So I have this… this sense? Uh, I call it a spidey sense— I know, it’s kind of stupid. It sort of warns me about things? Like someone poking me, or shouting that something bad is about to happen.”

“Mmm, you mentioned that once,” Quentin says. “Sort of like a limited precog?” Honestly, he’d dismissed it— not fully, it wouldn’t do to completely dismiss anything about Peter. But it hadn’t seemed like it did much for Peter in Europe.

And it hadn’t picked up anything about Quentin, so how good could it really be?

“Oh, huh,” Peter says. “I hadn’t really thought of it like that? Maybe, but it’s not very exact. Sometimes it’s super obvious, but others it takes me a while to figure out what’s wrong. And lately, especially, it’s been— it’s gone kinda nuts? I don’t feel like I can trust it anymore.”

“Like, like right now?” he adds. “Right now it’s just going off like something really big and bad is happening, but come on!” He throws his hands up, exaggerated. “We’re just sitting here talking! Nothing, literally nothing bad is happening. It’s freaking out for no reason.”

Fuck.

Maybe he really shouldn’t have dismissed it, Quentin thinks, trying to stay as relaxed as he was a moment ago. Maybe he really fucking shouldn’t have, because some part of Peter knows that Quentin’s not good news. Knows that Quentin is something dangerous, is a threat.

And apparently knows it very, very insistently. Oh, fuck, this is the last thing he needs. Why now? Why is Peter’s sense losing its shit now and not at any time in Europe? What has he done differently to set it off?

God, what if it had been going off then too? Could that be why Peter had backed off at the last second in the bar, EDITH almost in Quentin’s hand? Has Peter been feeling this the entire time?

It’s a good thing he doesn’t seem to be listening to it, but that could stop at any second. At any time, Peter could decide that maybe his stupid ‘spider sense’ isn’t wrong, and that would be— that would be bad. That would be so bad.

Quentin has got to figure out how to make sure Peter keeps dismissing what it’s telling him.

“It’s so annoying,” Peter’s saying. “I wish it would stop, would just shut up already. It’s like this constant thing lately, sort of fading in and out but almost always there, but not a single thing has happened!”

Oh, that’s really, really not great. Almost always? In and out? How long will it take before Peter starts to realize it’s linked to Quentin?

No. No, he can fix this. He can nip this in the bud, before Peter has even a hint of suspicion. Peter’s already trying to ignore it, already annoyed by it. Quentin can use that.

“Maybe it’s just confused?” Quentin brings one knee up and rests his elbow on it, letting his arm dangle oh so casually. “After all,” he adds, “I’m hardly a bad thing, am I?”

Peter smiles, all that irritation gone in a second. “No!” he says. “Of course not! You’re like, the least bad thing that’s happened in a while.”

Quentin grins back at him. Yeah, keep thinking that, kid. “Well that’s a relief!” he says. “How finely tuned is this thing anyway? Could something have… I don’t know, damaged it? Hmm, screwed up its baseline, maybe? How do you even recalibrate it?”

“I have no clue,” Peter says. “I mean, it’s not like I can’t really test it or fix it or whatever. It’s practically useless now.”

Perfect; he wants Peter distrusting this sense. Wants him not thinking about it at all, avoiding the topic entirely— ah.

If he can get Peter thinking his damaged sense has something to do with the fights he’s been in, these bigger battles, that would be ideal. Peter’s already trying hard not to think about those; tie this sense to them as well, and he’ll just have even more reason to avoid both

“Could something have overloaded it?” Quentin asks. “Just completely swamped it, and it hasn’t recovered yet? If it got used to there being danger nonstop, on all sides, maybe it can’t stand down.”

“…maybe?” Peter says. “But I don’t know what would have caused that, or even when. It doesn’t make a lot of sense.”

What.

Really, Quentin thinks, really? Peter can’t think of anything that would fit? Why wouldn’t he think of that? “Nothing?” he says, quietly.

Peter frowns. Takes a moment, and when he opens his mouth, Quentin is almost sure he’s made the connection; but Peter hesitates. Shrugs. “Not anything that’s like, major or a big deal or anything,” he says.

Does Peter— has he really managed to convince himself that all the fighting he’s done is nothing? Or at least, been trying to, because that hesitation says a lot.

He should have expected this, with the way Peter’s consistently downplayed himself so far. He really should have, but somehow it still annoys him. No wonder Peter isn’t willing to admit how scared and screwed up he is, if he thinks he’s completely overreacting to ‘no big deal’.

“Well,” Quentin says, and he’s watching Peter carefully. He doesn’t know quite how this will hit. “You were at war, on a battlefield. More than once, even. That can really mess you up in all kinds of ways.” Remember, Peter, he thinks. Remember that you were hurt, that there’s a good reason to be scared. To run.

“I— that—” Peter stares at him. “I wasn’t in a war,” he says. Dammit. Looks like downgrading it in his head is exactly what Peter’s been doing, and that is exactly the opposite of what Quentin wants.

“No? What would you call it?” Quentin asks, raising an eyebrow. He pushes himself more upright, uncrossing his legs. “It sounded a lot like war to me.”

Peter shakes his head, fingers crushing the leaf he’s been playing with. “It was just a fight,” he says, strained. “That’s all!”

A fight. Just a fight, like it was nothing more than a little spat, was nothing at all. Has someone been telling him this, reinforcing it? Fury, maybe, or even Tony before that?

He knows Fury wants Peter to think he can handle things, but has he also been trying to convince him that what he’s been through so far was small enough Peter should have been able to handle it? Should be able to handle the aftereffects? That he shouldn’t be upset about it, that he’s overreacting?

That’s not good; Quentin doesn’t need Peter doubting he can handle things. He needs Peter to be certain he can’t, and more, that it’s perfectly normal. Acceptable. Not something horribly selfish at all.

“Peter,” he says, “it wasn’t just a fight.”

“It was! It was just one— it wasn’t a war!”

“It wasn’t— Peter,” Quentin says, and sighs. “It was a lot more than that. You’ve been dragged from fight to fight to fight the past couple of years, without anyone helping you after; from what I hear, you really could have used some after that thing upstate.”

He huffs, too sharp to be a real laugh. “And that’s just what I know of,” he adds. “I’m not stupid enough to assume that’s everything.”

Peter sucks in a sharp breath, his hands fisted on his thighs. Blinks, and then looks at Quentin intently, his brow furrowed. “How do you even know about that? About— about other fights?”

“I spent some time talking with Fury,” Quentin says. “He wasn’t big on details, but I got enough that I can fill them in on my own. I’m willing to bet he doesn’t even know every fight you’ve been in, though I’m sure he’d like me to think so.”

He’d been talking with Janice, more like. God, she’d been such a find; seething about having had Tony himself be an ass to her, more than once, but willing to stay where she was to pass things on. She’d had access to so much confidential information, and every time SI and SHIELD decided to bury another thing, shift the blame and throw money at it until it all went away—for them, at least—she’d gotten a little more resentful.

It’s true that they might not have the finer details—it drives him nuts how sparse the info about whatever it was that crashed SI’s plane into the beach is—but he has enough to know that Peter’s been involved time and time again.

“Oh,” Peter says, looking down, losing some of his ire. “You probably didn’t hear much good, I bet. But— it doesn’t matter if it was more than one fight, cause they were all different. All like, spread out and about other stuff. It’s still not war.”

“What do you think war is, then?” Quentin asks, actually curious.

“I don’t, uh. War is… more?” Peter stumbles along, and he’s being incredibly stubborn about this. “More than that, than any of those. Worse. Way worse. You don’t— you weren’t there, you don’t know what it was really like. It wasn’t like that.”

“I think,” Quentin says dryly, “I have a pretty good idea of what war is.”

Peter looks absolutely horrified. “I didn’t mean it like that,” he says. “God, I didn’t mean— I’m sorry, I didn’t think— I just, just meant that you were in a war. In a real, horrible, endless one and this…” He shudders. “These were just fights. It’s not the same, it’s not anywhere near as bad.”

“I’m so sorry,” Peter says. Looks at Quentin and then drops his head into his hands, knees coming up as he curls in on himself. “Fuck, I’m so sorry Quentin, I didn’t mean…”

This is really not what he was going for. Shit, he shouldn’t have said it like that; Peter’s too sensitive for him to be even a little sharp.

Quentin sighs, very softly, though he’s sure Peter still catches it. Pushes himself up onto his feet and walks over to Peter, who doesn’t even look up. “I know you didn’t mean it like that,” Quentin says. “It’s okay, Peter.”

Peter just shakes his head a little; Quentin thinks of sighing again but—somehow—manages to restrain himself. He sits down next to Peter, his back against the tree.

“War doesn’t have to go for a long time to be real,” he says, not looking at Peter. “It doesn’t have to drag on and on for it to still be awful, for it to still affect you,” and Jesus, he’s had to hear shit along those lines so many times. Had to sit there and listen to people be told over and over that what happened to them is worth being fucked up over.

Even if it isn’t. There’s a lot of reasons he never opened his mouth at those meetings, and his disgust at everyone else was the biggest. What a waste of time.

Well. Maybe not. It did give him the material to work Peter over.

“It doesn’t have to be some huge, dramatic battle to qualify,” Quentin says. “It still counts. Pretending it doesn’t doesn’t get it out of your head.” Come on, he thinks, let it be bad, be a nightmare. Admit that there’s a good reason, a real reason, for you to be scared, and then you can back down without shame. Come on, Peter.

“It doesn’t feel like it should count,” Peter says, a bit muffled, head still in his hands. “It wasn’t— lots of people have dealt with so much worse. Something like this, it’s not— it’s not an excuse for, for…”

He doesn’t finish that thought, but Quentin doesn’t need him to. An excuse, hmm? He turns his head toward Peter, just a bit. “Why don’t you want to call it a war?”

Peter lifts his head, arms sliding down to cross across his chest. “Why does it matter to you what I call it?” he asks, and there’s a hint of sharpness in there. Maybe even anger. “Why do you even care if I admit— if I think it’s a war?”

Nice little slip there; isn’t that interesting. Peter does know it was more than a few little fights. He knows, he’s just trying as hard as he can to pretend otherwise. Trying to redirect, as usual, turning the question back on Quentin. Why does it matter, Peter wants to know, and there are so many answers Quentin could give.

It matters because you need to see yourself as badly damaged. Because you need to acknowledge that this is something huge and overwhelming and frightening. Because I need you to start accepting what I say as right, start accepting me as an authority. I need you to not question me.

So many reasons, and he can’t tell Peter any of them. Ugh.

He turns further toward Peter. “Because I think you’re doing yourself a disservice,” Quentin says, tightly, irritation rising up in him. “When you sit there and insist that it’s nothing more than a little fight, when you play it off like it’s nothing— you’re devaluing what you did, and that’s wrong.”

“Don’t act like what you went through, what you did, doesn’t count,” Quentin says, and Peter’s looking over at him, startled. “That it wasn’t brave as hell, and terrifying as hell too.”

Peter stares, his eyes very wide. “I— it’s not like I did more than anyone else there. Than, than anyone else would have.”

“It sounds like you did more than enough,” Quentin says. “And— it doesn’t matter, Peter. It still messes you up. War fucks everyone up. Maybe it didn’t go on long enough for it to really warp your thinking, your morals or empathy or capacity to even feel, but that doesn’t mean it didn’t damage you.”

Peter jerks, sitting up straighter. “I’m not damaged!”

For fuck’s sake.

Quentin has to dig deep for a bit more patience. “Sure you are. Hey, Peter— wait,” he says, watching as Peter shuts down all over again, hurt. “That’s not bad, kid. It’s not an insult. It’s just… you gotta admit that before you can get better.”

Or not, if Quentin gets his way; admitting it might lead to Peter actually getting over his fear and stepping up. But with Quentin around, guiding him along? Peter’s never going to take that admission as anything other than a personal failure.

As just another reason he can’t, and someone else should.

“I don’t know,” Peter mutters. “It doesn’t feel like it should count.”

Quentin watches him for a minute. Leans in, his shoulder bumping against Peter’s. “You’d agree that I’ve been in war, right?”

“Yeah, of course.”

“And that I’m able to judge what is and isn’t war. Right?”

Peter can be smart, sometimes. He sees where this is going. Sighs. “Yeah,” he says.

“Will you—” Quentin pauses, waits until Peter is looking at him. “Can you trust me here, and believe that I mean it when I say what you went through was war?”

Peter blinks, his eyes dropping. He’s silent, and Quentin can feel the muscles of his arm moving as Peter fiddles with something out of sight. “I’ll think about it,” Peter says, which is not quite the response Quentin was hoping for. Still, it’s not another denial. Baby steps.

“I’ll— maybe,” Peter says. “I guess you would know, even if you weren’t there.”

“You should listen to me,” Quentin agrees, leaning a little harder against Peter. “I do know!”

You should listen to me, and only me, he thinks. We’ll get you there, kid.

Peter huffs softly, pushing back against Quentin’s shoulder. “Maybe,” but he’s smiling faintly.

Quentin smiles back; he can accept a maybe, for now.

He’ll get a yes soon enough.

[mother-snake]

Could we see maybe something with sick Janus trying to hid his illness because he thinks the others won’t care but something happens that alerts them he’s not well and they take care of him? (Basically some good ol’ Janus angst and h/c) ❤️

the request is ready to rumble! and for once... its got mainly fluff (i think :P) warnings: anything that normaly occurs to sick people. so throwing up and dissyness. words: 1305 -janus is not happy to be ill- all he will ever need.

He wasn’t sure what to do when he looked around. Virgil, roman and Remus stood in front of him. Each holding a steely gaze on him. Only blinking when necessary. He would be lying if he said he didn’t feel uncomfortable.

He looked between the three sides. Trying his best to keep himself composed. He wasn’t one for confrontation. Especially in this case.

“Janus, please let us help,” Virgil practically begged. “no,” Janus snapped back as he took a shaky step back.

You see, earlier in the week, Janus wasn’t feeling well. By that I mean a light headache and sneezes. But he had thought that was just the fact he felt colder than normal due to the winter air. then as the week progressed, a rough cough had struck him fairly bad. Acting up every time he walked for too long.

And then this morning, he had woken up dizzy but still pushed himself to continue with his day. That had been denied when he smelled the pancakes in the air and had scampered to his room to throw up.

It had not gone unnoticed by the ex-darks and light side. He had locked his door to no effort as they just nocked it down. Startling Janus so badly he had been thrown into a coughing fir once again.

“Janus, I know you don’t like feeling like this. But it will only get worse if you don’t let us help,” Remus dragged on, looking at Janus with his best puppy eyes. “no,” Janus shot back sharply, backing himself into a corner of his small bathroom. the others blocked his only exit. He didn’t trust them. He didn’t know what they were planning. he curled in on himself as a wave of dizziness struck his head. Virgil whispered something to roman, causing the side to turn around and leave. Janus froze as he watched Virgil move himself so he sat in the opposite side and corner to where Janus sat. the light that shone from his bedroom turned off. He felt his head feel a lot better as the blazing light no longer shone into his eyes. “look, none of us will get any closer than this, okay?” Virgil said as he removed his hoodie before bundling it up in his arms.

With the light no longer illuminating the room. The only light seemed to come from Virgil’s six purple pupil-less eyes. Janus felt himself become less tense, but just enough that if they did do something, he would be able to attack back. “ill go tell the nerd and our dear father that we’ll be running late for breakfast,” roman said with what Janus guessed was a wink.

He heard the side make a muffled noise and a thunk from where his door should have been, “I’m fine!” roman called out before there were footsteps that made him understand that he had made it out of his room.

Janus glanced back to where Virgil’s six eyes stared back at him. But it wasn’t with malice. But…concern? heh… he must be hallucinating.

He felt his stomach churn once again, making him whimper at the pain the flooded his stomach. he tucked himself further into a ball. Remus who had been sitting facing away turned to look at him. Janus had forgotten that Remus’s freckles glowed that bright green. It had been a long time he since the three of them had been in the same room without yelling at each other.

Well… it was mainly them yelling at him. But even then, he had in many ways given them many reasons to yell at him, he was still surprised they had it in them to spend time with him.

He felt tired. It had been a while since he had gotten a full night’s sleep… that probably didn’t help his almost fever. he didn’t want to fall asleep with Virgil and Remus there. He was scared that they would do something.

He could have sworn he saw Virgil and Remus flinch as the anxiety induced thoughts seemed to make his mind run in circles about what would happen if he fell asleep right now.

He felt himself shake as a cool wave of something washed over him. His eyelids grew heavy as he cursed under his breath. Remy had always kept to himself most days. One of them must have informed him.

He watched Virgil looking at him with worry as he slipped into a slumber. Letting out a whimper of fear as his vision turned black.

--

The first thing he realised was the soft blanket that was draped over him. But wrapped just enough to not feel constricting. he felt eyes on him as shifted slightly. God, he hated it when he felt eyes on him. But just as quickly as they had arrived, they disappeared.

“you okay there Janus?” a voice asked as something cold was placed on his head. “where…?” he asked as his eyes cracked open. why was it dark… the last thing. Well… he wasn’t sure how much he remembered. The purple eyes of Virgil stared back at him causing him to fling himself back. hiding himself under the blanket that had been keeping him warm, but not too warm.

“hey, you’re okay!” Virgil said, his voice muffled by the blanket. “go away!” Janus said, “I don’t need your help,” he muttered, letting the blanket rest over his head naturally.

He wouldn’t admit that he felt better than when he had fallen asleep. But he didn’t want to give them reason to think he owed them a favour. he felt himself shake from under the blanket.

“hey snake face, come on. You’ll be fine with us; don’t you think we would have hurt you by now if we wanted to?” Remus stated. Janus felt himself slowly stop shaking as he pondered his words. “how do I know that you wont use this against me?” he asked, voice trying to stay strong.

He felt the tension as thick as butter. Easily cut by a knife. “because I wouldn’t let them,” a stoic voice said, “come on. You need to be looked after, and you can’t do it from there,” Logan chuckled.

His laughter melted Janus’s heart; it wasn’t often anyone heard his show enough emotion to laugh, so when it happened it felt like gold in your hands. well… it did to Janus anyways.

He peaked his head out from the blanket and quickly realised he wasn’t even in his room. No, this was someone else’s? he looked around and quickly realised that with he cobwebs and spider pattern curtains. This was Virgil’s? since when was he aloud into Virgil’s room after last time?

Logan pushed him down so he was lying back once again. A small smile was on Logan’s face. Janus felt a small one of his own appear as Logan planted a small kiss on his head. “will you let us help you get better?” Logan asked. “…fine,” Janus caved in. “Patton is busy making soup, so you may not see him for another half hour,” roman said as he looked over from his place on the floor. Uno cards in hand playing against his brother.

He didn’t like being around so many people normally. But in that moment? He didn’t realise that everyone in that room had truly been worried about him.

And after he got better, no one would bring it up. knowing that Janus would rather forget what had happened. Well… other than Logan kissing him on the head. He hadn’t forgotten that.

And if later that week, Logan caught what Janus had… well… he would be lying if he said he didn’t help and return the favour.

Their family was dysfunctional. But he was okay with that. Its all he will ever need.

[dreamingfanficsmasher]

What Happens in prison stays in prison - George Mendez x OC

Chapter 3 - Every couple has little fights

Warnings: Profanity 🤫

The next day, I was basically running out of the bathroom to try and get away from the ridiculous name-calling between Pennsatucky and Leanne. Not even looking up while I run, I feel myself bump into a large solid figure. At first, I figured it was another inmate, because they didn't say anything at first, and then I heard it.

"What the fuck is wrong with you, Davis?!" He looks down at me with fury. "You are not meant to run. Full stop. THAT IS A SHOT!" Getting angry with the way he has been acting lately I snap, I know I am not meant to yell at a C.O, but I couldn't control it, the word vomit.

"What the fuck is your problem lately? What is with you?! One minute you are nice to me, smiling, treating me differently from everyone else. And then out of nowhere you're acting like a dick!" I could hear the girls around us gasping as they walk past, his eyes widened. Shit. I really screwed up this time, SHU here I come. 

He looked down at me, then he looked around at the other inmates, his shoes, then back at me, sighing he just said, "You better watch it inmate. Watch your mouth. Remember Ill be dropping off laundry later, you better fucking be there." He then walked away, it was very strange, watching him walk away like that, no shot, no being sent to SHU, nothing. I actually felt a little bad, I seemed to have hurt him. Again.

"Get out my fucking way, you fucking junky!" He screamed at one of the heroin addicts. 

Later at lunch I noticed he wasn't there. This is probably normal, it might not be about me. Maybe he is on a different shift, or maybe he went to go fetch his laundry that he keeps on reminding me about. I wasn't focused, and Red could tell, she knew something was up, she might even suspect its because Mendez wasn't in the cafeteria like he always is. Or maybe I am just overthinking everything.

"Hey Davis, why you looking so mopey? Is it because your boyfriend isn't here to watch you eat?" Nichols snapped me out of my train of thought, to which I replied with a deadly glare, to which Red gave me a glare back.

Nichols gave out a small laugh, "Please don't tell me this is true Lizzy." The Russian accent cut the silent glares, "No, its not true Red. They are just making a joke. I promise nothing is happening between me and Pornstache."

"Good because if there is, you know what will happen."

"I know, I know, Red." I did know, Ill be out of the family, I wont be protected anymore.

I started looking down at my food. "No, shes telling the truth. I saw them this morning yelling at each other." Chapman cut in. "Every couple has little fights." Red annoyingly replies, I reply with a sigh, showing how annoyed I was now.

Vause notices this, and comes to my defense, "Give her a break Red. Nothing is happening. Besides, there are more important things to worry about. Like, I don't know, being in prison?" At least I can count on Vause to save my ass against Red. 

It was about 4 in the afternoon, and I still hadn't seen the mustached guard anywhere since this morning, I must have really pissed him off. Even while I was waiting in line for the phones I noticed he wasn't standing talking to Bennett, making his dirty comments about the inmates like he usually does, thinking he is entertaining the one-legged C.O. 

Yes, I do know about the leg, needless to say I heard the Hispanic girls whispering about Dayanara and her little love affair, and it was quite obvious that they were talking about Bennett. Most of the prison knows about those two by now anyway, with the exception of basically all the staff, even Bennett isn't aware of the inmates knowing.  

It was finally my turn to get to the phone, I better call my mom, I haven't spoken to her in a while, and she is bound to be in a state.

Picking up the phone, I dial my mothers number, she sounded frantic over the fact that I haven't called her in a while, but then she could sense that something was wrong.

"Elizabeth? What is the matter? Did something happen?" I could hear the genuine worry in her voice, which created a lump in my throat, I've been here for 3 months and I still miss like crazy.

"Nothing really happened, mom. Its just, there is this guard, who often is quite friendly towards me and - "

"What did he do? Did he rape you? I saw something on the news about a guard that took advantage and raped a young girl at a prison in California. And I swear- "The way she said rape made me cringe.

"Mom, mom, no, no, he didn't do anything. And you should really stop watching the news, it worries you too much. I just wanted to say that hes being friendly, and it just makes me feel guilty with the other girls because he isn't so nice to them." I quickly changed what I was going to tell her, in fear that other C.Os are listening and more importantly that she'll worry more.

"Oh sweetie, you worried me, that's not too bad. It'll get better, besides you've always had that effect on people, don't worry too much. " The conversation carried on for a few more minutes until I realized the time.

"Okay mom thanks, I have to go, its almost my shift, speak to you soon." And with a goodbye from her side, I hang up and make my way to laundry.

To be continued...

[gaslitbyamadman]

Aphorisms On Madness, Philosophy, & Society (from my book, Gaslit By A Madman)

Aphorisms On Madness, Philosophy, & Society (from my book)

Wittgenstein on Otto Weininger.

Wittgenstein once said about Otto Weininger: “If you were to reverse all of his assertions, they would still be equally fascinating and worthwhile. ” That tends to be how I view all utterances. (If only SJWs thought like this about all utterances!) This is much closer to truth as aletheia, the Greek and Heideggerian notion, rather than strict formal, propositional veracity.

If you believe in truth, you are delusional!

.......Thus, as things became even more extreme, and relativism spread from ‘values’ to truth itself, we increasingly began to see the crazed spectacle of Professors of Psychiatry ‘scientifically’ labelling everyone who simply happens to have different beliefs from themselves as ‘sick’ and ‘delusional’i. e meaning they have a ‘fixed false belief’. while their prestigious, highly rewarded colleagues in the Humanities, Philosophy or Literary Studies department loudly proclaim there is ‘no truth, only interpretations’! No doubt somewhere or other, the two doctrines have been combined and solidified in the very same individuals such that if you still believe in ‘truth’, you are delusional, i. e you have a fixed ‘false’ belief and require urgent ‘treatment’! Pretty deranged, eh?

Truth as the best healer

Real truth saves lives; real truth works better than any pill. Especially for the honest.

On self-identity and freedom of conscience

Nowadays, if a ‘woman’ came into a psychiatrist’s office and professed to be a Champion Bull, raring to butt horns in the otherwise peaceful long-grassed meadows of her youth once more . the good Dr. would quite rightly feel obliged to continue the interview in aggressive snorts and threatening raking at the carpet, like any other modern, non-bigoted professional. But if this erstwhile proud Minator were to opine that there is no such thing as ‘schizophrenia’ or ‘mental illness’, someone’s professional opinion would be gravely offended and someone else’s dosage – that of the poor, once righteous monster -- would be judiciously and roundly quadrupled.

Excessive codes of 'civility' as cause of hateful outbreaks

Excessive codes of 'civility', which rule out certain antagonistic, strongly felt forms of speech, when such cosy 'civility' is not truly felt are one of the leadingyet most over-looked causes of hatred and violence. The reason that throughout society and on all social media websites especially there is enforced civility is because the powers-that-be were afraid of people's differences being worked out in a peaceful manner and them growing united and thus harder to control and dominate.

Psychiatry’s inversion of health and sickness.

In all discernment between healthy and pathological behaviors, the key thing to be aware of is that the nature of the former is to be a deliberate, willful action -- realizing one's 'true will' to quote Aleister Crowley -- whereas that the latter is to be picked up unconsciously or half-consciously from one's environment, sometimes with a dimly conscious but burgeoning awareness that it is vulgar, stupid or slavish. Psychiatry precisely inverts the true nature of this dichotomy, labelling healthy, i. e willful liberation as pathological, and unhealthy, slavish unthinking conformity as healthy: it is the exact opposite.  "Its sickness is for its traits and the traits of its parts to be traits by which the soul does not do its actions that come about by means of the body or its parts, or does them in a more diminished manner than it ought or not as was its wont to do them. Al Farabi

Harm, punish, or 'treat'.

If you harm, punish or 'treat' an bad man, he might just re-consider his wicked ways; but if you harm, punish or 'treat' a good one, he is often liable or prone to re-consider his good ways.

The disadvantages of self-control.

The exhortation to self-control is really an exhortation to obedience and submission. (When they said I lacked 'self-control', what they actually meant was I wasn't controlling myself according to their demands. and they proceeded to take actual selfcontrol away from me) If we are really going to free ourselves of the crippling influence of convention and actually arbitrary, oppressive socalled 'authority', we probably ought to rid ourselves of all self-control that is not absolutely necessary.

Real change.

The cave-dwelling masses and everyday non-mental -patients, while all too fatuously and recklessly embracing ideologies of social 'progress', are frightened of a real change in their Being and locked into a pattern of stagnation and decay. The madman, (remember, the etymological meaning of the word 'mad' is to 'change') at least in the normative, ideal sense of that term, (as well as often he or she who is solabelled), has awakened to the need for spiritual becoming, both in himself and others.

Madness and Art.

Madmen and poets are alike: they both give freer reign to their emotional and linguistic expressions than is considered decent. And, both of them too, do it largely for socially admirable, therapeutic reasons. Albeit the 'mad' one is more often misunderstood, since people forget that all life, and the unartistic life most of all, is a good opportunity for art, for therapy.

The unartistic life is the most drab, automatic, unredeemed kind of life, in which salutary disruptions are still possible No one blinks twice if they see an eviscerated heart in an art gallery nowadays. But if they see an eviscerated heart while it is still in someone's chest. That's magic.

Autobiography of values as requisite.

To counter-act the tide of artificial, false pretenses to expert, scientific 'objectivity', and the docile, herd-like conformity that actually entails within social science, within the healing professions, and within society a whole, I propose that a personal account of one's life-story, focusing on how one came to arrive at one's central, integral values, become a standard for all such careers. This would be a move towards bolstering the development of personality and character throughout society, preventing people from hiding entirely behind their professional veneers, and presencing the real-lived experience and actual, rather than false selves, of individuals. I don't propose this merely as a helpful task for the 'professional' on the way to qualifying, but as a central piece that he must present to his or her clients/patients. A kind of C. V., but, as I say, with the focus on HOW HE CAME TO HIS CENTRAL CONVICTIONS ABOUT LIFE

‘Recreational’ drug use is medicinal drug use.

The potential of currently illegal substances such as LSD and DMT, as well as more common and less potent ones such as marajuana, to provide radical new, mad vistas of consciousness, and so heal the mental sickness with which mainstream society is so disastrously afflicted ( see the work of Terence Mckenna), is no less important than their capacity to treat physical illness or relieve physical pain. While all substances can potentially be used ill-advisedly, the depreciation of supposed ‘recreational’ uses ignores the dire and gaping need even so-called ‘normal’ people have for fresh inspiration, hedonic sustenance, and the health benefits that all true enjoyment, relaxation or true insight brings. It merely repeats the fallacious and artifical seperation between these supposedly mutually alien aspects of ourselves, a long with the superstitious, ascetic and crude utilitarian privileging of the mere functionality of ‘health’, over the supposedly wicked nature of happiness in this world --- a sad residue of religious puritanism and centuries of slavery to sadistic dogmas of control --even though it is only Epicurean pleasure that ultimately justifies life itself. This attitude is so pervasive and so perverse that it simply cannot be under-stated.Ravi Das, a neuroscientist at University College London who is researching the effects of ketamine said: “The potential benefits are definitely downplayed in face of these drugs being used recreationally,” he said. “People view their use in a research setting as ‘people are just having a good time’. ”From this vantage point, must one not wager the theory that almost the whole of modern medicine, most obviously in terms of mental illness, but even in its approach to illness as such --- including physical illness- -- as simply a form of prolonged Christian hatred-ofthe-flesh and jaw-dropping sado-masochism on a mass scale ? That is why Prof. David Nutt equated the barriers to research to the Catholic church’s censorship of Galileo’s work in 1616. “We’ve banned research on psychedelic drugs and other drugs like cannabis for 50 years,” he said. “Truly, in terms of the amount of wasted opportunity, it’s way greater than the banning of the telescope. This is a truly appalling level of censorship. ” Ignoring the importance of psycho-active drugs for promoting health is bad enough, but to ignore or denigrate the importance of pleasure to this aim, is like discounting the use of the eyes in driving to work in the morning! --.

Beyond rational self-preservation ((lock him up! He's a danger to himself.

.!)

. Enlightenment thinkers such Thomas Hobbes and John Locke tried to appeal to and foster what is called man's rational selfpreservation, inserting it above all other goals as the centrepiece and pivot of the whole of society. Notice here the two concepts, reason, on the one hand, and self-preservation, on the other, are heavily intertwined, which still remains the case today. Madness, on the other hand, is commonly associated with throwing caution to the wind, tightrope walking over a precipice just for the sheer Hell of it, and embracing a variety of dangers that may very well end in personal extinction. However, when one considers the nature of our own inevitable mortality, is making selfpreservation our highest goal really so rational? In order to face life in all its grim reality, is it not necessary, at some point or other, to eschew 'rational' self-preservation for a bold leap, (if only in the imagination, if not outward practice), towards an affirmation and embrace of this inextricable fatality? Especially if one seeks to give birth to something greater than oneself, like the Christ, and take on the grave sacrifices that sometimes requires. In other words, rather than 'rational self-preservation', isn't the ability for the‘insane self-annihilation’ of loving sacrifice equally, or an even greater sign of maturity - or of true morality? Thus also the Buddha would seem to have it, who equally, in view of the passing away of all earthly things, preached 'Loss of self' rather than the steady incremental Lockean accumulation of an estate that is eventually destined to perish anyway; he who is said, out of compassion, to have given his life up to be voluntarily devoured by a starving tiger. Reminds me of those ‘voluntary patients’ on the ward that I was on!—.

Consequences of the dehumanization of madness on the collective mind.

The villifIcation of madness and the various phenomenon which are labelled as ‘mentally ill’ in our society, such as ‘grandiose delusions’, ‘hallucinations’, ‘paranoia’, etc. , a long with all the other countless  represents a form of collective repression that not only has unspeakably dire results for those so labelled, but wreaks utter havoc on the collective unconscious and the collective conscious. Rather than being the shamen, the spiritual leaders of society, such men and women are quietly tortured and cast into ignominy. Thereby, society is not only deprived of its natural guiding elite, but everyone in society is trained to feel a senseless (‘paranoid’) fear and hatred of their own deepest spiritual roots, that prevents them re-connecting with these forbidden aspects of themselves and manifesting their true potential. Take for instance ‘paranoia’. This stigmatization of questioning the benevolent motives and fundamental agendas of one’s government is one of the most cynical and blatant causes of that government getting out of control and the citizenry failing to protect their own rights and freedoms. The same applies to all the other associated phenomenon of madness, which as has been argued, represent a perenial bed-fellow and midwife of intellectual and spiritual awakening. Just as the criminalization of drugs produces an association between drug-use and general criminality that does not exist independently, re-validating society’s negative view of drug-use in its own eyes, so the category of mental illness and the inhumane, disabling treatments with which those who fall subject to it suffer, is not merely a product of but re-inforces and creates society’s negative attitude to those who manifest these various ‘mad’ phenomenon. All the while, the fact that the sacred key to everybody’s own selfrealization is so maligned and spat upon understandably produces a deep, unacknowledged sense of disconcertedness and pessimism in the population as a whole, the root cause of many other of society’s ailments and self-destructive tendencies. In truth, the real mental illness is the senseless conformity which the ‘mental health’ establishment sacralizes. This sanctified madness then, unconsciously aware of its own shortcomings, in order to sustain its own self-conception as reasonable and sane, is driven to ever more fervent quest to identity and persecute those it delusionally deems ‘mad’, for the sake of externalizing and thereby gaining some sense of control over its own deepest insecuries, and having an Other to label & stigmatize in opposition to which it can re-affirm its own false, insecure and groundless sense of Self  

The question is.

why do 'sane' family members (& Dr.s & nurses) have such an enormous problem correctly even identifying their 'unwell' relatives extremely normal human needs? ~Max Lewy 

[hellolittleogre]

Dusting off the archives

Since I like a lot of other fanfic writers are spending this time aggressively staring at different WIPs and NOT WRITING I thought I would dust off various WIPs which have stalled through the years. These are to a large extent morgue files, they will probably never be finished fic. I thought I’d share what I have written, plus synopsis or outline if I have it. I feel like they are like rings in the core of a glacier and different trends and tropes can be read in them. Some of them are also incredibly embarrassing.

Under the Cut: Avengers kid fic

Fandom: The Avengers

Paring: Clint Barton/ Phil Coulson 

Working Title: Uhhhhh.....Superspy Daddies  (not brilliant I admit)

Year written: 2012 (god help us all)

Synopsis: Clint meets Tasha when she ‘s a wee spy child and decides to adopt her. After a few years on the run they are caught up by SHIELD and recruited. There is something mysterious going on and they are assigned an alias as a family, with two dads and Natasha. Enter spy shenanigans and fake marriage and falling in love. Yay! Everything is safe and nothing hurts.

                                                       **

Natasha was seven when she met Clint. She can still remember the impact when she hit him, how she had launched herself into his body and sent them both tumbling.  They had ended up on the floor. Natasha with her knife to his throat and Clint with an arrow in his hand the point just pressing against her ribs.

It should have been easy, a clean-cut job of getting into the house, making the target and getting out again but something had been wrong, men positioned in places they shouldn’t and suddenly hostiles everywhere and a blond man with a bow taking out people with unerring accuracy.

She remembers the surprise in his face, how open it was.

“But you are just a child,” he had said in astonished and slightly accented Russian. It made her want to smile because she hadn’t been a child for a long time now.

“I am Black Widow,” she said simply, when she had planned to say nothing at all. The man stared at her.

“Ok, so, I’m going to lower my hand now, nice and easy, like this yeah?” The arrow was slowly removed from her ribs. “We have about ten minutes before my backup gets here so listen. You can kill me and go on doing what you are doing or I can get you out of here, somewhere safe and you can either come with me or go your way, but you don’t have to do this anymore.”

He is, possibly, the first person she can remember who has offered her something without asking anything of her. The idea intrigued her, that somebody could do something for you without wanting anything in return, that there could be actions without purpose or gain.

“You are not a pervert, are you?” She knows about those, they are easy, all soft words and soft hands right up to the point where they are not but then usually it is already too late. He actually laughed at that, a soft huff of air as if she had said something honestly funny.

“No, no perverts here m’am. Nobody but us chickens.” She does not understand that, it had been nobody but them and maybe a handful of dead men, no chickens at all. She frowns at him.

He sighed. “I’m Clint.”

She thought about it, the sharp edge of her knife resting against his throat, but. He has offered to do something for her without asking anything in return. He could have killed her but he didn’t. And he doesn’t want her to kill anyone, he doesn’t seem to want her to do anything. Maybe she can trust him.

“I’m Black Widow,” she says again. She doesn’t have to trust him much, or for long.

In the end they had gotten out through the air ducts. Crawled out a couple of yards behind the perimeter and Clint had then calmly walked her through the tail end of the increasingly panicked ranks of the mission, even snagging his own jacket and bow case from the back of a van. He had draped the jacked around her shoulders and pushed her lightly in the back. “Just keep your head down and walk, nice and easy.”

Natasha had to admire the audacity of it, she is not sure anymore but she believes at one point he even nodded to somebody he knew before getting her into the night. Quietly slipping away.

They go through Europe first, down through Ukraine and Romania to Serbia, Croatia and finally Italy. Clint makes Natasha cut her hair in the bathroom of a gas station. Says that maybe a man and a young boy might draw less attention. Hands her the scissors with an: I ain’t going to touch you, kiddo and closes the door. Her hair is now short and jagged and fiery red and she likes it. It takes her three months before she finally tells Clint her name is actually Natalia Romanova and he grins at her, delighted. “I’m Hawkeye,” he says.

Slowly as Natalia learns to trust him she tells Clint about the Red Room. She has a hard time remembering anything before that but she remembers training, learning and the experiments. 

They had been together for nearly a month when Clint accidentally cuts himself. Its straight across his palm and deep and painful as fuck.  Clint tries to stem the blood flow with a shirt and cursing under his breath. Natasha is strangely unperturbed, as if she can’t understand why he is making a fuss.

“Its not so bad, you just put band aid on it and it’s gone in the morning,” she says, shrugging her shoulders. Clint takes it that she meant, it will be gone in a sort of, it will still be there but at least it wont bother you fashion. As it turns out she means it quite literally.

The next night as they make camp she gives his bandage a suspicious look but says nothing. Clint is cleaning the wound with some water heated on the fire, it stings like a bitch but looks like it will heal nicely, looking up he sees Natasha across the fire, her face is white and her eyes are like saucers. Then she is by his side, prodding and poking at his hand with ungentle fingers.

“You are still hurt, why are you still hurt, why hasn’t it healed? Are you ill, what is wrong with you?” She is as animated as he has ever seen her, shaken up and honestly confused and terrified. It takes a while to calm her down to explain that when ordinary people get hurt it takes weeks and weeks for them to heal, and this is normal and it doesn’t mean that Clint is sick or dying. It is perhaps the first time Natasha lets on that she really cares. It is also the point when Clint realises how truly different she is, and the extent of those experiments. She takes out his knife and makes a shallow cut across the back of her hand and lets him watch as it fades into pink nothingness in a couple of hours.

In Croatia, Dubrovnik, Clint takes her to the beach, all blue water and fishing boats bobbing on the waves. It's the first time she has seen the sea. The water is so clear you can make out all the little fishes darting after each other along the shallows. After only half a day in the sun her skin was so burnt her back broke out in blisters and the heatstroke made her throw up on the bus back to the room they’re renting. Clint pets her hair and nods to the large woman across the aisle, who has been making sympathetic noises and has given them a plastic bag.

“Red hair, can’t stand the sun, any of them. Her mother was just the same, God rest her soul, always so sensitive.” The woman clucks in distress and finds a cough sweet in the horrifying depths of her handbag. Natalia swears she can still feel the taste of it in her nose even after she has thrown up twice.

 All she could do was lie on her stomach in their tiny room with an ice clamp wrapped in a wet towel on her back. She doesn’t cry in pain but she considers it, the possibility. There would be nobody here to punish her for it now. Cling gave her purple and yellow ice lollies, the first she’s ever had, until her mouth was skinned and raw from them. She peels afterwards and sits in the bathroom and gets Clint to peel strips of skin off her back showing her the longest ones. 

“This is so gross,” he tells her after he’s managed to peel a strip of skin all the way from her shoulder down to the small of her back. The new skin underneath the flaking was pink and tender and dotted with tiny freckles. It’s the closest to fun she has had in years.

Clint has never taken care of anyone in his life, not himself and much less anyone else. Things such as regular meals, bedtimes and food which is not pizza is pretty much new and foreign country to him.  It took him about a year to figure out that Natalia needed to go to school, because he could teach her English just fine (except maybe not words like corium and discombobulate) and some maths, as long as it had to do with geometry and seriously, he has been briefed on so many cities that they are probably good for geography for a while, but the rest of it? He has no idea. 

They stayed in Naples for six months, long enough for Clint to work out a way to get into the US and for Natalia to lose her accented English and learn a quite impressive smattering of Italian. Then, they are found. The same car stands parked on their street three days in a row, inconspicuously nestled under a great chestnut tree and Clint calmly tells Natasha to grab the overnight bag in the hall and they walk past is slowly and calmly, looking straight ahead like they were just heading for the park to enjoy the afternoon sunshine. The agents are Russian and in the end it turns ugly, they barely get away and leave corpses on their trail. They get on a plane to America a month ahead of schedule and it is a far too narrow escape. It’s only after this, after their narrow escape to relative safety that Natalia begins to have nightmares.

“Clint?”

“Yeah”

“Can you tell me a story?”

This is the third time the same night Natasha has woken from nightmares and Clint has resigned to sleeping on the floor by her bed instead of going back to his own. He has a lumpy pillow wedged under his head (in fact, he suspects it to be Natasha’s stuffed bear, Phillipov).

“A story, what about?”

There is a silence; it is long enough that he would have suspected that she had dropped off but for her calculated breathing. She is thinking about something, not sure how to phrase it.

“Angela has stories,” she says at last. Angela is Tasha’s friend from school, one of the few she has made. “I mean, her mom tells her stories about her, when she was little, what she said, when she was bad, you know. Could you, could you tell a story about me? When I was little?”

And Clint opens his mouth to say he can’t do that, he never knew her when she was little and lived in a facility where they trained her and filled her blood with god only knows what and then realises that’s not the point. Natasha knows this, but she wants a story. Not a lie, a story, about herself, when she was little, what she might have done. Clint exhales deeply and tries to think.

“Do you remember when we lived in Italy, in Naples? In that tiny apartment and your roll out bed?  Well, a couple of years before that we lived for a while in Rome, but you were so little, only four, you can’t possibly remember. We lived, you and me then, in this small apartment outside of Rome. The kitchen was tiny, but it had this huge fridge-freezer unit, this monster from the fifties in avocado green with a door thick like the safe to a bank vault and the freezer on top of it. It was like a fridge for a large Italian family with a grandma and a fat uncle with a moustache and not just for the two of us. Now it was summer and that apartment was always hot and you wanted gelato but I wouldn’t give you any because it was just before dinner and you couldn’t reach the freezer by yourself. So you had this trick of wedging a kitchen chair against the fridge, on its back legs and then climb up onto the back of the chair so you could open the freezer.”

Clint could actually see it before him, this small, determined version of Natasha, dragging the chair across the room and her bare feet soft against the linoleum floor.

“It used to make me so mad, y’know. You could fall down and split your skull, knock your teeth out, anything. And I caught you this one time, balanced on the chair with your head in the freezer and I got so mad and I yelled at you, and I said: You are driving me nuts, you’ve got to stop doing this. Do you want me to go crazy?”

And you said, without even looking away from the ice cream box: I don’t want you to go crazy. I want ice cream.”

There is silence and then Natasha laughs, it’s just a puff of amusement, there and gone again but its genuine. After a while he reaches up a hand and feels Nat stick her little paw in his. It is soft and slightly sticky, squeezing around his for a moment before she settles down.

“That’s a good story,” she says sleepily and after a while she falls asleep.  Clint is not so lucky but at least there are no more nightmares for tonight. After this she wants a lot of them, Clint tells her about fishing trips, about that time in the Natural History Museum when she thought she was lost in the room with all the gorillas, when Clint was standing right  next to her all the time.

Clint sweats the whole ten hour flight to America. Tasha curls up in her seat and pretends to sleep the whole way, the air hostess giving her a colouring book and nearly subconsciously petting her hair. There is just something about the short curls that people seem helpless to resist.

In the end it is only bad luck that Shield found them. A lot of bad luck at the same time but only chance in the end. Anyway that’s what Clint claims, Agent Coulson maintains that luck had nothing to do with it and it was the result of several years of hard work on his part and if anything it was lucky that Shield found them first and not the Russians. 

They have been living in the US for years now, slowly drifting across the north and the mid west, Clint picking up work where he can find it. They always have emergency bags packed but it was a while since they’ve had to use them. 

It was nearly five years since Clint found Natasha, or she found him, four years of Clint jumping from job to job and Nat from school to school but lately the time between moves become longer and longer. Clint had a job he actually likes, working as a bit of everything in a school for deaf kids. Natasha has friends to sit with her at the lunch table, has started playing soccer, and it turns out she is menace on the grass. They feel safe, five years have gone by and nothing has been seen or heard and maybe it has made them complacent. Maybe its just nice to belong somewhere. Tasha has friends on her soccer team and comes home grass stained and happy. She’s hit a growth spurt and reminds Clint of a foal with long gangly limbs.

It starts with a parent teacher visit, just a stupid mistake. It's Tasha’s homeroom teacher who gives Clint a considering look and remarks that he looks a bit young to have a daughter her age. And that’s all it takes to get the ball rolling, somebody looking just a little extra at the adoption papers and suddenly there is a social worker outside the door. Clint and Tasha are professional liars and it comes to nothing in the end but the notice is already logged into the system, leaving a minute paper trail for people who know where to look. And then Clint had gotten ill with the flu, enough to just not pay attention the nondescript car parked on their street for two days in a row. They are unprepared for it when Clint, kept awake by coughing, spots the stealthy movement on the street and there is no time, no time for anything other than getting out. The rain is pouring down and Tasha is still in her pyjamas, shoes held in one hand. As it turns out the location of their backup storage is compromised and Clint barely makes it out with one bag, containing a change for Natasha and barely enough cash to make it out of town. They don’t try to go to the second one, where Clint’s bow and arrows are stored. It hurts, that bow is as much a part of Clint as his arm, but if it is undetected they can come back for it and if it has been found it is not worth trying to get it back.  They make their way north on foot and hitchhike, avoiding gas stations and bus stops, suddenly nothing feels safe anymore, everywhere is strange and threatening. Clint’s flu had gotten worse and developed into a deep rattling cough that won’t let go and claws at his chest with dull teeth. There was no time to rest and the constant chill of their travel had made it into pneumonia.

They end up in a motel, where everything within the range of the little electric heater is stuffy and fever-hot and everything outside of it cold and damp. Clint lies propped up on the two slim pillows, Natasha is sitting at the foot of the bed, cleaning out her gear, her face cool and efficient. They both know Clint can’t go much further without rest and proper care, they both know they can't turn to a hospital and there is not enough money for any under the table dealings, even if they had the contacts in this part of the country.

It's only logical that she should go on alone, she has a much better chance to get away. How she is going to make it in the long run neither of them mentions.

“You have a quarter?” she asks “I just wanted something from the vending machine.”

Clint nods towards his bags and when she comes back she packs everything in her bag neatly, all her gear cleaned, three knives on her, one in her sleeve, one in her shoe and one at the small of her back. She puts the blankets over Clint. Go to sleep, she tells him. When he wakes up Tasha is curled up next to him and Shield breaks down the door.

They are being debriefed by Hill and Coulson, and a team of junior agents, even Fury is there, scowling behind the eye patch. Howard and Tony Stark is their target, it is just a scouting mission, there has been some untoward suspected HYDRA activity in Stark Industries.

The pale manila folder lands with a dull sound in front of Clint. It contains, in addition to information on the targets, the cover stories for the job.  Natasha squints down at the pages.

“I will be Clint’s adopted daughter and we are living with his brother, my uncle Phil?” Coulson, first name Agent, inclines his head slightly.

 “We felt it was best your handler was with you on site,” he says mildly.

Natasha gives him a slanted eyebrow of disbelief and snorts into her folder “yah, because a grown single man living with his brother and a young girl is not weird, at all,” she says in Russian and rolls her eyes at Clint. He tries not to laugh and hopes not too many at the table can understand. Judging by the twitch in Fury’s eye, he should be so lucky.

Just before the elevator closes Hill shows up and smacks a new folder into his chest.

“Your updated covers,” she explains, “ as I understood there were complaints about the last ones.” She gives Nat a nasty look. Clint opens the folder and starts scanning the content. There are papers, degrees even, official adoption papers and also…

“Hang on, we are married now? How is that better??”

They arrived back at the house at five in the morning, Clint practically carrying a half asleep Natasha and Phil felt so tired as if he was moving through molasses. He managed to change his clothes and brush his teeth before sitting down on the sofa and completely running out of energy. Mechanically turning on the tv and finding antiques roadshow on and just sitting there with the flickering light over him.

After a while Barton came down and slumped beside him, head leaning back and his eyes closed. 

“She’s brushed her teeth and she’s in bed now, I think actually asleep.  I hope to hell there will be no nightmares because I don’t know if I have the energy to even get out of this couch.”

“I’ll get it,”Phil says even though he feels like his spine has been boiled to the consistency of a wet noodle and all he wants to do is sleep for a week. Clint makes an exhausted noise beside him and slumps back against the couch, after a little while his head tips over onto Phil’s shoulder. He can feel the soft hair against his jaw and neck. Clint’s breath skates moist and warm over his neck and collarbone. It’s the best thing he has felt in ages and parts of him wishes he really could lean over and cover Clint’s mouth with his own and pull him close. Instead he leans back, promising himself it will only be for a second and then he promptly falls asleep.

Clint wakes up with the most awful crick in the neck. He is still on the sofa, squashed onto his side and his face plastered to Phil’s shoulder. He might even have drooled a bit on his t-shirt. At some point during the night they had managed to wedge themselves into the sofa, Phil mostly on his back and Clint, well, mostly on top of him. He tries to move his legs and find them stuck under something. Something turns out to be Nattie, curled up like a ball at the end of the sofa and her head pillowed on what might be Phil’s hip. Everything hurts like a motherfucker. Its not the discomfort that’s woken him though, it was the soft sound of the front door. Peeling his face slowly from Phil’s shoulder he raises his head to find Steve, Tony and Pepper awkwardly standing in the doorway staring at their slightly inappropriate family re-enactment of the Gordian Knot.

“Sorry Mr C,” Pepper says “the door was open.”

He really, really hopes he had the sense to take off the leather suit before he fell asleep last night.

[inshadowofthegods]

Plans

It was late in the morning by the time Edan woke, roused by the groggy cries of one of the nocturne hatchlings. He hurried to his feet and scooped the infant up, attempting to soothe it before it woke the rest of the house. After a few minutes of bouncing, and then simply shoving some food in its mouth, the nocturne calmed and settled in his arms. Maybe I should make breakfast, he thought, pacing the room on his hind legs. He peered into the new room to check on Saerun, who had indeed stayed for the night. She was sleeping, though she didn’t exactly look peaceful, with her brow furrowed and mouth pulled into a grimace. A pitiful sight. The rest of the hatchlings still slept, unperturbed by the earlier fussing from the one he carried.  Rorin and Ila were still in their beds, and Solveig was… Gods damnit. “Where the hell did you go this time?” Edan hissed under his breath, casting another look through the house before switching to his second sight, and letting out a relieved sigh at the heat signature just outside the building. “You really had me worried again for a second there,” he stated, shutting the door behind himself and heading over to the pearlcatcher. “Sorry,” Solveig bowed their head, offering a sheepish smile. “I couldn’t stay asleep. I didn’t want to wake anyone, so I thought I’d head outside and sort the wood we have left.” “You should probably head inside and try to get a bit more rest,” Edan frowned, looking over the pearlcatcher’s bloodshot, heavy-lidded eyes. “You look like hell.” “Maybe…” Solveig admitted. “But it looks like everyone else must be waking up by now.” “No, it’s just me and… this one,” Edan replied, looking down at the hatchling leaned against his shoulder. “Ila said she was naming that one Hazel.” “She named them all already?” “I assume so. I don’t know the others, though. That’s the name I heard before Ror came to get me.” “Hm, Hazel. Hello, Hazel,” Edan held the hatchling out, looking it over. It let out a delighted trill and attempted to grab onto his face. He let it pull on his frill as he turned to look back at the pearlcatcher. “So. Sol, a lot has been going on recently. Even these kids would be a lot to deal with. I appreciate all the work you’re doing, but you need to rest. So go inside, lie down, and I’ll set some breakfast up.” It was a nicely-worded order, but an order nonetheless. Solveig stared for a moment, then let out a strange sort of half chuckle and turned, heading toward the door. “Alright, Edan.” The pearlcatcher had already flopped into bed by the time Edan made it inside, and had started lightly snoring by the time he had started to cook anything. Edan sighed, silently chastising himself for not making sure the others were looking after themselves better. With all the literal infants showing up, it was easy to forget that everyone else was still young, too. “Do you need any help?” came a quiet voice from over his shoulder. Edan jumped, but managed not to shout in alarm. He turned to look at Ila, who had managed to tiptoe all the way to him without his noticing. “…Yeah,” he replied, tipping the contents of his pan onto a plate. “This was for Sol, but they’re passed out, so just have some yourself and give the rest to the other hatchlings when it’s cooled off. Also, poke Rorin awake. I’m working on food for us next.” “Why don’t I just wake Sol up?” she asked, eyeing him quizzically. “They just were up,” Edan replied with a shrug. “They were outside. I made them go back to bed.” “Hmm,” Ila cast a scrutinizing look at their sleeping sibling. “Okaaay…” She stood there for a while as Edan cooked, quietly eating and occasionally blowing on the food to cool it down. Eventually, she spoke up once more. “Edan?” “Hmm?” the mirror grunted in response, flipping his steak. “Do you think Sol’s been acting kind of weird recently?” “I…” Edan began, pondering it for a moment. “Well. How ‘bout you tell me.” “But I’m asking you!” she replied, frowning. “You’ve known Sol all your life,” Edan replied. “You’d know better than me. I’ve always had some trouble figuring them out.” “Well…” Ila sighed. “Yeah, they’ve been kind of weird recently. I think.” “Is there something you think I should do?” Edan asked, turning to look at the nocturne, pan in his hands. “I don’t know if there’s really anything to be done,” Ila replied, wrapping her arms around herself. “I can’t even really say what’s different, aside from them being more. Like. Distant. I guess I’m just worried.” “None of us have had any time to act normal,” Edan replied. “I’m worried too. But we just have to keep on going until… until we do. I feel like I’m gonna jinx myself saying this, but things can’t stay this crazy for much longer.” On that note, one of the other hatchlings began to whine, and soon the whole pile was awake and crying out. Ila rushed off without another word, sitting and gathering the three nocturnes into her lap to feed. Edan watched with quiet amusement as she succeeded in getting them to take bites from the plate, and began to praise them in baby talk. “So, Solveig told me you’ve named them all?” he asked, before pointing a thumb at the hatchling still perched on his shoulder. “I know this one is Hazel.” “Yep!” Ila replied, pointing from hatchling to hatchling. “There’s Clade, Espen… and the one that keeps falling over is Marshall.” “…He’s not balancing? That’s kind of worrying.” “No, I mean, he’s a lot… rounder than the other ones so when he stumbles he kinda just starts rolling.” Edan snorted, shaking his head. “Hope he grows out of it.” The fire-eyed pearlcatcher hatchling toddled out from the side room, making a beeline toward Ila and her plate. Saerun followed shortly after, blanket securely wrapped around her shoulders. She sat down a fair distance away from Ila, keeping an eye on the young pearlcatcher. “Good morning,” Ila greeted, smiling brightly at the skydancer. She didn’t seem to know how to respond. “I expected you to sleep longer,” Edan remarked, taking an apple from one of his shelves in one hand, and a plate for Rorin in the other. He passed by the mirror first, nudging him awake with his foot and dropping the plate next to him. “No, I was lying awake for a little while before now,” she replied quietly, looking down. “I’ve always been a light sleeper.” “I see,” Edan replied slowly, sitting down across from her and offering the apple. “Well, if you heard Ila listing off the kids’ names that’ll save us some time.” “I did,” she replied, a slight smile on her face at his comment as she accepted the fruit. “Alright, so that leaves Ila,” Edan began, gesturing to the nocturne. “It’s very nice to meet you,” Ila greeted warmly, offering a small wave between keeping the four hatchlings that were currently swarming her balanced. “And the other mirror is Rorin.” Rorin groggily waved, sitting up and squinting blearily. “And the pearlcatcher over there who’s still sleeping is Solveig,” Edan finished, gesturing toward them before looking back to Saerun. “They’re the one who healed you before we brought you here.” Saerun cast a long, considering gaze at the sleeping pearlcatcher. She then took a bite out of her apple, looking between him and the ground. “We couldn’t find the rest of your arm,” Edan continued. “You didn’t lose it there, did you?” “No.” “Where did you? And how did it happen? Was it a creature, or a dragon?” “I don’t remember - I didn’t even feel it happen. I really… don’t want to talk about it.” “I’m not expecting you to go into detail - “ Edan began, but stopped himself, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Okay, Saerun, all I need to know is if someone is looking for you. You said you weren’t safe, and if there’s a dragon after you we need to prepare for that.” Saerun looked ill, wrapping her arms around herself and pulling the blanket tighter. “…Yes, it’s other dragons. A group,” she relented. “If they did this to me… they probably think I’m dead by now. But they might be looking for Ciron.” “Damnit. Then… you’re both going to stay inside for now,” Edan frowned. “What should we expect if we run into one of them?” “They’ll come off… normal, friendly. And they’ll say they need help,” Saerun replied, her voice bitter. “If you turn them down, they’ll turn violent.” “Edan and I can keep watch,” Rorin assured, now quite awake and eager to calm the skydancer’s fears. “We can see things way before they see us - unless they’re mirrors too, anyway.” “No. Mostly pearlcatchers,” Saerun replied quietly. “How far… where are we, anyway? How far did I run?” “You’re in Dragonhome, the far Southeast of it,” Edan replied, silently musing on how to handle the situation. He wasn’t as hopeful as Rorin seemed to be. “Then… they’d be coming from the South,” Saerun rubbed her shoulder. “Cusp of the Tangled Wood and Plaguelands.” Edan was silent for a time, forcing himself to eat in spite of feeling quite ill at that point. Finally, he stood and nodded to Rorin. “Okay so, we’re going to patrol, get ready,” he ordered, then turned to Ila. “And you’re going to look after everyone while we’re gone, alright? I’ll sweep everywhere around the house first, but if someone comes, don’t say anything about Saerun or Ciron.” “Of course I wont,” Ila replied, clearly offended he felt the need to say that. The mirror shook his head, grabbed his cleaver and satchels, and headed for the door. What he really needed was time to clear his head.

[oaksbugcollection]

the crinkle of white. i despise these chairs. i never seem to be the correct proportions to agree with them. my feet dangle. i should have worn different shoes. there is nothing so humiliating as being watched as you untie your shoes.

i stand with my back to the scale. i always have. today i didnt. it slipped my mind. i dont even believe i understand how to read a scale such as this. i never did well in science.

im picking at my hands. its soothing, or at least i assume it is, since i do it so often.

i dont know how to explain myself anymore. what is normal, what is extreme? what equates to a halt on life and a simple expression of disdain?

i am trying to be honest. i feel judged. when im anxious, the back of my head itches. i cut my nails last night. theyre blunt. it does nothing.

im staring in her eyes. im unfortunately well executed with eye contact. i want to gaze at my shoes. i want to cast my attention out the window. i can see my car when i flicker that direction. i parked like a maniac.

the wooden floor creaks. i can hear footfalls before someone enters. they knock, short and polite, a premonition to a greeting. not a warning.

im going to pick something up tomorrow. and at night ill swallow it. and the next morning i will too.

i hope it does something. im surprised i remember hope so well. it seems hope is best executed when in the throes of benevolence.

just hoping that a switch will flutter inside me. i am only hoping for that.

my car is cold. and the right heater wont angle right to press heat flush to my hands. my left hand ends up warm whilst the other becomes only more frigid. i never seem to be warmed these days. i wonder where the chill comes from. it follows even when i leave outside.

im anxious. i at least can discover that. my chest is heavy. it hurts. everything does. im ashamed. i shouldnt be. im punishing myself. i shouldnt.

its not easy to die. and if it were, i would be. its not easy to live. all of these pieces. this life. the mosaic of it all.

i should stop drinking. and smoking. and consuming caffeine. i should eat more. i should sleep more. i should relax more. i should do a great deal of things. i wonder why i dont. i guess its good that i might have a hope, though. hope is a bit futile all by itself.

i want to disappear. i know if i die i would. there would be nothing left to feel remorse nor guilt. i suppose thats the relief. should i care of it if it no longer affects me?

its late. im conversing with myself. im dreadful. im not at all. im a lot. i suppose im just that. a lot. so much. neverending. all the feelings. and emotions. and sadness. anger. desolate plains of my mind.

i feel foolish. i wonder when i ever dont. i dont want much. i want everything. i want ease. i want simplicity. i want love. i want forgiveness. i am selfish. it is so easy to want things.

im going to wake up tomorrow. and ill brush my teeth. ill probably shower. ill listen to music. ill pick up what i should swallow. ill see people i love. who care for me. and night will come again. and ill keep doing this. and one day enough things will change that i will have a new life.

i might shave my head. pierce my skin again. tattoo every fraction of flesh that decorates my body. the amount of times ive yearned to become someone new. one day i will. im sure of it. i change so often.

this is embarrassing. it all is. everything all at once is that way. its a spiral. it eats itself. it is what it sees. i am what i see. its a circle.

tomorrow will happen. the day after. and the day after. again. and again. its a relief and a horror. both. at extremes.

i only hope.

[artqueen02]

(Ive written this already but then my browser kicked me and i lodt it alll so hwre goes)

(also appologies for the typos)

Okay so i get migraines aswell and the eye shit soumds sorta like an aura? ig? also when i get thembif i spew i often feel better after that.

now this is quite likely annoying for OP but imma go on a rant abt mugraines because ifk where els to ut it but this info needs to be out there

okay so heres my experience but if you want you can just skip down to my tips:

Okay so mine normally start out a a mild headache im my right temple (i occasionally get an aura beffore that) and then just like gradually increase in pain untill im at ceying-on-the-shower-floor-in-pain-with-water-runni no-over-me-and -I-can’t-function-properly bad and the i go to bed (and this is abt the time i spew if that happens and if it does i feel a bit better after that but it dosent always happen) and then after a while it atarts to gradually get sorta better until i wventualfly fall asleep and then i might wake up in the middle of the night to eat smthn and ill b fine but thwn ill wake up int the morning andbitll be back mildly and just sorta last for a while (i also have an aura thru most of this) (if im licky it goes a way after taking paracetamol)

OKAY TIPS NOW!!!

(DISCLAIMER: I AM IN NO MEANS A CERTIFIED PROFFESSIONAL!!!!)!!!!!!!!

These are just some things that help me most of the time it might not be the same for you

hower

dark silent room no noise no light no nothing

cols flannel for forehead

no screens at all as soon as aura/headache starts

if/when its mild read a paper book to distract me if im able

SIMPLE FOODS (white bread toast w vegemite, idk plain carbs NOT TOMATOES, CHOCOLATE, OR ORANGES 😥)

ik its rlly annoying and you probably have it harped at you all the time but drinking water COULD help. this does not mean that its a cure on its own and definetly should go jand in hand with the other things

GUYS THIS IS THE MOAT IMPORTANT ONE AS SOON AS IT STARTS TAKE PARACETAMOL AND REMEMBER WHAT TIME IT IS SSO THAT YOU CAN TAKE IT EVERY FOR HOURS SOMETIMES MY MUM EVEN WAKES ME UP AT NIGHT TO TAKE IT (obviously dont take it once the migraine stops (it prolly wont kill you but its not good to take pills when you dont need them)

Okay now preventetive stuff:

(remember just doing one of these isnt gonna work you have to fo all/most together)

okay guys so i know youd hear itall the time but STAY HYDRATED

eat enough (healthy) food

get enougb sleep

this isnt a thing for everyone but i know it definetly is for me and the rest of my fam but limit the amnt of foods like oranges/chocolate/tomatoes (sad coz theyre like my fav foods) you eat coz i cant remember what its called but theres smthn in them that can cause migraines for some people

okay this DEFINETLY ismt a thing for everyone but i take a certain type of beaterblockers for my heart coz i have heart problems but i recently learned that they can also prevent migraines and are sometimes perscribed to people with really bad migraines BUT THIS IS A PERSCRIPTION ONLY MEDICATION AND COULD PROPBABLY CAUSE YOU SERIOUS HARM IF YOUR DOCOTOR HASNT PESCRIBED IT. its just a thing to maybe ask your gp abt if you get REALLY bad migraines.

okay so some extra notes:

DEFINITELY TAKE THINGS LIKE PARACETAMOL IF YOU HAVE A HEADACHE AS ITS PROBABLY THE BEST CURE BUT IF YOURE TAKING MUTIPLE TYPES OF PAINKILLERS MAKE SURE THAT THEY CAN BE TAKEN TOGETHER ALSO IF YOU HAVE UNDERLYING HEALTH CONDITIONS CHECK WITH YOUR DOCTOR THAT YOU CAN TAKE THE TYPE OF PILL IN ADVANCE

FOR PEOPLE WHO DONT GET MIGRAINES:

STOP TELLING US TO FICKING DRINK WATER ALL THE TIME WHEN WE HAVE A MIGRAINE FOE SOME OF US IT DOSENT WORK AS A CURE ITS JUST A PREVENTERIVE AND GIVING KIDS JUST A GLASS OF WATER WHEN THEY COME TO THE SICKEOOM AT SCHOOL WITH A HEADACHE/MIGRAINE AND HAVE FORMS FILLED OUT AND PILLS PROVIDED FOR THIS SITUATION ISNT ACTUALLY THE RIGHT THING TO DO (sorry personal experience here) STOP ACTING SO HIGH AND MIGHTY UNLESS YOURE A CERTIFIED PROFFESSIONALL, NEWS FLASH: YOU DONT KNOW BETTER THEN US OR OUT PARENTS OR OUT FUCKING DOCTORS ON THE MATTER SO SHUT UP AND HIVE ME MY PANADOL WATER DOSENT FIX EVERYTHING ALL THE TIME. ALSO IM SURE THAT IF WATER DID HELP SOMEONE THEY WOULD KNOW AND JUST DRINK SOME/ASK FOR SOME WE DONT NEED TOU TELLING US WHAT TO DO WHEN OUR HEADBIS KILLING US IT JUST MAKES IT WORSE OKAY!!!!!

OKAY GUYS THERES MY TIPS ALSO REMEMBER THAT I AM DEFINETLY NOT A CERTIFIED tPROFFESSIONAL AND AM INFACT ONLA A TEENAGE GIRL AND THOSE ATE JUST SOME THINGS THAT WORK FO ME BUT ALWAYS TAKE WHAT YOUR DOCORS SAY tOVER ANYONE ELSE ABOUT MEDICALL STUFF BECAUSE THEY KNOW MORE STUFF ABOUTb YOU THEN SOME RANDO ON THE INTERNET

Okay so its like 12:30 am where i am and ive prolly spent like30mins to an hour on this but heeeeey that okay right? right?

RIGHT?

*voice crack* r-right?

okay im gonna go hise in my hole and peetend i dont have to get up early this morning

bye

I have chronic migraines. Most of the time it's a moderate headache with a scratchy feeling pain in one eye, mild nausea and sensitivity to light and sound. I often get those in the spring and fall triggered by changes in air pressure and weather.

However there's two kinds of migraine I've gotten that are a mystery to me. The first I've gotten three times. It presents as a mild to moderate malaise, with headache, nausea, chills, and body aches... And this will last between 10 and 14 hours, after which I will barf and abruptly feel better.

The other kind of only had once. I'm not even sure if it's a migraine. But that was the closest I've been able to find. Basically imagine taking a video of a room on film, and then when you play it back, you slow it down just to the point where it becomes a blur that you can't quite make out - but you can tell that it's the same image flicking past over and over. That's what it was like. And of course this also gave me vertigo so I just fell over. It lasted maybe 5 minutes? It felt like longer but I get the impression that was just because I was scared.

I went to see a doctor and made sure my brain was normal and it wasn't some kind of stroke... And it's never happened again but it was terrifying at the time and every so often I still think about it

If anyone's experienced this or knows anything about what happened to me maybe you could let me know.

[pumpkin-bread]

It was late in the morning by the time Edan woke, roused by the groggy cries of one of the nocturne hatchlings.

He hurried to his feet and scooped the infant up, attempting to soothe it before it woke the rest of the house. After a few minutes of bouncing, and then simply shoving some food in its mouth, the nocturne calmed and settled in his arms.

Maybe I should make breakfast, he thought, pacing the room on his hind legs. He peered into the new room to check on Saerun, who had indeed stayed for the night. She was sleeping, though she didn’t exactly look peaceful, with her brow furrowed and mouth pulled into a grimace.

A pitiful sight.

The rest of the hatchlings still slept, unperturbed by the earlier fussing from the one he carried.  Rorin and Ila were still in their beds, and Solveig was...

Gods damnit.

“Where the hell did you go this time?” Edan hissed under his breath, casting another look through the house before switching to his second sight, and letting out a relieved sigh at the heat signature just outside the building. He opened the door and stepped outside.

“You really had me worried again for a second there,” he stated, shutting the door behind himself and heading over to the pearlcatcher.

“Sorry,” Solveig bowed their head, offering a sheepish smile. “I couldn’t stay asleep. I didn’t want to wake anyone, so I thought I’d head outside and sort the wood we have left.”

“You should probably head inside and try to get a bit more rest,” Edan frowned, looking over the pearlcatcher’s bloodshot, heavy-lidded eyes. “You look like hell.”

“Maybe...” Solveig admitted. “But it looks like everyone else must be waking up by now.”

“No, it’s just me and... this one,” Edan replied, looking down at the hatchling leaned against his shoulder.

“Ila said she was naming that one Hazel.”

“She named them all already?”

“I assume so. I don’t know the others, though. That’s the name I heard before Ror came to get me.”

“Hm, Hazel. Hello, Hazel,” Edan held the hatchling out, looking it over. It let out a delighted trill and attempted to grab onto his face. He let it pull on his frill as he turned to look back at the pearlcatcher. “So. Sol, a lot has been going on recently. Even these kids would be a lot to deal with. I appreciate all the work you’re doing, but you need to rest. So go inside, lie down, and I’ll set some breakfast up.”

It was a nicely-worded order, but an order nonetheless.

Solveig stared for a moment, then let out a strange sort of half chuckle and turned, heading toward the door. “Alright, Edan.”

The pearlcatcher had already flopped into bed by the time Edan made it inside, and had started lightly snoring by the time he had started to cook anything.

Edan sighed, silently chastising himself for not making sure the others were looking after themselves better. With all the literal infants showing up, it was easy to forget that everyone else was still young, too.

“Do you need any help?” came a quiet voice from over his shoulder.

Edan jumped, but managed not to shout in alarm. He turned to look at Ila, who had managed to tiptoe all the way to him without his noticing.

“...Yeah,” he replied, tipping the contents of his pan onto a plate. “This was for Sol, but they’re passed out, so just have some yourself and give the rest to the other hatchlings when it’s cooled off. Also, poke Rorin awake. I’m working on food for us next.”

“Why don’t I just wake Sol up?” she asked, eyeing him quizzically.

“They just were up,” Edan replied with a shrug. “They were outside. I made them go back to bed.”

“Hmm,” Ila cast a scrutinizing look at their sleeping sibling. “Okaaay...”

She stood there for a while as Edan cooked, quietly eating and occasionally blowing on the food to cool it down. Eventually, she spoke up once more. “Edan?”

“Hmm?” the mirror grunted in response, flipping his steak.

“Do you think Sol’s been acting kind of weird recently?”

“I...” Edan began, pondering it for a moment. “Well. How ‘bout you tell me.”

“But I’m asking you!” she replied, frowning.

“You’ve known Sol all your life,” Edan replied. “You’d know better than me. I’ve always had some trouble figuring them out.”

“Well...” Ila sighed. “Yeah, they’ve been kind of weird recently. I think.”

“Is there something you think I should do?” Edan asked, turning to look at the nocturne, pan in his hands.

“I don’t know if there’s really anything to be done,” Ila replied, wrapping her arms around herself. “I can’t even really say what’s different, aside from them being more. Like. Distant. I guess I’m just worried.”

“None of us have had any time to act normal,” Edan replied. “I’m worried too. But we just have to keep on going until... until we do. I feel like I’m gonna jinx myself saying this, but things can’t stay this crazy for much longer.”

On that note, one of the other hatchlings began to whine, and soon the whole pile was awake and crying out. Ila rushed off without another word, sitting and gathering the three nocturnes into her lap to feed.

Edan watched with quiet amusement as she succeeded in getting them to take bites from the plate, and began to praise them in baby talk.

“So, Solveig told me you’ve named them all?” he asked, before pointing a thumb at the hatchling still perched on his shoulder. “I know this one is Hazel.”

“Yep!” Ila replied, pointing from hatchling to hatchling. “There’s Clade, Espen... and the one that keeps falling over is Marshall.”

“...He’s not balancing? That’s kind of worrying.”

“No, I mean, he’s a lot... rounder than the other ones so when he stumbles he kinda just starts rolling.”

Edan snorted, shaking his head. “Hope he grows out of it.”

The fire-eyed pearlcatcher hatchling toddled out from the side room, making a beeline toward Ila and her plate. Saerun followed shortly after, blanket securely wrapped around her shoulders. She sat down a fair distance away from Ila, keeping an eye on the young pearlcatcher.

“Good morning,” Ila greeted, smiling brightly at the skydancer. She didn’t seem to know how to respond.

“I expected you to sleep longer,” Edan remarked, taking an apple from one of his shelves in one hand, and a plate for Rorin in the other. He passed by the mirror first, nudging him awake with his foot and dropping the plate next to him.

“No, I was lying awake for a little while before now,” she replied quietly, looking down. “I’ve always been a light sleeper.”

“I see,” Edan replied slowly, sitting down across from her and offering the apple. “Well, if you heard Ila listing off the kids’ names that’ll save us some time.”

“I did,” she replied, a slight smile on her face at his comment as she accepted the fruit.

“Alright, so that leaves Ila,” Edan began, gesturing to the nocturne.

“It’s very nice to meet you,” Ila greeted warmly, offering a small wave between keeping the four hatchlings that were currently swarming her balanced.

“And the other mirror is Rorin.”

Rorin groggily waved, sitting up and squinting blearily.

“And the pearlcatcher over there who’s still sleeping is Solveig,” Edan finished, gesturing toward them before looking back to Saerun. “They’re the one who healed you before we brought you here.”

Saerun cast a long, considering gaze at the sleeping pearlcatcher. She then took a bite out of her apple, looking between him and the ground.

“We couldn’t find the rest of your arm,” Edan continued. “You didn’t lose it there, did you?”

“No.”

“Where did you? And how did it happen? Was it a creature, or a dragon?”

“I don’t remember - I didn’t even feel it happen. I really... don’t want to talk about it.”

“I’m not expecting you to go into detail - “ Edan began, but stopped himself, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Okay, Saerun, all I need to know is if someone is looking for you. You said you weren’t safe, and if there’s a dragon after you we need to prepare for that.”

Saerun looked ill, wrapping her arms around herself and pulling the blanket tighter. “...Yes, it’s other dragons. A group,” she relented. “If they did this to me... they probably think I’m dead by now. But they might be looking for Ciron.”

“Damnit. Then... you’re both going to stay inside for now,” Edan frowned. “What should we expect if we run into one of them?”

“They’ll come off... normal, friendly. And they’ll say they need help,” Saerun replied, her voice bitter. “If you turn them down, they’ll turn violent.”

“Edan and I can keep watch,” Rorin assured, now quite awake and eager to calm the skydancer’s fears. “We can see things way before they see us - unless they’re mirrors too, anyway.”

“No. Mostly pearlcatchers,” Saerun replied quietly. “How far... where are we, anyway? How far did I run?”

“You’re in Dragonhome, the far Southeast of it,” Edan replied, silently musing on how to handle the situation. He wasn’t as hopeful as Rorin seemed to be.

“Then... they’d be coming from the South,” Saerun rubbed her shoulder. “Cusp of the Tangled Wood and Plaguelands.”

Edan was silent for a time, forcing himself to eat in spite of feeling quite ill at that point. Finally, he stood and nodded to Rorin. “Okay so, we’re going to patrol, get ready,” he ordered, then turned to Ila. “And you’re going to look after everyone while we’re gone, alright? I’ll sweep everywhere around the house first, but if someone comes, don’t say anything about Saerun or Ciron.”

“Of course I wont,” Ila replied, clearly offended he felt the need to say that.

The mirror shook his head, grabbed his cleaver and satchels, and headed for the door.

What he really needed was time to clear his head.

[tiniechankai]

my favourite sailor moon season 1 episodes

since i’m rewatching the sailor moon series (again...) i thought i would rank all my favourite episodes from each season then compile them all together and see which episode is my absolute favourite of the entire show. considering i have no idea what my favourite episode is... maybe i’ll know now, hah. 

Episode 8 - The Girl Genius Is a Monster: The Brainwashing Cram School of Horror

so uh... as a stressed student i can relate to this a lot. the kids going into the cram school is me going into school every morning. this is definitely not my favourite episode of the season but the introduction to ami is really sweet, especially when people whisper about ami behind her back but then when usagi actually meets her, ami ends up being the sweetest girl. 

i also just love the fact that ami freaking owned everyone in that arcade on the sailor v game?? like wow feminism right there

Episode 10 - The Cursed Bus: Enter Mars, the Guardian of Fire

mars is my favourite inner senshi and she’s honestly so cool in this episode. this is probably the only episode in the entire series where she’s quite akin to her manga self, and while i love her in the anime, i think her aloof manga self is great too. it’s interesting to me to get a look into japanese culture through shinto. watching this as a kid i had no idea what was really japanese religion and such so learning about this was cool (i had like 4 sailor moon episodes and they were all the introductory episodes to the senshi). also the bus was really freaky and scary and just what the heck. rei’s reaction to jadeite is also quite funny (she basically has heart palpitations of him, and not the good kind)

Episode 17 - Usagi's a Model: The Flash of the Monster Camera

one of the few episodes that aren’t the finale that i can tell you that usagi kicks some legitimate ass in here. like what a badass! i can’t say i know the last time usagi has done this, hah. this entire episode includes everyone telling usagi she can’t be a model because she’s not a good enough person or she’s not pretty enough. i mean even mamoru is back being the asshole he is in this first season, even though he goes on about how she won’t be picked because she’s not pretty on the inside and what not (like wth dude you don’t even know her) but usagi is picked anyways (like everyone who signed up but... whatever) and then she is left alone to fight the youma and then she is to fight the monster by herself. she does so by cleverly using the mirrors. one of the saddest bits in the show is when he family is watching the tv while usagi is asleep in her room they talk about how they wish usagi was as great as the girl who saved the photographer’s life (sailor moon) but ?? do they not care about the factt that usagi was AT THAT PHOTOSHOOT?? GETTING ATTCKED?? i know they don’t know she’s sailor moon but heck she was there she might’ve been attacked. the tsukino household can be so annoying sometimes hfksdh i digress

Episode 20 - The Summer, the Beach, Youth and Ghosts

this is a genuinely hilarious episode. poor mitsuishi kotono, she spent most of the episode screaming at the ghosts lmao. i like this episode because we see the girls get up to their usual loud shenanigans (and hell i love me a beach episode). this is also a episode about a heavy topic of a girls’ father forcing herself into a duty she is too young to deal with. it gets pretty dark too and i can see why they didn’t put this into the dic dub (she literally starts CRYING and i get these sort of like... really bad rape vibes. I KNOW HE’S HER FATHER BUT IT’S SO GROSS). anyways, it’s really dark but has it’s funny moments as we focus on some other characters, it’s a really good beach ova. 

Episode 21 - Protect the Children's Dreams: Friendship Through Anime

this episode is so great, i really do love it. it might might be my favourite in the season. i just love these two friends a lot, especially hiromi as a character (the shorthaired one). hiromi deals with being jealous over her friend’s sketches in animating and it gets so bad that nephrite has to come by with his stupid self and ruin everything. anyone with low self esteem such as hiromi can relate to constantly feeling like you’re in the shadow of your colleagues, your best friend. nephrite’s episodes tend to be my favourite because we see that our actions, when we are selfish and snobby that it affects others a lot. even though i despise nephrite his episodes have become a favourite of mine. 

Episode 28 - The Painting of Love: Usagi and Mamoru Get Closer

one of the few episodes where mamoru isn’t a complete ass to usagi (i think?) and he’s actually kinda ... civil with her. he still treats her like a child but i mean she acts like one so... i like this episode a lot because you can really see the difference in usagi and mamoru with the help of this really cute artist lady yumemi. i also think it’s really funny how usagi even meets yumemi is because she’s going to call out mamoru for cheating on rei lmao. this episode is really nice just because it starts more heavily foreshadowing about mamoru and usagi’s backseat relationship.

Episode 31 - Love and Chased: Luna's Worst Day Ever

if you don’t like this episode then there’s GOT to be something wrong with you. this episode is pure crackhead goodness while we get a spoof of sailor moon’s own show with loveable luna and righteous rhett butler, luna’s love interest before we even knew artemis’ name. this episode is just pure gold and this might be my second favourite episode of the season, not gonna lie. when i saw the cat bone instead of tuxedo mask’s rose, i remember laughing so hard i couldn’t breathe. i love this show.

Episode 37 - Let's Become a Princess: Usagi's Bizarre Training

being princess hard. not my favourite episode for any particular reason other than it’s REALLY enjoyable to watch. i also just love how usagi sucks at literally everything i suck at and she is just so relateable in this episode. i also love how she’s not the only one who sucks at ballroom dancing, minako can’t dance and rei is too much of a dom to let the other guy lead. feminism!

Episode 38 - The Snow, the Mountains, Friendship and Monsters

this episode marks one of my favourites because it begins rei’s total understanding of usagi’s relationship with mamoru and this continues from this episode until SAILOR STARS (yes i know she was kinda understanding of usagi in episode 35 but she also slapped usagi so...) but this episode is full of clumsy usagi goodness and the great friendship of usagi and rei. 

Episode 43 - Usagi Abandoned: The Falling-Out of the Sailor Guardians

i love these sorts of episodes, and just like the previous one, we get even MORE usarei friendship moments and i’m LIVING for it. even the senshi think mars actually hates usagi but noooppppe she’s actually her bestie. this is a great episode.

Episode 44 - Usagi's Awakening: A Message from the Distant Past

ok so i don’t really like mamoru and usagi BUT i like serenity and endymion. this backstory episode is GREAT and i wish i had a short show based around fun at the moon kingdom because that would be great? i love sailor moon don’t get me wrong but i don’t like mamoru and usagi. cough. this episode gives off a more ethereal quality and is sucha beautiful episode animation wise. 

Episode 46 - Usagi's Eternal Wish: A Brand New Life

while the last episode was HEARTWRENCHINGLY SAD i can’t get over how sad this episode is. not even mentioning how awesome it is when the beginning of moonlight densetsu comes on when usagi pull out her moon wand. this episode rips me apart because while i dislike usagi and mamoru this dialogue just makes me so sad “Live a normal life. Find a cool boyfriend.” “Nobody’s cooler than you.” AND I CRIED. nobody’s cooler than you, the asshole who called me fat, stupid, and ugly for 30 episodes. but whatever, i’m still sad. and then usagi’s monologue at the ending (i’m not a big fan of kae araki as usagi but i still... love the monologue so much) and just wow. what a great ending. 

this was more episodes then i expected

[godaime-obito]

Kagatobi WIP

so id started a kagatobi thing before the semester took away all the time and energy i had for writing. ive tried to pick it up, and ive written some more but im not sure ill get back the feeling for it to finish it. if i decide not to finish it ill edit this and post it on ao3 but if i manage to get back inspiration i wont start posting till its almost finished. for now im posting it here, under the cut

Tobirama is exhausted. He’s been sorting through paperwork for far too long, and he knows he should go home soon, but there’s always another urgent form that needs taken care of immediately. He thought he had a lot of paperwork when he was just helping Hashirama, but since he stepped down and left the hat to Tobirama he’s been swamped. Anija has not returned the favor and given him any help, but to be honest when he does try to help it often makes things take longer.

He sighs, and goes to move on to the next form, when one of his anbu guards descend from their post to stand behind him. “Rabbit,” he says without looking away from the form, “What is it?”

“You look like you’ll have an aneurysm if you do any more paperwork, and it’s almost midnight. I can imagine what the obituary would be now: Nidiame-sama dead of a stroke at only 38, could defeat any foe but triplicate forms.” He stops to chuckle a little at the absurdity. “So, I’m doing my job as your bodyguard and protecting you,” Kagami finishes answering, reaching over Tobirama to grab the rest of his paperwork, “I’m just protecting you from yourself instead of assassins.

“I need to get that done,” he reprimands, “put it back Rabbit.”

“It’ll wait till tomorrow just like it always did for Shodai-sama,” he countered. He plopped the papers down in a filing cabinet and slammed it shut before adding, “and did you make up the entire anbu just so you could make me a rabbit because if so that’s a very complicated way to tease me. Why couldn’t I be Tiger or something?”

“You just look like a rabbit to me,” he says. He stands up, giving in to the request to take a break. He imagines Kagami is right about the work waiting for him just like it did for his brother.

“Are you calling me cute?” he teases, and Tobirama can tell he’s smiling behind the mask.

He hums agreeably and then teases back, dead-pan, “Don’t forget how fluffy and short you are. You’re a very soft little bunny, but I couldn’t just call you bunny, of course, since everyone else was getting adult animal names.”

Kagami sniffs, affronted, and pouts. “If you were any less of a sucker for order and regulations you’d have done it anyway,” he gripes. “Don’t come back in to work until after my shift guarding you is over, you should get a full night of sleep for once,” he calls out, as he moves back into position to follow Tobirama home.

Knowing Kagami can still hear him from his post he replies, “You shouldn’t order your Hokage around.” He’s mostly pocking at him, but he does have his image to think of if he wants to be able to scare all the various clan elders into line for village meetings. It almost gives him shivers just to think of what they’d try to pull if they thought he was willing to take orders from anyone except his own clan head.

He walks back to the compound briskly. Kagami’s shift ends in five hours, so he could still listen to him and be back to work by six in the morning. However, that isn’t really in the spirit of what he wanted, and will he really get much done if off duty Kagami shows up to nag him? No. He’ll wait a few extra hours then. He can sleep for about seven hours, have a quick breakfast, and be back in his office at nine.

Tobirama manages to avoid being derailed by Hashirama, or his granddaughter Tsunade whose only just learned to walk, but can still pull off grand panic inducing escapes. He arrives at Hokage tower just when planned. He pulls his paperwork out of the cabinet, and sets back to work. He’s regretting not having the time to get tea, when he heard a knock. Before he can invite Kagami in, because who else would it be, he swings the door open.

“Would you like some tea?” he asks setting a cup down on Tobirama’s desk without waiting for an answer.

“It looks like you already know the answer,” he replies. He takes a moment to hold the cup close to his face and bask in the steam. “Thanks. It’s nice to have some on reliable, responsible, around.”

“I’m not sure if that’s actually a compliment for me, or a vague insult for someone else, but I’ll take it,” Kagami chirps.

“The first paper I pulled out to look at today informed me that, my dear former student, Hiruzen somehow managed to set fire to part of the market earlier this week,” Tobirama grumbles in reply.

“I’m insulted, setting public property on fire is my clan’s job.”

“Don’t even think about it,” he warns.

“Kidding, kidding,” Kagami replies showing his palms in surrender, “no fun in the office, I get it.”

Tobirama gives him an exasperated stare. “I want it to be clear that if it weren’t so unbefitting for the Hokage to do so, I would roll my eyes at you,” he states evenly.

“Lies, Shodai-sama did things way less mature. The unasked-for hugging, the shouting, the crying,” he laments.

“All of that is why it’s important I keep high standards. I have a lot to make up for,” he clarifies.

Kagami stares, giving him a considering look, then drawls, “If you are always trying to balance out your brother it’s no wonder you never have any fun.” Perking up, he claps his hands together in front of himself and adds, “Shodai-sama was serious when it really counted though-”

“He was?”

“Don’t play dumb, it doesn’t suit you, and besides, you know best of all when he’s being serious,” he replies, crossing his arms. “Anyway, if you’re balancing him and he was serious occasionally, that means occasionally you have to have fun. I can’t remember the last time you did, so you’re overdo,” Kagami declares.

Tobirama has given up on getting any paperwork done with him here. Rubbing his temples, he slowly says, “I don’t like where this is going. I have a lot of paperwork, and issues to work on. For instance, your clan, who remain dangerously set apart, even now that Madara is no longer stirring up ill-sentiment.”

“That’s perfect! Think of it like multitasking. We’ll stay in at your place tonight, instead of you staying here till three in the morning, and we can brainstorm about how to help my clan together. I’d suggest we go out, but I know you’ll get more enjoyment at home with no strangers about,” Kagami gushes, sliding into a chair by the desk.

Tobirama didn’t realize that humans could talk that fast. He breathes out a deep sigh and responds, “Fine. Just let me do my paperwork now, and I’ll leave for the day at dinner.” His nose scrunches up as he adds, “I suppose if I don’t take breaks on my own, Anija will come to bug me instead of just you, and I’d much rather it be you.”

“Ah, your age-old talent of saying-something-that-I-can’t-tell-if-is-meant-as-a-compliment-or-an-insult,” he says wistfully, leaning his elbows on the desk, and resting his chin on his hands.

“Can’t it be both? It’s important I show my appreciation for all you do, but it’s also important as your friend that I don’t let you get a big head,” Tobirama deadpans.

“Right, what are friends for,” Kagami chuckles, “I’ll be sure to remember that the next time I want to compliment you.” He slides onto the desk and leans back with his ankles crossed. Tobirama would tell him to get off, but he sat on it almost the same way when Hashirama was Hokage, and even though he wasn’t there, he’s sure Kagami would somehow know and throw it back in his face. It’s best not to make a target of himself.

“Just stop by my house for dinner tonight, so you can eat with me and hold me captive in my own home to force me to stop working,” he huffed.

“Sure thing! See you later,” Kagami chirped, popping up from the desk. He slips quietly out of the room, as Tobirama turns back to his work, he has to go heckle Hiruzen a bit.

Tobirama has only just arrived home when he spots Kagami walking towards him. He’s holding some kind of take-out, which is good, because it’s late enough he doesn’t want to cook anything. Kagami knows him so well, or else he does not like his cooking. He hopes it’s the former, but it’s probably a little of both.

Noticing he’s been spotted, he calls out, “I picked up some udon. I figured you’d barely manage to beat me here.”

“My hero,” he replies. His tone is flat, but underneath he’s sincere. He opens the door, ushering Kagami in ahead of him. Tobirama heads in to the kitchen to make tea, while Kagami sits down at the kitchen table and sets out the food.

He sets out the tea, and joins the younger man at the table. He doesn’t bring up any of what they agreed to talk about yet, as he’s content to sit and eat in silence. Just being near Kagami is pleasant enough on its own, and he often finds a lot of words just bog down the atmosphere. It’s only when they finish eating, and move into the living room that he brings up their planned conversation.

“While you’ve got me on forced leave, tell me, do you have anything to discuss regarding the issue with your clan?” Tobirama inquires.

“I love it when you talk fancy,” Kagami sighs, his usual mixture of exaggeration and sincerity.

“That wasn’t ‘fancy’ talk, and please, answer the question,” he redirects.

He sits up in reply, settling into a more serious pose. “Well there hasn’t been any new big developments since we last spoke about it. Madara and other doubtfuls about the alliance got everyone riled up about trusting the village, growing unsettlement, not integrating probably, which makes things worse and worse as more clans have join, you know? Your normal signs of impending disaster,” Kagami says, slowly losing his serious air as he speaks.

The fact that it’s been getting worse means this isn’t a problem that will go away on its own. Tobirama is definitely going to have to do something, and preferably soon. After a beat, he says slowly, “Do you think your clan would settle if they felt they had a valuable purpose in the village? More than the new clans joining?”

Kagami perks up, cocking a brow. “Go on,” he says curiously.

“I think,” he starts, leaning in slightly, “that the Uchiha need reassured that they are vital to the village. Not that we want them to stay, but we need to them to stay. Or at least they need to feel like we need them, because if we do then it would not make sense for us to betray them.”

“Oh,” Kagami says, leaning in to mirror Tobirama, “I see. Well it’s worth trying, but what can we do to reassure my clansmen is the real question.”

Suddenly, Tobirama realizes how close they have gotten to one another. Leaning as they both are at the small table their faces are only centimeters apart. The atmosphere seems to shift for a moment, and he resists the urge to glance at Kagami’s lips. Pulling away, he refocuses on talking before he can blush. “That’s what we will have to figure out. Let’s give it some time and then reconvene,” he says stiltedly. Kagami likely did not even notice how close he was. He is much more prone to physical contact than Tobirama, who reasons to himself that he is probably reading too far into things.

“Right,” Kagami agreed, shifting back reluctantly. “I, uh, actually I should probably go now,” he adds looking at Tobirama considering, “Unless…”

“Unless, what?” he asks. He genuinely is not sure what Kagami could want at this point, after all he likely has much more interesting things to do than hang out with Tobirama. He is no one’s idea of an exciting time.

Kagami looks to be preparing to say something but then abruptly deflates. “Never mind,” he hesitates, “It’s nothing.” He pursed his lips, looking lost in thought, before standing up from the table.

Tobirama gives his farewell, and looks at the udon only partly finished on the table. He wonders what prompted that sudden departure. Deciding Kagami is perfectly capable of handling himself, Tobirama finishes eating and moves on to see if he can get some work done after all. He can wait to see if he will bring up what is bothering him on his own tomorrow.

Just as he’s sitting down at his home desk, he hears his door slam open. “Wait!” Tobirama hears called out from the entry. “I change my mind, I don’t have to go. I could feel you sit down to work from across town,” Kagami shouts walking towards the office. Strange, he thinks, but it is a relief to see he hasn’t altered his priorities any. Stopping Tobirama from getting any work done is still at the top of Kagami’s list.

“Get up from that desk,” he asserts, pointing a finger at him in an embellished motion. Tobirama lifts his hand in surrender and stands up. “Right, good,” Kagami continues, “I panicked, and left for a dumb reason, and we are going to ignore that decision.”

“Panicked?” Tobirama asks, mildly perplexed.

“I just said,” he retorted, “that we are going to ignore that. It didn’t happen.” Then he steps close to Tobirama, and presses a hand to his bicep to lead him down the hall. “We are going to sit in the living room, and talk about whatever thing you’re inventing, or book you’re reading, and not do any work,” Kagami asserts.  

That is, in fact, exactly what they do. As reluctant as he acted Tobirama is glad. It’s nice to talk to someone about his jutsus and his lab work who understands most of what he is saying, and doesn’t get bored half way through. He even manages not to have anymore, awkward almost-lip-staring moments, although the atmosphere he thinks only he may be feeling still descends part way into the night.

“I think I have to go for real this time. It’s getting pretty late,” Kagami moves to leave reluctantly, despite his frenzied departure earlier. Tobirama places his hand on the door frame as Kagami steps away from the entry. He turns back to face Tobirama, and steps closer placing his hand over his on the door frame.

Staring back at Kagami, Tobirama freezes, uncertain. “Is there something you need?” he asks quietly.

Looking determined Kagami states, “Actually, I am going to talk about earlier after all. I shouldn’t have just not left, I should’ve done this.” He grips Tobirama’s hand in his, and pulls it down from the frame towards himself, causing him to lean forward. Then pushing up on his toes to meet him, presses their lips together. For one, frightening, moment Tobirama doesn’t move, but then, as if coming back to himself suddenly, he moves his lips against Kagami’s. He moves in, shifting the angle, and interlocks their fingers. He pulls back, and runs his tongue across his lower lip. Kagami knows he should say something, but he finds he’s forgotten how to move his own tongue.

“I, yeah, that was what I…you kiss as good as I thought you would?” he stutters out. He managed to use his tongue, but unfortunately his brain still isn’t working.

“Have you thought about it much?” Tobirama replies with a smirk.

“Maybe regularly,” he admits, “but you kissed back, so I bet you thought about kissing me too, didn’t you?”

Tobirama hums his agreement, and Kagami abruptly feels rather stupid for not having just kissed him before. “If we’ve both been thinking off it for who knows how long, then we’ve wasted a lot of time we could have been kissing for real,” he whines.

“Perhaps,” Tobirama says thoughtfully, “we will have to make up for lost time.”