#it’s nice to let the breakdown happen on the page instead of in my head

[thebluestbluewords]

Spiraling

TW for anxiety/OCD-like thoughts. This one is completely self-indulgent. Carlos-centric, because I like it when my badass characters also have brains that are a little bit broken. +

The stupid thing is that there's no trigger. 

It's just. 

Everything. All at once. All the time. There's math class, which Carlos loves fiercely and completely, only today his usual teacher Mr. Gemble is out sick. Which would be fine. People in Auradon get sick all the time, and then they get better, and there's nothing to worry about, except-- 

Except for how sometimes people get sick and they don't come back. Sometimes a little flu turns into something worse, and it means fluid in his lungs and long term damage from the smoke and need to start an antibiotic course right away and if I thought it would get used I'd send them home, but with that family-- 

There's nothing to worry about. People in Auradon get sick, and then they go to a doctor, and they get better. Simple. A dependency. Mr. Gemble is out sick so that he can go to a doctor, and he'll get the treatment he needs, and he'll be back in school once he's feeling better. 

He's going to get better. 

The sickness isn't going to spread. 

Viral infection and endemic and need a higher sample to provide effective inoculation. 

But they're not on the Isle of the Lost anymore, and everyone at Auradon Prep has a course of vaccinations before they come into the school for the first time, and the only exceptions are them, and it's not like Carlos is that close with his math teacher. Not like he could be the vector, bringing whatever illness took out a teacher, an adult, a man who's always seemed strong and healthy and whole, back to his crew. 

He's not-- 

There's nothing to worry about. 

So he sits in his usual seat. Middle of the class, Evie at his back, both of them against the wall, door directly in their line of sight. He pulls out his notebook and his pencil that appeared in his room one day, and he does not burn them because they were contaminated. Nothing could be done. No disinfectant can get out the spores-- 

He takes notes. Doesn't touch his face. Eyes, nose, mouth. Clear. He'll wash his hands after class. His bag is contaminated now, if the notebook was inside it, but he can take everything out later, if he brings it in the shower, he can take everything out and wash it clean, and he'll run the ultrasonic bath for the metal pieces, he can use the key to get into the lab and borrow the enclave, and don't touch your face, that's how it spreads. 

Carlos lowers his hand. 

The movement looks like he's raising his hand. He knows with the rational part of his brain, which is why the substitute teacher Mrs. Sidney calls on him, because she saw his hand move and she's young, and her voice is high-pitched and a little bit sharp because she gets nervous around the four of them, because she's a good Auradon teacher, a nice young teacher, and-- 

He doesn't even know what the question was. 

She called on him because she's a nice Auradon girl fresh out of teaching school, and she's scared of his crew but she's trying not to show it, she's trying to take care to treat them equally and bring them out of their shells, and she doesn't know, she doesn't know. 

She doesn't know that Carlos isn't supposed to talk in class, because letting people know how much he knows is dangerous and he's small but he's fast and he's smart and he doesn't want to be tapped as a henchman for one of the adults, so he will keep quiet and slip out of school before anyone can catch up to him and he'll stay quiet in class and maybe answer one question a day, because that's a normal amount, that won't stick out, and even if he gets them all correct it won't matter if he's only getting one or two things right. That's a normal amount. He's normal. Nothing special, nothing worth noticing. 

There's nothing to worry about. 

He stutters out a non-answer. Stupid, stupid. He's got to pay better attention. 

"I don't know," he says, and it's the truth, but he doesn't know-- 

It's not safe to be too clever, but it's also not safe to be stupid, and Mrs. Sidney sighs like she's disappointed in him, and there's nothing he can do to play back the question and make it make sense, so he just ducks his head down and keeps his hands on his desk and doesn't move them again, and-- 

It's not safe to draw attention to himself, so he won't. He'll draw away and inside himself, and he can't feel shame if he can't feel his body, but he needs to stay aware of his hands so he doesn't touch his face and contaminate everything, so he can't retreat all the way. 

So. That's one thing. 

The bell rings. 

The bell rings, and Evie's getting her things together behind him, and Carlos needs to move, because everyone is moving, because passing periods are short and staying still isn't keeping him safe anymore, so he moves at automatic speed through the motions, pencil tucked in his shorts pocket, wash his clothes later, and notebook in his bag, don't touch your face, and textbook shoved in behind them. His bag goes over his shoulder. Don't flinch. His free hand goes in his hoodie pocket, so he can tap the handle of the knife he's got tucked there, small and close and safe. 

His shoulder throbs. 

That's another thing. He's got something fucked up about his right shoulder, something small and hot that burns down his arm through his elbow every time he picks up his bag and shoulders the weight of it. He's not allowed to check the anatomy textbooks out from the library because they're restricted to only people taking the A&P courses this semester. Idiot boy doesn't know what he's reading, he just likes the pictures. But. He's pretty sure that his shoulder isn't supposed to burn, and even flipping through the whole thing in the library, because people are always watching the Isle freaks and he can't linger on any one illustration for too long and reveal a potential weakness, he can guess that there's some sort of nerve damage. A pinch or a twist or something that can't be fixed except with rest and time and general good health. 

Chronic pain, the clinic doctor said. Bone shards. Too small to be worth operating on, not with this level of healing already. 

The barrier is a curse. 

"Gods," Evie says, and Carlos does not jump. "I'm starving today. D'you think they'll have the croissant sandwiches at lunch?" 

don't eat that. it's not safe. give it to mama. 

Carlos forces his face into a smile, because Evie loves croissants, loves flaky bread and soft pastry, loves them loves them loves them loves them. "Probably. If they don't have them out you can ask Janelle in the kitchen to get one for you." 

Evie sighs as she shoulders her bag, and Carlos is watching her face so he sees when there's no wince as the weight hits her shoulder, and Evie's bag is even heavier than his, so it's stupid that he's the one dealing with pain, but he's always been—

He's not weak. 

"Janelle's so sweet," Evie says dreamily. "I asked her for the recipe of that avocado dressing last week, you know the one, with the poppy seeds in it?" 

"Yeah." 

"She just gave it to me. Printed off the cutest little recipe card and everything. She said they have a school cookbook that they print out for all the seventh graders in the cooking elective, and she'll make an extra copy for me the next time they run it by the printers." Evie's hands flutter like little butterflies to follow the words, bright and slim like the printer paper that Carlos knows how to feed into the industrial size printers they use for the school paper. He could hack into the school computers and print off a recipe book for Evie. He can run the printer and the laminator and the spiral binding machine that Jordan uses to archive copies of the school newspaper. "She's so nice." 

Evie's got a crush. 

Highly contagious. Spreads through shared food and drink. 

Evie's crush works in the kitchens. Where everyone comes through. Where there's a lot of shared food and drink, and buffet lines where it's easy to sneeze on the silverware cups, and—

Carlos needs to wash his hands. He needs Evie to wash her hands, but he can't touch her, because he's already contaminated and she might not be yet, she doesn't sit as close to the front as he does, so he can't touch her but they both need to wash their hands right-fucking-now, and he can't touch her to ask. 

Also because he’s— he’s being irrational. And Evie can’t be as dirty as he is anyway, because she’s Evie and she’s perfect and her hands are cool and pale and clean, and he can’t ask but he needs her to wash her fucking hands. 

Um," he manages. "Yeah. She's cool. I have to—“ he jerks his head towards the boy's bathroom. 

Evie nods. Waves a slim, graceful hand. "Go. I'll do the same. We can regroup after next period. Your class isn't doing testing this week, right?" 

Carlos has his English class next period. Woodland lit. Evie's in a different English class, but he's got— somebody. 

Jay. 

He's in the same English class as Jay, which means if there's testing he has to sit in the middle of the room, so that he can leave his left side open for Jay to read off his answers, not because he's stupid, but because he can't read fast enough to keep up. They've got a system. Carlos goes through the multiple choice section first, and then flips over to the short answer portion, and that's Jay's signal to stop where he's reading and flip back to multiple choice so that Carlos can go over his answers again, but slowly, dragging his pencil down the page as he really truly thinks about every answer. And if he just so happens to leave his left side open, so that maybe someone a little bit taller can see which bubble he's blacked in and which one's he's marked as not it, that's just a coincidence. Just like it's a coincidence that he and Jay rotate who gets to sit by the window and who sits in the middle of the classroom every few days. They're keeping things fresh. If they rotate seats themselves, the teachers won't rotate the seating for them. 

He dredges the class schedule up from the depths of a mind that feels syrupy-slow and very, very far away. "Nah. No testing this week. We're doing a discussion unit on poetry." 

Evie flashes him a perfect little smile. "Have fun with that. I'll see you at lunch?" 

wash your hands, Carlos thinks, and doesn't say, because he's aware that he's not thinking correctly right now. 

"See you at lunch." he echoes. “Bye, Evie.” 

He washes his hands. 

The pencil in his pocket is dirty too. He washes it. 

His pocket is dirty—

He can't get clean here. He's got to be normal, stay invisible, get to class so he can talk about poetry from three hundred years ago and listen to Jay making fun of Audrey under his breath, and stop washing his hands before the skin starts to go red and hot and raw under the water. He's got to stop. 

There's nothing to worry about. 

Okay, Carlos tells himself. This is Auradon. Nothing really bad happens here. 

But that's not true, because Mr. Gemble is out sick, and he could spread it. Carlos messed up a question today, and Mrs. Sidney could use that as proof that he's not smart enough to be here, that he should be sent back—

he's not being sent back to the Isle. 

Ben wouldn't let him be sent back. Because they're friends. 

Carlos's shoulder throbs. 

Class. Class, then he can run back to the room and change his clothes before lunch, and-- and Evie wants to check in at lunch, because he doesn't make mistakes, and she's got to know he's having a bad day, and if he doesn't show up for lunch she'll freak out. So he can't change. Or touch anything, because he's contaminated and—

Okay. 

This is a spiral, a bad one. He's going to class, because that's what he does. He's not going to spiral, because that's not what people do here. Kids in Auradon go to Kids in Auradon go to class, and they sit still-but-not-too-still, and they answer questions when they're asked, and Carlos can do all of those things. He likes class. He likes learning, and he likes hearing Jay make fun of the girls who write dramatic poetry about how their boyfriends broke up with them and he knows how to pretend that he's an Auradon kid who's nice and sweet and not a disease vector with broken lungs who's going to get them all sent back to the isle. 

He's fine. 

Nothing to worry about. 

Nothing is wrong. Nothing is wrong. Nothing's wrong. 

Just. 

Class. 

Yeah. 

He can go to class. 

Door. Elbow. Don't touch. Don't leave fingerprints. He's not— he's allowed to be here, but if he leaves fingerprints it'll be bad, because he's not allowed to touch the nice things unless he's cleaning them. His hands are always greasy. He can't afford to spend the extra time cleaning off his fingerprints, so he won't touch. 

He's allowed to touch. 

This is a spiral. It's not real. He's not— 

His shoulder hurts. 

His bag is slipping down his shoulder, so he lifts his arm to push it back up, and the pain spikes worse than before. Stabbing. Like hot needles all the way down the length of his arm. Shoulder to elbow to fingertips. It hurts, and that's the last thing he can handle. 

There's a thing, that happens sometimes, when his body hurts and his brain is spiraling and everything is too-much-all-at-once. A thing where Carlos puts his body on autopilot. Automatic functions can continue operation without him. He can—

He can leave. He'll get to class, and get through the day, and then when things are safe later, when he can curl up small-and-safe-and-hidden in the closet in Evie's room where she keeps her designs-in-progress, he can deal with everything.

[picturejasper20]

Breakdown/analysis of the old Danny-Vlad body swap nickelodeon comic ¨Bring Back My Body to Me!¨

For those who don't know, Danny Phantom had some comics that got published in the early 2000's in the Nickelodeon magazine. One of them being a comic that involves Danny and Vlad switching bodies written by two writers of the show, Marty Isenberg and Sib Ventress + another writer.

You can find the full comic pages here in the DP Wikia: https://dannyphantom.fandom.com/wiki/Nickelodeon_Magazine

I'm writing this post to make some commentary of the comic since it haven't seen any post talking about it. It has some things i found funny and others interesting. The screencaps were taken from the DP Wikia.

Let's start:

Okay, so the first page introduces us to what Danny and Vlad are planning to do in the story. Danny is going to a dance and trying to ask Paulina while Vlad is stealing from the Fright Knight. For some reason Danny is still trying to get Paulina to pay him attention. I wonder when this comic was intended to take place since Danny's crush for Paulina was something from very early in the series and over time he got over it. Also why is Vlad in human form in the Ghost World? He later transforms but there isn't any reason for him to be as Masters in here.

Okay, but here is a thing that is inaccurate: Danny doesn't beat Vlad because he is more powerful than him, that rarely happens. Danny usually beats Vlad by either tricking him (Maternal Instincts) or with someone else helping him (Kindred Spirits). I think the only time he does this is in ¨Phantom Planet¨ by freezing Vlad, and that itself is for a minute.

Why Plasmius does have dark pupils in this comic. It's super cursed. It would have been less of a problem if they were something like white instead of black.

This is an interesting concept to me because i don't recall the series exploring the concept of what happens if a human-ghost hybrid uses powers or amulets that are intended for full ghosts use only. I feel like it is an idea i haven't seen much done in fanfics neither. It opens to the idea of the difference between full ghosts and halfas and how they react to the Ghost World.

I really like this narrator commentary about how ghosts are constanly showing up in Amity Park thanks to the Ghost Fenton Portal being open. The narration is funny in this comic.

I find it funny Danny using the mocking nickname ¨Plas¨ to refer to Plasmius in this panel. And Danny is so small. His head is the size Plasmius' hand. He is baby ghost size in comparison to others.

Okay, so when the two touch the spirit stealer at the same time their... spirits? get switched. This was a secondary effect that Vlad was warned about by the Fright Knight earlier. What i don't understand is what gets switched in here. Their consciousness/inner selfs? Their minds? It is interesting that these are represented in their ghosts forms and not in their human forms too.

From what i can guess is that the spirit stealer may have mixed their ghost halfs in some way since in the next panels their are both seen wearing each half of the amulet. Since it is intended to be a ¨glitch¨ that is how i think it works.

(Insert spiderman pointing meme here)

I kinda like this callback to ¨Splitting Images¨ episode. It is a nice detail that wasn't necessary for what it is a standalone comic but is still cool.

One thing i appreciate in this comic is how you can easily tell who is inside the body by the way they speak and their body language. You can see that Vlad is in Danny's body because of the detailed use of vocabulary that is so specific about Vlad. Or the way he refers to Dash after he pulls a prank on him. I also appreciate Sam pointing out why Vlad!Danny is wearing half of the amulet. It is weird that Vlad didn't pick up that he was wearing it until now. However, i think it does make sense in the context considering that he changed bodies with a 14 year old.

Okay, i don't know why there is suddenly a timer for this and how the Fright Knight knows about this, unless something like this happened before. I suppose is one of those ¨ghost amulet plot convinience logic¨ things. By the way, i do like Fright Knight's role in this comic. He is pretty cool in here.

It's weird that Vlad doesn't consider what Danny is telling him here. You would think that he would get suspicious after he saw how he only had half of the amulet and switched bodies with Danny but he doesn't question it too much. It does make sense to an extent though. Vlad probably believes that it just some trick to make him give his half of the amulet. He would be skeptical of what Danny is telling him.

They only had to put the pieces back together? That easy? Huh, well, okay then.

Go Fright Knight, kick his ass.

While Dash getting scared is fun, i'm not a fan how Danny usually gets in trouble or bad ending in some episodes just because. I kinda could make a a bit of exception in this one since Dash got thrown into baskball ring for something that it wasn't that serious. Still, it something that bothers me.

In all i do enjoy this comic. While it has plot holes from what you can expect from this plot, it has some funny interactions and interesting concepts like amulets having a different effect in halfas. Part of me wonders how interactions with other characters would play out in this scenario, like Vlad!Danny interacting with Jack or Danny!Vlad with Skulker. had the comic been longer.

[highqueenofelfhame]

I’m not posting a tag list for this part because it’s late and I’m exhausted and wanna get it out for you guys. If it does poorly I’ll go back and tag but right now I’m just very over tag lists. Follow the “#hqoe f&f” tag or “falsehoods & fistfights” or “Hqoe writes” tags to more closely follow my work. You can also follow @highqueenofelfhamewrites and turn on post notifications if you want to be notified of my writing! I’m not doing this to be mean, I’m doing it to save time and frustration when the tagging system fails (as it often does)

Hugest shoutout in the world to @punkassbookjockey26 for being the best beta in the entire world. She helped so much with this update!! Give her a pat on the back.

Part One // Masterlist

Rowaelin // 5681 words

~*~

For the last several hours, the clatter of her clicking keyboard and the flipping of pages had been on a continuous loop. At some point, Aelin had opened Spotify and forgotten to turn on any music, clearly content to keep to her rigorous work pace in near-silence. The door to her office was closed, and no one had stopped by to bother her since she’d arrived. Only a handful of phone calls had disrupted her this morning, which meant she had gotten plenty of work done.

Except that it wasn’t morning at all— it was two in the afternoon, and she couldn’t quite figure out how the hell that had happened. She was still squinting at the time on her computer screen when a firm knock sounded at the door, and she called out, “Yes?”

“Have you eaten today?” At the sound of Rowan’s voice, Aelin’s head whipped toward the door. She was unable to stop the smile that spread wide across her face or stop herself rising from her chair to meet him. Aelin perched against her desk, accepting the brown paper bag he held in his hands. No, she hadn’t eaten, not since her half a bagel and cup of coffee before she arrived at work. She’d left a banana in her car for a snack but hadn’t wanted to run back down for it.

“Barely. I didn’t even realize it was past lunch,” Aelin sighed, looking back up at his face. Rowan was grinning down at her as she tore a bite of croissant off and popped it into her mouth. The man looked criminally good, wearing jeans that hugged his legs in all the right places and a white button-up shirt. He rolled his sleeves up to his elbows, and her eyes lingered on his tattoo that swirled down to his fingertips.

“Can I kiss you in here?” His question caught her off guard, a laugh bursting from her lips. “Because this whole…” Rowan gestured to her outfit. “It’s really doing it for me.”

“You like librarian Aelin?”

“Yes,” he said, leaning down to press his lips to hers. The get-up he referred to was a pinstriped pencil skirt that hit just above her knees and patent black stiletto heels that had her only a few inches shorter than him. She had a red tank top tucked into the skirt and, at some point, had discarded her white cardigan over the back of her office chair. Her lips matched her shirt in a bright, matte, red lipstick that she’d neglected to touch up throughout the day. Still, when Rowan pulled away, his mouth was tinged with the outline of hers. “I like this a lot. Fuck.”

“For the record, you can kiss me anywhere you want to,” she told him. “Especially in my office, especially when the door is closed.”

“Noted.” Rowan tugged on her high ponytail before sinking into one of the leather armchairs in front of her. Aelin continued to munch on the variety of pastries he’d brought for her while his eyes seemed to be glued to her legs. Aelin wondered if he was thinking about laying her out on this desk and having his way with her here, but she also knew he wouldn’t let that be their first time. No matter how badly she wanted it to be.

“To what do I owe the pleasure, Mr. Whitethorn?” She asked, nudging his thigh with the toe of her shoe. The way he raked his teeth over his bottom lip before looking up at her told her that, yes, he was thinking what she was thinking. The way he quirked his brow at her also told her that, no, it wasn’t going to happen.

They were kind of dating, in the sense that they had been on a handful of dates. They had shared many heated kisses against the door to her apartment when he dropped her off, but he was being such a godsdamn gentleman about all of it that they hadn’t had sex yet. Aelin would have fucked him in the bathroom of the bar that first night, and they both knew it. But something was holding him back. To be fair, she couldn’t place all of the blame on him. She was holding back as well. Whatever this was between them felt like something that could be extraordinary, and she didn’t want to be the one that fucked it all up because she couldn’t keep it in her pants.

“I have a fight on Saturday, and I was really hoping you would want to come. Obviously, I would give you tickets, plus however many extra you want to bring whoever.”

“Just Aedion, I think.” Her cousin would likely die to be personally invited to one of Rowan Whitethorn’s fights, the same way Aelin knew he’d been having a bit of a mental breakdown when he found Aelin with him at the bar.

“Not your friends’ cup of tea?” He teased with a grin.

“Not even really mine, but you get like, almost naked for these things, yeah?” Rowan’s head tilted back as he laughed, reaching out to catch her fingers between his own. He squeezed them, shaking his head at her. “I’m just saying, any female fans you have are not because they want to watch you fight. I Googled you.”

“Of course you did.”

“And if coming on Saturday,” she paused, fighting the twitch of her lips at the innuendo, “is what gets me to see you sweaty and naked, I will be there.”

“Apparently, you can find that on Google also.” Aelin started to jerk her hand from his, but he laughed again and tugged forcefully enough that she dropped into his lap, his arms settling around her hips.

They didn’t have sex on her desk by the time he left, but he did have a trail of lipstick down his neck and red smudges on his collar.

~*~

There had only been a few times where Aelin had seen Aedion this excited. He was practically jumping out of his skin, trying and failing to keep his wide grin at bay. The whole way there, he’d talked about Rowan’s stats and how likely it was for him to win this fight. Apparently, it was very likely, and according to Aedion, if anyone bet against Rowan in the gambling pools, they were going to lose a lot of money.

This version of Aedion was almost completely opposite the one that had shown up an hour late to the bar a few weeks ago, only to find Aelin perched in his personal hero’s lap.

By the time Aelin spotted a familiar head of golden blonde hair making his way through the crowd, Rowan had stayed true to his promise. He’d bought her not one but two drinks, and she had a very happy buzz flowing through her.

“Aedion!” She hadn’t bothered to get out of Rowan’s lap; she liked the way his hand felt on her thigh, the other twirling a piece of hair around his finger while he talked to the tall, broody one— Lorcan.

“I’m sorry I’m late.”

“It’s okay; I made friends! And a fiancé!” Rowan laughed then, sticking his hand out for Aedion to shake.

“I’m the fiancé. Rowan Whitethorn. You must be the cousin she’s been waiting on.”

“I got held up at work. Aedion Ashryver, nice to meet you.” Despite the cool and collected exterior Aedion was giving off, Aelin knew without a doubt that he was dying inside. She spent several nights curled up on his couch while Aedion and his friends watched Rowan’s fights, though she’d never cared enough to pay attention. Usually, she disappeared to his guest room to read a book or snuck out after an acceptable amount of time to hang out with her own friends.

Aelin had heard about Rowan’s victories time and time again. When Aedion showed her different self-defense moves, he would say that Rowan Whitethorn took someone down with the same simple maneuver. To say that he admired Rowan would be an understatement. He damn near idolized him.

“Nice to meet you? That’s what you’re going with?” Aelin asked, mouth dropping open as everything Aedion had ever said about the man beneath her flooded her memory. Aelin looked at Rowan, shaking her head and pointing at her cousin. “All I ever hear about when you have a fight coming up is ‘Rowan Whitethorn this’ and ‘Rowan Whitethorn that.’ Yet now he’s here, and all he says is nice to meet you. Unbelievable.”

“Rowan doesn’t look like someone who particularly cares for fan service. Though if I’m wrong, correct me, and I will rectify that immediately. On my knees even, if he decides he’s interested in men at all.”

Aelin’s lips dipped into a drunk pout as she said, “I saw him first.”

“Technically, I saw you first,” Rowan interjected, a teasing tone in his voice. “And you rejected me.” A wrinkle appeared between her brows as she looked up at Rowan’s handsome face, disliking that she was already being ganged up on.

“I’m sorry— you rejected him?” Aedion sputtered in disbelief. Aelin flicked Rowan’s nose, and just like that, they settled into an easy banter that tugged on Aelin’s heart entirely too much.

Now, though, Aedion seemed to be nearly vibrating out of his skin with excitement. At will-call, they’d learned Rowan had set aside special floor seating just for them. When they walked into the arena, Aelin was pleased to see Rowan’s group of friends from the bar. She’d spent the most time with Fenrys than anyone else, and he welcomed her with a big hug, insisting she sit beside him instead of Lorcan. Aelin was more than happy to oblige, as Lorcan didn’t seem to have a taste for her. He didn’t even bother saying hello.

They settled into their seats, Aelin sitting between Fenrys and Aedion, both of whom had skipped the pleasantries and moved right into a conversation about the upcoming fight. Aelin leaned back into her chair and took in the surroundings. There were bits and pieces she remembered from her time barely watching matches with Aedion, but it was still different than what she expected. There was a large octagonal ring in the center of the room surrounded by black fencing that had to be about six feet tall. She wondered briefly if the fence was to keep people out or to keep the fighters in.

People were milling about, but Aelin realized that the arena itself was three levels high, and seats were piled around the room from floor to ceiling. There had to be thousands of them, and from the look of the crowds filing in, there wasn’t going to be an empty spot in the house. She hadn’t realized that MMA had such a following.

After about twenty minutes, the lights dimmed and the booming voice of the announcer filled the arena. People cheered wildly as the introductions for the fight were made and the sponsors were thanked. And finally, Aeling knew it was time. The announcer over-dramaticized the entrance for the first fighter and Aelin watched as a lean-muscled man walked up to the ring. He entered through a gate on the side, and people cheered as he made his rounds. Aelin sat on the edge of her seat for the announcer to start his next introduction, ready to see Rowan walking through the tunnel, when a different name was announced and a different man came strolling out. The confusion must have been all over her face when she looked at Aedion because he leaned forward with his elbows on his knees.

“Rowan is the main event,” he said. “Which means there are a few fights before his.”

“Seriously? You mean I have to wait?” Aedion nodded and her scowl deepened. “How long?”

“Looking at the schedule, Rowan’s fight is slated to start in about two hours.”

“Two hours?! I have to wait two hours!?”

“Come on, Ace. It won’t be that bad. Just try to enjoy it.” Aedion turned away and was immediately drawn into the fight that had begun in the ring just a few feet in front of her. Aelin pouted, remembering all the reasons why she never stuck around to watch these matches with Aedion previously.

“All I wanted was to see Rowan sweaty and half-naked. I literally don’t care about anyone else,” she grumbled, mostly to herself. Beside her, Fenrys chuckled and threw his arm around the back of her seat as she settled back. Aelin frowned down at her phone, opening Snapchat to get a quick photo of her expression, which she promptly sent to Rowan.

It took him a good ten minutes to reply back to her, and it seemed he knew why she was pouting because the text across his photo simply said be patient.

After that, she didn’t want to bother him, and whatever pre-match rituals he may have, so she settled for scrolling through various social media apps to bide her time. When she found herself restless, she gave in and opened her book app to continue reading a romance novel she’d started the day before. The male love interest may have been a boxer and may have been incredibly sexy, and she may have downloaded it after searching for fighting-related books.

She had just reached a particularly steamy part of the book when she felt Aedion nudge her arm. Godsdamn him, the leading male was just about to give the girl the orgasm of her life when he’d interrupted. Aelin scowled up at her cousin, but the expression morphed into one of incredulity and excitement when she heard Rowan’s name announced, and he walked out into the arena.

Aelin immediately perked up in her seat, sliding her phone between her thigh and the chair. Rowan strolled out like a king surveying his kingdom, and the cheers were deafening. He wore absolutely nothing but a pair of forest green athletic shorts that left little to the imagination and some sort of fist guards over his hands. A wicked grin formed on his lips as he jogged up to the ring and hoisted himself up over the side with practiced ease. There was a very dramatic introduction, one that had the entire crowd screaming and getting to their feet. Aelin couldn’t help but join them, giving a standing ovation to the man she’d spent so many stolen hours with lately. Beside her, Aedion was absolutely losing it. It only made her smile more.

Even as the arena quieted while the referee explained the rules, nobody returned to their seats. Everyone stayed on their feet, and Aelin could understand why. Once the fight started and the hits and kicks started to get thrown around, she found herself filled with a restless energy that she couldn’t push down. Every time his opponent’s fist swung toward him, her heart began to beat frantically in her chest.

But Rowan ducked and dipped out of reach almost every time. The way the muscles of his arms and legs rippled every time he took a swing at the other man, Cairn, her mouth went dry. She hadn’t walked into the arena tonight expecting to find anything about the fight beautiful, but it was. The way that Rowan’s body moved was like watching a dance unfold before her. Every swing of his arm or swift kick of his leg sending her heart racing just like it had when she’d watched ballets growing up. It felt like such a bizarre comparison to make, but Rowan Whitethorn’s body was nothing short of a work of art.

But there was also a ferocity in it. Where ballet was soft and demure, Rowan was a force of nature. His face was hewn from stone, each strike with his hands or legs precise and controlled, but with an element of chaos surrounding it. He unleashed himself on Cairn, throwing punches and kicks swiftly, so quick that Aelin could not keep up with where the next one was going to land. With brutal efficiency, Rowan managed to get past Cairn’s guard to deliver several painful-looking blows in quick succession that had the crowd collectively wincing. It seemed that Aedion’s idolization hadn’t been misplaced.

Rowan breathed heavily, sweat dripping down every inch of his torso. His abdominals flexed with every exhale, showing off every hard line and sharp curve. The tattoo that swirled down his left side glistened under the bright lights of the arena. He looked like a god, and Aelin discovered that she found it quite difficult to keep her mind from falling off into the gutter when he looked like that.

When he made the final blow, a hit to Cairn’s face that had him unconscious before he even hit the floor, Aelin was surprised by how wholly turned on she was. He dominated the fight and looked damn good while doing it. Rowan was announced as the winner, fierce triumph written all over his face as the crowd completely lost their minds. Pride swelled in her stomach, and she couldn’t help her wide smile as she cheered along with the thousands of people in the arena. Even though it was televised, it felt special when he made eye contact with her and grinned before exiting the ring and heading her way.

Of course, he was intercepted about a dozen different times by dozens of different people offering their congratulations. When he finally got to her, he dipped down and hugged her tightly to his chest, pulling her feet off the ground. She could feel the heat of his body through the thin layers of her clothing, scorching her skin. The smell of him, a musky scent of sweat and the pine body wash she had come to associate with him assaulted her nose and she breathed him in deep. She felt the want ratcheting up in the most delicious way and knew that she would no longer be content with a night of only being pressed against her apartment door. Their kisses, no matter how desperate they had been, wouldn’t be enough to sate the need she felt for him. She needed all of him, and she needed him as raw and unrestrained as he had been during that fight. He pressed a kiss to her cheek as her feet met the floor, and he stepped back.

“Sorry, I’m sweaty.”

“You were amazing.” Amazing didn’t quite cover it, but it was the only word she could think of that came anywhere close.

“Does that mean you’ll come out with me tonight? To celebrate?” She wanted to say yes immediately. But with him in front of her, covered in sweat and looking like the only thing she wanted her mouth to touch for the foreseeable future, Aelin shook her head as her bottom lip tucked between her teeth. The disappointment began to cloud his handsome face, but she shook her head faster as though it would dispel his negative thoughts.

“I was kind of hoping I could steal you away. Celebrate with you alone.” Her voice was low and sultry, and she almost laughed because she could see him calculating just what that meant. The two of them. A celebration. Entirely alone, with no one else around.

“I— yeah. Yes. We can— yes. I have to wrap up here and then we can go to my place?” At all of his stuttering, she couldn’t help the bright laughter that bubbled out of her as the usually confident man in front of her stumbled a bit. His attention was drawn away temporarily when Aedion clapped Rowan on the shoulder and began to spew his admiration and congratulations. Rowan took it with grace, thanking him for coming while trying to keep his eyes off Aelin’s face. The way she bit her lip clearly wasn’t helping because his eyes kept dropping down to her mouth.

When a member of his team told him he needed to hurry— he had a short press conference post-fight and still wanted to shower before— Rowan dropped a chaste kiss to her lips and headed back to the locker room.

Aelin waited not-so-patiently, standing on the outside of Rowan’s group of friends in the parking lot while they talked. Aedion fit right in, pointing out the highlights of the fight with renewed vigor. He still seemed to be riding the adrenaline high from watching Rowan fight , and Aelin was sure he would implement something of what they saw into her self defense training.

When Rowan finally came out, they all cheered and shoved him around their little circle in celebration. He was grinning from ear to ear as he reached for Aelin and pulled her into his side, dropping a kiss to her hair. It was impossible to stop the tug she felt in her stomach, something between excitement and nerves. Everything inside seemed to be tied up in delicious knots as she leaned into him, enveloped by the scent of his body wash, the smell of pine equal parts comforting and arousing. “Where are we going tonight?” Fenrys drawled, throwing his arm around Vaughan. The quiet, dark-haired man tried to shrug out of it, but it only ended with him in a headlock.

“I will actually be stealing him away,” Aelin said before Rowan could even get a word in. Rowan’s hold on her shoulder tightened as he squeezed, and she squeezed him back where she had her arm around his waist, secretly thrilled that he was as on board with this plan as she was. His friends groaned in protest but Aelin and Rowan laughed. Lorcan looked particularly displaced about the revelation and was the first to step backward out of the circle and bid farewell. It didn’t take long for the others to follow and for Aelin to lace her fingers through Rowan’s and tug him toward his car.

While their pace could be described as leisurely, Aelin felt anything but. Now alone, she felt that want from earlier return with a vengeance. Rowan squeezed her hand, and her mind immediately wandered to those strong hands touching elsewhere, all over. A quick glance up at him left her reeling when she caught his gaze on her, and swore she saw every dirty thought that crossed his mind. It excited her, knowing that despite his cool, calm exterior wrapped around all of that cockiness, Rowan Whitethorn was just as affected as she was by what was to come.

When they arrived at his car, a sleek, black sports car that was perfectly him, Rowan opened the passenger door for her, ushering her in. Aelin turned her head towards him, and under the parking lot lights, she could see where Rowan had taken a bit of a beating.

Ducking inside the car, Aelin turned to look at Rowan, her thumb coming to brush over a bruise that was forming on his cheek. It was already a blue-purple color, indicating that it would only look worse over the next few days. Luckily he hadn’t taken too many hits, so this seemed to be the worst of his injuries. There was one other place near his temple that had drawn a little bit of blood but it was already on the mend, cleaned by the medics backstage.

“I’m okay,” he reassured her, his hand coming over to rest on her thigh. Aelin pulled hers away, startled by the softness in his voice. Her eyes searched Rowan’s for the lie that he was more hurt than he let on, but she saw nothing. She supposed it should have comforted her that Rowan knew what his limits were, but still, it seemed crazy that this man before her was the same one that had attacked Cairn in the ring and ended the fight in the first round.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” she said, her voice echoing the softness of his own.

“You just saw me get pummeled a few times and you’re worried about hurting me?” His voice dripped with disbelief, remnants of a laugh bubbling out. Aelin shrugged, cheeks stained a rosy blush.

“I don’t want to accidentally push on places that hurt.”

“I can assure you that anything you inflict upon me will be the sweetest kind of pain,” he promised, lacing his fingers with hers and bringing them to his mouth to press a kiss to her knuckles as he started the car and drove out of the dimly lit parking lot. Those knots in her stomach unspooled themselves into liquid heat as her bottom lip slipped between her teeth. “Don’t do that.”

His voice was rough with want, and it scraped over her, leaving small goosebumps on her skin. She shivered in anticipation, and ached to hear more in that deep, rumbling timbre. Reaching out a hand, she coyly ran her fingers slowly, softly up the taut skin of his arm. “Do what?”

“Bite your lip like that when I can’t kiss you.”

“If you drove faster, you would be able to kiss me,” Aelin teased, leaning over the center console to press a lingering kiss to his shoulder. Rowan’s knuckles turned white where he gripped the steering wheel, glancing over at her as the car rolled to a stop at a red light. Soaking up the opportunity they’d graciously been given by the gods, he deftly captured her chin and crushed his lips against hers, kissing her in a way that stoked the smoldering want inside her into an inferno. She felt the sinful slide of his tongue brushing against hers, of his teeth tugging over her bottom lip like he wanted to take a bite out of her. Aelin hoped that he would.

When he pulled away, Aelin’s eyes stayed closed, her lips stayed parted. A shaky breath tumbled from them, filling the tense silence in the car. It took everything in her to sit back in her seat and let him drive. If she were to do what she truly wanted to do, she would have him pull over and climb with him into the backseat, his apartment and privacy be damned.

Aelin wasn’t so sure that Rowan would stop her if she tried to coax him into it. How they had managed to go this long without tearing each other’s clothes off was a mystery to her. As she looked over at him, her eyes lingered on those strong hands gripping the steering wheel, hands that she wanted gripping her in the same way. She desperately wanted to have his fingerprints bruised into her thighs, to see the imprints of his teeth all over her chest. The idea of his back being covered with the marks of her nails only fed that growing fire within her.

The drive seemed to take an eternity, consisting of stolen kisses at stop signs and longing looks. It was hard to keep her hands to herself, and that seemed to be the case for Rowan, too. By the time they reached his apartment, his hand had drifted so high up her thigh that it was burning a hole straight through her jeans.

Rowan held her hand loosely while they walked inside the building and to the elevator. As soon as the metal doors slid shut, however, he was tugging her toward him and pressing her back against the wall. His hands slid from her hands to her waist, dropping down to her thighs to lift her up on the railing. Aelin couldn’t help the moan that she breathed into his mouth, her fingers twining into his hair while he tugged at her lip.

When the elevator dinged on his floor, Rowan was dragging hot kisses down her throat. It seemed to be too much for him because he had to take a moment before he pulled away. Rowan’s mouth stayed against her neck while he caught his breath causing goosebumps to rise all over her skin. The doors were beginning to close again when he finally pulled away and shoved his hand out to stop them.

Aelin laughed then, sliding down from the railing and tugging him down the hall toward his apartment. At the door Rowan fumbled with his keys, pressing kisses to the side of her neck as the lock tumbled and gained them entrance.

Any restraint he had left seemed to dissipate as soon as the door was shut and locked. Once again her feet left the floor as he carried her to his room and laid her down on his bed. Their kisses were hungry, starving as he lifted her shirt and tossed it onto the floor. His hands made quick work of the rest of her clothing, and before long they were just skin on skin, his mouth drifting lower and lower down her body.

All of it was pure ecstasy, almost too much for her to handle. It didn’t take long before she fractured beneath his mouth, her nails digging into his back, scratching desperately over his skin as he moved back up her torso to press his lips against hers.

When he pulled back to look at her, something had shifted. Gone were the frantic kisses, replaced by deeper ones that stole her breath from her lungs. An impossible feeling was tugging at her heart as their bodies moved together beneath the sheets. This time when she fell over the edge, Rowan went with her. Their bodies were so tangled it was hard for her to think clearly enough about where he started and she ended. Their gasping moans were a harmony she wouldn’t soon forget as he collapsed on top of her.

Aelin’s heel pushed down the strong muscles of his thigh, his calves, silently begging him not to move. His lips ignited sparks over her collarbones as he settled atop her while her fingers ran softly up and down his sides.

Eventually Rowan rolled off of her, and she would have frowned had he not tugged her into his side a heartbeat later. Aelin draped her leg over his waist and nuzzled her face against his chest, pressing a single kiss over his heart.

The last thing she remembered was the feeling of his hands in her hair and his low humming of a forgotten melody as she drifted off into a blissful sleep.

~*~

Soft kisses were being dropped over her bare back, leaving a trail up and down her spine. Aelin hummed in approval as a grin spread across her face. Her eyes were still closed, ignoring the rays of sunshine that were likely illuminating her face, when Rowan pressed a kiss to her cheek and the corner of her mouth.

“Good morning,” she said hoarsely, her lack of voice another reminder of everything that had transpired last night. She had woken Rowan a handful of hours after their first time, rolling on top of him and placing teasing kisses over his neck and chest until his calloused hands guided her into position. That time, Aelin had been control, her hands gripping the headboard through wave after wave of pleasure. There was an ache between her legs that made her want to beg Rowan to touch her despite how exhausted she was.

“Hi, baby.”

Aelin’s smile widened as she rolled onto his back and looped her arms loosely around his neck. Rowan kissed her properly then, long and slow until she was sure they were going to go for a third round in under twelve hours.

“So beautiful,” he murmured, fingers brushing her hair back from her face. Aelin wanted to snort in response, knowing last nights makeup was likely smeared around her eyes and she reeked of sex and sweat. But there was such reverence in his tone that she couldn’t bring herself to disagree, his green eyes bright in the morning sun as they traced over every feature of her face. “I still can’t believe you’re here.”

“Why wouldn’t I be?” Her hand moved from his neck to the side of his face, thumb brushing lightly over the bruise that marred his skin.

“You saw me fight. You watched me beat the hell out of someone and you didn’t turn and run. You didn’t balk. You still wanted me.”

Aelin was positive the confusion was written all over her face from the downturn of her lips to her furrowed brow, but still she said, “Has that been a problem before?”

“Yes.” Rowan pressed a series of kisses over her face starting at her temple and ending at her jaw.

“It’s not a problem for me,” she promised, voice barely a whisper against his cheek. Rowan was quiet for a moment, turning his face to look at her. “You’re a fighter. That’s what you are. I wouldn’t want you to be anything but what you are.”

A mix of emotions fluttered across his face, whatever he felt being a catalyst for kisses to her forehead, her cheeks, nose, and finally her lips. When he pulled back, he looked hesitant and unsure. It was the first time Aelin had ever seen him like that and it felt raw. Like he was exposing a part of himself he seldom did. She was ready to ask him what was going on when he kissed her so thoroughly she’d nearly forgotten the conversation at hand.

“What if I wanted to be something else?” Rowan gazed down at her, teeth grazing over his bottom lip. Again, she swore she saw uncertainty on his face and in his tone as the question rushed out in a single breath.

“Like what?”

“Like your boyfriend.”

She couldn’t help the joyful laughter that bubbled up and out like champagne. Rowan grinned too, so widely that his dimples were deep in his cheeks. Her thumbs ran over them as she kissed him, both of their smiles making it almost difficult. It was too cute, the way he’d seemed almost nervous and bashful in his delivery. It felt like high school all over again in the most innocent way.

“You can be that, too.”

[spideyspeaches]

Pretty lies (ugly truths)

A/N: This was something I wrote as soon as I heard Clean also that was 2019 and @peterspideysstuff​ made me do it smh. I’m proud of it so don’t let this flop 🙂

WC: 3.3k+

Warnings: Please read these before going ahead- mentions of CSA (Skip Wescott), brief description of dissociation.

Pairing: Peter Parker x Stark!Reader

Masterlist || Taglist

It was the little things that you noticed in Peter. He was your closest friend ever, the best person to have ever entered your life next to Tony Stark, the man who had adopted you the moment he laid his eyes on you. 

You always noticed when it came to Peter, the way he jumped around when he was in a happy mood, or when he scored a hundred in chemistry and he would flail his hands in the air and hug you as tightly as he could without crushing your bones with his super strength. You had met him when you were both eight- he had come with his uncle Ben to tour Stark Industries, and you both had snuck out to eat some pizza while the adults talked. 

You would never forget that day, because it was the day the two of you became inseparable. He would often visit you since then, in Pepper’s penthouse, and you always cherished those visits. He shared everything in his life with you, he was an open book to you, a dog eared page that you could open with a flick of your fingers.                                      

Coming back from the dead post blip was the final straw. No one could separate you two, and when May and Peter had finally agreed to live in the Lake House (only during the weekends though, since it was far from his school), it was the life of a party for You.

"And you three, don't wreck the house and if I found out that the kitchen is on fire-" Pepper said, fixing Peter's shirt and Morgan's hair at the same time, giving you a stern look. 

May was out and it was only the three of you- You, Morgan and Peter, while Tony and Pepper went out for a vacation for the weekend. 

They had trusted you to babysit Morgan, well You more than Peter. 

“We will be fine Pep! Don’t worry I won’t let them burn down the kitchen, or let Gerald eat the goji berries. Now shoo!” You snickered, pushing Pepper with your hands on her shoulder, before she gave you one more look over her shoulder.

“Oh and if you need anything, Kyle will be here soon, you can ask him anything okay?” She said, making you stop in your tracks.

“Kyle? Who’s that?” Peter asked, shuffling to adjust Morgan, who was perched on his shoulder with her head buried in his neck, her soft snores barely audible.

“He’s Morgan’s babysitter, we can trust him honey, he’s been babysitting her since she was one.” Pepper said calmly, her eyes stiff as she wearily looked at Peter, her eyes flitting to You for a moment. They had all been weary of introducing you to change when you first came back, afraid what the change around you would cause you to break further. It ultimately lead to a heart to heart with Doctor Tumnus and You and Peter, one breakdown from each of you, and lots of cuddles.

“I thought he was in college?” You smiled, lifting your brows.

“You know about him?” He asked, his voice small. You didn’t answer him, choosing to nod your head instead. 

Looking at Peter, you felt him stiffen, his shoulders tensing like the way they would whenever he was stressed or overthinking, his grip on Morgan tightening as if to protect her from whatever danger was about to come their way. Your heart sped at his look of frustration, his lip forming a thin line as he pursed them, your own confusion growing.

“Wh-why do we need him? I mean, Y/n/n and I can look after each other right?” He gulped, not meeting Pepper’s or your eyes. Morgan took that moment to wake up sniffing under her breath as she lifted her small head from his shoulder.

“Mommy is Kyle coming over?” She asked innocently, not noticing Peter as he gulped. You gripped his biceps, silently asking why he was acting the way he was. 

Peter had always been shy when it came to strangers, choosing to stay in the circle of his own people. Heck he had taken almost months to warm up to you. 

“Yes honey, he will be here soon, now, be nice for Peter and Y/N okay?” She cooed, kissing Morgan’s forehead and smiling at the little girl, grimacing as your dad honked from behind, shouting to make it fast.

“Okay mommy, have fun!” Morgan smiled sleepily, going back to her position on Peter’s neck, lifting her thumb to suck on. Holding her small hand, Peter softly brought it down to stop her from sucking on her finger. You smiled at how gentle he was with her, momentarily forgetting his ambiguous behavior at the mention of Morgan’s babysitter.

“So, wanna wreck the house?” You joked in an effort to dissipate the growing tension, watching the retreating figure of Pepper as she waved from the car. You waved back, smiling as you leant against the door jamb.

“Sure.” He said absentmindedly, holding his palm against Morgan’s head, tucking her in more firmly. 

“Are you okay Pete?” You asked, scrunching your brows when he clenched his teeth, looking at you with seething eyes. You understood at that moment, why criminals feared him as your own heart clenched. He may be a doe eyed shy boy, but he could be angry when he wanted to.

“Can everyone stop fucking asking me that!?” He bellowed, looking at Morgan to make sure she hadn’t woken up. Walking to her bedroom, he tucked her in before keeping the door to her bedroom ajar, turning towards you,

“What’s crawled and died up your ass Parker?” You clenched, folding your hands as if in defence. You were getting worried, his behavior was not him. He was a naturally cheerful and chatty person, talking the ears off of the person who happened to be in his vicinity, now he was just, closed off.

“It’s nothing okay, it’s- it’s nothing. None of your business.” He said, walking away, leaving you with your jaw dropped and hands up in the air. 

“Damn straight it’s my business! Why have you been acting weird ever since Pepper mentioned Morgan’s babysitter?” You snarled, shoulders sagging when you saw him tense up once more. 

“Just, leave it alright?” He said, cursing your observation and not meeting your eyes before he turned the kitchen lights off, strutting to his bedroom. It was late at night and Pepper had wanted to have an early start, so they had decided to lodge at the tower before leaving for the trip.

“Alright, you don’t wanna talk am I right? See if I care next time!” You shouted pettily, huffing and moving to your bedroom, shuffling inside the covers, tears of frustration brimming your eyes as you tried to wash away the look Peter had given you from your brain. 

***

Sleep didn’t come easy to Peter. 

It wasn’t anything new for him, Ben had always said that his mind was like a whirlpool of thoughts- they churned at a very high speed and impared him from sleeping. But his insomnia had been causing problems as of late. Ever since he was little and his parents died, he had been prone to nightmares. Back then, Uncle Ben and Aunt May would do everything in their power to soothe him each time he had a bad dream. 

Back then, when he was just a little boy, his uncle and aunt would snuggle up on either side of him and hold him until he fell asleep. Ben would sing with his gruff, slightly out of pitch but soothing voice, while aunt May would scratch the back of his ears, a sweet spot. It was the little gestures that reminded him of his childhood. The good parts of his childhood.

He tossed around in the bed, rolling his eyes to do a once over of his bedroom- the one that Pepper had designed when he had- when he had blipped along with You and three and a half million others. The word felt foreign on his tongue- why was such a catastrophic event named something as insignificant and fickle as “the blip”? 

Scrunching his eyes shut, he groaned, tossing and turning around his bed. Heaving a frustrated sigh, he pulled at the bedsheets, kicking the covers off his feet as if he were five. 

Peter was raised a city boy, living in the heart of New York, where nothing was really silent. Even before he gained his spidey powers, New York was never silent for him- the nightly noises of sirens and noisy neighbours was a constant in his life, so the sudden silence of living in the woods- where the only source of noise was Morgan and Tony in the morning and crickets chirping in the night was alarming.

Finally giving up, he decided to heave himself off the bed, shuffling his foot until he found the bunny slippers you had given him as a gag gift. Hovering his hands on the doorknob, he twisted it as slightly as he could, wincing when he heard the screeching noise of it twisting, as if it wanted to be as loud as it could just to piss him off.

Walking into the kitchen, he looked at the digital clock on his way, the red numbers glaring that it was well past three am into his retinas.

The room was dark, only illuminated by the small LED light in the garden. Picking up a glass, he looked over his shoulder to see if he had woken You or Morgan. Sighing when he heard your and Morgan’s minuscule snores (perks of having enhanced hearing), he opened the tap, filling the water in the glass before chugging it all up in one go. 

“Fuck.” He muttered, slamming the glass down and wished the helpless feeling would go away. Ever since he heard the words come out of Pepper’s mouth, he couldn't think straight, all his thoughts strayed to him. He who had hurt Peter, he who was out of his life. 

 But who was he kidding? It was as if the universe was laughing at him by tossing another fuckery at his face, the ghost of his past lingering in his brain enough to cover the memories in a thin sheen of dust.

"Pete?" Your voice startled him, making him nearly drop the glass in his hand had it not been for his reflexes, "is that you?" 

Your voice was heavy with sleep, fatigue evident as you appeared in his line of sight. Looking at him with squinting eyes as you flicked the light switch on.

"Yeah, just uh… thirsty. Wanted water." 

“You have a water bottle on your bedside.” 

He stayed silent, clenching his jaw as he looked at you. Biting his lips, he suppressed a chuckle as you failed to suppress a yawn, scrunching your eyes. You had a bad case of bed head, the strands of your hair all over your face. You were wearing your infamous strawberry pajamas, the shirt hanging off your shoulders. His eyes softened, you looked so young, all he wanted to do was smother you in a blanket and protect you from everything.

His gut twisted at the thought of protecting. He was supposed to be protecting Peter too.

“I can hear you thinking.” You said, your hands folded under your chest.

“So this Kyle guy, you know him?”

“Peter, you haven’t even met him, why do you hate him so much?” You sighed, rolling your eyes and wrapping your hands around his waist, laying your head against his shoulder blades.

“I- I don’t hate him! I just want to make sure-”

“Make sure what Peter?” You asked softly. 

He gasped as memories flashed in front of him- that night when He had introduced himself to little Peter when He had come to babysit him.

Eight year old Peter had just wanted a friend. And Skip Wescott was a friend to him. He was cool and played games with Peter, showed him cool new science tricks and watched cartoons.

Aunt May and Uncle Ben were not home, they were late for work. Skip had been sending him small smiles the whole time. 

“You want to see the big boy stuff now Einstein? I know you’re old enough.” Skip said, shifting uncomfortably close to Peter. 

Peter’s smile fell off as he saw Skip’s eyes flash dangerously. And at that moment, he didn’t want Skip. He didn’t want to be friends with him any more and he wanted Aunt May. 

“Nothing, go back to sleep.” He said, a lump forming in his throat, clutching the glass hard enough for cracks to appear on it. You left him be that night.

***

He didn’t notice when he fell asleep after that, the fear creeping up his spine in spite of knowing that Skip won’t be able to hurt him anymore- he was in jail, Ben had made sure of it. Yet he kept flashing back to his lowest points, when he had cried so loud, yet no one heard a thing. 

In the end, he had won the case, yet the scars had remained fresh. His win felt futile, a defeat in spite of winning.

The smell of blueberry waffles invaded his senses first, his eyelids cracking open against the force of sleep. Scrunching his eyes, he let the world slowly come into motion, the walls coming into focus one by one.

He was startled into complete wakefulness by the sudden flurry of mass that had jumped on him, panic settling before noticing that it was just Morgan, her excited rambling bringing him back.

“H-hey Momo! You seem excited huh? Good morning to you too.” He laughed, inhaling as she jumped on his stomach.

“Petey you have to brush your teeth! Come down fast because I have a surprise for you.” She giggled, snuggling into his chest and getting up just as fast, pulling him with her tiny hand.

“I see you have a handy alarm clock.” You said from the doorway, smirking when you saw him

“A very cute alarm clock.” Peter cooed, pinching Morgan’s cheeks and leaving a big sloppy kiss on her cheek, making the little girl giggle, “Wait if you’re both here then who’s in the kitchen? Did May come back? Or is it Happy?”

“No May will be in Cali for a little longer, Happy visited her there so they’re having an impromptu vacation.” You smirked, knowing how much it irked Peter whenever you told him about May and Happy’s escapades. He rolled his eyes, scrunching his nose in disgust, just as you had expected him to. 

“I didn’t need to know that, but whatever, who is it though?” 

“Kyle’s here! He’s cooking waffles cause I told him Petey likes them very much! It was supposed to be a surprise but Y/n/n ruined it.” The little girl pouted, glaring at you with her adorable brown eyes. She looked exactly like Tony when she did that.

He felt a pang in his chest, an unearthed nervousness taking residence as he felt his stomach drop. He pulled Morgan closer, feeling your eyes on him as you tried to gauge his expression.

“Yeah.” You said simply, urging Morgan to come to you as he got up from the bed. 

Walking downstairs after cleaning up, he stiffly sat on the table, watching as a short but lean Blond man cooked waffles. 

“Hey kiddo! You must be Peter, Morgan and Y/N talk about you all the time!” The guy- Kyle probably, said chirpily. Peter clenched his fists under the table, noticing the look you were giving him.

“Hi.” He said shyly, ducking his head so he won’t have to see him.

“Well they told me you’re shy too.” He said, a smile evident in his voice. 

“Y-Yeah.” 

“Aw Pete don’t be rude! At least look at his face.” You joked, hitting him slightly in the ribs. 

“Sorry I just, that smells delicious.” He smiled, finally looking up to blue eyes staring at him. He shifted nervously, sitting up straight.

“Thank you.” 

He felt uneasy under his gaze, bringing the glass of water to his lips to avoid making eye contact.

“How long is he gonna stay here?” Peter whispered to you, avoiding to look inside the kitchen where he was cooking lunch with Morgan- the girl was perched on the countertop with her legs dangling and swinging.

You and Peter had retreated to the AV room after breakfast, opting to watch a movie instead of doing homework. Well it was You who had dragged Peter, because you knew he had already done it before coming.

“He’ll make dinner and go, again, why?” You asked him, fisting some popcorn and throwing them in your mouth.

“It’s nothing.”

You let it go again.

Dinner was an awkward affair. He couldn’t help but let his gaze linger onto him, how he interacted with Morgan. She seemed genuinely happy, jumping around the house till she was tired, enjoying as he lifted her up and played airplane with her.

He really didn’t want to think about it, but his spidey sense kept buzzing a headache in the bottom of his skull. He tried to distract himself, opening his chemistry text book to read ahead of class, but the worlds kept floating around as he saw you and Morgan laugh at something Kyle had said. 

“Come on Einstein! It won’t hurt for you to keep that textbook and play with us eh?” Kyle said, winking at him as Morgan laughed, making grabby hands at him so he would come.

You want to see the big boy stuff now Einstein?

No, this wasn’t Skip. This was Kyle, Morgan’s babysitter.

He knew the comment was noncommittal, but he felt his heart race, the world zooming in and out of focus as it got harder to breathe, his book swimming in his hands. He felt floaty, the tingling in his hands intensifying as he felt someone’s hands on his back, dizzily startling him into reality.

“Hey, hey take a breath kid, it’s alright. Deep breaths.” A soothing voice said, cold sweat breaking as he dropped his textbooks. Tears ran down his face without meaning to as he pursed his lips. Instead of saying anything, he sat up and ran into his room.

He could hear you running after him, Kyle asking “Is he okay” as you reassured him. Tears were running freely now as he slammed the door, flopping on the bed and burying himself in the pillows, wishing that the bed would swallow him whole.

He didn’t know why he was reacting the way he did, Kyle was a good person, he saw the way he interacted with Morgan. He was gentle and loving, then why is it that he kept seeing him.

He heard the door creek, your footsteps echoing in his ears, drums rattling against his brain.

“Are you ready to talk now?” You asked softly, wafting your hands through his hair as he felt the bed dip with your weight.

“I had a babysitter, when I was eight. His name was Skip.” He croaked, breathing through his nose. He felt you stiffen as you seemed to connect the dots. Nudging him to move so you could insert yourself in the space.

“Did he hurt you Pete?” You whispered, rubbing his back.

“He did bad things to me, I just, I don’t want anyone to go through it again. Please. He may be in jail but- but sometimes I still feel like he’s here and I hate how I feel! I want him gone. I just want him gone and I want the memories to be erased.”

You remained silent, rubbing his back through his sweatshirt, unbidding tears appearing in your eyes. Someone had hurt Peter. You felt anger boiling inside you, swirling in a dangerous tornado at the thought of someone hurting the best person in your life, 

You promised yourself that day that You would protect him at all costs. You couldn't do it in the past, but you would in the future.

“I’m glad you told me about this Pete.” You said, clenching your teeth as he met your eyes.

[dr-spencer-reids-queen]

Extreme Aggressor: Part Two

Pairing: Eventual Spencer Reid x Reader

Word Count: 2.1k

Warnings: canon violence, canon language, canon talk of death, methods of kill, and angst

Summary: Jason Gideon is called back from a six-month leave from the Behavioral Analysis Unit to profile a killer. Meanwhile, the team flies across the country to Seattle when another young woman goes missing at the hands of "The Seattle Strangler," another serial killer.

Author’s Note: Here is it finally! After hard work, it is finally ready for your viewing pleasure! Please, feedback is always appreciated so let me know what you like about it and what you didn’t!

I do not own anything from Criminal Minds. All credit goes to their respective owners. If there is any warnings that exceed the normal death/kills from the show, I will list them. If you’ve seen the show, then it’s the same level of angst unless otherwise stated.

So without further ado, please enjoy!

After arriving at the police headquarters, you followed Gideon and the rest of the team inside the building. It still felt awkward between you and the rest of the team which is why you stuck to Gideon’s side the whole time. He walked fast throughout the building, and you did your best to keep up.

“He never stands with his back to a window. When I was between him and a doorway, he asked me to move,” Derek gossiped about your friend.

“That's hypervigilance. It's not uncommon in post-traumatic stress disorder.”

“Just how much disorder are we talking about?”

“Morgan, it's been six months. Everything's okay,” Hotchner calmed him down.

“And he brings along a woman we don’t even know? How do we know we can trust her? I’m sorry, but she doesn’t mean anything to me yet,” Derek asked just as you passed them.

Looking at them over your shoulder, you caught Spencer’s eyes before moving on.

“Give her time. You gave me time,” he said, catching up to you. “Sorry about that.”

“Don’t be. He’s right. I’m a stranger to you guys.”

“Hopefully by the end of this, you won’t be,” he smiled, walking into the main room with you that was crowded with uniforms.

“This is special agent Gideon, special agent Morgan, our expert on obsessional crimes, special agent Reid—”

“Dr. Reid,” Gideon interrupted.

“Dr. Reid, our expert on well, everything, and the newest member of our team, Y/N Y/L/N. And after two years busting my ass in this office, I hope you all remember me,” Hotchner smiled with the laughter that ensured throughout the room.

“He's willing to travel with the body,” Gideon speaks, looking at the map.

“Then he drives a vehicle capable of concealing one,” Hotchner added.

“1 in 7.4 drivers in Seattle owns an SUV,” Spencer spat out.

“But how do we know it's his car? Ted Bundy drove a VW Bug. What about a Jeep Cherokee? Jeeps are more masculine,” Derek voiced his thoughts.

“We all know how an unsub feels about asserting his masculinity,” Gideon chuckled.

“When did the bureau become involved in the case?” Hotchner asked the lead police officer.

“After the fourth body. He dumped that one out of state.”

While everyone was conversing and talking, you walked up the board with the recent pictures of the latest kidnapped victim, Heather. She went missing about a day ago which means she has about 24 hours left until she is dead—and the clock is ticking. Her image and the photos of the abduction site certainly does something for you, but it’s not enough. Reaching up to touch the image of her, you closed your eyes to see if you can get anything from a picture.

A flash of an orange car here, her heart rate increasing while inside the car, but other than that, you got nothing. It would be better if you were touching some of her things since the human body leaves traces wherever they go, whatever they touch. Since she wasn’t murdered, there isn’t a dump site that would give you even more clues and answers.

“What are you doing?” Spencer asked when he saw you.

Opening your eyes, you lowered your hand before looking at him.

“I am trying to connect myself with her through a photograph. It’s not that common to get anything, but it does happen. I see an orange car and her fearful expressions, but that’s about it.”

“What do you need in order to get a clearer picture?”

“Her belongings. Every human leaves a spiritual trace wherever they go. It’s stronger with personal items.”

“Agent Gideon, where would you like to start?” one of the policemen asked.

“Let's start at the site of the last murder. Y/N, you coming?”

“I think I’ll get a better read on Heather and whether she’s alive or not if I’m with her things. I’ll go to her house.”

“Reid and I will go with you,” Hotchner announced.

Knowing you wouldn’t go alone, you bit your own tongue and followed the two men out the door. The fact that the Bureau provided government standard SUVs were pretty cool. It didn’t take long to go to Heather’s house, and when you arrived, you met her brother and the dog she owned.

“Sandy, no, no, no. I'm so sorry,” Heather’s brother, David, apologized when the big dog started barking and trying to playfully attack you three. However, when it came to you, the dog just stared at you silently.

“No, it's okay. It's what we call the Reid effect,” Hotchner stated, causing the young doctor to be confused. “I'm agent Hotchner. This is special agent Dr. Reid and Dr. Y/N Y/L/N.”

“Y/N is fine,” you quickly added.

“You two look too young to have gone to medical school,” the man observed.

“They're PhD's. 3 of them. She has two.”

“Spencer,” you whispered softly to get him to shut up about it.

It’s not like you don’t want people to know you have 2 PhDs, but you just didn’t want the attention. Plus, if your dad knew you went to school to be a profiler in the FBI, he’d have your head.

“Are you a genius or something?”

“I don't believe that intelligence can be accurately quantified, but I do have an IQ of 187 and an eidetic memory and can read 20,000 words per minute,” he gushed. The man stared at him like he was crazy, so the young doctor just agreed. “Yes, I'm a genius.”

“Sandy, you get a lot of attention, don't you?” Hotchner asked the dog who just panted.

Instead of being with them, you took a look around the room to see if you can get a feel to the place. Heather’s spirit was here through certain items, but because there are more than one, it’s hard to pinpoint exactly where it’s coming from. The conversation went on about her dog until it got back on track.

“David, does your sister drive a Datsun Z?” Spencer asked when he picked up a magazine.

“No, but she's in the market for one. How'd you know?” he asked, and Spencer held it up. David just shook his head and took his dog outside since she was getting antsy.

“There's an immediate relationship established between a buyer and a seller, a certain level of trust. If I want to coax a young woman into my car, I’d offer her a test drive,” you said, causing the two men to stare at you.

Their bodies were emitting tension, and you knew they didn’t trust you at all. You needed to do something to prove to them that you were worthy enough to be on this team.

“Let me show you what I can do, okay?”

“Alright,” Hotch said.

Taking the magazine from Spencer’s hands, you closed your eyes in concentration. A multitude of pictures flashed through your mind due to the residue that Heather left behind, until those pictures turned into film. Heather was seated on the couch right behind Hotch and Spencer, flipping through the magazine happily. When she got to the page she wanted, she grabbed the red marker on the table next to her and circled the orange car a bunch of times. She then grabbed her money and began counting it to see if she had enough money to buy it.

“Heather is sitting on that couch, super excited to buy the orange car I keep seeing. She circles the one she wants with a red marker, and she starts to count her money,” you open your eyes, and began to flip through the magazine until you found the page you were looking for. “If I’m right, it’s this page she was on. She found someone with this exact car, and whoever took her did it because they got her to test drive it.”

The page you landed on was the same exact page with the red marker.

“Nice job,” Hotch complimented.

“That’s amazing,” Spencer muttered.

“Thank you. I just want to help, Agent Hotchner.”

“Please, call me Hotch.”

“Okay, then how about the fact that on one hand, we have paranoid psychosis, but the autopsy protocol says what?” Derek asked.

Back at the office, everyone was talking about the case and how the MO of this unsub didn’t make any sense. Derek was the one who was freaking out about everything since apparently not having a profile ready didn't bode well for him.

“Adhesive residue shows he put layer after layer of duct tape over his victims' eyes,” Spencer answered.

“He knows he wants to kill them, but he still covers their eyes. He doesn't want 'em looking at him, apparently. Okay, but then he takes the body and dumps it right out in the open, murder weapon nearby.”

“Not the MO of a paranoid convinced he's being watched or surveilled,” Spencer added.

Gideon stares at the drawing board while the rest talked about the case. Just by the look of his face, he was drowning out whatever they were saying. Even though you can get a read on his spiritual energy, that didn’t mean you could understand what he is thinking.

“Jason? What’s wrong?” you asked quietly, making sure only he could hear you.

However, he didn’t answer you directly.

“Alright, enough,” he interrupted the chatter in the room. “Let's tell them we're ready.”

“We're ready?” Derek gasped as Gideon left the room. The young genius started to write something down on his notepad, but the older agent wasn’t finished. “Reid, you're good with this? We've got a woman who's only got a few hours left to live, an incomplete profile, and a unit chief on the verge of a nervous breakdown.”

“They don't call them nervous breakdowns anymore,” you noted.

“It's called a major depressive episode.”

“I know, Reid,” Derek sighed.

Walking away from the board, you looked at Spencer quickly right before you left the room. Gideon gathered everyone in a conference room to deliver the profile and stood in the middle of the room with the tables blocking him in on three sides like a square. The rest of his team stood off to the side, and while Hotch, Spencer, and Derek were listening, you were watching the reactions of everyone in this room. If your abilities told you anything, it’s how untrustworthy even the most highly respected person could be.

“The unidentified subject is white and in his late 20's. He's someone you wouldn't notice at first. He's someone who'd blend into any crowd. The violent nature of the crime suggests a previous criminal record--petty crimes, maybe auto theft,” Gideon began. Running your eyes over every person in this room, you tapped into their energies to see what the normal eye couldn’t.

“We've classified him as an organized killer—psychopathic as opposed to psychotic. He follows the news, has good hygiene, and he's smart. 'Cause he's smart, the only physical evidence you'll find is what he wants you to find,” Gideon continued. The person right in front of you wanted to pay attention, but all of his focus was centered on his phone. He’s got some private issues at home that you rather not delve into right now.

“He's mobile, and his car in good condition. Our guess is a Jeep Cherokee with tinted windows. The murders have all involved rapes, but rape without penetration is a form of piquerism, and that tells us he's sexually inadequate.”

The person to your right is paying very close attention to what Gideon is saying, but she is focused on his lips and the way he talks which says that she’s attracted to him right now. That made you want to laugh because you knew for a fact that Gideon was seeing someone on the down low.

“What is it?” Spencer whispered when he saw the hint of your smile.

“That woman over there wants to bone Gideon,” you whispered back.

“How do you know?”

“I’m psychic, Spencer. I know more about a person than you think. Want me to do you?”

“No, thank you,” he whispered and got back to what Gideon was saying.

“Psychiatric evaluations will show a history of paranoia stemming from a childhood trauma—death of a parent or family member, and now he feels persecuted and watched. Murder gives him a sense of power. Organized killers have a fascination with law enforcement. They will inject themselves into the investigation. They will even come forward as witnesses to see just how much the police really know. That makes them feel powerful, in control. Which is why I also think in fact, I know you have already interviewed him,” Gideon finished, causing the entire room to feel shocked at the news.

wanna be tagged? add yourself to this document! if your tag doesn’t work, find out why!

@averyhotchner​

[danny-chase]

if you want, maybe you could do "severed artery" with Dick and have Roy (or one of the other Titans) take care of him? love your writing and I hope you're having a nice day!

AHH thank you so much! I hope you enjoy!

Severed Artery - read on AO3

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Titans (Comics), Nightwing (Comics) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Roy Harper & Dick Grayson Characters: Roy Harper, Dick Grayson, Garth (DCU), Donna Troy (minor) Additional Tags: Can be read as pre-slash, POV Roy Harper, POV Dick Grayson, vomitting, Blood, Guns, Hospitals, Canon-Typical Violence, dick is a little shit, Roy is a Little Shit, Homophobia, Roy Harper Needs a Hug, Roy Harper gets/gives a hug, Dick Grayson Whump, Roy Harper emotional whump, Protective Roy Harper, Hurt Dick Grayson, Garth is the best, Titans as family, Confused Dick Grayson, Medical Inaccuracies Series: Part 6 of Bad Things Happen Bingo Summary:

Dick and Roy are little shits to each other, until the night takes a turn for the worse.

Full story under cut

“Aight, Donna, you ready to go?” Roy chirped, taking a second to look himself over in the mirror, running his fingers through his (surprisingly) soft hair (he’d be stealing Dick’s shampoo more often) – getting that perfect messy, but stylish look. He fired off finger guns at his reflection – he was killing it, somehow listening to Gar of people had worked out – he gave shockingly good fashion advice.

Feeling optimistic, he sauntered into the hall, only to be met with Donna’s confused expression.

“Roy, I’m going out with the girls tonight, I told you like four times.” She leaned against the wall, gesturing to Jesse and Toni, car keys dangling from her hand. Jesse stared at him, an eyebrow cocked judgmentally, as Toni smiled, offering a little wave. He waved back, watching Jesse’s expression morph into disapproval.

“Hey, I didn’t even do anything!” He complained, glaring at Jesse. She rolled her eyes, not deigning to verbally respond. Ice queen.

Reaching out, Donna patted his shoulder, waiting until he met her eyes. “I’m sorry, hun, but we’ve got tickets to a concert, could we go out next weekend?” She fluttered her eyelids slightly, sending chills up his spine. “Why don’t you take one of the boys with you?”

“Terrible company, but babe, have fun, I’ll figure something out.” He cupped her chin in his hand, leaning forward to peck a kiss to the top of her head, ignoring the fact she squatted down to make the moment work.

“Mm, thanks.” With that, the girls were off for the night, leaving him stranded in a deserted hallway.

Well. He could do what Donna suggested and take out one of the guys – he had the reservation, and Lian was already situated with the sitter. But which guy was the question… Wally was out with the league, Garth was visiting home, Vic was with Gar, and Grant had a date. Which left Dick – no - Dick was busy working – actually yes – he likely needed a break.

Actually – was he even here?

He started towards the central control room, poking a head in Dick’s room on the way and had to do a double take.

“You’re actually in <em>your room</em>?” Dick threw a pencil at him without looking up from his desk, child’s play to dodge – Dick speak for hmm, maybe something like ‘asshole’, but he took it as an invitation to enter. But if Dick was going to call him an asshole, he had expectations to live up to.

He took a standing leap, twisting and flopping across Dick’s immaculately made bed, sending blankets and pillows careening off the side. Dick ignored him, scribbling down some notes on a pad of paper. Roy waited for a few minutes, listening to the scratch of pen on paper. Quick and noisy – Dick was likely stressed – he was pushing down harder than normal; he gave it an eighty/twenty chance something was up.

Ripping paper proved him right, as Dick frustratedly crumpled up the page of notes, throwing them behind him, hitting the recycling bin with ease. Groaning, he dropped his head into his hands, rubbing his eyes.

“Showoff.” Dick startled, jumping out of his chair, Roy’s own reflexes were the only thing that saved him from taking a pen between the eyes.

“What the fuck, Richard?!” He yelled, yanking the little missile out of the air. A faint flush tinted the top of Dick’s ears.

“I forgot you were there.” The admission was almost too quiet to hear, but combined with the minute sign of embarrassment, it rang of truth. Roy could milk this, oh he totally could.

“What was that, why did you almost kill me?” If he played his cards right, he wouldn’t be dining alone tonight.

“I didn’t think you were…” Dick trailed off, glaring at him. “You heard what I said.” He retorted, catching on. Sucks to suck, Dickie – he was obviously tired if that spooked him – he was likely running on caffeine.

“Oh, you misunderstand.” Scooching off the edge of the bed, he hopped lightly onto the balls of his feet. “Why’d the batboy forget I was there, hmm?” He pulled a half-eaten energy bar off the desk, inspecting the wrapper. Dick casually rocked back in his chair.

“See, completely decaf, I told you I’d-” Roy yanked open a drawer, Dick darting to stop him. “This is my desk!” He slammed the drawer shut a moment too late – Roy had good eyes after all.

“Hmm, so how do you explain the-”

“Get out, I have stuff to do – aren’t you supposed to be on a date with-”

“-CAFFIENE PILLS IN YOUR DRAWER!” He shouted through Dick’s response, effectively shutting him up. There’d been an intervention years ago after too many days spent on one hour or less of sleep. “You know the deal.” Dick groaned as he ruffled his hair.

“I have to-”

“Eat, shower, and sleep. And I have reservations. For two. You’re coming with me.” Ah yes, a romantic dinner date with Dick Grayson. People would kill for this. Dick crossed his arms. Roy picked up his chair, staggering towards the door. Dick was going whether he liked it or not, a real meal (not protein shakes or energy bars) would do him good.

“No one’s even done this to me in like, a year.” He noted, gracefully leaping out of the seat. “Asshole.” Grumbling he lightly punching him in the arm before heading into his walk-in closet, stripping off his shirt as he went. Automatically, Roy scanned for any new injuries, his eyes lingering over a few of the old.

“Liar, Wally caught you two months ago. Besides, the restaurant is nice, Donna likes it and you two are basically the same person, so you’ll love it.” Dick scoffed, stepping out of view.

“Is that all I am to you? Your replacement for Donna?” He sounded mildly offended.

“Nah, you’re too ugly to replace her.” Dick hmphed. “And your personality sucks.” Roy added.

“Why the hell am I going with you?”

“It’s not like your night could get any worse.” Dinner was better than casework after all.

Dick’s head poked out the doorway, looking completely unamused. “Asshole.” He chirped a second time, ducking back away.

Roy sat across from him, speaking between mouthfuls of pasta, smacking his lips together. “So anyways this kid, Johnny is like, sitting next to Lian in class, and he keeps taking her crayons and won’t give them back.” Dick thought for a moment, watching Roy drum his fingers rhythmically on the table. “And the teacher is being ridiculous, she just believes Johnny over Lian. My Lian! Can you believe it?” He slammed his fork down, articulating the point.

<em>And you’re sure Lian gave you the whole story?</em> Was what Dick wondered, but he’d prefer not to die for questioning Lian’s integrity tonight. “Why don’t you mark her crayons with a sharpie and let the teacher know?” Roy’s fingers stopped.

“Huh, hadn’t thought of that.” He leaned back in his seat, distantly looking out the window. People trickled down the street, passing by the little café, kicking up crimson leaves from half empty trees. Streetlights flickered on; fairy lights crisscrossing the avenue, as the sun lazily sunk in the sky. It was a beautiful night – Roy was right, he did love it, the food was good – catching up with Roy was refreshing – and the location was stunning; as always, Roy always picked the perfect places for dates. Dick was past the point of being annoyed at the situation but was still determined to give Roy a hard time.

“Well, maybe if you thought about that instead of harassing me.” He leaned forward, resting his head on his hand, dramatically looking out the window – Babs was going to kill him for being late with his case reports. Again. Roy smirked as he rocked forward, reaching across the table to lay a hand on his forearm. He at least had the decency to look apologetic.

“Look, you know the deal.” Brushing his thumb against his skin placatingly, he waited until Dick met his eyes. “You’re working full time, and have your nightly duties, and you’re with us.” His voice dropped, his nostrils flaring in irritation. “It’s not like you’ll leave Bruce alone any time soon either. Dick.” His eyes crinkled around the edges – concern. “You’ve got to start taking care of yourself.” Dick rolled his eyes; he was doing fine.

“You’re working with Ollie, you have a daughter, and you’re working with us, look I had one breakdown-”

“More than one-”

“-Only one that wasn’t the result of external influences.” Fuck Brother Blood for the other ones. “We made the caffeine deal after,” he grimaced reflexively “I broke up with Kory but, Roy.” He clasped Roy’s hand with his other hand reassuringly. “I promise I’m doing better now.” Tilting his head to the side, he cracked his neck. “Plus, you only brought me along because Donna was busy, that’s not what the deal was for.”

“Okay, maybe that was shitty of me, but it’s nice seeing you without the tights.” Roy flashed a winning smile. “Not that I don’t like seeing you in them, the new stuff looks great.”

“Oh, so I don’t look great now?” He teased. He’d picked out his brightest shirt for the occasion – a polo patterned after bowling alley carpet paired with the tightest red jeans he could find, and of course, a pair of heels borrowed from Donna. A single giant hoop earring dangled off his left ear. If he was going out with Roy, he wanted people taking pictures. Payback. This would be in the news tomorrow.

“Babe,” Roy lifted up his hand, pressing a kiss to his knuckles. “You look stunning.” He grinned goofily, seemingly happy to play along. Welp. If that’s how they were going to play it. He booped Roy’s nose, watching his pupils dilate. Dick recoiled in surprise – Roy wasn’t -

“Wait, you’re not actually-”

A scream cut him off, whirling around in his seat he saw a large man storming into the café brandishing a gun, his face red beet red and angry. He turned back, squeezing Roy’s hand, nodding towards the silverware.

“No-no one else move!” The guests around them stayed frozen in place. Three older ladies on their right, a family of four on their left (he guessed it was the young girl who screamed), and a couple across from them. The staff ducked behind the counter as people outside the restaurant scrambled away.

Dick raised his hands slowly. “I said no one move!” The gun pointed directly at him. Perfect.

“Okay, I won’t move.” He said steadily, watching sweat bead on the man’s head – he was nervous, his hands twitched uneasily on the gun – possibly his first time, and he kept muttering to himself. He watched Roy’s hand carefully creep towards silverware in his peripheral. “Do you want money? My father is rich.” Watching the man jitter about, he slowly stood up. Roy’s hand closed around the fork.

“Okay? You-you can get me money?” The man mused to himself, shifting his weight back and forth. He started lowering his gun, taking a step forward, he reached out his other hand. Dick took a few steps to the right, away from his chair, shifting attention away from Roy. “Okay the-”

*BANG* The world sped up around him, he rushed forward as the man fell-

*BANG* The man hadn’t even hit the ground – he was already dead – already-

“DICK-”

*BANG* Blood and brain matter poured out of the man’s head, someone was screaming, it didn’t need to-

*BANG*

“STOP!” Someone slammed into his side, and he hurtled to the ground. “HOLD YOUR FIRE!”

Roy’s face hovered above him. “Dick! You’re going to be fine.” His hands clamped napkins to his left shoulder, one on his front the other on his back – and shit – that was a lot of blood. “Hey, look at me.” Pain radiated out for the spot as Roy doubled the weight on the wound, blood seeping out past his fingers, waves pulsating in time to his heartbeat.

Cops burst in through the door, rushing to swarm the dead body. One glanced their way. “Oh shit, you hit the fa-”

“Fucking call an ambulance you dipshits!” Roy’s voice sounded farther away. “Slow your heart, fuck, do your Jedi weirdo bat tricks.” He hissed. Too late, sometimes, things happen too fast. “They hit an artery.” The blood wasn’t stopping, the napkin was soaked through, Dick felt himself slipping into shock. “Dick, stay awake!”

“Lo-ve y-ou.” He stumbled over the words as the world exploded – a million things happening at once – his thoughts scattering as black tinged his vision, overcoming everything.

Roy scrubbed his hands, pausing over the sink, watching the pink water rush down the drain, gurgling as it went. He rubbed a hand further, tackling the blood crusted over his elbow. He made a mistake of catching a glimpse of himself in the mirror –Dick’s blood was everywhere, coating his shirt, arms, pants, even some on his face. His stomach flipped, clenching tightly as he started to gag - fuck.

Throwing himself over the toilet, dinner rising back up in his throat, he threw up the seat. Shaking, he held himself over the porcelain toilet, fingertips staining it red, as he heaved. Soap bubbles dripped from his hands over the edge of the bowl, spattering on the ground.

Each drop spurred a recollection of the night’s events.

*Plop* The man was dead before he hit the grown, brain matter spattering the wall.

*Plop* A bullet whistled through the air, missing Dick by millimeters, lodging six inches next to the little girl’s head. He ran, screaming <em>“Dick!”</em>

*Plop* Blood sprayed out, a bullet ripping through Dick’s shoulder, as he kept moving towards the man.

*Plop* <em>“Stop!”</em> Tackling Dick out of the way, he screamed for them to stop, ripping napkins off a table and desperately trying to stop Dick’s life from slipping through his fingers.

He fell to his knees, a pit growing in his stomach spreading to his chest, rooting him to the spot. He curled his knees to his chest. Fuck. Dick had been shot before. But this? It was different. They weren’t in costume, they hadn’t been ready – the man hadn’t even shot anyone, only the bastard cops had.

<em>“Love you.”</em>

What kind of final words were those! He sat on the tile floor, banging his head into the side of the wall. Dick couldn’t die. Not because he forced him on some dumb dinner date! It wasn’t fucking fair!

His vision blurred, but he couldn’t do anything to stop the tears, unless he wanted blood in his eyes. Just – fuck. “FUCK!” His shout reverberated around the room. This was all his fault – he should have stayed home with Lian, guilt pooled in the bottom of his stomach. Why couldn’t he just leave well enough alone? Why’d he always have to have the last word? What was wrong with him!? Normal people didn’t antagonize each other like that!

The door creaked open. “Roy?” Garth called, the door squealing as it slowly opened. “Donna’s here too, are you ohhhhhhhhh-kay?” His jaw dropped, though he quickly recovered. Roy looked away, in a failed attempt to hide the tear tracks on his cheeks.

Garth stared at his hands. “That’s a lot of blood.” He muttered, his eyes darting around the room. “I mean, I brought you clean clothes.” He placed pair of sweats and a ratty t-shirt he’d stolen from Dick years ago on the counter. Roy’s eyes lingered on the shirt, no doubt the choice had been intentional.

The sound of rushing water cut through the silence, seeming to grow louder with each passing moment. Garth leaned back against the counter, hopping up next to the sink. “He’ll be fine.”

“Yep.” Dick was always fine. Always fine until he wasn’t.

“It’s not your fault.” Wrong.

“Debatable.” Garth frowned at the response but held his tongue. Instead, he let his head fall back against the mirror, staring up at the ceiling.

Softly, barely above a whisper, he continued. “I left you all alone for one day and this is how it ends up.” Roy bit his lip. “I’m sorry I wasn’t there.” Guilt bubbled in the bottom of his stomach, and annoyance overcame him; they’d had these conversations before.

“Are you kidding me? I know what you want me to say. It’s not your fault – of course not. But then you’ll say ah but it’s not my fault either.” Angrily throwing his arms in the air, he continued, his voice growing louder. “And no – Garth – actually it is my fault!” He could feel the blood rushing to his face. “I’m the one who made him go to the restaurant. I’m the one was too late getting him out of the line of fire!” His voice resounded around the cramped room. He banged his head against the wall again. “Look, I know what you’re trying to do and thanks. But no thanks.”

Nonchalantly shrugging, Garth gestured to the water. “Wallowing here won’t make you feel less guilty. Apologizing when he wakes up will help, and I’m sure you’d prefer to be clean when the time comes.”

“Garth? Could you just…” He trailed off; anger quickly overcome by a wave of guilt. Shut up? Leave? Stop? He wasn’t sure, but he was sure he didn’t deserve whatever pity Garth was feeling. A wet paper towel smacked him in the face.

“Kick you in the rear so you’ll get off your sorry ass and clean yourself up?” Hopping off the counter, Garth strode over, lifting Roy by the elbow. “That’s not my style. But I’ll help you get cleaned up.” He let himself be dragged towards the running water, facing himself in the mirror once more, though this time he focused on Garth.

Sometimes Dick could swear he was actually a time traveler. Or maybe had latent teleportation abilities. Realistically, he’d probably just blacked out from blood loss or a concussion, but eh, that option wasn’t as fun. Blinking, he found himself in a familiar setting; a hospital room in a private wing, at – a clock ticked to his left, looking up – it was 4:19am.

He waited a minute, watching the clock turn to 4:20 - nice.

What was he doing again? How long was he out?

He struggled for a moment before remembering that he went out with Roy at 6pm last night, so he was out for… god math was hard. Six to twelve is six hours plus four, uh, ten hours and twenty minutes. Right. As long as it was the same day, he was set.

“Shit.” He promptly realized he couldn’t move his left arm. A sling. UGH. “Son of a-” he cut himself off, realizing he wasn’t alone in the room, Donna was gently snoring in a nearby chair, a little throw blanket covering her. The patterns had fish people… there was a word for that… mer-somethings-maids, mermaids. Mermaids – Garth – Garth was here, that was his blanket.

Dick scanned the room, checking for signs of life. Someone’s bag was on the floor, but he didn’t feel like expending the brain power to figure out who’s. Alright. He steeled himself. Now was the perfect time for escape.

The room spun as he sat up, turning around and round again before his eyes. Hah. Count Vertigo was way worse than this. Yep, head empty, room spinning, this was fine. Swinging his legs over the bed, an alarm blared next to his head.

“Fuck!” He jumped out of his skin, springing to his feet, in a defensive position. Well. He thought he did. The room was tilting on its side, the high-pitched noise shattering his thoughts. Instinctively, he tried to run.

“Woah there, shorty.” He found himself held by strong arms, the world turning once more. The familiar scent of Roy’s aftershave overpowered his senses. Distantly he was aware of the alarm turning off, his legs hitting the back of the bed. Roy’s face swam into view as he was guided back onto the bed, now propped up by soft pillows. So much for escape…

He closed his eyes, waiting for the rush of dizziness to pass. “Roy?” Warm arms wrapped around his torso, snaking tenderly around the sling. “What?” He mumbled - not that he was complaining, as he nestled his chin on Roy’s shoulder. He sighed contentedly, pressing his face into Roy’s stiff neck, closing his eyes and basking in the warmth.

For some reason, the wheels in his brain began turning. Roy. Dinner. Gunshots. His eyes shot open. “Fuck did you get hit, are you okay?” He pulled back, scanning Roy for injuries.

“I’m fine.” Roy facepalmed.

“What?”

“You got shot and you’re asking if <em>I’m</em> okay?” Roy shook his head, exhaustion clear in his voice. Dick looked at his sling again.

“I got shot?” It was like a piece of a puzzle clicking into place. “I got shot…” Wasn’t he supposed to be somewhere else? “How the fuck am I supposed to explain this to my boss?”

Sighing, Roy took a seat on the edge of the bed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Why are you like this?” Turning, he looked Dick in the eyes. “Don’t answer that actually. Look, I’m sorry I made you go out to dinner.”

“Why? It was nice.” The food was good. Sputtering, Roy searched for words.

“Well. Don’t say I never apologized.” A little bit of a blush crept up his neck.

His mind abruptly recalled something he’d heard Roy saying to Lian. “Apologies come with hugs.” Roy rolled his eyes but moved closer anyways.

“You don’t even know why I’m apologizing.” He mumbled, brushing Dick’s bangs to the side. Dick grinned as Roy pecked his forehead, sweeping him into a second embrace. Two hugs in one day – that was a pretty good day. Roy’s fingers stroked through his hair, as Dick leaned into his muscular side, the world spinning slightly, though he’d found a solid rock to lean on.

[andmaybegayer]

I bought a typewriter!

Now you might be thinking many things about this like “Well that seems excessive” and “hey Kali aren’t you a Computers Dipshit” and the answer to both of those is yes.

There’s another two posts in me about this, one about why this typewriter in particular is such an interesting piece of cultural history, and another about how it works and why it’s Like This. This post is about neither of those interesting things and instead about me showing off the cool new thing I got and explaining why I wanted it.

One of the old boxes of ribbon cartridges that came with this. Manufactured 1984. Graphic design truly is my passion.

Alright breakdown of what I got:

1976 IBM Selectric II Typewriter (with Courier 12-pitch typing element)

An original Vinyl cover for the machine

Three additional typing elements (in Orator, Artisan and Diplomat)

The original manual

Two large boxes of ancient ribbon cartridges.

A bag full of correction reels

A few pads of correction film

An antique toothbrush for cleaning the elements

A box of accessories that came with the typewriter: Correction tape, typeballs, correction films, three typeballs, some fontface samples on an old envelope, and a toothbrush.

This is an old working machine, not a showpiece. In fact, it was in use right up until the day I bought it and I fully intend to keep using it for as long as I can. This thing is 44 years old, also known as twice my age, and I’ll be damned if I’m going to be the one who breaks it.

I bought it for ZAR 1200 (about USD 70) from a woman who deals in imported wines, she used it to fill in shipping forms. She has several other typewriters and has been slowly selling them off so I don’t feel bad about this. She’d had it since the 80′s. USD 70 is an absolute song for a working Selectric, they usually go for at least double that without any accessories, but no one is buying typewriters around these parts.

The original manual, dated 1978.

I’ve wanted a typewriter for a little while now, because I wanted a writing tool that produces physical artifacts quickly and immediately. I’m very avidly aware that while I write more than I ever have (mostly Tumblr posts) these days, they’re all very ephemeral. They will not outlive Tumblr, and they certainly will not outlive me. Carbon black on paper is much more long lived, typewritten texts are still readable over a century later in many cases. MySpace accidentally deleted everything that happened on their site before 2013. You decide which one is more sensible.

In addition, this is a nice way for me to produce writing that is too personal for my usual habit of cracking open a Tumblr edit tab. A lot of posts are languishing in my drafts folder after I realised I didn’t actually want to post them online and just needed to get them out of my head. This is mostly intended to take the place of wandering in circles in my room talking to myself.

A sample sheet with the four font faces that came with this typewriter

Now you may say that I should just type stuff on a computer, or write out notes longhand. To that I say a) printing is the worst experience one can have on a computer and b) I hate writing by hand. I could never keep diaries as a kid because it involved writing by hand and it sucked, in fact I’m almost certain that I don’t actually know how to write and that I just figure out the shapes of letters new every time I have to do it. I can type extremely naturally, almost at my speed of thought. I will only get better at this. It is also UNBELIEVABLY loud.

I’ll have to talk more about the historical and social legacy of the IBM Selectric and, to a lesser degree, that of typewriters in general in another post, as well as the utter miracle of engineering prowess that is the IBM Selectric. Let’s just say that those were also a big part of why I chose this. It’s a really important piece of history for engineers, computer nerds, typists and secretaries, the last of which is a group to which I have no real claim but I think they’re neat.

A scan of the demo page the last owner wrote for me, showing most of the capabilities of the machine.

This thing is a battleship, it’s in basically perfect condition. The only problems are that the correction tape needs to be replaced and realigned, and the currently installed typeball is stuck on and the release lever isn’t working. These can both be solved without too much trouble, plus there’s a phone number for a repair and servicing place that the previous owner took it to stuck on the outside, so that’s good for me. Yes, there are still places that service these machines as normal business, I was very surprised.

 little bit of my own demo text. Did you know William Gibson wrote Neuromancer, that cyberpunk hyperfuturistic work of fiction, on a typewriter? He didn’t own a computer until after it was published.

1:1 pixel focus of the text from the above photo. It is a VERY smooth operator. You can see where I corrected an error in the word “channel”.

That’s about all I got for now, this is extremely cool. I’m really enjoying using it.

[novantinuum]

Fandom: Steven Universe

Pairing: Steven/Connie

Rating: Teen Audiences 

Words: 2.6K~

Summary: In which Connie’s subconscious, innocent touch helps Steven realize just how nice the sensation of gentle fingertips gliding across the surface of one’s gem can be. (Just a bunch of teen romance fluff, + first kiss)

This is set like... a few weeks before Steven leaves Beach City. I imagine he’s been recovering from what happened in I Am My Monster for at least 6 months by this point.

His days aren’t always great- there’s a lot of ups and downs- but thankfully, today is a markedly pleasant one.

_____

His house is still for once. Impossibly so. No Diamond business, no new arrivals to Earth, no disgruntled Gems kicking down his front door. No more battles, beyond his own internal ones. Admittedly, a part of him is happy for the peace and quiet. He’s appreciative of the way all his family and friends rallied around him in support months back after... erm- after his breakdown, but every guy needs some space eventually.

‘Some space’ never has to mean alone, of course.

Steven sneaks a doe-eyed glance at the girl flopped next to him on the living room couch, her mind lost in the pages of her own fantasy world. It’s a new series, something about a human accidentally falling into the world of the fae. (It’s only been like, half an hour, and she’s almost a hundred pages in already!) A pliable smile teases his lips as he watches her eyes flicker back and forth, digesting each passage with a voracious hunger. Sighing in content, he turns his attention back to his own book, externally making as if he’s busy exploring the world of fiction to hide the sappy fact that instead he’s been thinking about her all along. Honestly? He adores quiet days like these. Even if they’re not doing anything special, it’s just nice to get to spend time alone together. It’s a comfortable together.

Connie shifts, instinctively curling closer, her free arm slung against his side. With a soft hum of content he leans into her welcomed embrace, trying his best (and— caught in her innocently bewitching presence— failing abysmally) to focus on the wandering lines of text.

Everything is peaceful.

No hard knocks, no frenzied phone calls, no family disruptions. The domestic warp hasn’t even activated once this whole lazy afternoon. In recent days, he’s pretty sure that’s a record.

At long last, his house is still... and yet in a flash, his hormone riddled teenage mind— ever foolish— is everything but.

Because Connie’s touch is tickling him.

It’s subconscious, almost imperceptible at first. At some point her free hand has roved so that it’s no longer pressed against his side, but against his midriff— which is currently exposed, his shirt bunched up at the waist from all his slouching. Teasingly, her fingertips dance upon the facets of his gem with the pinpoint expertise of a prima ballerina, encoding an endless rhythm directly into the sum of his being, the feather-light contact sending vibrations almost too faint to notice coursing through his hard light veins. But not too faint for him. Not now, not while host to this kind of silence. Not when the girl draped on the couch next to him unknowingly commands every shard of his attention with the slightest twitch of her index finger.

It’s taking all his willpower not to squirm at this ticklish contact right now. It’s so... weird when other people touch his gem. It’s certainly not something he’s used to.

(Steven promptly buries the memory of the last time someone touched it, refusing to let old terrors tarnish an otherwise pleasurable encounter. He can feel the pink threatening to rise in his cheeks, that instinctual rush of panic he’s grown so numb to over the past months rearing its ugly head. It’s so, so hard to wrestle away from its thrall sometimes, but thankfully his therapist has been teaching him ways to mitigate these sorta reactions. His eyes clamp shut as he breathes deep through his nose and focuses on the tangible, on what he knows: the plump, lumpy cushions of the couch under him, the slight scent of garlic and cumin in the air from the lunch he cooked a few hours ago, the rhythmic crashing of waves outside the house. The warmth of his best friend by his side—)

Tap, taptaptap, tap, taptaptap...

His cheeks bloom a human red as her lulling rhythm continues.

Like he said, it’s obviously subconscious. It has to be, right? It would certainly make sense. From his observations, Connie’s always been a tactile thinker. It’s part of what made her such a quick study in sword fighting. Whenever her mind is alight, those beautiful neurons firing back and forth like a firework display, her body is in motion. Sometimes it’s her foot, tapping impatiently into the dirt as she parses through memory to find the precise words to say. Or it’s like how she memorizes facts for tests easier if she’s jogging, listening to audio recordings of the test materials she made herself. And then there’s times like now, when Connie is reading. When her fingers tap and glide with an almost impish touch across the diamond gemstone in his belly’s center as her eyes— by all appearances entirely disconnected from both her hand’s motion and his reaction— skim effortlessly across the unfolding tale on her page. Her hands... oh, those hands... calloused, warm, digits lithe and curious in their movement. They’re always shifting, always tapping, always twitching to some identifiable rhythm. Is this just another example of her sway towards more kinetic-based thinking? Or... is it something else? A silent yearning that extends its roots from the heart into object reality, innocently unaware of the power of its call?

Stars, Steven thinks, mustering with all his strength to ignore his burning face, so maybe I’ve been thinking a little too much about her lately...

Eventually, it all becomes a bit too overwhelming to handle. If this continues in silence any longer, well... well, heck. He doesn’t even want to imagine what embarrassing things could happen. Mustering up all his courage, he flips his book shut and drops it on the cushion beside him.

“Um, Connie? By the way? That’s kinda ticklish,” he squeaks out, voice high and reedy.

Upon his words, she notices where her fingers are subconsciously tapping and immediately pulls her hand away, her cheeks flushing dark. “Oh, I’m so sorry!” she says, quickly tossing her book aside and shifting upright on the couch. “I didn’t mean to goose ya’! I wasn’t even thinking abo—“

“No, it’s okay!” he interjects with an open hand. “I’m fine, really, I am. I- it’s not like, uh- It isn’t like a bother, and- well, it just—“

Burning up with such a ferocity that he’s about one impulsive decision away from high tailing it out of this fraught social situation and dunking his glowing pink head right into the Atlantic, he forces himself to hush before he says something super stupid and humiliating in front of his best friend in the whole world that he’ll regret and replay in his dreams forever and ever for the rest of his days.

Okay, Steven, stop running your mouth like a lovesick fool for one second and think. How can you say this in a way that doesn’t sound entirely stupid and/or weird?

Watching him closely, curiosity written across every vibrant feature, Connie inclines her head ever so slight, a subtle, wordless gesture— one only a Jam Bud could understand— for him to keep going.

The phantom sensation of her fingers tapping against crystal rushes through his nerves like the physical analogue to a bad ear worm. He reaches up to itch at the side of his neck, unable to fully stifle his nervous laughter.

“Honestly, it uh- it actually felt pretty nice?”

“What, me touching your gem?”

“Yeah,” he manages to croak out, voice cracking like it hadn’t since he was freshly fifteen.

She isn’t able to fully stifle her giggle at this, pressing her hand tight to her mouth far too late.

His heart nearly plummets at the sound of her teasing laughter, the constant thrumming of his hard light veins steadily quickening as a flood of energy pulses just below the surface. He knew he shouldn’t have said anything, he knew it was far too much after every other recent misstep he’s made in their relationship! Why couldn’t he have just kept his trap shut?

“Aw, geeze,” he says, voice thick and his every muscle ready to bolt, “this is so embarrassing—“

“No, no! I shouldn’t have laughed, it’s okay!” she jumps in, pressing her hand to his shoulder to help ground him “It’s just bodies, Steven. It’s not weird. It’s just how skin-to-skin contact works. It’s supposed to feel good, because we’re meant to be social creatures, y’know?”

He hums softly in agreement, taking the offered moment to ease himself down from brink of panic. He focuses intently on the weight of her hand, resting feather-light against him. It’s a small gesture, but a powerful one. More than anything, more than words alone could say, it’s a promise. A reaffirmation, moment by moment. I’m here. We’re here. It’s a truth even the sobering reality of shared trauma can’t hope to erase: that even when the going’s tough, they have each other.

Connie brushes a stray stand of hair behind her ear then, shifting on the couch. Perhaps out of a sum of bashfulness, her eyes drift, not quite able to meet his.

“I- it’s silly, but I guess I never considered that you could even feel sensation through your gem,” she admits.

“Really? But you’ve had a gem before. Well, shared a gem,” he corrects himself, though in the end it’s all semantics.

“Well, sure, but when we’re Stevonnie, they don’t tend to think about stuff like that, because you’re used to it, and I’ve never thought about it. It’s simply... normal for them, I guess.”

“Hahah, yeah. It’s always been that way for me,” he says with a soft chuckle. “I never crawled like a normal kid, d’ya know? Dad says I always used to move around by scooting on my butt. When I tried crawling my gem would scrape against the floor, and apparently? I hated it.”

She laughs for real this time, (with him, not at him), her voice ringing true and beautiful and clear like a bell. His heart swells with joy.

And then...

Connie’s lithe fingers reach towards his midsection, hesitantly at first, before— in careful consideration of boundaries— pausing in their voyage entirely.

Her eyes lock with his, her shy expression wholly giving up the chase on what her request will be before she ever shifts her tongue to ask in words. “Is it okay if-?”

“Always,” he says, gently leading her hand under the hem of his shirt and towards the gemstone at his core.

He can’t help his sharp inhale when he feels her fingertips dance across his facets once more. Even when he knows what’s coming, knows to expect this contact, it’s funny. Not funny in a ‘haha’ way, funny in an ‘I’m not used to this’ way. After all, he’s never exactly made a habit of touching his own gem beyond periodic cleaning, and (almost) no one else has ever had a purpose to. It’s for this reason that a small traumatized segment of his mind still can’t help but spiral in panic about the mere concept of any external being brushing against this treasure, this tangible half of his very essence. Given the nightmares he’s been through, he’d have every right to deny her touch. But with Connie... beyond everything else, allowing her in this way is the greatest show of vulnerability he knows how to give.

It’s his proof to her that in this moment, he trusts her implicitly, without question.

Gracefully, she traces her finger around the edge of his gem, lines each individual facet in turn. It’s ticklish at first, much like before, but as she grows more confident in her gentle exploration he finds himself relaxing under her touch. He feels warm, a faint buzz of content flooding his system through his hard light veins. With her, he feels safe.

“It really is beautiful, you know that?” she says, a peaceful expression settling across her features. “Your gem.”

“Nah, you’re beautiful...” he murmurs bashfully, cheeks flushing.

“So are you,” she replies in swift measure, eyes soft with endless adoration.

His fluttering heart extends its gossamer wings and soars. If it weren’t for her nestled at his side, lithe fingers running across each facet in even measure, her tactile presence tethering him like an anchor to this present reality, he’s pretty sure he’d have floated halfway to the ceiling by now.

Daringly, his gaze locks with hers. He swears his heart’s beating its own drum solo within his chest, but this time it’s not because of fear, not at all.

It’s the feeling of freedom.

His fingers loop around a stray strand of hair that’s fallen in front of her eyes. That seems to happen a lot, he’s noticed. As delicate as he can manage, he hooks it back over her ear.

“Can I...?” he whispers, his warm breath brushing against her lips.

She replies in wordless affirmation, leaning forward to close the narrow gap between them. Hooded eyes drift shut. Her hand still rests on his gem as they finally move to cross that final barrier, that fuzzy, oft indistinguishable line drawn between childhood sweethearts and could-be couple, and kiss.

Well, attempt to, anyways.

To be fair, despite his schmaltzy roots, Steven only has movies and books to pull from as an example.

Their noses bump against each other’s at first. Both giggling, they tilt their heads to compensate and then mash their lips together, reveling in every ridiculous moment of their joint inexperience. It’s definitely sloppy, and he doesn’t have a clue where he’s supposed to put his hands or how long is too long, or how he’s supposed to move his mouth against hers, or— stars, did he even remember to brush his teeth this morning?? He sure hopes so— but because it’s with Connie all of that doesn’t matter. It’s perfect in every way.

“OoooOOOoo, looks like loverboy’s finally gettin’ some!”

He and Connie startle at the interruption, pulling apart from each other with equally flushed faces to match eyes with their surprise visitor.

It’s Amethyst, leaning against the kitchen table with a downright roguish smirk, probably thinking she’s the funniest Gem that’s ever emerged. Of course, who else would it be? (Though, which entrance did she come in from? When did she sneak past them? Were they really so involved with each other that they just... failed to notice??)

“Crude,” he says, brows creased with faint annoyance.

In return, she cups her cheeks and serves him the most ridiculous, schmaltzy expression she can muster. “Sap!”

Connie stifles a laugh at her exaggerated antics, but on his side he can’t help but be salty that her interruption yanked the two of them away from the blissful throes of blossoming teenage romance.

“Oh, get outta here, you,” he chimes back, and playfully tosses one of the couch’s pillow straight towards her face. “Shoo!”

The quartz Gem catches it out of midair and grins, no stranger to tests of reflex these days. Adopting a fake posh voice, she fires back her retort. “Your wish is my command, Sir Sappington...”

Tucking the pillow under her arm, she turns on her heels and skips up and over the warp pad’s platform, stalking towards her room with a victorious air. She doesn’t even try to mask her lovingly teasing snickers as the door splits in two at her command and she crosses the barrier into the temple’s dimension warping interior. The last they hear from her before the passageway shuts is an overly triumphant ‘whoop.’ Steven can’t help but raise a scandalized brow at this. What, were the Gems hosting a betting pool about him and Connie, or something?

But thankfully, in time, the beach house grows peaceful again. They’re alone together, and together they’re content.

“Geeze, sorry about that,” he says bashfully, scratching at the nape of his neck. “You know how Amethyst is, heh heh.”

Connie smirks with loving, mischievous intent, comfortably cuddling up against his shoulder. “She’s kinda right, though...”

“About?”

“You can be pretty sappy sometimes,” she says fondly, and tilts her head so she can smooch his cheek. “Just one of the many reasons I love you.”

____

Notes:

So, given that I’ve also written a fic wherein Steven wakes up feeling a hand against his gem and has a panic attack, a word of explanation with my headcanons-

Ultimately, I imagine there’s a very stark difference between a trusted individual like Connie touching his gem when he’s fully alert and it’s just them, alone, safe... and him waking up and being groggy enough to not immediately realize who it is next to him.

In the end though, I just hope Steven would be able to reclaim a once-terrifying experience (someone else touching his gem) as something that is also able to be loving and comforting when it’s done with consent.

[peaceoutofthepieces]

Sink Or Swim

tag list: @cleocc @feeling-kinda-so-so @hopelessromanticvirgo @dreamy-slytherin @adora8 @lockerfivethreefive @painfully-oblivious @poeticinemaa @jjustonemorething @saraben00 @wedarkacademia @coolguyssyndrome @hischbabe @suckerforsobbe @tayspots @starmansander @theah0lt @zoenneforever @invisibleme @chibibanane

~^~

Monday, 08:18

Song: Loud Luxury - Love No More

Jens taps at the book laid out in front of him, shivering slightly in his coat. His head feels heavy and his eyes are still drooping and the focus he desperately needs right now feels distant. He skims over the words and takes very little of it in, his brain too sluggish to process what he’s being asked, nevermind attempt to give an answer.

“Hey, you’re not usually here this early.”

He looks up to find Jana sliding onto the bench across from him, tugging her coat sleeves down over her hands. She shrugs off her bag and drops it onto the seat next to her, and Jens takes that to mean she’s staying.

“Uh, yeah.” He glances once more at the books in front of him. “Last minute homework attempt. I don’t think I’m going to get it done, though.”

“Ah,” Jana frowns. She tilts her head, stretching forward to examine the page in front of her. “Do you want me to help?”

Jens merely purses his lips and looks at her, amused. It takes a moment for her to look up at him, and then she scoffs at his expression, rolling her eyes. Her expression quickly shifts into a smile, however, as he laughs, and he’s thankful for how comfortable it feels.

It’s not that it’s been hard, being friends with her. It just hasn’t been very easy.

“Don’t look at me like that, it was a genuine offer,” Jana scolds, crossing her arms on the table.

“That’s what scares me,” Jens says seriously. Jana leans across the table and smacks his shoulder and he laughs again. “Why are you here early?”

Jana’s sigh turns into a yawn, and she drops her head down to rest her chin on her arms. “I was supposed to be meeting Zoë.”

“Is there a but?”

“But she told me she’d be late when I was already on my way here,” Jana huffs, still smiling. Always smiling, nowadays. So much brighter than she had been when she was with him.

He smiles sympathetically, nodding. “I wish I could be more entertaining company.”

She waves him off. “Don’t let me keep you from your work. I might take a five minute power nap,” she jokes.

Jens kind of wishes they didn’t have to joke and he could go back to sleep for about five hours, but he blows out a breath and refocuses instead. It shouldn’t really be that hard, he thinks, he should probably know this. But the more he stares, the more letters and numbers blur together into nonsense and he loses his train of thought again. Over and over and over. He bites back a groan, deciding a breakdown in front of his ex probably isn’t the way to go, and debates attempting to Google the problem instead of simply giving up. He should have stayed that half an hour in bed.

A flash of blue catches his eye as he daydreams, avoiding making up his mind, and his mood is instantly lifted. The boy has just walked through the gates, ignorant to their presence. That leaves an unpleasant feeling settling in Jens’s stomach, so he lifts his arm in a wave.

“Luc,” Jens calls after him, his waving failing to get his attention. Lucas turns and takes a minute to seek him out, and then his lips upturn in a smile and the dormant butterflies in Jens’s stomach kick to life. He doesn’t let them affect him beyond an indiscernible twitch of his brow, is able to squash the feeling down and still wave Lucas over as Jana twists to look at him.

Jens takes the excuse to ignore his work and give the other boy his full attention as he stops and hovers awkwardly at the side of the table, glancing between them with slight discomfort. He softens, however, as Jens smiles up at him, and greets them with a soft, “Hey.”

“Hey.” Jana beats Jens at returning the greeting, easy and charming as she grins back at Lucas, and Jens feels something new twist in his gut.

He slides down the bench in hopes of Lucas’s soothing presence acting as a balm, and he does relax minutely as the boy settles next to him, bumping his elbow casually. He shrugs off his bag and reaches a hand up to smooth out his hair and Jens curls his hand atop his book.

He really needs to stop reacting like this.

“You weren’t packed up and moved out of the country then?”

Lucas huffs, shaking his head with a smile. “No, surprisingly. Why, were you worried about me?”

Jens places a hand on his chest. “I would have felt very responsible.”

“Responsible for what?” Jana questions, not prying, genuinely confused, and Jens doesn’t know why he kind of forgot she was there.

“I’m technically grounded, but this one,” Lucas juts his thumb at Jens, “convinced me to sneak out yesterday.”

Jens straightens instantly. “I did no such thing. I had no idea you were going to sneak out, and you took very little convincing.”

Lucas shrugs, sniffs, hides a smile. “You’re just lucky I managed to make it back before him.”

Jens rolls his eyes as Jana asks, “What did you get grounded for?”

“My dad found my weed,” Lucas says simply. “I think he’s kind of already getting over it, though.”

Jens imagines himself in the same scenario. “My dad would kill me.”

“No, your dad’s nice,” Jana argues, smiling easily as she shakes her head at him, and Jens feels some of his discomfort return. His dad has always been nice to Jana. He’s always been nice to Jens. It’s a valid enough assumption for her to make, and it doesn’t sit quite right with Jens all the same.

He searches for a way to smoothly change the subject, but Lucas is already there, looking at him with hidden concern. “The biggest loss is my stash, but luckily there’s a very nice guy willing to share.”

A soothing balm. Jens couldn’t be more grateful.

He glances around them teasingly anyway. “Really? Where is he?”

Jana laughs as Lucas punches his shoulder, and it’s strange, something about it, so incredibly strange, but it’s nice. It feels good. It’s odd, when Lucas shares a look with her, and they roll their eyes together, and it doesn’t feel like the old combined teasing with Robbe. It’s odd, but Jens won’t question it. He’ll let himself be pleased.

Lucas braces his arm on the table and rests his head on his hand and nods at the book in front of Jens. “Were you using that before I got here or are you just trying to look studious?”

Jens, being reminded of his unfinished work, no longer feels soothed. He lifts his pencil and taps it against the question he’d been working on, the only one left that he couldn’t quite get. “I was, but I think I’ve just given up.”

Lucas smiles slightly and grips the corner of the book. “You want me to look?”

Jens makes a ‘go ahead’ gesture and Lucas slides the book towards himself, eyes picking out the question with much better focus than Jens had been managing. Jens sets his cheek in his hand and watches him. A little furrow forms in his brow as he concentrates, and his lips part just the slightest bit around the words, and his little mole stands out in full focus in the chill morning light. Jens finds himself smiling at all of these separate elements, not paying any attention to Jana’s focus still settled on them across the table.

“X is seventeen,” Lucas says simply, after roughly three minutes of study, and Jens blinks at him in disbelief.

“What?”

Lucas looks up at him and raises a brow. “The answer? X is equal to seventeen.”

“Did you just fucking do that in your head?”

“Yeah.” Lucas flits his gaze from Jens to Jana, taking in their equally confused expressions, and shrinks a little. “Why, how long have you been working on this?”

Jens groans and drops his head onto the table and Lucas laughs, tugging gently at his hood. “Come on, you have the answer now.”

“Yeah, but she always asks how we did it and I have no fucking idea what just happened in your head,” Jens sighs, looking up at him again.

Lucas smiles fondly, shaking his head and holding out a hand. “So give me your pencil.”

Jens perks up. “Really?”

Lucas simply hums, and waits, so Jens passes him his pencil in mild awe and immense gratitude. Lucas laughs slightly at his expression and steals his notebook and writes out the detailed version of the answer. Jens looks to Jana, who lifts her shoulders in a shrug but watches Lucas with an equally amazed smile.

“I think he deserves some of your free stash for that,” Jana tells Jens, and Lucas laughs again, and Jens thinks he might even be able to get used to this.

[vampiregirl1797]

When You Have a Breakdown at Work

Jake Peralta x Reader

 GIF Not Mine

 Word Count: 3,184

 Warnings: maybe a little angst, & so much fluff

 Click Here For Masterlist

 Summary: Y/N’s having a bad day at work. The brother she hasn’t heard from in five years called to ask for bail money, and it brings back a lot of painful memories. More specifically, the memories of her parents turning her away after she removed the presence of her toxic brother from her life. Work isn’t the best place to have a breakdown, but the evidence room offers some privacy as she slowly falls apart, and when her partner finds her, his warm embrace provides some much needed comfort. As Y/N tells him what happened, he finds himself unable to hold his words back and ends up confessing how much she means to him. How will she react?

 I took another deep breath and forced myself to gently place my phone back on my desk, instead of throwing it through one of the precinct windows like I wanted to. Now wasn’t the time to express my anger and complete frustration—I was at work. Now was the time to be professional and get on with my job, no matter how unbelievably annoying my brother was.

He’d done it again. Gotten himself arrested for having drugs on his person and in his system evidently. His sentence was going to be higher than it usually was because the high quantity of illegal substances he had on him led the cops who arrested him to believe he had the intent to distribute. Hell, I wouldn’t even be surprised if he had turned to dealing—he couldn’t hold down any other work so why wouldn’t he try and make some money to ensure he could keep up his habit.

 I’d really tried with him, he was a year and seven months younger than me, and despite the fact that he towered over me and looked about forty five rather than thirty one, he was my little brother. But I’d disowned him about five years ago, after he’d gone off the rails for the third time, and I’d had to use what little savings I had to bail him out of jail, again. I realised then that I wasn’t family to him. I was a bank that he called up when he needed someone to come and save him because he couldn’t face the repercussions of his actions.

 That was the last time I’d saved his ass, and I told him that from that moment, as far as I was concerned, I no longer had a little brother. I was officially an only child. He hadn’t taken it well and my parents had taken it worse—they’d retaliated by disowning me. It had been hard for a while afterwards, but when I got transferred to the 99th precinct in Brooklyn, I found a new family. One that was better than the one I’d had, and I was incredibly grateful to have them all in my life every day.

 So, after all of this time, it came as a shock to receive a call from him. He’d gotten himself arrested again and apparently mom and dad couldn’t afford to bail him out this time. I idly wondered exactly how many other time’s they’d had to cough up some bail money for their perfect son, especially if it had gotten to the point of them having nothing left this time. I knew mom and dad had a nice little nest egg they’d put aside for their retirement—had he drained it all? I felt my heart clench at what that meant for them, but I didn’t let myself linger on it—it was their choice to keep him in their lives and ignore his toxic tendencies. I was not responsible for their choices and I was certainly not going to suffer the consequences of their actions.

 ‘Hey, Y/N did you finish the report for that B and E?’ Jake’s voice snapped me out of my thoughts.

 ‘Uh, yeah it’s on Holt’s desk.’ I forced a smile, grabbing some extra files I needed to finish and standing up, ‘I’m gonna go and finish these somewhere else. It’s a little loud in here, I can’t concentrate.’

 I fled before Jake could say anything in response—if I gave him the chance to talk he would comment on the fact that the bullpen was quieter than it ever was because him and I were the only ones there. Well, aside from Sarge and the Captain, but both were always quiet because they had their own paperwork to be getting on with. Rosa and Charles were out on a case and Amy was off for the weekend—apparently she was going to see a TED talk on body language…at least I think that’s what she’d said. Gina was out on lunch, but she’d been gone for at least two hours now—I was anyone’s guess if and when she was coming back.

 So really, needing quiet was a bogus excuse and Jake would pick up on that and start asking me what was wrong, and I didn’t want to talk about it. At least, not here anyway. Jake already knew about the non-existent relationship I had with my family—he was my partner and the stake outs, undercover missions and late nights filling out paperwork led to a lot of time for bonding. It was safe to say that the hyperactive man knew me better than anyone on the squad, or rather, anyone ever. There was just something about the brown haired, brown-eyed boy that made it impossible not to feel comfortable around him. I didn’t know if it was just a part of his personality, or if he was just the first and only person I’d ever clicked with so fast. Either way, I was lucky to have him in my life, as someone I could tell anything to, as someone I knew I could call at three in the morning because I needed to talk to someone who would listen… as someone I was starting to care for as more than a friend.

 I shook my head free of those thoughts and took a seat at the desk in the evidence room. I will only focus on my paperwork. With a determined nod I opened my files and started filling out the relevant information, placing sticky tabs onto the pages I’d need to get Peralta to sign too. It didn’t take as long as I’d thought and in no time, I’d finished the four lots of reports and I was staring blankly at one of the many plain brown boxes piled on the shelves of evidence lock up.

 These were times when I’d distract myself, refusing to linger on the pain and abandonment that sprang up inside of me whenever I thought about my family. Usually it worked great, and I got to a point where I could go months without them even crossing my mind. But I guess hearing my brother’s voice earlier was making it more difficult—he’d opened up the wound and I was going to have to wait for the skin to stitch itself back together.

 I knew I’d made the right decision for me—my brother was toxic and even though it hadn’t been easy, I’d cut him out of my life, because I just couldn’t be happy while I was constantly waiting for the phone to ring to bail his ass out of whatever problem he’d managed to get himself into. The thought of that isn’t what hurt; what hurt more than anything was how easily and quickly my parents had turned their backs on me. How couldn’t they see how poisonous, how selfish he was? Why couldn’t they understand why I had to do what I did?

 I took a deep breath and when it turned into a sob, the tears in my eyes spilled over. I leaned back in my chair, pulling my knees up to my chest and decided to indulge in a good cry. Everyone needed that once and a while, right? I hid my face in my knees and just let the tears, the sobs, all of it out. I’d been holding it in for a long time—while I’d shed a few tears over this predicament over the last five years, I’d never let myself go this much. And while my heart was throbbing painfully and my throat was starting to feel raw, it felt good to purge all of the feelings of abandonment, anger and hurt from my body.

 Being so lost in crying I hadn’t heard someone join me in the evidence room and I just about jumped a mile when I felt a hand on my back. I looked up to see Jake, his hands held in front of him defensively and his brown eyes shining with concern. Without much thought I practically leaped into his arms and buried my face in his chest, the sobs and tears continuing to fall from me—I was too far in to stop now, I had to let it run its course. Jake’s arms wound around me and he rested his chin on top of my head, murmuring soothing things to me. Eventually he sat in the chair I’d been on when he’d arrived, pulling me onto his lap and allowing me to nuzzle further into his warmth. He started to rub the bottom of my back comfortingly and I just about melted into him as the tears finally started to subside.

 I don’t know how long we were sat there for, but he never once complained or pushed me to talk about what had caused this reaction, even after the tears stopped. He just kept rubbing my back and occasionally placing a chaste kiss to my hair, which made my heart skip in my chest every time. I nuzzled my way up to the crook of his neck, inhaling his cologne and not fighting as my eyes fluttered shut at the comfort and security that intensified around me.

 ‘Thank you, Jake.’ I murmured, my voice was low but even I could hear how weak it sounded.

 ‘It’s no problem, Y/N.’ He kissed my hair again and I could sense that he was bracing himself to ask me something that he was worried I wouldn’t want to hear, ‘did something happen?’

 The question didn’t make me stiffen defensively like it would have if anyone else had asked. But coming from him, I didn’t mind, and so instead I sighed and melted further into him.

 ‘My bother called.’ I felt him stiffen momentarily—he knew that couldn’t mean anything good, especially with the state he’d found me in, ‘he was arrested for possession and intent to distribute. Mom and dad couldn’t afford to bail him out this time, apparently I was his last resort.’

 ‘What did you tell him?’ he asked, a little hesitantly.

 ‘I told him that I didn’t care and that it was about time he faced some repercussions for his actions. He told me I was a bitch and that I was dead to him. I told him he’d been dead to me for five years, harsh but true.’ I shrugged and Jake’s index finger tilted my chin up so he could study my eyes. I assumed he was trying to figure out if I was actually feeling as casual and dismissive as I was acting over the conversation I’d had with my brother.

 He frowned in confusion, ‘you don’t seem upset about that, so what’s bought this on?’

 Another sigh fell from me, my eyes fluttering closed as his hand caressed the side of my face, ‘over the past five years I’d gotten good at not thinking about my family, I’d just distract myself whenever a thought about them popped into my head.’ He nodded, but the crease between his brows hinted that his confusion lingered, ‘and I got to a point where they wouldn’t cross my mind for months, but that phone call, hearing his voice just bought it all back. Tore open the wound all over again, and while I honestly don’t care about my brother no longer being in my life… it still hurts that my mom and dad just disowned me so easily. I still don’t understand why. I get that they were pissed at me for disowning him, but why can’t they understand that with him in my life I was only ever on edge? That I couldn’t be truly happy while I was waiting for the phone to ring with him asking for more money to bail him out of whatever trouble he’d gotten himself into?’

 The pain in Jake’s eyes made my eyes tear up all over again, touched that he seemed to care enough that my sadness affected him so deeply. I took a deep breath, determined to get it all out.

 ‘My anger has stopped me from shedding more than a few tears over the years, I never let it out, never let myself properly grieve for the parents I lost. And for some reason I decided that here in the evidence lock up was the best location for that to happen.’ My tone turned a little light-hearted at the end and Jake acknowledged my effort by smiling a little, but the pain still lingered in his eyes.

 ‘I’m so sorry, Y/N.’ He said, his words coming out so quickly that I had to concentrate to catch them all, it was as if he’d been holding it in for a long time and now he was rushing to get it all out, ‘I’m sorry that your parents and your brother didn’t realise how lucky they were to have you in their lives. I’m sorry that they just disowned you so easily, without recognising what a loss it would be and how empty their lives must be without you in it. I’m sorry that they hurt you.’ His eyes were shining with such intensity as he spoke and when he paused to take a breath, a softness appeared in them that made my breath catch, ‘I’m sorry they didn’t appreciate how incredible you are when they had the chance, but I’m not sorry that they’re never going to get the chance again. Because they don’t deserve it, they don’t deserve to have you in their lives. They don’t deserve to know the person you are now because they didn’t realise how kind, sweet, caring and loving you were then. They don’t deserve to know all of the achievements you’ve accomplished in your career and your personal life.’ He gently wiped away the tears as they fell down my cheeks, ‘the truth is, Y/N, I don’t understand how anyone could ever turn their back on you, because I cannot imagine my life without you. It would be empty, a lot less fun, I wouldn’t be as enthusiastic to come to work because I wouldn’t have the fact that I would get to see you to motivate me.’

 ‘Jake,’ I whispered, overwhelmed and I feeling myself fall that little bit more in love with him.

 ‘I know I’m being a little intense here and I hope that it’s not freaking you out, but I wanted you to know that I and everyone in your life now, would never be able to abandon you like they did. You have a family, you have a home here.’ He kissed my forehead.

 His proximity didn’t diminish after, as he rested his forehead against mine, close enough that I could feel his breath mingling with mine, both of us suddenly breathing sporadically. I knew he wouldn’t move close enough to kiss me, he would leave the power in my hands, and if I pushed him away he would immediately get off me and give me space. But I didn’t want space; I wanted to feel his lips moving against mine, I wanted to taste his skin on my tongue. My hands trailed up either side of his neck and moved through his soft brunette hair, Jake’s eyes darkened with lust and I felt my knees go weak—if I’d still been standing I would have crumpled to the floor. I gently pulled him towards me, close enough to close the small gap between us.

 The kiss started off tender, his soft lips dancing gently with mine as we tentatively learned how to move together. Once the shyness melted into the heat of our lust, the kiss became more passionate, me shifting in his lap to straddle him, my hands tightening in his hair when he gripped my waist tighter to pull me closer. I felt a moan tumble from me when he flicked his tongue against mine—I’d never had that kind of reaction when kissing anyone before, but no one had ever kissed me so expertly, so effortlessly as if he knew what I wanted when I didn’t. I felt myself melt into him as his tongue dominated mine, another sound of pleasure leaving my throat. I was overwhelmed with the affect he was having on me—my whole body was tingling with electricity, my bones felt like they’d melted and a knot of pleasure was forming in my belly and growing so quickly that I felt like I was going to burst into flames at any moment.

 Eventually we reluctantly pulled apart, our bodies needing the oxygen we’d been denying it for too long. My forehead fell to his shoulder as I tried to get my breathing under control, and when I felt like I could speak again a breathy, ‘wow’ was whispered into the skin of his neck.

 ‘That was the hottest moment of my life.’ His voice was breathy too and I lifted my head to look at him, a teasing smile on my face.

 ‘Title of your sex tape.’ I winked, laughing with him, though I stopped abruptly when he sat up straighter, his hands tightening on my waist to assure he didn’t drop me.

 He gasped, ‘title of our sex tape!’

 I threw my head back, a loud laugh tumbling from my throat as I slapped the hand he held up for a high five. He entwined our fingers together and pulled me closer, placing a short but passionate and loving kiss to my lips. His eyes were soft when we pulled apart, and I knew that I was observing him in the same adoring way as my free hand fell to the back of his neck, playing with the longer strands of his soft hair.

 ‘I’m so lucky to have you in my life, Jake Peralta.’ I murmured, kissing his nose when he bashfully grinned, his eyes softening even more.

 ‘Not as lucky as I am.’ His hand caressed the side of my face, his eyes tender with adoration and sincerity, and he bought our lips together once again.

 As our lips moved together once again, I couldn’t help but thank whatever deity had bought Jake Peralta and the rest of the squad into my life. Because Jake was right, I did have a family here, one that was better and stronger than the relationships I used to have with my mom, dad and brother. But I was especially grateful for Jake. For his kindness, generosity, for caring about me, for loving me. We might not have said it, but I knew he felt it, just as I knew he was sure that I felt the same for him—it was clear in our eyes as we looked at each other and our touch as we held one another.

 And as our kiss deepened with fervour, I was certain that I would go through all the pain that came with my parents disowning me a thousand times over, if it meant that I would be blessed with having Jake Peralta in my life when it was done.

[inkribbon796]

Shutdown Ch. 3

Chapter 3: Damage Control

Summary: Logan finally finds Nate and things continue to escalate.

Chapter: 1, 2, 3

Nate was talking with a couple of Legionnaire hunters in some bar when he got a text from both Bing and Marvin that Logan was heading his way, and that he was acting weird.

Problem number one: he preferred not to be seen with the other hunters around the Coalition. Especially since the hunters didn’t like how “permissive” Nate was about them keeping demons under their roof. The singer took great joy in telling them to take their heads out of their asses and not to attack people. And that he was not going to help them until they stopped.

Problem number two: he very possibly more than a little bit drunk.

“Hey Nate, you might want to watch out. Logan’s upset.” It was from Bing.

“In fine,” Nate struggled to text.

That was when Marvin rushed in, he took one look at the hunters and said, “Get outta here, Google’s coming an’ he’ll kill yah guys if he sees yeh, come on Nate.”[1]

“Come on, let’s wait for Lo,” Nate told him, before the singer called over to the bartender. “Hey Greg, can I get a gin and tonic for my friend, he’s coming in.”

“Nope, nope,” Marvin said and after a couple minutes was able to pull Nate out of the bar. The hunters didn’t leave but they hung around the area.

“Come on Nate, help me out a little” Marvin muttered. Silver flying overhead with Henrik, Patton, and a couple of bags.

“I haven’t had drinks with Logan in ages, I’ve been out of town doing fuck all,” Nate complained.

“Yeah, whose fault is that?” Marvin retorted as he dragged him out.

“It’s freezing out here,” Nate complained. Mare was getting antsy, clearly better able to read the room — so to speak — than his inebriated host.

“Sharp!” Logan called as he walked over, still in his uniform, Roman hot on his heels. Google kept his distance as Bing and Jackie were braced for trouble.

“Ahhh, hey Lo,” Nate smiled, even after Logan walked over and ripped the singer out of Marvin’s hands and slammed him against the brick wall of the bar.

“What the fook[2]!” Marvin spat in surprise. Logan wasn’t violent. Logan at least tried to communicate.

“Where is it?” Logan demanded.

“Hmm, what?” Nate slurred. He was tired, and maybe he was a little more drunk than he thought he was.

Logan’s hands got a little close to Nate’s throat. “My camera, what did you do with it?”

“You said it was fine,” Nate reminded.

“You stole from me!” Logan spat in a rage. “Give it back.��

“Logic,” Silver warned, putting a hand on the Side’s shoulder. “Let’s go back to the base and talk this over.”

“So he can steal from me again?” Logan spat and shoved into Silver with much more force than the other hero expected. He could have easily withstood the shove and not moved but he wasn’t expecting it.

Mare was finally fed up with the situation and easily pushed himself into control of the body, surging out of the necklace and grabbing onto Logan’s wrist with a false light grip. “Hey hero, let’s not make a scene in front of people.”

The Side looked back at Mare and Nate, dark lines coming down from Mare’s eyes. The arm of the suit briefly vibrated for a second before Mare felt electricity coursing through the body. He quickly kicked Logan away before he could do damage the demon couldn’t block.

“All this for a fucking splitter?” Mare shouted. “Thought you were the smart one.”

“I don’t care what you two want it for,” Logan proclaimed, “he stole it from me and everyone is insisting I keep waiting until he gives it back.”

“Come on Nate,” Mare decided, “time to sober up. I think it’s time you got a nightcap, buddy.”

“I just don’t understand why I am forced to sit idly by while things are taken from me,” Logan spat.

“Yeah well Nate’s drunk, so you’ll have to wait until he’s sober again,” Mare told him.

Logan went quiet for a second before something that looked like brass knuckles shot out of his suit and Mare didn’t like the look of them. He knew Logic wasn’t a brawler, so there was no way he was just planning on beating the shit out of Nate and taking the camera off his broken body.

“Okay, alright,” Mare began sliding along the wall, trying to put distance between Nate and Logan, “I’m still using this body, just don’t hit the face. I need it.”

“You demons and your face fixation is a little unnerving,” Roman commented.

“You’d be surprised what you can get away with if you have a nice face,” Mare defended. “If I wanted absolute power I could get that just about anywhere.”

Logan went to hit Nate’s chest, clearly just trying to get into contact with him rather than go for a quick knockout.

“Hey!” Mare yelled.

“Bing, get the can opener,” Silver ordered.

Bing was quick to move it and between Silver holding him down and Bing working with the nanites they got the suit fully turned off.

Logan stopped talking and fighting, just quietly laying there, Mare released Nate who looked a bit more sober and hungover than before and he rubbed at his eyes as Henrik began trying to find what was wrong.

“He said he was fine with me holding onto it,” Nate grumbled, keeping his eyes on the bar. None of the other Legionnaires had come out of help or confront him about Mare.

“I guess he wasn’t,” Roman commented.

“You okay?” Patton asked Nate.

“My head feels like sandpaper and my mouth feels like ass,” Nate grumbled. “I’ll be fine.”

Henrik directed Silver to take Logan to the hospital since he: A— wasn’t breathing; B— didn’t have a heartbeat; and C— was cold to the touch.

Mare quickly took back control of Nate’s body and just ran off into the night before anyone could stop him, and Google stayed following from a distance. He didn’t go into the hospital but he was very clearly watching from a distance for a while before leaving to take his notes and test back to his workshop.

Virgil raced into the hospital, since he’d been called by Patton about what was going on. He proceeded to freak out and have a mental breakdown.

At this moment several things were missed. A swath of freckles covered by a mask. The fact that Virgil’s eyeshadow was always dark and did weird things sometimes. And since people tend not to look down when directed, there was a black stain on the hem of Roman’s normally perfectly white coat.

Logan was admitted to a room for treatment where the doctors stated that he was still pumping blood and his heartbeat had returned, but he wasn’t breathing so he was going to be kept for tests.

After everyone had called asleep, Janus slipped in, disguised as a nurse. He’d been watching for a couple hours, waiting for his moment to move in.

Janus sighed as he walked in, looking at all the Sides. More importantly he looked at the new additions on the Sides. The freckles, the deep black eyeshadow, the black tinge on a coat, and most damning of all Logan laying there in the middle, not breathing.

A deeper sigh came from his chest. “Oh Logan, what have you done?”

From his caplet he pulled a spell book, and flipped it open to a page before he started chanting a spell. He made sure to do so quietly so that none of the Light Sides would wake up. His aura lit up into a magical circle around the Light Sides.

Once Janus stopped speaking, Logan drew in a breath and everything finally went back to normal. Patton’s face had his normal late winter pallor. Roman’s coat was its normal color. Virgil’s eyeshadow looked slightly lighter.

Janus let out a sigh of relief, using his nurse illusion again but promising, “Don’t worry, I won’t let this happen again.”

Carefully the deceitful protective Side left the room and the hospital was left none the wiser.

After the warehouse the silent sniper had followed Google outside the bar until the other heroes had swarmed around Logic. The accidental victim had seemed fine, a little more aggressive than he was usually reported as being. But then there was all this talk about a lack of a heartbeat, and Nate had clearly been possessed and slipped off into the night without waiting to talk to anyone.

Or more likely the demon suspected it would be forcibly placed back into containment.

It wasn’t until the coast was clear that the hunter got into a car and drove just outside of Gainesville city limits while they could still reach the location. It looked like a simple storefront if not for the plain clothes agents inside.

The hunter flashed a quick ID badge and the guards let the hunter in, barely offering a comment as they headed down the stairs to a room where there were four people talking. Three men in suits, and a woman wearing a cloak with rune tattoos going up and down her arms.

The hunter threw the crossbow down in front of the woman, “You gave me the wrong spell.”

“Excuse me,” one of the men in suits barked angrily. “We are having a discussion, if you could wait until we’re done.”

“No, they were sent to get Google, I want to hear how it went,” one of the other men in suits commented, he was in front of a laptop working on something.

“Fine,” the first spat. “I can already see it didn’t work.”

“Calm down,” the woman told him. “What happened?”

“I had the robot in my sights but the arrow hit the hero instead,” Taylor told her. “He saw me, I was told he was a null. I shouldn’t have even been able to hit him by accident.”

“You’re positive that it was one of the null heroes?” She asked.

“Director,” one of the agents walked in with a new folder and handed it to the more frustrated suited man before he handed it to the man who was in front of the computer.

“This thing should be decommissioned and ripped apart,” he commented, Wezel remembering how Google had almost killed him in his own office. “At least the other one doesn’t try to rip your nuts off.”

“I’m not losing all the resources we dumped into it, I want this thing back,” the Director reminded. “If I have to get them back as scrap, I’ll take it.”

“Fine,” Wezel snapped. “Would help if you all used the stuff I made.”

“We did,” Taylor snapped. “It targeted someone else.”

“That’s impossible,” Wezel insisted. “It wasn’t designed to work on people.”

“Well that obviously doesn’t seem like the case,” the third man in a suit commented. His suit was an off beige and his tie was a blood red color. His smile was as sharp as broken glass.

The Actor’s placement was off but he fit like a puzzle piece, forced into place and his aura dampened to look human.

“I don’t care what it seems like, you can’t give someone a computer virus,” Wezel snapped.

“I think maybe you can,” the Actor smiled confidently.

“No, you can’t,” Wezel pulled a file out of the stack and slid it over to the Actor. “Here, take it and just go already.”

The Actor stood up, flipping through it, “Screw this robot hunt, Dames is mayor again.”

“We have more important things to worry about than a corrupt politician,” the Director reminded firmly. “But if you want to deal with it, be my guest.”

“Nice, ah-score,” the Actor smiled and kept flipping through the folder until he found a set of pictures stapled onto the folder to keep them from falling out.

They were different pictures of Dark’s Lost Ones, the Actor ignored all the others to the side and ripped Illinois’s picture out.

“You sure this kid is Wil’s?” The Actor chuckled. “Looks a bit too good looking to come from that sleaze ball.”

“Who cares at this point?” Taylor commented. “They’re all spawnlings by now.”

“Well I lost something a couple years back, looks like Dames found him for me,” Marc smiled, taking the picture as he stood up. “You need me for anything else, Director?”

“No,” the Director scoffed. “As far as I’m concerned, you and these other magic freaks can all get lost.”

“Alright, see you all around then,” the Actor just walked out, whistling to himself as he left, a slight skip in his step.

~~~~~~~~~~~

Accessibility Translations

1. Get out of here, Google’s coming and he’ll kill you guys if he sees you, come on Nate.

2. fuck

[tripleaxeldiaz]

all was golden when the day met the night

chapter 5/5

read on ao3

start from the beginning

As the weekend wears on, Eddie feels more and more like himself. He chalks it up mostly to staying inside with Chris, Disney+, and takeout for two days straight, basking in the unbridled happiness that always seems to surround his son. He knows, though, that a big part of his feeling better is also because of Buck — he’s never had a catharsis like that with anyone, and he thanked Buck by essentially slamming the door in his face as soon as he tried to dig a little deeper. He wanted to help, Eddie wanted him to help, but it was too much and he was too raw, so he just shut down. Defaulted to being closed off as he usually was because it was safe and easy. But Buck is his best friend, one of the people he loves most, and he deserves someone who could be open and honest with him.

Eddie really wants to be that person.

He really needs to apologize.

He tries multiple times, writing and deleting texts, planning scripts in his head but never hitting the call button. The words keep getting jumbled and they don’t feel like enough, don’t feel like they’re fully expressing how much Eddie wants to tell Buck everything, wants to fully let him in, if Buck is still interested. If he’s not, Eddie’s really not sure what he’s going to do. 

He braces himself on Monday, but Buck doesn’t come in. He sees him through the window as he parks and all but falls out of his car, hurrying toward Armageddon. He stops at the front door of the shop, knocks, smiles, and waves, before hurrying off again.

It’s fine. It’s fine. He’s just running late.

He doesn’t see him at all Tuesday, but gets a selfie of a sad looking Buck wrapped in a blanket with a mug of tea and a message reading sinus infections suck ))):. He smiles as he tells him to feel better, and things almost feel normal. Maybe this is just how Buck wants to play it — pretend that Eddie didn’t have a complete breakdown and go back to how things used to be, to how they used to be, whatever that was. If that’s what’s going to make Buck happiest and keep him in Eddie’s life, that’s what Eddie will do. He’ll smash all his feelings back into a box and set it on fire if he has to. Whatever it takes to make sure Buck never leaves.

The door above the shop rings on Wednesday morning, but Eddie’s too absorbed in trying to balance the numbers of a recent wedding to notice. A shadow falls over his laptop, and when he looks up, he’s face to face with Buck, backlit in the golden glow of the early morning sunlight, looking like an angel even in his usual all black. Eddie feels his mouth go dry and his heartbeat pick up.

“You know,” Buck says, his smile easy as always, even if his shoulders look a little tense, “you’re pretty cute when you’re trying to do math.”

It’s a knee jerk reaction to roll his eyes and shake his head, and he smiles too as he sees Buck relax. “At least I know how to do math,” he fires back, laughing at Buck’s mock outrage. Just like that, they’re back in their old routine. 

“That’s what I have Maddie for. She’s the brains of the whole operation, and I’m the beauty.”

“What’s Chimney then?”

“He’s dead meat after he let my flowers die while I was gone for a day.”

Eddie snorts as he gets the craft paper. “Well, math might be hard, but replacing flowers is easy. Any requests?”

Buck just shrugs, smiling softly at Eddie now. “Whatever you’re feeling.”

Eddie’s been trying to figure that out for the past four days, but it’s so much easier when Buck asks him to do it with flowers. He wraps the bouquet and turns back to Buck, holding the flowers between them like a shield. 

Buck cocks his head, confused. Eddie clears his throat and takes a deep breath. “I’m really sorry about last week. You were just trying to help, and I shouldn’t have yelled at you. I’ve got...a lot of stuff to sort through, and I didn’t want to put that burden on you.”

Buck’s smile gets softer still as he reaches out to hold Eddie’s wrist. “It’s okay, I get it. But I meant what I said — I’m here for you no matter what. However and whenever you need me.” He takes the bouquet from Eddie, holding it in the crook of his arm. “Are these apology flowers to match your apology speech?”

Eddie laughs, trying to ignore the embarrassed blush he feels growing on his cheeks. “I guess so. Yellow roses literally mean apology, purple hyacinth means asking for forgiveness, and red carnations—” mean something that you absolutely can’t tell him, he finishes in his head. He freezes for a second, scrambling for any other reason for including them, before lamely landing on— “They just looked nice.”

Luckily, Buck takes it, no questions asked. 

As he leaves, Eddie feels a weight go with him, feels more like himself than he has in days. Buck is still here. He saw Eddie at his lowest and it didn’t scare him off. And while that’s all well and good, it feels fragile and new, like something that could break the minute Eddie tries to make it more than friendship like he still so desperately wants. 

Instead, he resolves to ball his feelings back up in his chest, hiding them away like he’s done for months and months now. He promised himself he’d do whatever it takes to make sure Buck sticks around, and he meant it. 

~~~~~~~~~~

The sun is setting as he enters Armageddon, in a surprisingly good mood given everything that’s happened the past two weeks. He makes his way to the back, distracted by trying to figure out what to do with his weekend. Maybe they can go to the art museum Chris has been raving about, look at all the works that don’t make any sense to Eddie but can keep Chris enraptured for hours. Maybe Buck will come along to explain everything.

He’s distracted enough that he doesn’t register Buck and Chris’s conversation until he’s halfway to the table they’re sitting at in the back room. When he does finally tune in, he stops, just out of sight, and feels his whole body start to go numb.

“It says they mean ‘I’m sorry’ and ‘Please forgive me’. Is that what Dad said they meant? Was he sorry about something?” Chris is reading from a school library book, the bouquet from earlier this week on the table between him and Buck. 

Buck looks at the flowers, smiling almost sadly, before turning back to Chris. “Yeah, that’s what he said too. We just got into an argument, but gave me these flowers, so it’s okay now.” He turns back to the flowers, fingers playing with a stray stem that had fallen off as they wilted. “What does it say about red carnations?”

Chris flips through the book, eventually landing on the page he was looking for. Eddie braces himself as quietly as he can, because he knows exactly what Chris is going to read. “There’s a lot of meanings for different colors, but it says that if you give someone red carnations, it means you love them and feel something special for them. What did Dad say?”

His sharp intake of breath is completely involuntary, fueled purely by panic. Both heads snap toward him immediately, Chris’s face lighting up, Buck’s looking stunned. He tries to keep his own face as normal as possible, but his eyes feel wild and he’s hot all over and he just needs to get Chris and get out.

“Dad! I got a book about flowers from the library so I can know what they mean just like you!”

He really hopes his smile is genuine, because as happy as he is that his son wants to be anything like him, he also feels about 15 seconds away from passing out. “That’s great, buddy. Can you grab your stuff so we can go?”

Chris hops off the chair to pack up, filling the would-be uncomfortable silence with his usual chatter about school, what he’s reading, and what he did with Buck all afternoon. Eddie very pointedly keeps his eyes on his son the whole time, nodding and commentating more than normal so he’s not tempted to look at Buck and completely fall apart. Chris hugs Buck tight around the middle before heading for the door, forcing Eddie to acknowledge Buck without any kind of buffer.

“Thanks for watching him, we’ll see you later, okay?” he says, looking at a spot just over Buck’s shoulder. He doesn’t wait for a response, just rushes out, following after Chris even as he hears Buck call his name.

Surely, Buck will just brush this off. He won’t think twice about why Eddie actually included the carnations and just move on. They’ll be fine, Eddie won’t lose him because of his loud, dumb feelings, and the whole thing will blow over by Monday. He repeats it in his head over and over, willing it to be true.

They’re through the front door and halfway down the sidewalk before Buck catches up with them.

“Eddie, wait!”

Apparently, his force of will is not as strong as he thought.

Eddie skids to a stop, letting Chris run ahead to the store. He closes his eyes and prepares himself, because this is it. The moment he had been trying to prevent for months. He’s off the edge of the cliff, and there’s nothing he can do about it. He takes a deep breath before he turns around.

Buck is watching him. He looks confused and a little worried, and Eddie’s palms itch to reach out and somehow make it better. He jams his hands into the pockets of his jeans instead.

“The carnations weren’t just for show, were they?” Buck asks, slowly, quietly, like he’s trying not to spook a caged animal. 

He could lie. He could tell him they didn’t mean anything, that they really just looked nice. He could deny it over and over, and he knows eventually Buck would give in and let it go. They’d go back to square one where they’ve been for so long that Eddie can see ruts forming in their routine.

He’s so tired, though. Tired of lying, tired of wrestling with his feelings and trying to keep them from cracking his ribs and breaking free. And Buck had already seen him lower than rock bottom, and he stayed. Maybe he would stay after this, too.

“No”, Eddie says, shaking his head. “They weren’t just for show. Neither were the gardenias or pink camellias or red tulips, none of them were. You can look them up if you don’t believe me.”

Buck freezes, eyes wide, still as Eddie has ever seen him. And for as much as Eddie is usually a coward, he decides this is the moment to be brave.

“I love you,” he says in a rush. “I’ve loved you for a while, and I didn’t know how to say it out loud, so I just gave you love in flowers instead. You’re everything, Buck, to me and to Chris, and I just didn’t want to lose you or scare you away because I don’t know what I’d do with myself if you left. We need you, in whatever way we can have you.”

He can feel himself shaking as he stops talking, face hot with a furious blush of embarrassment, he’s sure. He never stops looking at Buck though, waiting for him to say something, anything, even telling him to fuck off and never speak to him again would be better than silence. 

He waits, and Buck just looks at him with an expression he can’t decipher. He looks and looks, and with every passing second, Eddie feels the world crumbling down around him.

The numbness is back, this time laced with the sting of rejection. He takes a few steps backwards as he feels tears start to prick at the back of his eyes, turning toward the store before they’re too noticeable.

He stops when he feels Buck’s hand wrap around his wrist, holding him in place. “Eddie, please,” he says, sounding close to tears himself. “I— I don’t know what to say, I—”

Eddie pulls his wrist back, Buck letting go without a fight. “It’s fine, Buck. Just forget about it.”

He walks away, tears falling without shame. 

He half hopes Buck follows him. 

He doesn’t.

~~~~~~~~~~

Eddie is not hiding. He is strategically avoiding.

He tries to process everything over the weekend, but come Monday, he still can’t bring himself to face Buck, to have the talk where he tells Eddie that he just wants to be friends and nothing more. Because he’ll say that, but things won’t go back to normal. They’ll be awkward and stilted and they’ll drift farther and farther apart until they’re no longer in each other’s orbit, practically strangers. He wasn’t lying when he said he didn’t know what he’d do with himself without Buck, and he really doesn’t want to try figuring that out now.

So Buck comes in every day like normal, and every day Eddie finds an excuse to busy himself in the back room and let Hen handle him. It only takes her two visits to catch on and pry every detail out of him.

“Eddie, I love you, but you’re the biggest idiot I’ve ever met,” she tells him when he finishes his story.

“Thank you for kicking me when I’m down,” he says, voice muffled from where his head is pressed to the table. She grabs a hold of his wrist, tugging it until he sits up and gives her his attention.

“Look,” she says. “I don’t know exactly what’s going on in Buck’s head, but he looks about as heartbroken as you do, if not worse. You have to talk to him. If you love him like you say you do, you owe him that much, at the very least.”

She’s right, of course, but that doesn’t mean Eddie is happy about it. Nor does it mean he’s going to jump headfirst into talking about his feelings like he did the last time. He tried being brave, and look where that got him.

He’s still biding his time (and licking his wounds) when he comes back from a delivery a few days later to an eerily quiet store. It’s late afternoon, when they’re normally busy with people picking up bouquets for date nights on their way home from work, but he doesn’t hear any voices when he comes in the back door or see Hen running around with fistfuls of flowers. He walks to the front and stops dead before he can call out for anyone. 

Buck is there, once again lit up by the sunlight streaming through the windows, standing next to a vase holding the biggest bouquet Eddie thinks he’s ever seen. He looks nervous, biting his lip as he watches Eddie walk closer, no doubt waiting for a reaction. Eddie’s honestly dumbstruck, because not only is it huge, but he immediately registers the meaning behind each flower he sees.

Blue violets for devotion, forget-me-nots for true love, yarrow for everlasting love. Aster, red chrysanthemums, honeysuckle. Rainflowers asking for returned affection and jasmine for love without conditions. They’re all surrounded by moonflowers for dreaming of and hoping for love. The whole thing is an explosion of color and scents and emotions and it’s beautiful. Almost as beautiful as the man standing next to it.

“I didn’t know what to say last week,” Buck says quietly, gaze moving from the flowers to Eddie. There’s a blush crawling up his cheeks that rivals any rose or carnation. His smile unfurls like a lily in the summertime. “I figured I’d try speaking your language instead.”

Eddie turns to Buck fully, tries to say something, but the words get stuck in his throat as his mind tries to process the sheer amount of things he’s feeling. He has half a mind to pinch himself, make sure he’s not dreaming, but he knows he isn’t. This is better than anything in his wildest fantasies because it’s real.

He’s snapped back to the present moment when he feels Buck’s hands on his, slotting their fingers together. Eddie squeezes instinctually, holding on for dear life, because he feels like he’s about to crack again — not from despair this time, but from sheer, unfiltered joy. It only gets bigger when he looks at Buck and sees it reflected in his eyes, too.

“Eddie,” he says, a laugh bubbling out of him like the happiness is overwhelming. “I love you. I love you so much. I think I’ve loved you from the minute I ran into the store for the first time, and it’s been snowballing ever since.” He brings a hand up to Eddie’s cheek, wiping away tears he didn’t even know were falling. He leans into the touch, smile only growing because it’s warm and perfect, like he always knew it would be. “You said I was everything to you and Chris, but you two are more than everything to me. I want to be here, with you, for you, for as long as you’ll let me.”

And because he is who he is, because he’s been living with his parasitic self doubt for longer than anyone should, Eddie pauses. His mind flashes through all his shadows and darkness lingering under this momentary happiness, and while it’s overwhelming and good and true, he still doubts. 

“I’m a mess,” he says, feeling Buck tighten his hold like he’s afraid he’ll try to run. “You saw it up close. I can’t guarantee it won’t always be that bad. Are you sure you want to deal with all this?”

“I want everything with you, Eddie. Good, bad, and ugly. You can’t scare me away that easily. I won’t let you.”

For once, there’s no rebuttal. He knows Buck is telling the truth, feels it in every part of him. If he focuses enough, he swears he feels a little less darkness around him. But there’s so much going on in his head that he doesn’t know what to say anymore, can’t figure out how to express to Buck exactly what all of this means to him. 

He’s still not great at words, but he’s as good at actions as he is at flowers.

There’s no fireworks or angels singing when they kiss, and it takes a few tries for them to stop smiling enough for their teeth to get out of the way. But once they fall into a rhythm, Buck hands on Eddie’s hips, Eddie’s hands running through Bucks curls, the whole world falls away until it’s just them. It’s a slow, gentle thing, but Eddie pours everything he’s hiding into it, hoping that Buck picks up on how much and how deeply he loves him. If the smile he feels on Buck’s lips is any indication, he thinks the message is loud and clear.

They pull away eventually but only to rest their foreheads together, soaking up each other. Eddie’s still smiling as he leans in, placing kisses on whatever parts of Buck’s face he can reach, just because he can. He feels the rumble of Buck’s laugh in his own chest, and almost wants to cry again at the realization that he’s going to be able to feel that laugh whenever he wants, have it memorized and tucked away in his mind for when the darkness is too loud.

He always knew Buck had enough light in him for both of them. Now he gets to prove himself right.

He pulls back a little more, taking in every feature of Buck’s happiness, fingers coming up to gently trace over his birthmark.

“Does this mean I get free tattoos for life?” he asks. Buck’s laugh is sharp and surprised, and they dissolve into giggles and kisses and touches like they’re teenagers again.

Eddie knows that it won’t always be this perfect — things will be hard, they’ll be tested again and again, and sometimes things will feel too dark for either of them to bear. But the light will always come back, they’ll grow stronger, blossoming in ways they never could on their own.

Eddie has been hiding in the shadows for too long. Buck is finally bringing him into the sunshine.

[notasdriedapricots]

The Tender Trap: The Origin Story

This is just pretty much a disclaimer for the disaster that’s coming.

I TALK A LOT OMG HOW DID YOU KNOW? Here's a TL;DR: -The Tender Trap is canon as shit, because I never intended to write a fic, and much less to publish it, but one thing lead to the other and I ended up kinda liking it. I love them so much. There's quite a lot added to it, but there's still a fair bit of the original thing in there, because again, that was the original goal. -However, if you think there's too much still there, let me know! I think I've modified it enough, but that's only my opinion. -If you catch technical mistakes, grammatical errors, weird vocabulary... let me know! English is my second language. -There's an after-villa sequel in the oven that has more angst (the game doesn't leave much space for that) and honestly is more fun. Or at least I've been having so much fun with it. I have to finish it first, though. I might hate it by the end, but we'll see. -Funny story: It was untitled for months. The day I randomly found a title while listening to Ella Fitzgerald, I kinda decided to 'fuck it, just upload it somewhere'. And so here we are. That was literally yesterday. -The first real chapter will likely be posted on AO3 on Thursday/Friday, depending on how much longer I keep messing with it :D

800 words of me rambling under the cut. How annoying is that.

I transcribed the whole goddamned game. In past tense instead of present, mind you. As one of the most popular memes in my country preaches: Why? There is no 'why'?

Well, there is. Just for clarification, that transcription is not what I will be posting. I'm not that dumb. No, I wanted to add nuances to the story without altering it, so I used what the game gives us as the skeleton. I wanted to see if I could make nonsense dialogue and the whole amnesia deal make sense by turning it into inside jokes, sarcasm, and anxiety. (Prosody is a wonderful thing). I tried my best to not contradict what has been explicitly said, regardless of how. much. I. wanted. to. change. it. That was the challenge, to reframe it so it made sense. Did it interfere with the 'creative process'? Nah, it was pretty fun, and I work well with a structure in place. The post-villa thing is way freer and oh god it's so over the place I have to put some order to that I don't even know where it's going but I found out I love writing domestic shit and I LoVe Lucas' mother.

This idea lead up to extending some scenes, adding others I felt were missing, composing internal monologues... And I ended up writing fiction again after like ten years. Which is not a "take it easy on me" card, by the way. Be ruthless, I can take it, mainly because I did this just for fun. I know I'm rusty, what's new? I know it mainly shows in the first chapters because the game forces a pace that's too fast and too slow at the same damn time and there's only so much my brain can do. I might rewrite them at some point, who knows. Also English is not my first language, so I can only hope there's something that sounds hilarious in there somewhere that you can point out so we can laugh about it. Let me know! I've loved this language since I was three, I want to use it properly. Also punctuation is sometimes different (commas and the necessity of explicit pronouns in English are a pain in the ass compared to Spanish) so you're welcome to correct that as well if you catch a mistake. So I don't intend to put myself at the same level as some of the fantastic writers in this fandom; you keep writing art, I'm just here for shits and giggles, and because this was insanely fun for me.

But going back. I started getting sidetracked, as I tend to do when I write, as you can see, so I had to get the scissors and cut those parts that weren't adding much to the main plot (telling Gary to apologize to Marisol is very nice but this chapter is already over 8000 words long, SIR) to make room for other parts that needed more depth, so amongst other things we have the emotional breakdown and apology we deserve after CA (or at least one that makes me feel bad, I don't know) and a lot of chats so these two actually get to, you know, know each other? Oh, and smut, ejem. Yeah. That.

In between I wrote half the after-villa sequel, canons for Liz, headcanons for Lucas, (head)canons for them together, pages and pages of questions and answers from both of them, fashion headcanons, families and exes, best friends; I put together pinterest folders with pictures of so (so) many people, clothes, apartments; I even wrote a musical episode where Liz has a karaoke battle with her ex in a jazz joint that's one of my favourite things because the songs are just *chef's kiss* I mean, Liz singing 'Cry me a river' is so cathartic... Anyway I started adding shit, mostly thoughts, to the game's dialogue, and it ended up in this abomination that never intended to be anything but fun. I'm not particularly proud of the first couple chapters because the cut/don't cut thing looking at the wordcount, trying to decide if I butchered the original dialogue, reduced it to a general paragraph, or pretend the scene never happened, all while having a chapter that was too short to split into two (or that would have one of them containing too little new stuff) but so long to be just one... was painful. I'm still dealing with that as I tweak the next chapters, but as soon as I have a somewhat definitive word/chapter count, I'll let you know. Just know that it's long, so do with that what you will.

SO, welcome. Take a seat, help yourself to a drink, and stay for as long as you like. When I got into this I went to the ball, so now I'm just dancing.

[gothic-safari-clown]

The Mind’s Power Over the Body

Part 21: The Mind’s Power Over the Body

Story summary: They only ever had each other. It had been that way since high school, ever since Elianna transferred to dreary Arlen and took Jonathan under her wing. They go separate ways for college, and when they're reunited at Arkham Asylum professionally, Elianna comes to find that they've both changed during their time separated. Can she look past the promise of danger and stay by Jonathan's side as they slide further and further into the darkness while she grapples to come to terms with the truth about herself? Can she accept what needs to be done in order to hold onto the only person who holds any meaning in her life? This is a very self-indulgent AU that draws from several different canons of the DCU and ignoring others, starting in the Batman Begins Nolanverse. This will follow the plot of the movie, although the timeline has been very slightly tweaked.

Word count: 1522

Ooh, the chapter title is the same as the fic title 

Elianna could not have been more proud of her mask. She had spent every second of her free time measuring and adjusting and sewing and sending Jonathan to the store to get what she needed: something he found tedious, she was sure.

Either way, she had gotten it finished with one day to spare, and she was positively giddy. Even Jonathan had seemed impressed, and from what she could tell by what he had said, Scarecrow was thrilled with her dedication to the fear project. When she had finished, Jonathan had surprised her with a fear gas sleeve rig like his, and she was aching for the chance to use both of her new toys.

It was getting dark out when Jonathan came into her office, looking annoyed.

"Rachel Dawes is on her way here," he monotoned, making her frown. She had yet to meet Dawes, but she had been causing trouble for them from the start.

"Why?"

"Apparently," he began with a sigh, removing the doorstopper to let it swing closed, "she disagrees with the fact that Falcone got moved here. She finds his mental break suspicious."

"She's really up on her white horse, huh?" Jonathan scoffed in response.

"Either way, she might back off if she thinks I have a second opinion on this case. Are you up for a little acting?"

"Absolutely. What's the plan for if she doesn't buy it?"

"You have your mask on you?" El nodded, fondly remembering Jonathan talking her through making the false bottom of her briefcase.

"We match now!"

"Yes, we do. Just make sure it closes all the way when you're done with it."

"Good, she'll be here in a little under an hour. And we're the only ones here besides the orderlies, so I just got Falcone's men downstairs to supervise. Hopefully, everything will be able to go smoothly tomorrow."

"I'm sure it will just focus on the task at hand."

El had been surprised when Jonathan told her that he had managed to pay off some of Falcone's thugs to be loyal to them, and more than a little suspicious. But after meeting them and working with them for a few days, she was actually very grateful that she and Jonathan had people to delegate to for the last few days of work.

.xXx.

Dawes ended up arriving much earlier than projected, which only served to irritate Jonathan further. The entire walk to Falcone's cell was spent with him practically fuming and El becoming more and more curious about just how annoying one person could actually be.

"Miss Dawes, this is most irregular," Jonathan spoke as they approached, not giving the woman a chance to get the first word in. El caught on to the energy and jumped in before the other woman could get a word out.

"I'm Doctor Montgomery, I've been consulting on this case, and I speak for both of us when I say that we have nothing further to add to the report we filed with the judge."

"I have some questions about your report."

"Such as?" Jonathan challenged while El arranged her face into what she hoped was something patient and expectant. God, she really is tiresome.

"Isn't it convenient for a fifty-two-year-old man who had no history of mental illness to suddenly have a complete psychotic breakdown just when he's about to be indicted?" She had a fair point, but El made sure to keep her face impassive.

"Well, as you can see for yourself, there's nothing convenient about his symptoms." Oh dear, he's getting pissed. The woman didn't have a response planned for that, so she turned her attention stubbornly back to the man behind the glass, who was muttering to himself.

"What's 'scarecrow?'" The brunette fired off. El took it upon herself to reply so that Jonathan wouldn't snap.

"Patients suffering from delusional episodes often focus their paranoia on an external tormentor," she explained, doing her best to keep her voice pleasant and collegial. "Usually one conforming to Jungian archetypes. In this case," she gestured to the glass, "a scarecrow."

"And he's drugged?" This question seemed to amuse Jonathan.

"Psychopharmacology is my primary field. I'm a strong advocate." The thought of Jonathan being an 'advocate' for anything nearly made El laugh. "Outside, he was a giant. In here, only the mind can grant you power." Dawes shifted her eyes between the pair through narrowed eyes.

"You two enjoy the reversal." Jonathan allowed himself a mildly amused smile if only for a second.

"Doctor Montgomery and I respect the mind's power over the body." El nodded in agreement.

"It's why we do what we do," she smiled, keeping up her friendly persona. She was hoping that if she did her part properly, maybe it would lessen the suspicion on Jonathan, but it didn't seem to work. In fact, Dawes sent a scowl in her direction.

"I do what I do to keep thugs like Falcone behind bars, not in therapy." With that, she breezed past them toward the elevator. Jonathan and El shared a look, knowing what had to happen next. She was still talking as they turned to catch up with her. "I want my own psychiatric consultant to have full access to Falcone, including bloodwork. Find out exactly what you two put him on." El rolled her eyes, thankful that the Dawes's back was still turned to her.

"First thing tomorrow then," Jonathan sighed as they flanked her at the elevator doors, knowing what had to come next.

"Tonight," she charged into the elevator ahead of them, and El suddenly understood very well why Jonathan and Scarecrow seemed to hate the brunette so much. She herself was struggling not to choke her out right there in the elevator. "I've already paged Doctor Lehmann at County General" as if they were supposed to know who that was. Maybe Jonathan did, but judging by his lack of reaction, probably not.

Jonathan inserting his key to take them to the basement didn't go unnoticed by the redhead, but Dawes didn't seem to catch it. "As you wish," he forced out through gritted teeth as the door closed behind them.

Dawes gave Elianna a questioning look when the doors opened to reveal the basement, to which El replied with a reassuring smile.

"This way, please," Jonathan directed, leading them into the hallway. "There's something I think you should see."

The one thing that El didn't understand was how they would get her through the secret panel in the closet. She was going over different scenarios in her head when Jonathan passed the door and instead approached a larger one at the end of the hallway where it turned and pushed the double doors open dramatically.

They all came forward to stand on a balcony overlooking the workroom that El had grown familiar with, one level above where the secret panel led out. She understood now why they took the other way: the stairs going from the level they were standing on to the next level down had been taken out.

The redhead watched the dawning horror on the attorney's face as she took in what was happening as Jonathan spoke again.

"This is where we make the medicine." No, not Jonathan. It was subtle, but once she heard it, it was unmistakable. That was Scarecrow mimicking Jonathan's voice. Dawes was too shocked to notice the slight change in cadence, and her gaze was affixed to an inmate pouring a drum of the toxin directly into a busted open water pipe.

Not just any inmate either. Zsasz. Feeling someone watching him, he looked up in curiosity; when he saw El standing there, he shuddered and quickly turned back to what he was doing, his breath coming in broken gasps as he remembered something he would rather not. Elianna grinned when she saw Rachel make the connection and snap her head to look at her. "You-!" she managed to gasp out.

"Me," El confirmed with a wink. A low chuckle drew their attention back to the bespectacled man beside them.

"Perhaps you should have some, Miss Dawes. Clear your head." The brunette woman bolted for the elevator, and the two leftover partners in crime shared a look. Scarecrow smiled at El, a full smile; something she had never seen from Jonathan. It was sort of nice to see, and she smiled back as Scarecrow produced his face fluidly from their briefcase.

Rachel had reached the elevator. Luckily for the scheming pair, it wouldn't budge without the basement key. All Rachel managed to see when the elevator doors opened again were two masks, one burlap and one that seemed to be lined on the outside with faux leather, fashioned into a long, sleek beak.

Then, a cloud of gas—fired at the same time that she gasped in fear—and she coughed as the gas entered her lungs. When she looked back up, the masks had been distorted and twisted, oozing from the holes and crawling with...god, something. It didn't matter because they each seized an arm and dragged her back out of the elevator before her thoughts dissolved completely.

[libsterslobsters]

Since I've Been Loving You...

Part four of The Song Remains the Same series

Summary: The Reader hadn't had many friends in her lifetime before a chance encounter in Romania brought Bucky Barnes into her life. That's all he is. Just a friend... that she may be slowly falling for. As for Bucky, dating may have changed since the 1940s, but he's pretty sure that's what he and the Reader have been doing for the past four months, and he assumes she's on the same page.. When a night in results in deep fears revealed, both parties involved learn more about themselves and each other than they bargained for.

Pairings: Bucky Barnes x fem! enhanced! Reader

(Reader can see little bits of the future and understands every language)

Warnings: language, mild angst, slow burn (See fic "Communication Breakdown" on my page for resolution), mentions of minor character death, fluff, misunderstandings

Author's note: In this ficlet series, I've referenced the one time Bucky and the reader caught a mouse in her apartment multiple times, so I figured I'd better go ahead and write it 😉. As always, the reader is unnamed, but since these characters live in my head rent free, I call her Violet Aimes.

*************************************************

The radio is on full blast as she dances around her apartment, rearranging a cabinet here, brushing away a cobweb there. Despite the fact that the season is months away, she’s set about the task of Spring Cleaning… in the middle of Autumn.

Since she lives on her own, she rarely has the motivation to clean her apartment. She keeps it functional and hygienic, but other than that, she usually doesn’t do much. That is, until recently, when the most extraordinary thing has happened: she’s made a friend.

As a child, a huge premium is put on your ability to make people’s aquaintances. Every time you go anywhere knew, you’re asked, “Did you make any friends today?” As an adult, friends are seen as nice, but not a priority. That is, unless they can help you get ahead. Since she rarely lets anyone get close to her (it’s too damn dangerous when you see the future, not to mention speak every language automatically, and because of that, the U.S. government would very much like to get it’s hands on you), her list of friends in adulthood has remained quite short. But, it turns out what they say is true: it’s not the quantity that counts, but the quality, and Bucky Barnes is indeed a quality friend to have. He’s kind, he’s loyal, brave, and- she shakes her head- attractive, yes. He’d make someone someday a fine partner. Not her, of course. If there was ever a chance that something like that could happen between them, experience has shown her that once someone learns her secret, they immediately decide it’s best to keep their distance romantically. What was the phrase she heard a while back? Don’t stick your dick in crazy? Well, she can’t blame anyone for thinking that way, dick sticking or not, because while she’ s not crazy, her life definitely is.

Pushing all of those thoughts to the side, she grabs her broom and begins to sweep her kitchen. It’s a small space. In fact, she can only walk three paces in either direction. Still, by the time she’s finished, she has a respectable pile of trash at her feet waiting for the dustpan. Only three more rooms to go in… she glances down at her phone… forty-five minutes. Yikes. Well, if she’s going to spend the afternoon cleaning, she needs an appropriate album to listen to.

Thank goodness for streaming services, because although she has a hefty CD collection (it’s no longer the ‘cool’ way to enjoy music, but what can she say, a girl’s gotta have hobbies), if she started looking through it, she’d be here all day, trying to make a damn decision. So, instead she searches for the first thing that comes to mind: Amy Grant, Heart In Motion. It’s cheesy, but it’s bright and poppy. A perfect combination for getting her though the arduous task of cleaning. So, duster in hand, she slips her earbuds in and, once again, gets to the task at hand.

___________________________________________________________________________________

Bucky’s a few minutes early, so he’s not expecting the door to be open, or even for her to be home. In hindsight, he should’ve texted and asked if it was okay, him showing up before the agreed time, but he didn’t think of it, and now that he’s in her building, well… he’ll just hang around in the hallway until it’s closer to five o’clock.

Not for the first time in the past three months, he thinks to himself that he has absolutely no idea what the protocal is for dating these days. He’s read multiple articles (Reddit is a wellspring of information that he wasn’t necessarily looking for, but there it was) and watched several Youtube videos, but one person seems to contradict another. Wait twenty-four hours after a date to call, no don’t do that, it makes her nervous, but if you call before then, you’ll scare her off with your desperation. Let her determine who makes the first move, but don’t be afraid to take control. Go with casual dates, but make them special. All in all, he can’t help thinking this was much simpler seventy years ago when there were basically three choices on what you’d do on any given night: the movie theater, a diner, or dancing. Maybe a combination of the three, and if you were lucky, possibly parking afterwards. Now… good grief. The best he can figure is to just go with his gut. In essence, get to know her, enjoy their time together. Other than that… well, he’s still figuring it out. So far, things are going slowly, and he’s okay with that. It’s really nice, actually. No pressure for either of them.

He’s still emmersed in his thoughts when he steps out of the elevator and onto the sixth floor. It’s always vaguely noisy. The walls are thin ( the building was constructed before the collapse of the Soviet Union, which he only recently learned about), and there’s several couples cohabiting on this floor who… well, frankly, he’s surprised the ones next door to her haven’t killed each other yet. However, as he gets nearer to the door, one sound grabs his attention. That of someone singing. Singing loudly, and completely off-key. He’s heard some tone-deaf people before, but wow. This is bad.

He’s just outside her door when realization dawns on him. The singer (who is either blissfully unaware of how bad they sound, or simply does not care) is her. He stifles a laugh. The voice is so comically mismatched with the girl he’s come to have quite the crush on. But hey, at least she’s having fun, if the sheer enthusiasm is anything to judge from. In fact, he kind of hates to break up the impromptu concert (although the neighbors might thank him), but he should let her know he’s here.

Thirty seconds after he shoots a quick text in her direction, there’s still no reply, and the singing hasn’t stopped. She’s just moved on to a new song. Phone’s on silent, then. Alright knocking. Just as he raises his hand to do so, his phone dings. “Come on up! It’s open!” Clearly she didn’t take, “I’m here” to mean “I’m right here, ten feet away from where you’re more than likely standing.” Alright then, since he has permission…

He can see straight through the kitchen and living room into her bedroom from the front door, so he usually averts his eyes (everyone deserves some privacy, after all), but today, before he can manage that feat, he catches sight of… is she dancing? It’s not a fox trot, that’s for sure… and is that a feather duster? None of that matters, because, still oblivious that he’s done exactly what she suggested and let himself in, she starts belting out the next verse.

“Classic case of boy meets girl, moving in the same direction.” Oh, now he can see. Her headphones are in. That explains it. “You’re not asking for the world; I’m not asking for perfection.” What’s the best way to go about alerting a person that involved in what they’re doing to your presence without making them jump out of their skin?

“Just a love that’s well designed for passing the test of time-” Knocking is always a classic. Maybe, since he’s closer this time, she’ll hear him. “I’m here to tell you, I’m here to stay. Every hour, every day.” Here it goes.

The good part is, his knocking does get her attention. The bad news-

“Holy fucking-” She jumps, startled, and if her earphones weren’t in, her phone would fall to the floor. “Dammit, Barnes!”

He tries hard, but he’s not entirely certain he’s convincingly covered his laugh with a cough.

“Laugh it up, fuzzball.” She’s trying to seem annoyed, but her own smile gives her away.

“Star Wars, right?”

“Good to know your memory still works. Didn’t your mother ever tell you not to sneak up on people?”

“You told me to let myself in.” Her forehead wrinkles.

“Yeah, but that was when I thought “here” meant “down the street, so you don’t have to stop singing for another two minutes.” She pushes a few escaped hairs back from her forehead. “Are your ears okay? I usually save the live music for when no one else is around.”

He chuckles. “Somehow, I think I’ll make a full recovery.”

“Thank goodness.” Stowing the feather duster, she pushes past him out of the door. “I hope my fine vocal performance haven’t put you completely off, because tonight’s selection is a musical.” Huh. It’s been a while since he watched one of those. Well, apart from whichever Disney flick they’ve caught up on recently (they never watch anything too intense; he still hasn’t figured out if it’s out of concern for his well being or because that’s what she prefers, and he hasn’t worked up the nerve to ask).

He must stay silent for too long, because, cheeks slightly flushed, she explains-

“Don’t knock it just yet. This one’s a classic. Plus, it takes place sometime you’re already familiar with, so you can tell me if there’s any historical inaccuracies.”

“Wait-” He crosses his arms. “-is that an old man joke? Because if it is, I’m gonna have to start on how I woke up only to find out music has been completely ruined by the kids these days.” That’s it. Her smile is back, embarassment erased.

“We’re just gonna have to agree to disagree on that one.” Settling into place on the couch, she boots up her laptop. “Now sit down and watch Singin’ in the Rain with me. It’s the least you could do after taking five years off my life by sneaking around.”

He snickers and with a nod, sits next to her.

___________________________________________________________________________________

“Here’s a historical inaccuracy for you.” She was sort of joking about that part, but it seems like he’s taken it to heart and is good-naturedly pointing out everything Hollywood got wrong about the 1920s. “Hemlines were NOT that short back then. At least, not where I was from.”

“What?” She pretends to be shocked (although truthfully, she is a little). “Don’t tell me the roaring twenties weren’t as wild as The Great Gatsby would have us believe!”

His forehead wrinkles. “I think I read that one. Didn’t think much of it.”

“Don’t tell anyone, but neither did I.” She was bored to death and hated pretty much every single character, but that’s not what’s most important right now. “How long were the dresses back then if they weren’t Debby Reynolds short?”

He seems to think about it a moment, then- “Around here, if I’m remembering right.” His hand brushes just above her knee. “That’s about as wild as it got in our part of Brooklyn, and even that was just the flappers. Of course, my Ma had them all the way down to her ankles until I was grown.” They’ve never spoken about their parents before. She appreciates the trust he’s putting in her, bringing up the distant past. Still, she hesitates before returning the gesture.

“My Mom and I didn’t have a great relationship. She was a little-” She makes a vague motion. “-not all there. She told me that my Dad came from outer space, if you can believe that.” Now that she thinks about it, that’s probably not the weirdest thing she’s ever heard, even if she doubts it’s true. “Anyway, she died when I was sixteen.”

“I’m sorry.” His hand closes over hers, and she forgets how to breath. “Do you have any other family?”

“No.” She shakes her head, attempting to laugh it off. “Just me.”

They’re silent for a few minutes, and she’s about to make a joke to lighten the mood, when-

“I had a sister. Rebecca.” He sighs. “She’s dead now. Looked it up. I thought about looking up her kids, but it’s probably better if I didn’t.”

In a sudden moment of boldness, she gives his hand a squeeze. “Maybe one day, when things aren’t as complicated.”

“Yeah.” He nods. “Maybe one day.”

___________________________________________________________________________________

Despite his opinions of what music has become since he was young (and the fact that this movie really is full of historical innacuracies, but then again, he was under the age of ten when all of this was happening, so his view of the world might’ve been on the narrow side), Bucky can’t help but enjoy it. The male lead has a serious set of pipes. It kind of reminds him of Frank Sinatra. Plus, it’s bright and light and funny. Most of all, it makes her smile.

Around the halfway point, they hit pause to make some popcorn (“Not like the movie theaters, because I’m cheap, but we can doctor it.” ; he didn’t have the heart to tell her it’s been so long since the last time he had popcorn, she probably could’ve offered him packing peanuts to munch on and he wouldn’t have been able to tell the difference), but now they’re back on the couch, the bowl resting somewhere between them. He’s not sure when or how it happened exactly, but at some point, they both migrated so far towards the middle of the sofa that now she’s leaning against him, pressed against his shoulder, and his arm is draped over the back of the couch. It’s nice. If only he could work up the nerve to kiss her.

They’re both laughing just a little too loudly over the scene where the voiceover goes out of sync with the picture part of the movie when a flurry of motion catches his eye. He turns his head to get a better look, and it’s just in time to see a mouse run directly over both of their feet.

“What the-” Her eyes go wide as she sees the creature and registers what it is.

“I think you might have a roommate.”

In a flash, she’s pulled her legs onto the couch, knocking the bowl of popcorn onto the floor. “Oh god! Please tell me that wasn’t what I thought it was.”

“It wasn’t. Unless you thought it was a mouse.” She shudders.

“Bucky, I really don’t like mice.” Considering he found one in his pipes a few months ago, he’s not the biggest fan either.

“I’m not too fond of them myself.”

“No.” She shakes her head. “No, I mean, I really don’t like them. As in, I’m irrationally afraid of them.” Wait-

“You’re afraid of-” She nods, and he feels bad for it, but he has to stifle a laugh. “Doll, you realize they’re a lot smaller than you are.” He immediately regrets the pet name, but she doesn’t react.

“So are atoms. Split one and you’ve got an atomic bomb.” She’s got a point, but still…

“They won’t hurt you. Most of them are pretty shy-”

“The one I woke up to eating my hair when I was a kid wasn’t.” Well, now it makes more since.

“Maybe we can find some traps tomorrow-”

“No. I need it out of my apartment. Tonight.” Tonight… just to refresh his memory, he glances out the window. Uh-huh. Just as he thought. It’s pitch black, and he doubts it’s gotten any warmer since his arrival two hours ago. “I’ll catch it somehow. I just can’t sleep knowing it’s there.”

He starts to tell her that she’ll have better luck winning the lottery without a ticket than catching that rodent, but as he peers down at her face, he sees that she’s gone a shade paler and her eyes are wide. She really is terrified of this… mouse. Alright. Decision made.

“Okay.” Careful to avoid grinding the popcorn into the truly ugly shag carpetting covering the living room, he stands. “Can you tell me where to find a broom? Maybe a spare rag if you have it?”

“Broom’s behind the door. Wash rags are under the sink.” He’s already bent over, searching for the objects in quesiton when she asks, “What are you planning to do?” That assumes he has a plan rather than just a random guess.

“Go poking around. Check behind the fridge, in the cabinets. They like to hide out where they won’t be seen.”

“You don’t have to-” She stops short as he straightens, dish rag in hand. “-but if you do, I owe you big time.”

“Tell me the next time you have a vision of me forgetting to take the clothes out of the washer and put them in the dryer, and we’ll call it even.”

Despite his best efforts, the kitchen and bathroom lend no results. He’s really hoping to avoid poking around her bedroom (that still seems a little too personal, especially since mice like to hide in places like underwear drawers), so that leaves….

It’s completely thoughtless, him pulling the couch out from the wall while she’s still sitting there. It doesn’t strike him as odd until she says,

“You could’ve asked me to get up, you know.”

“No need.” Looks like they’re in luck. “There’s your roommate.” Wrong thing to say, because she shoots off the couch like it’s on fire and, without her feet so much as touching the ground, jumps on top of the coffee table.

“Shit! It was under there the entire time?”

“Looks that way. There’s a hole in the wall, so-” He raises the broom, but before he can bring it down-

“No! Don’t kill it!” What the- He glances at the woman still standing on the coffee table. “It has as much right to live as we do. Just wanted to get out of the cold.” Okay, but-

“What do you want to do with it then?”

She grimaces.

“Just… can you get rid of it?” Can he… oh boy. But, he’s not about to say no. That is until he realizes-

“I could if it were still here.”

“You’ve gotta be shitting me.” He couldn’t have put it better himself. “Okay, um.” She frowns, then with a sigh, squeezes her eyes shut.

“What are you-”

“Sometimes I can see something if I’m not paying attention to anything else.” A few seconds pass, and then she cringes. “Ew! Okay, bottom cabinet, right hand side in the kitchen. I’m gonna have to rewash all of those dishes.” Good enough.

Now that his mission is to catch and carry instead of kill the furry fiend, he moves more quietly, grabbing the now-empty popcorn bowl from the floor as an afterthought. He really hopes that this vision isn’t too far in the future, because although it’s preferable to the way he’s spent a lot of his time in the past seventy years, he’d rather not crouch by a cabinet for the rest of the night. He’ll do it, but if there’s another option…. Pulling open the door as slowly as he can, he catches sight of it. Hope she wasn’t too attached to that box of cornflakes, because Mickey here has helped himself. If he can just get his hand in… the mouse registers that he’s got company and starts to dart out of the way, but this time, Bucky’s prepared for it and catches it between the towel and the bowl.

“Got him!” She cheers from her place on the table, but still takes a step back when he comes nearer.

“Thank god!”

“Never been called that before.” She rolls her eyes, but chuckles.

“Thank you, Buck. Now can we get him the fuck out of here?”

“Sure, but where exactly?” He’s not opposed to letting Mickey Mouse loose in the hallway so he can go bug the neighbors, but then Mr. Mouse might make his way back here, and this seems like the kind of adventure you only have once.

“Um-” She starts to climb down, but hesitates. “Are you sure you’ve got him?”

“I’m sure.” It physically hurts him not to laugh.

“Then out in the courtyard, do you think?” She jumps from the coffee table and picks up her coat, pulling it on.

“That’ll work.” He starts towards the door.

“Don’t you want your coat? I can drape it over your shoulders?”

“Nah, I’ll be alright.” He’s about to mention she doesn’t have to come with him, but before he can, she’s by his side, one arm hesitantly wrapped around his back.

“I’ll stay close then. Can’t have you freezing to death on a mission of mercy.”

As luck would have it, everyone else is already tucked away this time of night, so they have the elevator and the dingy lobby all to themselves. Still walking side by side, she pushes open the door and they step through.

“Just set him down, or-”

“No. Let’s go to the bushes. Give him some quick and easy cover so he won’t be too cold.” Shaking his head, he makes his way towards the shrubbery. Him and his human coat.

“This seem like a good place for a mouse house?” Chuckling, she nods. “Alright then, little man. You’re officially being evicted.” As soon as he releases the mouse, she jumps back with a yelp, still grasping his arm.

“Sorry!” It’s a lost cause. He can’t hold it back. At long last he lets out the laugh he was holding back.

“I’m sorry, Doll-” Why does it feel so natural to call her that? He’ll think about it later, but right now he needs to do damage control. Even when he was coming up, it was rude to laugh at a person.

But, if she’s offended, it doesn’t show, and instead she beams at him.

“Is that the stupidest thing you’ve ever done or what?” It’s one of the strangest, but he’s been known to do stupid things, especially if it’s someone he… oh. Oh. Well, that’s not one he was ever expecting to say again. But it’s true. Somehow, although it’s under the most unlikely of circumstances, he has come to love this woman. More than that, he’s pretty sure he’s starting to fall-

“I’ll take the stunned silence as a yes.” It’s a joke and it snaps him out of his revelry. He loves her, but now’s not the time to say it. For now-

“No, Doll.” Taking her hand, he begins to walk back towards the building. “Not even close.”

[lyndiscealin]

Kevin Day and my take on anxiety (disorder)

So... this is bothering me for a few weeks now. The following post will be more about me and my own problems than about Kevin’s. 

I write this because I had a false picture of Kevin for a long long time, which is entirely Neil’s fault. Or it’s my fault mainly because you never should believe what people tell you about other people. Only because Neil says that Kevin is a coward it doesn’t mean he is. So let me tell you why my own nervous breakdown opened my eyes and let me tell you some things about my own anxiety disorder I discovered only a few weeks ago.

But before that, I will explain you why Neil thinks Kevin is a coward. The facts are these: Kevin grew up relatively sheltered. Yes there was some abuse but it’s nothing compared to Neil’s or Andrew’s childhood, right? Yeah I think we kind of are on the same page here. Kevin’s childhood was far from nice or sheltered, but Neil and Andrew had it so much worse. And they turned out kind of brave and Neil seems relatively fine if you think about it.

But let us step a bit back. In our culture we have a really weird take on mental disorders. For us it is okay that Andrew sometimes is not able to function, it’s understandable, because he had it so bad. And we can fully understand that Neil is afraid of older men and can’t accept gifts without having a mental breakdown. But we are not able to comprehend that Kevin has a meltdown when only thinking that he could perhpas meet Riko. With two guardians at his side, with a lot of people watching so there is no way that anything could possibly happen even if Riko would be stupid enough to try something. And that is not understandable because rationally there is no threat, nothing to really worry about. Why can’t Kevin see it? Why can’t he be like Neil or Andrew? Why don’t we get that people can’t control what part of our brain breaks if we get hurt? Let us step even further away. Did anyone you know ever told you they sometimes can’t get out of bed? And you thought perhaps ‘why? Your life is good, no big drama in your family or anything particularly bad happened to you. Why are you depressed? Why can’t you function properly?’ If so, I have an answer for you: Our society treats mental illnesses differently to physical insuries. It’s in all our heads that you have to have a trauma for ‘being allowed’ to get mentally sick. There are people who fall out of a window on the second or third (or even higher) floor and they are okay. And we say ‘oh wow that was luck’. And then there are people who slide on the last step of a stair and break their ankle and their hip and their arm. Nobody says ‘but you just fell down one step??? How are you not able to hold it together? How did you break all those parts of your body? WTF dude?’. No, we accept that it happened, because we can see that it did. We have proof. Someone telling is ‘I broke my arm three years ago’ isn’t proof. We have to believe this person. Someone telling us ‘Nothing really bad happened to but my brain broke nevertheless’ can’t be proven either.

So... it depends a bit on the circumstances. If you fall there are circumstances, too. How good are you at catching yourself? Are you quick enough to grip something which can hold you up? Are you carrying something with you and on instinct you cling to it instead of letting it go and save yourself from the fall? Were you tired so your reactions are slower? Was your body angled weirdly before your fall because you were talking to someone? Is your bone structure alright?

It is the same for mental issues. There are circumstances and every individual lives in other circumstances. For someone who lived very sheltered being yelled at for the first time can be a traumatic experience. There are different coping mechanisms which develope pretty individually and without much control.

Everyone seems to get that there may be people who are just clumsy, but there are not much people who understand that there are some people who can’t defend themselves because they don’t know how. 

So let’s get back to Kevin: Even if the hand breaking was the first cruel thing Riko did to him, Kevin’s psych could have broken nevertheless. And it would be valid. Even if Riko just insulted him from time to time, it could have broken Kevin and it would be valid.

But Neil and Andrew are protecting him! - You might think. There is where my story comes in. So sit back and let me tell you a bit about anxiety disorders. You might know where this is going about now, I will tell anyway.

Let’s inspect my circumstances:

I was born sensitive. I am not sure if this is a genetic thing (I think it isn’t, my family has no sensitiv or empathic bone in them). Recent studies show that new borns try to please their mother so they will get fed. If I don’t mix anything there it is even more obvious with premies,  but I forgot why. I was born nearly 3 weeks early. I don’t know if this is true, but it would explain SO MUCH.

I was one of this babys who are really, really quiet. My mother tells stories about her checking in on me when I slept because she was afraid I had died in my sleep. I nearly never cried and always kept myself entertained. Not much work there.

But I turned out to be a pretty normal kid. There are stories about me getting my bigger sister in trouble and such things.

But then I got this eating disorder. No one knows why and I can’t remember properly. I can remember one day where my sister tried to trick me into eating dinner and I remember being annoyed by it because I knew what she was doing, but I can’t remember why I didn’t want to eat anything. I was fairly young. I don’t know if I was going to kindergarden at the time. So perhaps I was 3? Maybe 4?

Of course my mother was pretty worried. And then this friend of hers told her she should stop putting tableware for me on the table. And when I asked she should say ‘You won’t eat with us, why should I put it on there?’ I can’t remember this day, but every time my mother tells this story, she is proud because she fixed the issue. And I think she did something really horrible there. I don’t blame her. She didn’t know better and she was worried her child might stop eating altogether. But... but a child can’t understand this, right? ‘If I don’t behave like they want to I won’t get something to eat’ might be what I was thinking when she did this. It would make sense. Because I was a really angsty child. There are stories of me not even going to my grandma (who lives in the same house as my parents). I remember being afraid of using the wrong shampoo. I was so afraid of getting in trouble for things normal kids did without thinking about it. My mother has a short temper and she is pretty good in making you feel guilty, but none of my other siblings were as afraid as I was. I was terrified. 

And then my mother got depressed. I don’t know why, I don’t know what happened and I don’t know exactly when it happened but I remember being in 7th or 8th Grade and explaining to my teacher that I fucked up an announced and pretty easy test because my mother had a nervous breakdown a few days earlier. And that wasn’t the starting point of all of it. It began months perhaps years prior. in 8th Grade I was 14 or 15. (I was bullied in school, too, but that has nothing to do with my anxiety and I got over that about 10 years ago, so I will skip this part)

Because I was the sensitive one I was the only one who told other members of my family that whatever my mother did, she couldn’t help herself. I didn’t know what mental illnesses were yet, so I told the others she was pretty stressed and tired. My mother doesn’t know about this. She doesn’t know that for years people came to me to complain about her and I tried to defend her. She had huge fallouts with my sister and my father and my grandmother. Again and again and again. My sister moved out before it got really bad. I don’t even know how much she knows about what happened in the house. 

My mother never did anything more than yelling. She never beat us, she never took away our meals. She tried to be a good mother, I know this. She taught us how to swim and how to ride a bike. She got us through school and all three of us went to university (they are free in my country, she couldn’t have afforded the fees of an amarican university).

But she was emotionally abusive. My whole teenage life I felt like it was partly my fault that she was hurting so much. Because I couldn’t do it right. She never cumminicated enough with us. And every time something went wrong she yelled at us and made us feel like we were a burden. And there was more and more that went wrong because I was so afraid of doing something wrong that everytime I had to ask my mother of something, I waited until the last possible time. Until today my mother thinks I am unreliable and unorganized, but in reality I am obsessive with all my tasks and the only reason I was sloppy as a teenager was because I didn’t had the courage to ask my mother things. 

There ware months (perhaps a year or two even) where she seemed to do nothing but yell. I now call it the ‘divorcing phase of my parents’. They are still married but whenever I hear someone say how their home was a year before their parents divorced I think ‘Oh, that was this thing that happened there’. My parents still live together. Because you don’t give up on family.

That’s the other side of my family and until this year I was kind of proud about this fact: We are holding together. If someone is in need of help, he gets it. Or at least it seemed that way. Turns out that first of all: This is only for non mental things. When I first talked with my mother about my own depression she told me I shouldn’t go to a therapist because they were evil (that’s the short of the speech she gave me).  Second of all: I don’t even know how I should call this. Or how to explain. let’s say... there are a lot of exceptions to this rule and sadly my brother and I fell out of this rule pretty damn often. Third: Helping in need doesn’t mean being nice to each other the rest of the time. I would rather take it the other way around if I’m being honest. It would be shitty still but I can handle my own problems. I can’t bear my familiy....

In the 10 years or so where she was sick and kind of unbearable there was one rule in our household: Don’t get your mother angry. NEVER!!!!

And because my mother got used to it that her emotions were the most important of us all she stopped caring about others emotions. At least it seems like it. Let me give you some of her greatest hits, she told me in my face (it will sound a bit fake because I have to translate it from the german in my head to understandable english without losing information):

You don’t want to see your sister? What happened this time? Really, I can’t stand this right now. 

You are crying because you are afraid of the exam tomorrow? You can’t not write it, you would need even longer for your bachelors degree.

(When I had 2 days every week were I was out of the house from 8:20am until 9:30pm, two days from 8:20am to at least 5pm and had fridays off from university but had to do my homework and other prep still; and she all but worked for 30 hours a week): You never do anything in the household! Every time I come home it looks shitty! You have the weekends off, do something!

And then a week later after I didn’t eat more than one slice of bread each day and she asked me why and I couldn’t say ‘because of her’ because NEVER GET YOUR MOTHER ANGRY!!!! I told her that I was worried about my grades at University so I had some reason for feeling shitty that didn’t involve her... she told me that I had to get my ass up and study more because apparantly I had my weekends off so I had to do something on these days...

After the fall out with my sister which finally got me to go to therapy my mother told me that she wouldn’t get involved in any of our interpersonal problems anymore and that she expected us to behave around one another because we all are family and can be expected to get along (the translation of this sentence is: if you don’t keep swallowing the shit your sister does to you and say another word I will get really angry (AND YOU AREN’T ALLOWED TO GET YOUR MOTHER ANGRY!!!!)) She also told my sister that she was grateful my sister lived so far away and they weren’t able to see each other that much

So over time this whole ‘don’t get your mother angry’ thing muteted to ‘shut the fuck up because if you have a problem I get angry.’

This is my context (it is a lot I’m sorry)

But for 6 years now I don’t live with my parents anymore. My mother is better now, the last two years I visited regularly and we even had kind of fun together. I stopped talking with my mother about important things in my life. I still don’t get along with my sister because everything I am she either doesn’t understand or detests greatly (she hates that I am still a student after 10 years (I never took a dime from my family for going to university... just to be clear. I earn my own money since before I moved out))

But it was okay. We got along, most of the visits were pretty nice.

And then corona happened. Not because one of my family members got sick. We are healthy as can be. No... but because of corona I stopped visiting. Additionally my sister got a child.

I called my mother, father and grandmy regularly, everything was fine. I was so well me and my therapist talked about ending therapy. I was happy.

And then I heard that my sister still wanted to get her child baptised and wanted to make it a family event. With 12 people overall.

I didn’t want to come, because for me it was too dangerous. And because it wasn’t just the church visit, it was visiting a restaurant too. No possibility to wear a mask all day, keep distance... a fucking restaurant.

To her defense it was well planned. Both families (hers and her husband’s) were at seperate tables and it was in a seperate room from the rest of the restaurant. The possibility of someone getting sick was low. But it was there. And I was terrified so I said ‘No’.

I talked to my therapist first for a professional opinion on things and he too said it was okay to say no because of the corona situation. He advised me to write an e-mail so I did. I had anxiety attacks for 3 days while I wrote this mail. I let 10 or so people beta read it. I talked to friends if it really was okay to say ‘no’ because I was about to hurt my sister pretty bad with this. AND YOU DON’T HURT YOUR FAMILY!!! YOU JUST SHUT UP AND DO WHAT THEY WANT!!!!

On the day I sent the mail to my sister (and a copy to my parents so there was no ‘he said she said’ situation) my father called me. He was furious. How could I? My poor sister! My mother was also furious. How could I do this? I shoudl think about this. You are afraid? You can’t be afraid all your life you have to take risks and this isn’t even a risk you are ridiculous. It’s still 3 weeks until the event, think about it. He ended the call after 10 minutes with ‘I have to go, I am starting to cry’.

I couldn’t stop walking after this for hours. I walked miles in my apartment. I cried and cried and walked and hyperventilated. I don’t know what I would have done if not for my roommate who held me together somehow. I turned my phone and my mobile off, I was terrified to look into my e-mails. I hurt my family, all of them... I feld like dying. I can’t explain this feeling. This one phone call destroyed me. Completly. And I was better then... I had wanted to... ending therapy wasn’t an option now (and god was I glad we hadn’t decided to end it)

And this was only my father. My sister called me a week later or so. To her defense she really tried to be understanding. She wasn’t, but she tried. She didn’t yell, she didn’t even tell me that she had cried (she did, my grandma told me later) ... she really tried... but she also said that I should call my mother because she was ‘worried’ about me. My brother later told me, that my mother expected a call from me. I waited. Terrified. One panikattack after the other. The babptism went by... My grandma called and told me she wanted to kill my therapist for making me abandon my family. (never told her I even talked with him about the situation, she just assumed)

I somehow lived through her accusations and we ended the call on kind of good terms? But she told me I should call my mother. She wasn’t mad jsut worried. I didn’t want to. I waited.

I missed 4 calls of my mother and on friday I called her back. 5 weeks after I send the mail. I won’t tell you how the call went. It isn’t the point. I think I overshared enough here. It wasn’t pretty, but I have to come back to my point here.

After hearing this story you may imagine what a lot of my friends said: Just shut them out of your life.

But I can’t. My flatmate and all of my friends would help me through it, but I can’t. I want to, but I can’t. They threw everything away what I build the last years with them onyl because I didn’t went to the baptism (my family is not really religous btw. This isn’t about their believe. It’s because it was a family event and I opted out). I am at the end of my tether. But I can’t end it. Because I am terrified.

Because my brain is screaming at me that I can’t do this. I can’t.... I can’t... I can’t. And the longer I wait til my next visit the worse it will get.

I am stuck. My therapist and I try to work on it but it is difficult. There are so much layers of problems there, we aren’t through all of them and I am panicking everytime I have thoughts about my family. And I am angry. I am so, so angry. But I can’t do anything.

I am not a coward, I now this. I grew up in a family I had to duck my had to live. I moved out, started my own life, will get my masters degree in computer science at some point, I go to work like a normal human being and I am able to keep myself together. I am not a coward because the anxiety I feel was forced on me. I am mentally sick. All my coping mechanisms which helped me survive my childhood home are useless now and stand in my way.

I am not spineless. Visiting my family again is the most terrifying thing I ever did even if I know that nothing will happen there. No one will hurt me physically. I will go there and after a few hours I will come back to my home and my cats and everything will be fine. I know this. But I keep having panik attacks. I am still furious. I am terrified. And I feel powerless. Rationally I know that I have all the power here. My family is terrified of me breaking the bonds. I know that. It’s so much leverage, but I can’t use it. I just can’t...

I am not even able to ask my mother to one of my therapie sessions. So my therapist could help me say a few things.

I am terrified of Christmas. I don’t want to go. But I don’t know how to say ‘no’.

So back to Kevin.  I know how he feels when he is forced to see Riko again. I know the feeling. And he is not a coward or spineless; because he goes to games against the ravens, he goes to the banketts and in the last book he gets rid of the number and faces Riko on the court, spits some japanese which makes Riko furious and wins the fucking game. Only because Neil and Andrew can cope better with their Anxiety doesn’t mean Kevin is a coward. After everything I went though the last 12 weeks, I can say loud and clear: Kevin Day is a fucking hero And he has my respect. I hope one day I can get free of my boundaries, too.