#it's something that is excused so much in my home as a byproduct of letting my dad's abuse slide

[draconifay]

I feel like more people need to understand this:

Just because you're frustrated or upset at someone, doesn't mean it's okay to say and do hurtful things to them.

You're allowed to feel your feelings, but please communicate in a CONSTRUCTIVE way with someone so you can better problem solve rather than taking out your frustrations on someone. ESPECIALLY if what they're doing to frustrate you is not out of malice.

If it IS out of malice, and they don't change, you set boundaries or remove yourself from the situation if you can.

If it's not though - you're just barring any chance of working through issues with someone when you go on the offense by default. And it doesn't help fix anything.

[archivalofsins]

Here we go again. Since this is the second time I've had to hear about this in a short time span. I'm making my feelings known again.

The fact that there are people in this world that sincerely believe having trauma is,

A. A phenomenon limited to only people they personally like, agree with, or are in close proximity to and not something that everyone has to live with to varying degrees.

B. Is capable of justifying any past or present action/inaction taken against another individual that impacts their life negatively.

In this age, egregious behavior that one would never forgive if done to them is being justified under this ambiguous blanket term of trauma. When one is a safe distance away from the problem, they stop treating it as something that could impact them at all. They have the privilege to holler from safety while touting their morals to feel superior and maybe a bit better about themselves.

Personally, displays to me why society is simply getting worse and why the younger generation globally is set on track to have the highest amount of conservative leaning individuals out of the last two. I can't even say I don't get how certain things have happened or I'm surprised about how certain things are going. Especially since most of younger people's peers are very comfortable going if that person doesn't understand points a to z they just haven't had it hard enough. They're not traumatized enough. All while secretly wishing and hoping to make the world more unsafe for the people they disagree with by any means necessary so they may eventually get the point.

There's people with this mindset in every generation, of course. This isn't some new phenomenon. There's a lot of people who believe that indifference to the suffering of others and the I got mine mentality is the best one to have.

Because the wolves they overlook would never bite them. Some people don't even believe these wolves are in the same environment as them. Easily brushing it off with a no one is really like that, no one that I know would think that, and experiences like that don't happen in real life.

To the point that it doesn't even matter what the trauma is.

The only thing that matters is that it exists, and no one can prove it doesn't. Because once again, it's something everyone has regardless of if they admit it or not. The trauma and why it exists is not the point. The point is how that trauma can shield one from accountability.

How trauma can excuse the ways some project and take out their past experiences on completely uninvolved parties. Sometimes, to their blatant admission random strangers on the street just trying to walk home. As was said in some Milgram cases. It's a way for people at large to go it was done to me, which means it's okay if I do it to others.

It's no different from pop psychology throwing around a term people know very little about to defend callous and discriminatory actions.

All the Milgram characters have trauma. Every person on earth has trauma.

That doesn't justify inflicting said trauma on others. Parading like it does... Honestly, makes a lot of people sound like those parents who swear up and down their kids have it so much better than they did and they're leagues kinder to their kids than their parents were to them. That's how some people here sound when they speak about trauma within this space. The lack of self-awareness when it comes to this point and how it's presented has honestly become gross to me. Even when, on some level, I recognize this as a byproduct of the subconscious and unchallenged belief that there exists a perfect victim even in spaces where there is room for nuance.

If a person just makes the character sad enough, sorry enough, traumatized enough ambiguity can be thrown to the wayside and one can feel good as they press a button to pardon someone they know without a shadow of a doubt has had such a hard time, loss so much, tried so hard, just was doomed from start cause they couldn't met societies expectation of normal, and don't forget are oh so sorry too.

So, why even think about it at all? Just let anyone do whatever they want forever. It will never be in close enough proximity to anyone here to ever really matter or impact those important to them, I hope. Yet for some people that proximity is just their life, and it's incredibly diminishing to see people go,

These are words I've heard my entire life, and they sound just as stupid here. No one has a license to treat others like shit based on their past. They don't. Yes, a person's trauma is valid, and they have the right to look into said trauma and heal at their own pace. However, when someone weaponizes that trauma against others in their environment and projects that trauma out onto their younger peers.

That person is traumatized and just as hurt as you despite their actions towards you in this moment. Forgive them not just for their sake but yours. Holding a grudge (someone rightfully accountable for the ways they hirt you) is like swallowing poison and hoping the other person drops dead. Learn to forgive. We're all just works and progress. We all make mistakes sometimes. That's just a fact of life you have to get used to.

People can mistreat you and disregard your personhood because they're having a difficult time. They're going through a lot right now. It's important that you be the bigger person and extend grace.

I'm sorry but at that point,

"Victim and Perpetrator, let’s keep it simple."

I don't forgive any of the characters here because I've convinced myself they're not perpetrators. I do it based on my morals, influenced by my background, and with full recognition that forgiveness doesn't change people. That a chance is no more than what the individual does with it. Then I wait and see what they do with that leniency and sympathy. Because anything else would be unrealistic and setting myself up to be disappointed..

I know they're perpetrators. I've never combated that, and I'm not here to debate they aren't. Even when I've gone, "Huh? I don't think they've committed that crime." I've immediately gone. I actually believe they've committed a far worse crime. I am not here to constantly fight the premise of this series. I'm not. I'm here for the series, which, from my perspective it seems a lot of other people are not.

If others want to fight the premise of this series in favor of an interpretation, they enjoy more. That's fine. Just don't tell other people how they should view it or be surprised when others have agency outside of one's own opinion. The Mikoto tag is full of threekoto stuff predominantly. No one sees me constantly shitting on that or creating debunking posts about others' theories outside of the time Doubke released.

I can't let past negative experiences impact how I treat people who had nothing to do with those. That's not the person I want to be. I want to save that heat for those people responsible imparticular. Because I'm petty, and they were shit people. Some things can just be personal, and none of us have to project it onto anyone other than the people involved.

Even when I did talk about it, that was mainly due to a bunch of public and private harrassment from this one characters fans. Some people in this fandom need to chill and cease some of this behavior. Itxs funny that people are speaking about trauma like it matters, while some people in this fandom have consistently traumatized and harassed others within it for their opinions. Because by the same logic being presented, I could be shitting on this theory, the characterization every day, and I would be justified due to my trauma.

Yet that's a completely inhuman way to look at things I can't let how other people that I like/chose to believe are the minority when it comes to this dictate how I treat people who are just trying to have fun with the thing they enjoy.

I don't even have to project on them because their actions at times will speak louder than I ever could. I owe it to myself to grow past these things, but no one owes me closure or the ability to talk it out. Sometimes, you need space from something or someone to realize how bad it was when you were in it. Things that a person experiences may and can look worse in hindsight.

Proximity matters, it's easy to like another person or character when one can make the decision to distance themselves from their worst aspects. To make that character into their favorite shape and love that. Or even chase after this concept of the character that never truly existed and fall for the facade. Those are choices people make every day with their peers and closest loved ones. Some of those instances are labeled as mistakes and people grow to know better over time. Those relationships eventually end.

Yet if we're all stuck on the idea of who someone else could be for us we neglect what we could be for ourselves. There are downsides to extending the benefit of the doubt too far, and it usually impacts the more considerate party the most. Trauma is no excuse to ignore that others I share a space with have feelings and trauma too. It is not an excuse to treat others any way I please because I can convince myself I've had it worse. In fact having it worse should be a very good reason for one to want others to have it better.

I don't want people to have the times I did. I think everyone has been traumatized enough and that anyone who has convinced themselves that some people haven't is either incredibly self-focused or just plain cruel. That's just my opinion, though. Personally, I think a lot of the Milgram characters are portrayed recognizing this themselves. In their moments of self-doubt, loathing, and regret at their behavior but it's fine if others don't see it that way.

And I will not debate this.

[moss-bride]

You make me want to believe in love. Chapter 12

Cautiously Anguish spends a few seconds each day with her drinking tea.

She glumly sits. Unwilling to admit being grateful for the attempt to aid her deteriorating mental health. She grasps on to this one kindness and tries to make the most of her lot.

They don't talk much. But when they do it always ends as a debate of wits stared by a passing line that the other won't let go, a chess game that he always throws aside when she gains the upper hand, a sore loser.

In the gap of moments in leisure, she makes her way to the rug with half a pint of Horchata to enjoy as she tumbles into the room.

The bear is eager to talk to her and once the door closes he begins.

“White veins. White palace.” That's what the Gilead repeated to her. He won't answer how or why and the retractive no answer is obviously a form of trying to trick her. It drives up her suspicion of a trap yet can't let the possibility go.

She doesn't see the dribble of spit at the corner of his mouth as he says these words . He hides it the best he can so that the only thing she notices when gazing at his six eyes is the dumb stare of an imploring animal.

He cranes his head up, the movement seemingly costing him an enormous amount of strength. “Hop in my mouth. I can save you.”

What kind of idiot would I be if I fell for that? What kind of fool would I be to pass it up? Up is down and the belly of the beast can take me home with its Alice in wonderland logic.

Her back beads with sweat and Gilead conjoles what littles sanity she has left. “Jump in. Climb in. A bite won't harm. You can't save those poor sods, stop thinking yourself a hero and flee ”. Escape at the tip of her fingers she just needs to reach her hand to grasp it.

She should take her chances with the cabinet. The scientific method from middle school is always left of her scholarly graces.

It's tempting her with the possibility. “I won't unless you can give me an explanation! Is that so much to ask for! For someone in this stupid fucking town to answer me?!”

“What good would an answer be? Something's have none. I cannot explain as you can't explain why you exist.”

Excuses. That is what everyone is full of. She should slam her head into a wall until it makes sense, it certainly has more guarantee then considering a magical alien bear’s mouth is a portal to earth.

“I can stretch my mouth wider. I can fit stars and their circling moons .”

She's unmoved by his feats. Impatiently tapping her foot. “Let me see. You can't just say you can and then not do anything to prove it “

The bear grumbles.

She put her hands between his open jaws and pried. Expecting resistance but his muscles stretch. Just enough to crouch into his empty body

Back on earth an animal pelt is cut in a way that leaves swaths of skin missing , to make it an aesthetically pleasing symmetrical size. The stomach and neck strips need to go. A byproduct that is also commonly sold.

Under his head and top half is more fur. There are no puncture marks or knife cuts. His body is sound and the only possible way that he is this way is that Gilead’s organs and bones were sucked out through his mouth or another orifice. Removed without the touch of a blade

She peers inside seeing nothing except empty blackness . A flash light would have been handy to look inside Gilead's mouth.

Releasing a struggling breath she reaches in. Wrist then elbow deep, feels empty space.

No, her hand hit something, she rubs at it to figure out the texture and concludes that it is rock.

Brick Wall pattern. No other notes or furniture. However there is something that convinces her. On her upturned palm a soft breeze brushes. Cool air.

She grabs a loose rock and retracts her hand.

Gray little pebble,Turning it in her hand there is nothing remarkable about the stone, it is an ordinary rock.

She closes her eyes and breathes. When she opens them her decision is made.“Okay. I'm trusting you.”

“You will not regret it. The stasis is controlled by the hanged king. The magic that bore him away from mortality now imprisons them all. The ambassador , I have heard, gloats about this deal to any other entities that would listen. The sheer power they hold. Best do it soon. “You've seen it! Here they ruin each other for amusement, growing sicker and sicker . Stuck in a decaying picture frame. Sooner this will happen to you.”

The strange energy that courses through the upside down stairs and topsy-turvy buildings has a name, neither she nor the bear know.

When you cut your hand it heals without a scar . A fever can turn your brain to liquid and this place will fight to keep your body as a puppet. This place keeps you frozen.

Aether as a replacement for gravity pulls together cobblestone and marble.

This queer essence cannot be described by words. One can only feel it's stagnation.

Churning time and space to a dull stop.

“I can't right now though. I have to get the others.” she gets off her knees

“….. alright.”

Gilead the great bear rug. Gilead who doesn't leave room for doubt. He circles her mind after she leaves.

Left to lay in bed as her maid dims the candles one by one until her night stand is left. She still clutches the rock in her hand. Head resting against her pillows and tucked in, she stares at the closed hand that holds it.

She nuzzles her mask into the pillow. “Are there any occupants of the palace other than you, me and the lord? Ones that can think and feel.”

The maid tilts her head in question. “Yes. All have their own circles, the staff have duties to uphold to run the palace, some aren't ever to leave, as part of this castle as the walls.”

“Anyone else?” she clears her throat and nonchalantly asks.

“Why do you ask?” her mask lightens in recognition and the corner of her eye holes narrow. “They'd sooner make a slave out of you then help.” She's startled at the mention of slavery. An ugly reality of this world.

‘I found an alien bear that is being kept prisoner the same as me and he wants to help me escape by climbing into his mouth’ she keeps the words in her throat and off her mind to avoid further inquiry.

“No reason, I just see recurring figures in the halls.” it's a freak show, to be honest, some of them slither pass and she stupidly gawks after them.

“What about the stuff that was gifted to him?”

“He keeps all his memorabilia here. The battles both won and lost along with ledgers of debts. Gifts. Our Lord is admired far and wide. His gifts litter the palace. Knowledge, slaves and war trophies. Some in the form of thinking organisms.”

Giorgia gives her a pointed look. “You'd be wise to not involve yourself with them.”

Too late. She has a plan. The aether that surrounds allagadda keeps its occupants drunk. And she is prepared to use that to its full advantage.

At the party that white is hosting everyone will be distracted and she'll descend to the depths of White's palace and search for the dungeons.

Find captive humans. Escape with them. Abandon the black lord to his schemes.

Giorgia isn't the most friendly figure but she would hate for something to happen to hurt her. Hopefully she won't be punished for her escape

The recent sympathy she felt for Anguish and his crew of misfits is irrelevant to the larger picture. Cara mia… . The words swirl in her ears . She's a bit dizzy at the recollection. Not a taunt or tease. An endearment that exists without reason. He tossed it into the air

The honest feel of her hand encased by someone else's.

The bear has been ready and begging her to use his favor already. (Starving)

Anguish interrupted her daily moping, snapping her finger tips until she groaned and stood up. He grabs her hand and announces in that theatrical way of his. “We are going dress shopping!”

[joheun-saram]

“Is your refrigerator running?” (jjk)

Summary- Who knew the annoying prank calls you were receiving would become the favourite part of your day.

word count- 4.2k

pairing- fratboy!Jungkook x Reader

rating- PG-13

genre- fluff, collegeau

warnings- none! just stupid jokes.

a.n- Part of my drabbles for @btsholidaybingo​, ticking off the Prank Calls tile! I’ll be posting these every week or so as I get them done. Check out the other drabbles here :)

s/o to the beautiful @heyitsmeee2​ for beta reading and helping me fix the ending! 💕

As always feedback appreciated. Send me an ask! 💌

-

“So how’s your new boyfriend?” Namjoon asked you as you chewed on your fries, almost choking at his insinuition. He laughs at you as he takes a sip of his milkshake, slurping obnoxiously, his eyes widening as he concentrates on the flavour.

“Stop! He’s just a random guy with too much time on his hands! I don’t even know his name! Although...” You stared at your burger, trying to forget what your roommate was alluding to. Two months ago you had started getting phone calls from a stranger. It wasn't something from a horror movie, don't worry. It was harmless. He would call you at random times in the day to ask you silly questions. You don’t know how he even got your number but there was something about his easy going nature and lame jokes that made you want to continue talking to him. Namjoon suspected it was a byproduct of your loneliness, but it was comforting hearing his voice to break through your mundane day to day. 

"Hi, is this Y/N?" A deep voice spoke as you picked up the call from an unknown number.

"Yes this is she. Who is this?" You asked as you sat up straighter, your attention diverting from the paper you were writing. You had applied to eight jobs for after graduation and you were sure this was a call for an interview, even though it was 10 pm. Your eyes lit up as you hoped this was the big consulting firm you were waiting to hear from.

"I have a very important question that I was hoping you could help me with."

"Um.. sure go ahead." You fiddled with your pen, scribbling random shapes on your notebook, feeling somewhat nervous. Is this how employers usually talked? Did they do this to build anticipation?

"Is your refrigerator running?"

"I'm sorry what?"

"Is your refrigerator running?" 

"Are you calling on behalf of the landlord?" Your voice was flat with disappointment. Surely, this was not an important question. Oh how you wished it was an interview call. You sighed.

"Please answer my question."

"Yes. It's running."

"Then you better go catch it, shouldn't you?"

And with that he hung up and you were baffled. Which decade was this dude from? Who does these lame prank calls anyway and more importantly why does your caller ID not show who it is? Thinking nothing of it, you go about finishing your assignment, albeit slightly aggravated. However, the calls continue. Everyday this stranger would call you with questions, sometimes with a silly punchline but oftentimes even sillier riddles.

"Okay, dude seriously. This is getting annoying." You huffed after a week and a half of receiving calls from the same deep voiced stranger, although you’d be lying if you said his little laugh after he told his jokes was not endearing.

"I'm sorry I didn't mean to annoy you." He seemed hurt and you couldn’t fathom why he would be hurt over a comment a stranger made over his prank calls. In fact, you were sure this was some hobby of his and he had a rotation of strangers to bother.

"Can you at least tell me your name?" You don’t know why you were indulging him, but you had to give him props for constantly calling you. It was kind of becoming part of your daily routine.

"Dixie. My name's Dixie." You could hear the mirth in his tone.

"Dixie? Oh I thought you were a dude, my bad."

"I can be a dude and still have Dixie as my name. Jeez, are you a bigot?" He scolded.

"Sorry, sorry! I didn't mean it that way, Dixie."

"That's Dixie Normus to you." He laughed at his joke, every syllable of his laugh separated as if he was a cartoon character.

"Oh my god. You're the worst!" Regardless of your words, you were laughing. Laughing hard enough to have the banana milk you were drinking to snort out of your nose, making you cough. For a moment, you were glad this stranger wasn't in the room.

"Sorry! Are you okay?" You could hear the humour in his words, shading them in anything but an apology.

And so it went, your mysterious caller, who refused to go by anything other than Dixie turned into a somewhat friend, if you can even call someone who you know no personal details about your friend. After a month the phone calls had turned from cringe worthy puns to actual conversations about your day. You had started to look forward to the unknown flashing on your screen, and sharing the mundane details of your day with Dixie.

In two months you learned a lot more about Dixie. He went to your university, he was an avid gamer, he majored in computer science, and apparently it was now part of his daily routine to call you whenever he was cooling down from his workout on the treadmill - explaining the creepy breathlessness of his voice and beeps in the background. Sometimes you had half a mind to go to the university gym during your calls and see your mysterious friend, but somehow you never found the courage. It was nice not knowing what Dixie looked like, not judging someone by their looks but just by the content of their words. There was no room for disappointment.

It also oddly comforted you that you would never meet him and during your nightly conversations you would end up sharing thoughts that you’d be too uncomfortable sharing with even your best friends. Thoughts about the uncertainty you had over graduating soon, thoughts about being sad over failed relationships, even thoughts about your random existential crisis that would plague you mid week. Dixie was empathetic and had a knack for comforting you with small jokes and his own struggles. You would never admit it to Namjoon, but Dixie was slowly becoming your closest friend, even surpassing him to a certain extent.

"You're insane you know that?" Namjoon chided as you talked about Dixie and how you considered him a friend now. Even though Namjoon was your best friend since first grade, he sometimes didn't understand why you romanticised daily events so much. He never understood why you kept giving Dixie the benefit of the doubt, why you kept picking up his phone calls even when you knew it was going to be a lame joke or two.

"I'm not insane Joon! Haven't you heard of pen pals? This is the same thing but with voice."

"Nah. I think it's your crippling loneliness. Which is why we're going to Jin's frat party tonight." Namjoon was not having any of your excuses. So what if your last relationship was a year ago. You and Yoongi were great together. He was the perfect boyfriend and after he went to LA to pursue his music career, you told him you'd wait. Turns out he wasn't on the same page as you since six months after moving, he called you to break things off. He was right though, it would have been stupid to wait for him when neither of you knew when and even if he was ever coming back. It was unfair to the both of you to keep dragging this thing along. But even if Yoongi hadn't been around the last year and a half, you just couldn't see yourself with anyone else. You still missed talking to him every night and sharing your day, laughing at stupid videos together or just listening to him playing the piano through the static line of your phone. Maybe Namjoon was right. Maybe you were lonely and the only reason you were so attached to Dixie was because of the way his phone calls had replaced Yoongi's and how you no longer waited at the end of your day staring at your phone waiting for your ex's call but instead you received real actual calls from your voice pen pal.

You sighed agreeing with Namjoon and went home, not exactly looking forward to the party and missing Dixie’s call.

------------------------

Jin's frat was notorious for the wildest parties on campus. It was always a cacophony of drunk students and a pit of hedonism. When Namjoon and you arrived, the party was in full swing and you thanked your best friend for having the foresight of pre-drinking. The bottle of grapefruit soju you had emptied earlier at your shared apartment ensured that you were not put off by the plethora of drunk guys trying to hit on you microseconds after you entered.

Looking for Jin and let's be honest, a little gin as well, you and Namjoon made your way to the kitchen, to be greeted by your tall friend doing a keg stand. Beer dripped down his chin as his fraternity brothers held him up, his feet almost touching the ceiling. As you poured yourself a gin and tonic, Jin climbed down from the keg to a chorus of applause. Much to your chagrin, he walked over, draping his arms around your shoulders and plastering your back with his beer soaked chest.

"Ew get off me you vermin!" You squealed, shivering in the gross feeling, your backless top doing nothing to shield you from your friend’s shirt as he refused to budge.

"Vermin? VERMIN?! I invite you to my house, give you free drinks, and an array of decent dicks to pick from and I'm the vermin?" Jin finally detaches, giving you a scowl as he leans against the kitchen island, pouring himself what you gather is his tenth drink of the night.

"Jin all of these guys are as gross as you. And I've told you I don't need to get laid!"

"Sure tell that to your vibrator working overtime."

"How did you even - " you sputered, eyes wide with disbelief.

"Namjoon, obviously. And before you kill him, there are no secrets between friends and part-time lovers." He winked, making you roll your eyes. Namjoon and Jin had been on and off since the beginning of freshmen year, neither the type for commitment but to your dismay loved to tell you all about their rollercoaster of a relationship. You swear you could write a thesis on dysfunctional relationships using theirs as a case study.

"Ew. Please stop. I don't need to know about you and Joon getting it on."

"Well then let me introduce you to someone so you can get it on." He wiggled his eyebrows puckering his lips to annoy you. 

"I know all your brothers Jin and no thank you." You lightly slapped his lips making him groan as he grabbed your wrist continuing his tirade. You’d be lying if you said his frat brothers had never caught your eye - they were famous for their astoundingly good looks, in fact there even seemed to be an instagram page dedicated to people randomly spotting them on campus (@betatauinthewild). However, their good looks did not make up for the fact that they were a bunch of loud fuckboys. You loved Jin and Namjoon and would literally stab anyone who said anything against them but you had to agree that they were the biggest players of the group, finding a new person to bed almost every weekend. That is, unless they were with each other - case and point their dysfunctional relationship.

"Well we have a new brother and he's my little brother. He's a sophomore, he just joined, and he's your type. The whole quiet but nice guy type." Jin continued, ignoring you in typical fashion.

"I don't have a type."

"Please! As if Yoongi wasn’t a cookie cutter tsundere. Come on let me introduce you to him!" He grabbed your shoulder and pleaded, pouting and widening his eyes in the most adorable puppy dog face you had seen him pull.

"Can we not talk about Yoongi please." You sighed. You finished your drink and proceeded to pour another one. 

"Yes! Let's talk about JK!"

"Jin... come on. Let's just drink okay?"

"Fine but I'm telling you, you'll get along. He's a great guy."

An hour into the party, you had lost both Jin and Namjoon and were getting tired of Jin’s exceedingly drunk frat brothers trying their pick up lines of the day on you. Your head was hurting from the noise of the party and you were sure if you saw another couple subtly trying to test their exhibitionism kink you were going to puke. So as it was typical for whenever you went to these parties, you started to make your way to Jin’s room. Jin may be loud and obnoxious and being lusted after by pretty much the entire campus, but he was reliable for one thing: he never fucked where he slept. And so his room became a sort of sanctuary for you when these parties would get too much.

You made your way up the stairs almost tripping over two guys who had decided that making out horizontally on the stairs was a good idea - you did not envy how busted their backs would be tomorrow. Punching in the code you walked in to find that there was already someone there, reclined on the bed with his arms behind his head, earphones in, humming gently as he stared at the ceiling. You had never seen him before, but boy did you wish you did. His dark hair was splayed over the pillows, a smile ghosting his full lips. He was dressed in all black, much like you but unlike your lace bodysuit and skinny jeans, he was wearing a boxy back t shirt with ripped jeans, his feet in those questionable toe socks. And he was buff, even though his body was mostly covered you could make out the muscle in his arms, one of which had intricate tattoos etched on to. You’re unaware how long you stared at this stranger, but suddenly he turns his face looking at you. Seeing you there he immediately jumps up, pulling his earphones out, startling you in turn.

“I- I’m sorry. Y-you can’t be h-here,” he stutters out, a soft blush rising up his cheeks as he nervously pulls at his ear.

“I should be saying that to you. Why are you in Jin’s room?” You shut the door, leaning on it, feeling oddly territorial.

“I- Hyung needed my room.” You found the stuttering boy in front of you endearing. Something about how he bashfully stared at anything but you while speaking made you want to hug him. 

“Oh my god! You let him into your room? Drunk during a party?” You almost scream, but lower your voice seeing the alarm on his face. Walking over, you sat next to him, a few feet away so as not to make him uncomfortable. “Do you like doing laundry or something?” you joked.

Hearing your question the boy perks up, looking at you with a bright smile that made your heart skip a beat. “I do actually! How did you know?” he asks excitedly. You almost felt bad bursting his bubble.

“I didn’t… It’s just - you know Jin’s probably having sex in there right?” You look at the abject horror on his face in sympathy, so you try to change the subject. “Nevermind. Why are you hiding in here?”

“I’m not hiding. I just got bored. Everyone there just wants to hook up or get blackout drunk.”

“You do realise which frat you’re part of right?”

“I know,” he chuckles, seemingly more relaxed as he lays down on the bed, his feet still on the floor. “I honestly didn’t even wanna join but I’m a legacy so my dad really wanted me to be a part of it, Beta Tau pride and all.”

“Not to be a bitch, but dude you sound like a protagonist of a shitty college romcom,” you laugh looking down at him as he smiles, crossing your legs on the bed as you turn towards him, forcing yourself to ignore how cute he looks from this angle.

“You think you’re being a bitch, but that's a great compliment. I wish my life was a romcom. It’d be so easy…”

“Okay, emo. What’s wrong?”

“You’re going to think it’s dumb.”

“Hey I don’t even know your name! What have you got to lose?”

“Fine. There’s this girl I like and we always call each other… Well I call her.... at this time, but she didn’t pick up. So yes I’m emo, and yes I wish I was in a romcom so I’d go downstairs and randomly run into her.” He looks at you with a sad smile, shrugging slightly, and you feel yourself deflate. Not that you were interested in him or anything. You were sure it was just the alcohol in your system making you feel extra empathetic. Yup that’s it.

“Hey, that’s not stupid,” you say gently. “What if she’s down there did you check?”

“Well… I don’t actually know what she looks like… So, no…”

“Oh then maybe you should call her again! What if she was busy?”

“I don’t wanna be pushy, you know? I’m not even sure she thinks of me the same-”

“YO DIXIE! You in there?” A loud knock booms through the room accompanied by a deep voice. The attractive stranger next to you rolls his eyes before standing up, and at hearing his nickname you feel your heart kickstart, racing as you blink in disbelief. It can’t be…

“Dixie?” you stutter out.

“What’s up dude?” He opens the doors talking to Taehyung, one of the other Beta Tau brothers, as they start talking about something. You can barely hear their conversation, your brain full of scenarios and questions, your face crimson. You never thought you’d meet Dixie in real life. Do you tell him? Do you just run away? Why did he have to be so hot?!

Taehyung notices you on the bed for the first time and in typical fashion starts hollering and high-fiving Dixie. “Damn dude! The president’s best friend! Good for you!” He snickered as Dixie looked at him with his mouth agape, before turning to you. “Ay Y/N. Treat our boy JK well okay? He’s too nice for you!”

“Fuck off hyung!” JK, apparently that’s his name, shoves Taehyung as he grins widely before wiggling his eyebrows suggestively and shutting the door, seemingly getting all that he came for.

“You’re Dixie…?” You stare up at him, standing up as you try to control the overwhelming urge to wrap your hands around him. Fuck, maybe Joon was right you did have a crush on your voice pen pal.

“I- Y/N?” He looks at you, mirroring your wide eyes. “The same Y/N I’ve been talking to?”

“Call me,” you almost whisper.

“What?”

“Call me so I know it’s real.” You move closer holding your phone up as he pulls his out of his pocket to dial your number. Your phone rings, displaying a set of numbers instead of unknown for the first time, and the two of you just stare at the vibrating device in your hand. It seems like time stood still, the air thick with tension as your shitty ringtone bounces off the walls. That is until you start laughing. Not giggling, full on laughing, holding your stomach as tears spill down your face, as JK looks at you in alarm, his arms hovering near you as you double over.

“Holy shit! You are the protagonist of a romcom!” You finally wheeze out as you hold his arm for support, while he looks at you with a frown. You’re unsure why this was your reaction, but you recover quickly to start your interrogation.

“So what’s your name Dixie or JK?”

“Jungkook, actually. Dixie’s my gamertag and JK is just what Jin hyung calls me.”

“How did you get my number?”

“Umm… I might have stolen it from hyung’s phone…”

“Why?”

“Because he prank called my friends first.” He spoke with a pout, and you swear your heart forgot to function.

“Why keep calling?”

“Really Y/N? You’re gonna interrogate me?” He raised an eyebrow at you.

“Keep talking Dixie!” You chuckled as his shy demeanor gave way to the Dixie, well the Jungkook, you knew. It was weird how fast the earlier awkwardness dissipated into comfort.

“What? I thought you sounded pretty! Sue me!” He shrugged, leaning back against the door, his hands in his pocket. Your eyes followed the movement, momentarily distracted by how his forearms flexed. Clearing your throat, you continued as he smirked, not missing the way your eyes seemed to be roaming his body.

“You said you were trying to call the girl you like. So you like me?” You try to sound as matter of fact as you could, but your voice wavered slightly at the last part as you made the mistake of looking at his face. He tilted his head, causing his hair to fall into his eyes that were boring holes into you, his smirk getting larger. Oh how you wished he turned back into the boy talking about how much he liked laundry.

“I thought it was obvious. I call you every night.” He stood straight, taking a step towards you causing heat to creep up your face at his sudden confidence. You don’t respond as he moves closer, causing his steps to falter. “Do you like me?” he asks, his voice a little smaller. You’re getting whiplash from the changes in his tone, but his question makes you feel warm. You haven’t felt this way in a long time, there’s butterflies in your stomach, your hands feel clammy, and you’re sure you can feel the heat off his body, so aware of where he stands merely inches away from you.

“I think so…” you move closer and he raises his hand as if to hold your hip but stops, hovering just centimeters away as looks at you, his gaze smouldering.

“What’ll make you sure of it?” he asks in a whisper, and before you can even comprehend the question, you are leaning up on your toes to press a light kiss against his lips. His lips are slightly chapped and you’re sure he can feel your heartbeat through them. Your skin tingles where he brings his hand on your hip, gently holding you. He doesn’t push you further, just leans his forehead on yours when you separate to whisper quietly, “This.”

“And?” His nose brushes against yours as you place your hand on his chest, his pounding heart mimicking yours. He slowly rubs his hands on your hips where they lay, and it’s like your skin is electrified.

“I’m sure,” you say as he crashes his lips on yours, pulling you closer as your arms snake around his neck. His reaction is much stronger this time as he moves his lips against yours feverently. He pulls you flush against him, your body molding against his hard muscles. His hands grip at your hips as he licks lightly at your lip, groaning as they part. It seems like he can’t decide what to do with his hands, roaming them over your sides, relishing the little moan you make as one of them cups your ass. His earlier shyness disappears, and who are you to resist him, as your hands in his hair pull him closer. It’s like everything finally makes sense, why you could never ignore his calls, why your heart raced whenever you heard him call your name through the static of your speaker. You had spent this whole time convincing yourself that he was just a stranger you could vent to when it was clear to you now that you were falling for him.

He whispers your name as you break apart, but his mouth continues down your jaw to your neck, kissing and sucking at the skin. His teeth drag across your collarbone, and you whimper at the way he soothes it with his tongue as you press your body even closer into his.

“Hey Y/N! Joon’s looking for you!”

The two of you break apart at the interruption, chest heaving and faces flushed. Looking up at Jungkook, you smile as he looks away shyly, his lip caught between his teeth, before turning to your best friend who is excitedly hopping in the doorway.

“I knew you would get along with JK!” Jin exclaims as you look once again at Jungkook before you both break out in a laugh. Trust Jin to know who you’d fall for before you. He comes up to pat his frat brother on the shoulder before his proud smile turns into a glare, warning the two of you that his room was for sleeping only and abruptly kicking you out. 

The two of you giggle as you make your way downstairs, unable to keep your hands off of each other, going from holding hands to hugging to sneaking kisses in the kitchen as you make your drinks. Before the night ends the two of you end up sitting in the backyard, kissing under the stars and planning your first date later that week, even though it felt like you had known each other an eternity.

You had never felt luckier to pick up a random phone call.

[marvelyningreen]

Even If it Changes Nothing

[Summary: Erik Lehnsherr isn’t the same man he was in his youth. It may be too late for it to do any good, but there’s someone he needs to apologize to.

Notes: XCU, canon characters only]

Erik took a deep, steadying breath and let it out slowly. After everything he’d seen, after everything he’d done, this was what put his stomach in knots.

He’s certain that Charles would find the moment terribly amusing. Fortunately for him, Charles wasn’t there. Erik squared his shoulders, and rang the doorbell.

For a moment, all he heard was the quiet sounds of life on the suburban street. Then, from within the house, footsteps crossing the floor. The door swung open, and Erik found himself fixed with an icy glare.

“The hell are you doing here,” said Magda.

Somehow, it wasn’t phrased as a question. Erik knew she wouldn’t be happy to see him. That’s part of the reason he’d turned up on her doorstep unannounced, really. That wasn’t to say that Magda wouldn’t slam the door in his face, of course. She had the backbone, the self-respect, and every right to do just that. But maybe, seeing him face-to-face like this, she’d actually hear him out.

Erik summoned up a smile. “May I come in?”

Magda regarded him silently. The years hadn’t changed her keen, scrutinizing gaze, that much was certain. She sighed, her shoulders dropping ever so slightly.

“You might as well,” she said. “I’ll have a lot of explaining to do if any of the neighbors recognize you.”

She unlocked the screen door, stepping aside for Erik to let himself in.

Magda was every bit as beautiful as she’d been when Erik knew her, and just as strong and self-possessed. It’s what he’d always admired about her. He gently closed the door behind himself.

“If you’re looking for Peter, he’s not here,” Magda said. “Try the school.”

“That’s not why I’m here,” said Erik. “I just want to talk, Magda.”

Her jaw tightened, and she folded her arms. “You’re gonna turn up here after this many years and call me ‘Magda?’”

Erik blinked. “That’s your real name.”

“And what makes you think you have any right to use it?”

They’d both had too much to drink that night, and between the alcohol and the warmth of their companionship, Erik found himself saying too much. Bits of his history came out – things that he’d never meant to tell anyone about his past, his family, what’d happened to them.

In return, she’d shared a bit of her own history. Her parents were an Eastern European Romani couple, living in Austria. One the eve of the Anschluss, they fled, eventually making their way to America.

But the fear never left them. They hid their heritage, never saying much about their ancestry, never speaking their native tongue outside their house. And, in a bid to protect their child from facing persecution, they decided to westernize their names.

That’s how Erik learned that Mary Maximoff’s true name was Magda Maximov. She’d never told that to anyone else, she’d said. From that night, Erik never once called her ‘Mary’ again. He’d never thought of her as anything but ‘Magda.’

But using that name now… It implied a great deal of familiarity and trust – both things he’d long since forfeited.

“You’re right,” said Erik.

Magda- No. Mary held his gaze for a second as she turned around – a silent, begrudging invitation to follow her further into the house. In the kitchen, she produced a bottle of whiskey. After another long, hard look at Erik, she brought two glasses down from the cabinet, filling them both and pushing one across the counter to him.

That was the closest thing to an olive branch that he was bound to get.

“So? You said you wanted to talk. Now talk.” Mary took a drink.

Erik picked up his glass, contemplated it for a moment, and set it back down.

“I wanted to apologize,” he said.

Mary let out a harsh, incredulous laugh. “Apologize? For what, leaving me alone as an unwed mother in the 1950’s?”

“I didn’t know-” Erik began, but it sounded like an excuse even to his own ears.

“Of course you didn’t,” said Mary. “You just packed up and left, off on your one-man quest for revenge again. I tried to contact you, you know that? But you did an excellent job of making that impossible.”

He’d gotten a lead on the men he’d been hunting. He didn’t have any time to waste – or so he’d thought at the time. He told himself that he’d always meant to come back. Even then, part of him must have known that it was a lie.

“Are you going to try to tell me it would’ve been different if you’d known about Peter?” Mary asked, raising her chin.

Erik’s gaze drifted to his hands, still resting on the countertop. A family wasn’t part of his plans, not back then.

“That’s what I thought,” Mary said. She took another drink. “You were never one to care about individuals, Erik. All you ever cared about was the big picture, and all your moralizing about tearing it all down and rebuilding a better world.”

It was a painful truth that Erik had tried for many years not to acknowledge. He hadn’t once considered what might’ve become of Mary, or of any other human he’d encountered. The consequences of his actions were simply a byproduct of a higher mission – either necessary sacrifices or too inconsequential to consider.

“I told everyone I was a widow,” Mary continued, “That I’d gone back to my maiden name to avoid painful reminders. It wasn’t too much of a stretch. You were dead to me already.”

He deserved that. Mary cleared her throat, turning her attention to topping off her glass. Erik got the impression that she was saying more than she meant to. Well, if she needed to call him out for his sins, he owed it to her to listen.

“Raising a son on your own,” said Erik, “How did you do it?”

A bitter smile tugged at her mouth. “Luckily, my parents were still alive at the time. They helped me take care of Peter while I went to school to become a nurse. It was hard work, but it let me support us all.”

All. Erik had heard Peter mention a younger sister. He couldn’t help but notice her picture alongside Peter’s – a little red-haired girl named Gwendolyn. Another mouth for Mary to feed on her own.

If things had been different, could this have been his future? A wife, a son, an ordinary life here in America? Would it all have come crashing down around him just the same? Would he have lost them, too?

No, that way lies madness. And in any case, Erik knew himself better than that. Nothing would have deterred him from his goal, not even a loving family. Erik took a slow sip of the whiskey.

“When Peter gained his powers, I was terrified,” Mary said. “Not because he was a mutant. I just didn’t want him to end up like you.”

Not even an attempt to soften the statement. It almost made Erik laugh, but that certainly wouldn’t have helped the situation.

“Well, that makes two of us,” he said. “And then, to see him run headlong into danger the way he did. I can’t imagine how that must’ve felt.”

Mary’s bleak expression answered for her. She took another long sip of whiskey.

“For what it’s worth,” said Erik, “And I know it isn’t worth much, coming from me, but… You raised him well. Peter is a good man – selfless and brave. I know he learned that from you.”

In his younger days, Erik was a man consumed by grief and pain and vengeance. He would’ve been a poor excuse for a father, and they both knew it. But that didn’t erase his neglect.

“You know all my explanations already, and all my excuses,” said Erik. “And nothing I say can undo the past. But I owe you this much – to tell you that I am truly sorry for what I’ve done.”

He retrieved a folded piece of paper from his pocket.

“I also wanted you to have his,” he said, holding it out to Mary.

Her eyes narrowed as she took it. “What is it?”

“It’s my contact information. If there’s ever anything you need-”

“You’ve got a lot of nerve assuming that I’d need your help,” Mary interrupted, “Or that I’d even want it.”

Erik closed his eyes for a moment at the sharpness of her words.

“I know,” he said. “Believe me, I know. You may tear it up, if you wish. But if there’s anything I can do, if there’s any way I can begin to make up for how I’ve hurt you – please. I want to make amends, if I can.”

Mary’s grip on the paper tightened for a moment. She pursed her lips.

“I heard about what happened. In Poland, I mean,” she said softly. “I’m sorry, Erik.”

She looked up again, meeting his gaze. For a moment, the pain and anger were gone. Her expression was simply full of that sincere compassion that first drew him to her those many years ago. The same genuine kindness, even the same name that his beloved wife had possessed.

Erik’s throat tightened.

“Thank you,” he said.

He looked down again, finishing off his whiskey at once.

Once again, someone was being far kinder to him than he deserved. Erik wasn’t sure what he’d expected to feel after this conversation. Closure? He didn’t feel any such thing, and he was certain Mary didn’t either. But maybe – just maybe – there was the beginning of peace.

“I’ll take my leave of you,” he said, setting down the glass.

Mary made no attempt to prevent him from going, and he didn’t expect her to. She followed as he made his way to the door.

“Thank you – for allowing me into your home, and for giving me the chance to apologize.” Erik hesitated, his hand on the door. “May I… May I call you ‘Mary,’ then?”

A faint, exasperated smile crossed her face.

“I suppose I won’t make you call me ‘Ms. Maximoff,’ if that’s what you mean,” she said. “Yes, ‘Mary’ is fine.”

“Alright.” Erik said. “Then, goodbye, Mary.”

He was halfway over the threshold before Mary’s voice stopped him.

“Listen, no matter what’s happened in my life,” she said, “I love my children with all my heart. You’re half the reason that Peter exists. In the grand scheme of things, I guess that counts for something good.”

Erik turned back to her, smiling.

“I may be half the reason he exists,” he said, “But you’re the entire reason he grew up to be a hero.”

It was a little saccharine, but nonetheless true.

“Goodbye, Erik,” Mary said.

Erik closed the door behind him, and stepped out into the day.

[myaekingheart]

133. +

read the scarecrow and the bell on ao3 index | from the beginning | < previous | next >

               Kakashi stirred awake, rubbing his tired eyes and attempting to untangle his legs from the blankets. He had no idea what time it was, but the sun had barely begun to rise. He felt around the mattress for Rei but she was nowhere to be found. It was that absence that initially snapped him out of his daze. The runner-up was the sound of retching echoing from the bathroom.

               Kakashi rose to his feet, stepping lightly as he approached the door. He idled there for a moment, catching notes of her gagging, gasping for breath, and the way she’d bang her fist on the toilet seat as she struggled to contain herself. Finally, he creaked the door open and he felt a tightness clutch his chest.

               Immediately, he knelt down beside her and pressed a firm hand on her back. Her entire body trembled and heaved as she vomited, her face red and dewy with sweat. Kakashi brushed the bangs back out of her face, then fished around in the disorganized drawers for that little yellow hair clip of hers in order to pin them back. He had no idea how long she had been in here for, or how much time had passed once she had finished. All he knew was that this was becoming a problem.

               Rei’s stress was no secret to him. He knew the past month had been hard on her. She couldn’t sleep, so much so that dark circles had permanently taken residence under her eyes. Her appetite was atrocious. She never seemed to eat anymore outside of a snack here and there, always junk food, always sparse. And even then, she could hardly keep anything down.

               He tried not to hound her too much for it. He didn’t want to add more fuel to the fire. Besides, he rememberd how sick and anxious he had been when he had first made captain himself. It was all just a byproduct of change.

               Gasping for breath, Rei collapsed into Kakashi’s arms as she lazily flushed the toilet. She sniffled and wiped her nose, congested and snotty, with the back of her hand. “Sorry if I woke you” she croaked, apologetic.

               Kakashi shook his head. “No, it’s alright” he whispered in reassurance. He held her close, letting her lay her head on his chest as he leaned his back against the bathroom counter. “Are you alright?”

               She nodded, whispered, “Yeah…yeah, I’m fine. Just food poisoning.”

               Kakashi, admittedly, was unconvinced. It was the same excuse she had been using for the past week and a half. He believed her at first, but now he wasn’t so sure. After all, if her mother’s cooking had made her so sick, then why wasn’t he incapacitated by it, too? Or anyone else, for that matter?

               He helped Rei to her feet, wrapping an arm around her for support. “What time is it?” she asked, rubbing her puffy, watery eyes.

               “I don’t know” Kakashi replied earnestly, “but you should try to get some more rest.”

               Rei, however, shook her head. “It’s not worth it” she replied. “I’m up now. I’m never going to be able to fall back asleep.”

               Kakashi grimaced but did not protest. Knowing her, she would pass out on the couch around noon and sleep until dinnertime anyway. He was just grateful that it was her day off. After the chaos of her last mission, she deserved a break.

               He had to admit, when she came home and explained what had happened at Komaeda Outpost, Kakashi was a little more than shocked. He knew full well the potential for chaos that rogue ninjas could bring, but the complete destruction of a hotel was on an entirely new level. Not to mention Rei’s unrelenting illness.

               He helped her into the kitchen where she steadied herself against the counter and poured a glass of water from the sink. From the tap, it wasn’t nearly as cold as she would’ve liked but at least it helped to get the rancid taste out of her mouth. Once he was sure she was steady, he made his way to the living room to begin tidying up all of the random mail that had accumulated on the coffee table. Toshio lumbered nearer, nudging Rei’s hand in silent comfort. As she sipped, her eyes trailed to the calendar pinned to the wall and she furrowed her brows. “Hey, Kakashi?” she asked over her shoulder. “What day is it?”

               “Friday, June 5th” he answered, skimming through a handful of envelopes. He furrowed his brows at an electric bill they probably should’ve paid two weeks ago. “Why do you ask?”

               Shaking her head, she set her glass down and pulled a pen from the junk drawer. “I’ve been slacking on the calendar” she replied. She hadn’t checked off any dates for nearly three weeks now. Evidently, her hangover from Sekkachi’s birthday atop her overall stress had made her irresponsible in that regard. Her hand trembled as she x-ed out each date one by one until reaching June. And that’s when she noticed it. Clapping a hand over her mouth, she spun around and keeled over the kitchen sink.

               “Rei!” Kakashi sped to her side in an instant as she gagged, clutching the edge of the counter with a white-knuckle grip. She stood there hyperventilating for a long moment before the nausea finally subsided. She whimpered softly as her eyes unfocused for a moment, little blotches of indescribable color dancing across her vision. When her knees buckled, Kakashi wrapped an arm around her in support and pulled out a chair. He sat her down gently, poured her another glass of water. His anxiety mounted.

               “Rei, I think you should see a doctor” he said, setting the glass in front of her. She pressed a hand to her sweaty forehead, brushing the flyaways away from her face, and shook her head. “You’ve been getting worse and worse. Something has to be going on.”

               “I’m fine, Kakashi” Rei insisted, staring at him hard. It was just the stress. She was overworked, tired, anxious. That’s all it was. Just stress.

               Sighing, Kakashi sank down in the chair beside her and ruffled his hair in defeat. He didn’t know what to do with her. He hated seeing her suffer like this. Pursing his lips, he filtered through his limited knowledge of diseases to try and figure out some sort of explanation to all of this. This certainly went beyond the scope of food poisoning. The stomach flu was on thin ice. He didn’t even want to consider something more serious, like abdominal cancer. And then he was struck with perhaps the most ridiculous idea of them all. Restraining a chuckle, he mused, “You’re not pregnant, are you?”

               Rei’s heart leapt into her throat. With a gasp, she leaned across the table to smack Kakashi hard on the arm. “Shut the fuck up, Kakashi!” she shouted. Her face burned bright red. She refused to believe this was a possibility. Not after everything else. Not after the twist her life had already pulled on her. No, this was not happening.

               And yet Kakashi’s joking question seemed to bring life to the idea. A manifestation of thought. Furious, Rei drew her knees up to her chest and sipped at her water. Toshio rested his head on the seat of her chair, looking up at her with big, kindhearted eyes.

               “I’m sorry” Kakashi apologized, heaving a sigh. “I know I shouldn’t joke about that.”

               “You’re fucking right, you shouldn’t” Rei snapped. Suddenly his joke wasn’t so funny anymore.

               Kakashi hesitated a moment, chewing the inside of his cheek, before finally asking, “Rei…you don’t really think you’re pregnant…do you?”

               “Kakashi, I don’t want to talk about this” she groaned, squeezing her eyes shut tight. Toshio whimpered at her side.

               Her answer wasn’t very helpful. If anything, it only furthered Kakashi’s suspicions. Reaching across the table, he pulled her hand into his and forced her to look him in the eyes. “Rei” he said, his voice firm and pleading. “Do you really think that you could be pregnant?”

               Rei shivered and gulped. “I-I…” she stammered, but she didn’t even know where to begin, how to condense her thoughts into something comprehensible. Finally, she just pointed at the calendar with a shaky finger and curled even further in on herself.

               Kakashi’s gaze slowly trailed to the kitchen wall, to the little calendar tacked under the clock. Squinting, he rose and inched nearer, then flipped the pages back and forth to compare April, May, and June. His eyes zeroed in on the little red dot marked on April 29th. “Rei…” he whispered.

               Sniffling, she replied quietly, “M-my period is late…”

               Whipping around, Kakashi cupped her face in his hands, desperate. “D-do you want me to go out and get some pregnancy tests? Or take you to the doctor? D-do you really think you might be--?”

               “I don’t know, Kakashi! I-I don’t know!” she cried. Her eyes overflowed with panic, fear. “M-Maybe it’s just the stress, you know?” she continued, negotiating with herself. “I mean, stress can often lead to late periods. A-and I know my eating hasn’t been the best. Diet can fuck your cycle up, too! A-and poor sleep, and body weight, and…”

               No matter how she tried to justify it, there was no avoiding the truth. She pressed a hand to her stomach, whimpered, reeled. There was no way this was happening. Not now. Not after everything else. She was just overthinking. This had to be a mistake.

               Before she could say anything else, Kakashi was already tugging his mask up over his face and sliding his shoes on frantically. Rei’s anxiety heightened as she watched him. “W-where the fuck do you think you’re going?!” she asked.

               “Where do you think?” Kakashi replied. “I’ll be back in a few minutes. Just…try to stay calm.” He shoved his wallet and his keys into his pocket and then disappeared.

               Defeated, Rei called after him sarcastically, “Not likely, but thanks!”

               Realistically, he was only gone for a half an hour. For Rei, however, it felt like an eternity. She chewed her lower lip and circled the edge of her glass with a trembling finger. Toshio rested his heavy head in her lap and much like a weighted blanket, it soothed her, but only slightly. When she heard Kakashi’s key turn in the lock, her head snapped up. Panic. She wasn’t sure which was worse: the unbearable waiting and consequential avoidance, or his return with pregnancy tests in tow.

               Kakashi entered the apartment quietly, cradling a large paper bag in his arms. Rei blinked, uncertain. “What did you do? Buy out the entire store?” she asked. There was no way a box of pregnancy tests required a bag that big.

               Shaking his head, Kakashi set the bag down on the table. He reached inside and one by one, pulled out a loaf of bread, a sack of oranges, a box of those rice crackers she liked, the works. “I didn’t want to look suspicious” he replied sheepishly. Rei watched with panicked intent, a part of her hoping that perhaps in his attempt to appear normal, he had forgotten the pregnancy tests completely. But then there it was, last but not least. That little pink box made Rei furious.

               Kakashi sucked in a deep breath, fiddled with the box in his hands. “You ready?” he then asked.

               Rei bit the inside of her cheek, pressed a hand to her stomach. She didn’t think she was. “Y-You know what, Kakashi?” she stammered out. “Maybe we can just avoid this altogether, you know? I-I’m sure everything’s fine. It’s just the stress, right? Like it’s probably just stress and I’ll get my period any minute now!” Her nervous laughter did not help her argument.

               “Rei, look at me” Kakashi said, gently cupping her cheek and tilting her head up toward him. “If this is a genuine concern like I think it might be, we need to know.” Besides, for all they knew, the test could come back negative. Rei could be right in her halfhearted, desperate assumptions. But the only way to find out was to actually take the test.

               Rei deliberated for a moment, knowing deep down that her fiancé was right. She rubbed her stomach, nodded slowly. “O-okay…” she croaked. Her eyes landed on the box and she was filled with unimaginable fear. She gave a single nod before taking it into her own hands and replied weakly, “Let’s do this.”

               Of all the times Rei had had pregnancy scares in the past, she had always just gone to the hospital for a blood test. Home pregnancy tests were not her forte and therefore she felt awkward and stupid trying to figure out the best possible way to do this. Kakashi sat on the edge of the tub as Rei pulled her pants down and sat on the toilet, ripping open the box and pulling out one of the little sticks inside. She pouted as she turned it over in her hand, studying it’s structure. Meanwhile, Kakashi took the box from her lap and pulled out a small paper outlining instructions.

               “It says to remove the plastic cap and place the absorbent tip directly within the urine stream” he read off. Rei paused. There were so many things wrong with the words that were coming out of his mouth right now.

               “Well, how the fuck am I supposed to make sure everything’s lined up?” she asked. “It’s not like I can see down there.”

               Kakashi hesitated, almost tempted to offer himself as a second pair of eyes, but even he didn’t know how that would work. It wasn’t like he had byakugan and could see straight through the toilet.

               Frustrated, Rei flicked the little plastic cap off the test, muttering, “Fine, whatever, we’re just gonna fucking wing it then.” She shifted slightly so as to place the test beneath her, hoping upon all hope that everything was in the right spot, and then she waited.

               The one thing that she had not considered about all of this was whether or not she could even pee in the first place. It was early in the morning, she hadn’t been drinking much water, and the anxiety of it all was making it hard to go to the bathroom anyway. She sat there for a solid five minutes but it was to no avail.

               “Maybe this is a sign” she said with a hollow sense of hope. “Maybe the universe just isn’t taking us seriously right now and is trying to tell us that we’re overreacting.”

               Kakashi shook his head, skimmed the back of the box as if he would find any tips on how to help resolve the issue. He wasn’t surprised when he came up empty. “Maybe you just need a minute” he replied. “Do you want me to turn around? Do you think that would help?”

               “Kakashi, I’m not a guy” Rei snarked. “Women don’t get the same sort of stage fright about pissing in front of other people that you all do.”

               Raising his hands in surrender, Kakashi murmured, “Just figured I’d offer.” In an effort to be helpful, he rose to his feet and approached the bathroom sink, filling a paper cup with tap water. He handed it to her and she drank it silently, knowing full well that it would not work that fast but making an attempt with it anyway.

               Meanwhile, Toshio, curious about the commotion, nudged the door open and strode inside. He circled the tub mat once, twice, three times over before flopping down comfortably. Rei watched him and wondered what it was like to be a dog. No rules, no responsibilities. Just stealing table food and taking naps. She only wished she could be as carefree.

               After another ten minutes passed with no help, Kakashi ruffled his hair with a sigh and suggested, “Maybe we should just come back to this later then.”

               Rei shook her head. “No, it’s fine” she protested. “You know, I think I feel it coming.”

               Kakashi cocked a brow, watching her curiously. Another few minutes passed. Still nothing. Toshio snored loudly from the floor.

               “Come on” Kakashi sighed in defeat, extending a hand to help her up. “There’s no use sitting here ramping our anxiety up if nothing is going to happen.”

               Rei hated that she had no choice but to agree. She set the test down on the counter as she gathered her pants and underwear around her ankles, but as she did so, she finally felt that much-anticipated urine make it’s belated debut. Panicked, she scrambled to grab the pregnancy test off the counter and shove it underneath her yet again. She had no idea whether she had positioned everything properly, but she hoped upon hope that she had. She did not want to have to do this again.

               Kakashi blinked despondently, watching her in amused surprise. Once she was finished, he chuckled softly under his breath. “I guess reverse psychology works on bladders, too” he mused.

               “Alright, what do we do now?” Rei asked. She placed a wad of toilet paper on the counter and set the test on top, face-down.  

               “It says to recap the test and wait five minutes” Kakashi said, glancing back at the instructions. Rei gave a single nod, doing as the instructions told her, before wiping and flushing. And then came the waiting.

               Rei paced back and forth, chewing her lower lip and toying with the fraying threads on her shirt collar. Kakashi watched her, fingers tented in front of his face, apprehensive. For a long while, they said nothing. The moment was far too delicate. They feared that should they speak, they would shatter their composure and lose their sanity completely. Rei was already halfway there.

               “You’re making me dizzy” Kakashi quipped at the three minute mark.

               “Do you think we really have to wait the full five minutes?” she asked. “I mean, if there’s nothing there then we could be waiting here forever, you know?”

               “And if there’s something?” Kakashi countered.

               Rei paused and pursed her lips. “Then I’m sure the result would be far too eager to show itself.”

               “Fair enough” Kakashi replied. They stood there in almost-silence for another long moment, only the sound of Toshio’s heavy snoring serving as soundtrack to their panic. Then, finally, Kakashi asked the question Rei was hoping he would never verbalize. “What result do you want to see?”

               She genuinely did not know. If he had asked her that same question a month ago, she would have had a very different answer but now she wasn’t so sure. Things were different. Their lives were different. No longer was she in the best place to have a baby.

               And yet…she still desperately did want this. The thought of being pregnant, of finding a positive test result, excited a deep, guilty part of her. There was no logic in it, though. In reality, it didn’t make sense. Her life was divided into two very different paths. She was not allowed to be in two places at once.

               Shaking her head, Rei sank down beside Kakashi on the side of the tub and asked, “What result do you want to see?” She spoke the question almost like a joke, delivered in a snarky, half-mocking tone.

               A soft smile touched Kakashi’s lips and Rei’s heart leapt into her throat. She feared she already knew the answer, and she wasn’t sure if she could stomach it. He rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly, averted his eyes. “Honestly? I…” he started, then paused. Rei chewed her lower lip. Something in Kakashi shifted. He glanced to the clock, as if running out of time, swallowed hard. “Rei…”

               “W-what…?” she whispered, hoarse and weak.

               He turned to face her then, meeting her gaze with frantic, uncertain eyes. “Our five minutes are up” he croaked. Rei’s back went ramrod straight, digging her nails even deeper into her palms. Her throat tightened and her heart was racing and oh my god she was going to be sick.

               She stood up slowly, her legs like limp ramen beneath her, and shuffled slowly toward the counter. Kakashi watched with bated breath. Rei leaned against the counter, squeezed her eyes shut tight, inhaled sharply. A trembling hand hovered over the test. “K-Kakashi…I can’t…” she whimpered.

               “Do you want me to look instead?” he asked, rising to his feet. He approached slowly, placing a gentle hand on the small of her back. Rei shook her head.

               “N-No…I know I need to do this myself” she protested. After all, it was her own body that was at stake. She felt her stomach creak in anxiety. In the back of her mind, she forced herself to remember that the only way out is through. Dragging the situation out would only make things that much worse. Pursing her lips, she let out a small squeal of fear before snatching the test up and finally flipping it over in her hands.

               It took a moment for her to fully register the results. Once she did, however, her entire body went numb. She stood still for a long while, paralyzed.

               “W-what? What is it?” Kakashi asked, growing frantic.

               Rei swallowed hard. She wasn’t sure which was worse: the disappointment or the delight. Her hand shook as she slowly turned the test around to face her fiancé. “K-Kakashi…” she croaked, clapping a hand over her mouth. Now she was definitely sure she was going to be sick.

               Kakashi leaned forward, squinted at the little test window. Staring back at him was the faintest little pink line. His heart skipped a beat. “I-It’s positive…” he whispered in disbelief.

               Rei nodded slowly, a sob catching in her throat. “K-Kakashi…it’s positive” she repeated.

               A soft, incredulous little laugh bubbled up from deep within Kakashi’s chest, his vision growing blurry with tears. “Rei…” he whispered, unable to fight the smile spreading on his face. He cupped her cheek, laughed again, pressed a hand to her stomach. “Rei, we’re going to have a baby. W-we’re having a baby!”

               Sniffling, Rei wiped her nose with the back of her hand and nodded. “I-I’m pregnant…” she laughed softly, staring back at the test. “I-I can’t believe I’m pregnant…!”

               Overwhelmed with emotion, Kakashi pulled her tight into his arms, burying his face in the crook her neck and stroking her loose, tangled hair. She could feel his hot tears against her skin, the inconsistent trembling of his upper body as he sobbed into her shoulder.

               “I can’t believe it” Kakashi whispered, voice hoarse and happy. He leaned back then, pressed his forehead against hers so as to lock eyes, and his heart swelled. “We’re going to have a baby” he said, as if repeating it would make it somehow more believable. He grinned, in love with the way it sounded, caressed Rei’s cheek, whispered, “Our baby.” She smiled back at him with a sob and god, he was so weak. Unable to contain himself, he pressed his lips hard against hers, holding her close and revelling in this incredible moment.

               Once the euphoria had subsided to at least a manageable degree, Kakashi snuck into the kitchen and began making them breakfast. He refused to let Rei lift a finger—after all, if ever there was a time to care for her in full, this was it. He watched as she sat cross-legged at the kitchen table, picking at her toast. She was distracted, staring off into space, a small smile tugging at the corner of her lips. She set her food down, slowly rolled her shirt up, pressed a hand firmly against her lower stomach. There was so much to process.

               “Kakashi…” she whispered, “What do we do now?” This was far too big for her to fully comprehend. Their entire lives had just changed in an instant, and yet the rest of the world was spinning just as it always had. How could she possibly function like normal with this new adjustment? She supposed there was no expectation for her to.

               “Well, seeing a doctor would probably be a good start” he suggested. As desperately as he had always wanted a family, Kakashi hated to admit that he didn’t know the first thing about pregnancy. Not really. He knew how it happened, he knew the process and of course the end result. Anything in between, however, he had only ever been exposed to during his time guarding a pregnant Kushina. He knew that pregnancy was complicated and intense, but he understood it only in the haziest of senses. The details were beyond him. What did they need to do? What obligations did they have now? Where were Rei’s limitations? When was she due? Was their child healthy? What if the test hadn’t even been correct and it turned out they weren’t pregnant at all? He knew there was such a thing as a false positive but he didn’t understand how it worked or how that happened. There was plenty he did not understand, and now it was becoming ever clearer to him just how ignorant he was.

               Rei nodded slowly, sucking a sharp breath. “I guess I’ll call the hospital up and make an appointment then” she replied. She rose to her feet without even finishing her food, scoured the junk drawer for that notepad with all the important numbers on it, then lingered in front of the phone. How was she even supposed to do this? What was she supposed to say? She twirled the phone’s cord around her finger, chewing her lower lip, before finally dialing the number. The phone rang three times before a cheery receptionist answered on the other end.

               Kakashi listened closely to the rather roundabout conversation. He could feel the tension tightening in Rei’s muscles and he wondered for a moment if perhaps it would be easier to just walk into the ER like they had done so many times before. But then the call ended and Rei sat back down with a definitive nod. “Well?” Kakashi asked. “What happened?”

               “The earliest they could book me was Wednesday” she replied.

               “That’s not too bad” Kakashi replied. “Only four days. We can wait that long, can’t we?”

               “I hope so” Rei replied. She pulled apart another bite of her toast and swallowed her anxiety along with it.

               The rest of the day passed in a strange haze. Their newfound discovery did not mean that they could skimp on their predetermined errands—a trip to the butcher to pick up meat for dinner, a quick walk around the park for Toshio’s upbeat energy, and a stop at the Yamanaka flower shop to purchase a small bouquet for a grave. Normally, Rei would conduct these errands with a sense of poise and decorum. She would be alert and confident and graceful and quick. Now, however, she stumbled over her own two feet, became distracted by her own thoughts. She had to hold Kakashi’s hand always so that she would not stray into foot traffic and get trampled by eager pedestrians. The sun was so bright and the air was so humid, the pollen hanging heavy in the air so that her eyes watered and her nose stuffed up every five minutes. And then there was the nausea.

               The discovery of her pregnancy did nothing to quell her sickness. If anything, it only made it worse. Whenever she’d feel the tinge in her stomach, that sour little lurch, her mind now immediately screamed That’s right, it’s because you’re pregnant. That word echoed through her mind nonstop: pregnant. Pregnant. Pregnant. You are pregnant. Taunting her. Maddening her.

               When they reached the butcher shop, Rei staggered in the doorway and clapped a hand over her mouth. The stench of raw meat, the sight of carcasses hanging from the ceiling, was enough to send her over the edge. She swiveled on her heels and ducked into the nearest alleyway, hands on her knees and breathing heavy. Toshio tilted his head and curiously followed close behind. The smell of rotting garbage from the dumpsters did not help her case and after only a few moments, Rei keeled over and vomited into the trash.

               Kakashi’s hands trembled as he rushed through his purchase, desperate to get back to her side. The butcher smirked as he packaged their meat. “Your girlfriend’s got a pretty weak stomach, huh?” he asked. There was something in his tone that irked Kakashi. A condescension. If only this man knew Rei had a kill count in the hundreds, that she was an elite ninja and one of the strongest women he knew.

               Narrowing his eyes, Kakashi took the parcel in his hands and replied, “My wife is just having an off day.” He hoped his words were scathing enough. He hoped the butcher began to reconsider crossing the Copy Ninja, even if verbally. Kakashi shot him a shit-eating, masked grin then before turning and exiting the shop.

               Kakashi turned the corner and rushed to Rei’s side immediately, wrapping an arm around her for support. She brushed her bangs back out of her face and shook her head as they stepped out into the sun. “God, this puking shit is going to kill me” she muttered under her breath.

               “I’m sorry” Kakashi replied, rubbing the small of her back. He glanced out at the passerby and hoped that no one had seen. They both agreed that they did not want to arouse suspicion. The pregnancy was still far too new, too raw. If they hadn’t even fully accepted it yet, how the hell were they supposed to tell other people? And people who may not take kindly to the news, at that.

               “I just hope this lets up soon” Rei sighed.

               Kakashi nodded. His heart ached to see her suffer, and he wished there was more that he could do. All he could manage was a dose of half-baked optimism. “Just think” he whispered, “at least it will all be worth it in the end, right?”

               A small smile tugged at Rei’s lips, pressing a hand to her stomach. Across the way, a new mother pushed a stroller along. Rei gazed at the little baby swaddled inside and something in her chest tugged. She shared a knowing gaze with Kakashi and it took all of her strength not to cry right then and there.

               The rest of the afternoon went smoothly enough, constant nausea aside. The fresh air and relaxed atmosphere of the park helped ease Rei’s tension and something about the flowers in Yamanaka shop made Rei more emotional than usual. Kakashi insisted on buying her half a dozen red carnations while they were there because she could not stop looking at them.

               Dinner was relaxed, quiet. Kakashi opened the windows so that the smell of food would not nauseate Rei further and fixed the carnations in a vase on the table. Rei collapsed onto the couch, draping an arm over her face and quickly falling asleep. He spread a blanket over her and his heart soared. She looked so peaceful, so full and soft, her face dewy with sweat and her hair a tangled mess. She was so much more to him now than she ever was—which was saying a lot. After all, how could she possibly be more than his everything? The answer lie in her womb, in the little life that was growing inside of her now. Their life. Their baby. He could hardly contain himself at the thought. He rubbed her stomach gently, eyed the way her shirt lifted slightly to reveal her skin. He tugged his mask down to sweetly kiss just below the navel. They had only known about the pregnancy for a single day and yet he was already so in love with this child. A soft smile touched his lips, tender. I can’t wait to meet you.

               Rei curled up against Kakashi’s chest that night, his hand caressing her waist as she attempted to fall back asleep. The issue with having napped that evening was that now, when it truly mattered, she was wide awake. And even worse: she was awake and overthinking. “Kakashi…?” she whispered. “Are you still awake?”

               “Hmm?” he hummed tiredly. “What’s wrong? Are you okay?”

               Rei nodded slowly, halfheartedly. If he was tired, she didn’t want to keep him up, but she was also desperate to address her overwhelming concerns. The darkness seemed to make way for the fear and uncertainty that came with this newfound discovery. “Kakashi, I just…what are we going to do?” she whispered.

               Kakashi shifted so as to get a better look at her, his eyebrows furrowing. “What do you mean?”

               Rei sighed and tried to form a comprehensible thought. “I guess…I don’t know, I’m just…scared” she admitted. “Like I’m happy, of course, but…what does this mean for us moving forward?”

               Kakashi didn’t quite understand what she was getting at. He cupped her cheek, replied, “It means that we’re building our life together, just like we always planned. I’m not going anywhere, Rei, and I never was.”

               Rei shook her head. “No, I know that” she replied. “I never thought otherwise, and it’s not our relationship that I’m really concerned about anyway. It’s just…” She felt selfish even considering this, but she knew it needed to be addressed. She pressed the heels of her hands into her eye sockets, groaned. “It’s just about my fucking job.”

               “Oh…” Kakashi murmured.

               “I just don’t know what to do, I mean…I’ve worked so hard to get to where I am, and becoming captain is a huge deal. I didn’t realize how much it was going to mean to me until I had it in my hands but now…well, now this changes everything. I can’t be in the black ops and have a baby, it just doesn’t work like that. Even if I wish it did.” Rei gazed down at her stomach, frowned. “I just wish I knew what the right choice was.”

               “Rei, look at me” Kakashi replied, tilting her chin up to face him. What he said next broke Rei’s heart, sent her hands shaking and her heart pounding. “You need to give up on your career.”

               She didn’t want to be offended, but she was. With a gasp, she snapped upright and glared at him through the darkness. “Excuse me?”

               “You’re right. You can’t do both. It’s too dangerous” Kakashi explained. “Rei, this is about more than just yourself now. You need to think about what’s best for our baby. And what’s best is quitting your job.”

               Rei drew her knees up to her chest, averted her gaze. She felt tears prick at the back of her eyes and a lump rise in her throat. True as that may be, Kakashi didn’t need to be so damn harsh about it. Sniffling, she nodded slowly and croaked, “I know. You’re right.”

               As she laid back and tried to get some sleep, she kept her hand firmly cemented on her stomach. She thought of the child they were bringing into the world, of the sacrifices you make when you become a parent. Her life really was bigger than just herself now. God, this is so fucked up, she thought to herself. Where was this a month ago, when she was ready for it? Why did life have to be so cruel? To promise her one thing and then rip it away from her for something else? She rolled onto her side and buried her face in her pillow, attempting to muffle the tears that would not stop coming now. Toshio crawled up nearer to her from the foot of the bed and rested his heavy head against her thighs. Rei scratched behind his ear and wondered if he knew. If he could sense that something was different in her now. She was sure he could. Animals always seemed to know these things.

               Sleep did not come easy that night, but as she deliberated, Rei forced herself to accept the chaos that her life had become. To accept the daunting realization that nothing would ever be the same again. She rubbed her stomach and chewed her lower lip, ultimately making a difficult decision. In the next few days, she would approach Lady Tsunade and tell her the situation. And she would, as unfortunate as it was, be forced to back out of her captain’s duties. There was no other choice.

[emilianopavone]

★ - the most recent journal entry my muse has made

Emil is tempted to throw his journal away, to pitch it on the pyre they made of Rome and let it burn to ash in the treasured spark of forgiveness, but he tosses it in a filing box instead. One they tuck innocuously beside the shelves in Monty’s office along with the rest of it. The inscrutable notes from his time as an Institute employee, the paper copies of every file they smuggled out on one precious USB drive, and a vast collection of research spanning the Belvedere family tree to the Striga coven. A record of tragedy as necessary as it is regrettable, one they have to keep close at hand when they never know when they’ll need to unbury a piece of it. And it doesn’t take as long as he expects to need his journal again, three short bullets added in twice as many weeks.

Fried Onions

Scent memory, it turned out, was a hell of a thing, and Emil finds himself struck dumb when Baz asks if he wants to share his leftovers in the Oleander kitchen. A reheated plate of popcorn shrimp, fries, and onion rings that wafts through the room in a stifling aroma. It’s frustratingly mundane, leaving him more embarrassed than anxious when the subconscious fear creeps in. Eventually stumbling over an excuse that he’s just full instead of nauseous before escaping to the closest room with a lock, sinking onto the bathroom floor to catch a breath that shouldn’t be stolen. But panic recedes more quickly when there’s so much anger on its heels. That this isn’t done, that he can’t just turn it off, that the dam broke but the faucet is still leaking. That he has to pull out his journal, and that he knows it won’t be the last time. That night when he reaches for Montgomery instead of a bottle, he tries to count it as some sort of victory over the monsters left lurking in his mind.

Formaldehyde 

Like the rest of it, there’s no rhyme or reason to why that day is any different than the rest. The faint smell of chemicals and preservatives that sometimes follows Doctor Lacroix home is a familiar byproduct from the mortuary. Most shed with the lab coat he leaves at his office and the rest dumped in the hamper in exchange for comfortable sweaters, but that day something remains. Enough that when Monty slides his arms around his waist, dropping a kiss on his shoulder while he cooks, Emil finds himself freezing. Staring at the onions sizzling in the pan, wilting and browning and he wonders if that’s what Jiro looked like. Shriveling under a touch, maybe only a look, until he was a nearly unrecognizable husk on a table. He wonders if Monty will recognize him like that, all the life and beauty sucked out of him. He wonders if he’ll ever forget him like that, if when he thinks of his dead lover he won’t think of sun-kissed skin and the constellations he pressed into it, but just the hollow, ugly body on his table. And he wonders if it's sympathy or vanity that makes him think that’s incredibly unfair, but he doesn’t have a chance to decide before his attention is gently redirected. The familiar sensation of fingers pressing against his jaw to guide his gaze away from the unfocused middle space it had drifted to, a pair of concerned eyes looking back at him that he doesn’t have enough platitudes to soothe. He settles for a request instead: a shower that he won’t be joining him for.

Creed Cologne

It’s some sort of karmic revenge when a full blown panic attack hits in the middle of his shift. After all, it was just last week that Emil told his therapist he’d never once had one at work, that it was hard to spiral or disassociate or even feel the mild thrum of anxiety when his mind and hands were occupied with a hundred different things. It is an unexpected occupational perk and one that comes to a sudden, grinding halt on an otherwise uneventful Wednesday evening. Brakes slamming on the unmistakable scent of him. And just like that he’s there, slipping out of the shadows, gun to his head, voice ringing inside it. Focus. And he can’t focus on anything but the explosive realization that he’s here, somewhere unseen with a bullet he’s waiting to feel hit. Belatedly he thinks Monty would be disappointed with his fight or flight instinct, that it takes nearly a minute to set in, that he doesn’t choose the former, and that when he runs, it’s out the backdoor, pushing into the deserted alley behind the Voodoo that’s surely just an easier place to kill him. But maybe some rational part of his brain knows he’s not really running from Hugo, that he’s running from the inconvenience of trauma. A faucet that he can’t turn off and one he can’t afford to have leaking at work. Not when it leaves him with such a loose grip on reality that he’s losing swaths of time, seconds slipping by or minutes or more. Nothing differentiates one moment from another until there’s someone saying his name and the present snaps back, suddenly, violently, and with some strange mix of shock and relief. It’s Diertrich, standing hesitantly at the back door with his usual imperceptible expression, the neutral slant of his mouth betraying nothing but his eyes seem to be somewhere between concentration and confusion. Whatever he’s thinking doesn’t get voiced, instead there is an awkward acknowledgement that this is not in fact the bathroom and a slightly less awkward reply that it could be before they both make their way back inside. 

Later Emil tries to reason that it’s paranoia. A leaky faucet. The smoke and ash of a Roman pyre. So he adds the final bullet and tosses the journal back in the box with the rest of it. Regrettable but necessary and never far enough away. Because even after he closes the lid, the sensation of being watched lingers with the smell of expensive cologne.

[ellewritesathing]

Isaac Lahey x Hybrid! Fem! Reader. She's a vampire and a werewolf, and after Isaac is turned and starts acting like an asshole, she just avoids him. But one day he confronts her and says she just can't handle him, so she pushes him against the door and readies her fangs at his throat within a second. She tells him he would be dead and that he needs to learn who the real danger is around here and leaves him in shock. He goes to see her later and apologizes, and confesses his feelings. They kiss.

i’m so sorry that this literally took me eight years to answer but here it is at ~1.3k words

---

If there was one thing you’d never forgive Derek Hale for, it would be turning Isaac into a werewolf. Sure, Derek had turned you, too, but at least you hadn’t turned into the Asshole of the Century in the process.

With one bite, Derek had taken your sweet and nervous best friend and turned him into a complete and total jerk. He’d gone from saving you a seat at lunch and blushing whenever your hands brushed to blowing you off and very openly flirting with everyone who wasn’t you. He was basically Jackson Whittemore in a newly-stolen leather jacket.

Isaac's personality change was the reason why you’d started spending more and more time with Scott Mccall and his Merry Pack of Misfits. They could never replace the friendship you’d had with Isaac, but they were fun enough to distract you from missing him.

You were actually on your way to see them when you found the asshole himself leaning against your car.

Letting out an exasperated sigh and folding your arms over your chest, you made your way over to him. You stopped just a few feet away from him. “What do you want, Isaac?”

“I want to know why you’ve been avoiding me,” Isaac said, pushing himself off your car. You had to admit, as annoying as he was like this, he still looked really good in that stolen leather jacket.

“I haven’t been avoiding you,” you lied as you uncrossed your arms and tried to get back to avoiding him. You reached for your door handle but Isaac refused to get out of your way. You glared at him. “Do you mind?”

Isaac moved even further into your way. “Uh, yeah. I mind that you’re constantly ditching me and acting like we were never even friends.”

“Oh, please, it’s nothing that you haven’t done already,” you told him and pushed him to the side.

“Hey-” Isaac put a hand on your arm and, for just a second, he looked like your Isaac again. There was a softness to him that you hadn’t seen since he turned. “Just tell me how to fix this.”

You looked down at his hand on your arm because it was easier than looking him in the eye. “There’s nothing to fix, Isaac. Things are just different now, okay? You’re different now and I just … I don’t know.”

“Are you afraid of me?” he asked. Isaac was looking at you so intently that it caught you off guard, almost as much as the implication that Isaac could ever be something you'd be afraid of. “What, do you think I’ll lose control like my dad and you won’t be able to handle me?”

“That’s not the problem and I can handle you just fine.” You pulled your hand away from him. There was a time that you would have comforted him at the mention of his dad but you couldn’t bring yourself to do it this time.

Isaac stepped closer to you, softness fading into his more usual cockiness as he jutted his chin out to you. “Then prove it.”

You rolled your eyes. “Isaac-”

“Prove it.”

You pulled the arm that Isaac was holding to the side and used your other hand to hit him squarely in the chest. The force knocked him into your car and made your car rock as a byproduct. You held onto his arm and grabbed a fistful of his hair to leave his neck exposed, and ducked your head to scrape your fangs along his neck.

He didn’t fight back, and you held him like that for a second longer than you needed to in order to get your point across. When you were done, you let him go and threw him off your car. You watched him stumble to the side.

“I’m stronger and faster than you,” you told him. “And I could kill you before you could even lift a finger to stop me. So, no. I’m not afraid of you.”

Instead of waiting for him to close his mouth again, you got into your car and slammed your door. Isaac stepped out of your path, still looking dazed but at least realizing that you were serious about running him over with your car. It broke your heart to leave him standing there but you couldn’t bring yourself to go back for him.

But, true to his new and annoying nature, even though you left Isaac behind, he refused to get out of your head. He was there when Lydia complained about watching Star Wars for the fiftieth time, when Allison picked out all the green gummies for herself, when Scott asked dumb questions that were meant to be jokes, and when Stiles got mad at Scott’s jokes.

Since you were clearly not going to enjoy movie night, you made a lame excuse about needing to get home because you forgot to do laundry. Not your most solid excuse ever, but it got you out of there without out too many questioning looks at least.

You thought that the drive home would clear your head, and it mostly did, but all that clarity fell away when you got home and found Isaac waiting outside your door for you.

He held up his hands in surrender before you’d even said anything. “I’m not here to fight,” he said, taking very slow steps over to meet you in the middle.

“Then why are you here?” you asked. Your voice still sounded angry but it lost its edge toward the end.

“To apologize for being the world’s biggest jerk.” Isaac grimaced and lifted a hand to the back of his neck. “Look, I- I’ve never been cool before. I was never the guy that people got crushes on or stared at as they walked down the hallway. And the bite … it changed all that. All that dumb popularity stuff was finally achievable, you know?”

“Yeah, I know, Isaac, but I didn’t like you because you were cool,” you said. Isaac's eyebrows knitted together somewhere between confusion and surprise, so you added, “I liked you because you carried around a Spiderman comic in your backpack for three years, and because you memorized my lunch order and always saved me a seat next to you. I liked you because you were my best friend.”

“I know, but I thought-” Isaac dropped his gaze and sighed. He let out a low laugh and shrugged when he looked back up at you. “I thought if I was different, then you might like me differently. Like, more than your best friend.”

You reached a hand up and touched his cheek. He almost flinched at the touch but you watched him try to relax. “You will always be my best friend, okay?” you said quietly. You moved your hand into his hair and stepped closer. “And maybe if you stop being an asshole then we can be something else, too.”

Isaac frowned for a second before giving you a goofy smile that you hadn’t seen in months. It sounded like his heart was beating out of his chest. “Yeah?”

You reached up and pressed a quick kiss to his lips. “Yeah.”

Isaac laughed and pulled you into a clumsy hug. The two of you almost stumbled over, but he picked you up and laughed as you squirmed. He set you down and moved some hair out of your face, and now it felt like your heart was beating out of your chest while his heart was steady.

“Would it be a total asshole move to kiss you right now?” he asked. “Like for longer than three seconds this time, maybe?”

“Not since you asked so nicely,” you teased, pulling him into another kiss.

Something told you that the days of Isaac being a jerk were over, but he was definitely still going to get stuck in your head.

[chickensarentcheap]

Best Part of Me -Chapter 78

Warnings: mentions of drug addiction

Tagging: @innerpaperexpertcloud​, @c-a-v-a-l-r-y​, @alievans007​

She finds him asleep on the couch when she returns. Clad in just a pair of faded and well worn jeans, his chin tucked to his chest and hands clasped together and resting on his stomach. It’s the most comfortable -and vulnerable- she’s seen him in weeks. No tension in his shoulders and his face softer; all the worry, stress and pent up rage not furrowing his brow or narrowing his eyes or tightening his jaw. He’s at peace; not haunted by the demons and mistakes of his past or all of the violence and gore he’s both witnessed and partaken in. No nightmares of the moment seven years when he’d lay dying on a patch of filthy and cracked cement. His brain not torturing him with horrible visions of his wife and his children being brutalized and murdered. His breath slow and even, his face and body not contorted by pain. And she briefly stands in front of the couch and watches him; seeing so much of the three oldest in him during that quiet, calm moment. The way the ends of those dark, thick lashes skim the tops of his cheeks and a slight pout curves his lips; his hair falling across his forehead and over his eyes. She sees Millie especially.  All long limbs and torso and the exact colour and texture of hair. The identical ears and the shape and line of the jaw.

As rough as he is -the embodiment of masculinity with his long frame and broad shoulders and impressive, hard muscles- he IS beautiful.  What would lessen the appeal of most men, only adds to his attractiveness. The  full, thick beard that appears much darker and coarse than usual, all of the tattoos and scars, the large, strong hands with their battered and damaged knuckles. All the things that others may see as imperfections, she views as beyond perfect; adding together to make him the man that she knows. The one that she’d fallen in love with seven years ago and continues to fall more in love with each passing day.

She’d always laughed at those who claimed they experienced such a thing -or even dared to believe in it- finding that in her experience, the years -hell, even months- spent with someone made her resent them. She grew bored of the ‘same old, same old’. Easily annoyed by their presence and turned off by their voice and the mere look of their face; disgusted whenever they’d touch her or they’d move in for a kiss or they’d try to instigate something more. But she's quickly learned that her indifference and boredom had been the byproducts of NOT being in love. That she’d simply been infatuated with the thought of someone, not the person themselves. Mark had stripped away every ounce of hope she’d had of ever experiencing the real thing, and she’d vowed to never get that attached again; refusing to trust someone with both her body and her heart. Content -or so she’d thought- with being alone forever and never getting married again or getting the opportunity to have a family.

Tyler had changed all of that. Easily and effortlessly getting her to open up and trust him; quickly showing his softer, vulnerable, and broken side in order for her to be more honest about her own. Going out of his comfort zone and letting her see him for who he truly is -the good, the bad, the horrifically bad- so she’d feel more at ease with doing the same.  It had been terrifying; falling so hard and so fast and being so willing to put all her trust and faith in someone she’d just met. But that moment on the bridge, when she’d chosen to put her own life at risk in order to try and save his, she had known it was the beginning; the start of shedding her old existence for an entirely new one. And when he healed and was able to head home and the weeks and months passed by and she’d found herself not able to get enough of him, she’d learned just what it was like to fall more in love with someone as time went by. Soon she began thinking about all of the things she’d miss if she’d lost him. The sound of voice and his laugh and the way his smile made the corner of his eyes crinkle. His clean and fresh and utterly masculine scent, how his hands felt when they cradled her face while kissing her, the weight and warmth of his body in bed next to her. And in the expanse of seven years, her attraction, lust, and love have only grown stronger and more powerful. All consuming and frightening at times, but so damn perfect.

Gently combing her fingers through his hair, she  brushes his bangs away from his forehead and then leans down to press a kiss to his brow. Smiling at the long, content sigh that escapes his lips and the way his head briefly lifts before falling back and to the side. THAT’s Millie; the way she falls asleep in the car with her mouth slightly open and her hands tightly clasped in her lap. There’s so much of him in her; physical appearance, mannerisms and facial expressions. And that strong, assertive personality and hair trigger temper. And that ferocious, deep, and profound love and the desire to protect their family that inhabits every fibre of their being.

She carefully climbs into his lap; straddling him with a knee alongside either hip. Curling both arms around his neck and pressing her body against his as she sits upon those wide, muscular thighs; eyes closing as she tucks her head under his chin. And she melts further into him when his arms wrap rightly and securely around her, hands now clasped at the small of her back. He feels so good; the warm that radiates from his body, that solid expanse of chest, the weight of his head as his chin nestles into her hair. Seven years later and she STILL can’t get enough of him. The feel of his body against hers, the familiar smell that clings to his skin and his clothes, how those arms make her feel safe and protected. Something no one before had ever managed to achieve.

She’s unsure how much time passes; if it’s been minutes or hours since she’d closed her eyes and relaxed against him. Her body giving in to its own fatigue; the last of the adrenaline finally abating and replaced with a peaceful, almost happy calm. There’s still so much worry and fear inside of her, but she’s able to temporarily put it on hold; giving it to that enormous relief that comes with each successfully complete part of a job. And she feels his hold on her loosen as he wakes; one hand remaining at the small of her back and the other drifting up her spine and over the nape of her neck before settling in her hair. Lightly fisting the dark, silky tresses and gently pulling her head up towards him. Covering her mouth with his a long, slow, deep kiss that has her pressing her body even tighter against his and culminating in the tip of his tongue briefly sliding along her lower lip before his teeth capture it between them.

Esme grins. “What was THAT for?”

“I need a reason to kiss my wife?”

“You’re ‘hey, nice to see you’ kisses aren’t usually like THAT.”

“Maybe I’m just glad you’re back. Maybe I was worried about you and anxious to get you back here safe and sound.”

“So that’s your ‘I’m glad you're alive’ kiss.”

“That’s my ‘thank god you’re back in one piece’ kiss.”

“I’ll take it,” she says, and kisses him this time. Soft and languid; her fingernails digging into the back of his neck when his tongue once more pushes its  way into her mouth. His palms sliding down to cup her ass; tightly squeezing and pulling her firmly against him.  “You’re in a mood,” she observes with a small giggle, and rests her head against his, the sides of their noses touching and their lips a hair’s width apart.

“Yup.”

“Must have been a hell of a nap you had to wake up in that good of a mood.”

“I wanted to be awake when you got back.  Guess I just dozed. I’m sorry; that I wasn’t up.”

“Don’t be sorry. You haven’t been sleeping well lately. Some nights you don’t even sleep at all. And you need to. Sleep. You’re not a robot.”

“If I was, I could get an upgrade; trade all the bad parts in for better ones. I need a serious overhaul.”

“When we get home, you’re getting looked at. And I don’t want to hear any excuses or bullshit. Because I WILL find a way to drag you there. This has gone on long enough; all the pain that you’re in. It’s been chronic for years and it’s getting worse. I KNOW it is. And you don’t have to live with. You deserve so much better than this.”

“I’ll go. I’ll call as soon as we get back. Make an appointment.”

“You’re not just saying that to appease me and shut me up?”

“I’m saying it because you’re right. It is worse. Way worse than I ever thought it would get. And I’m tired. Of the pain. I’m tired of trying to live with it and pretend I’m okay.”

She lays a hand on the side of his face and nuzzles his ear with her nose. “You don’t have to pretend with me.”

“What about everyone else?”

“Fuck everyone else. Who cares what they think. You don’t owe them anything, Tyler. They don’t know half of what goes on or half what you’re going through. Once this is over and we get home, you have to take some time off; you need to get looked at and your body and your brain need to rest. This has been hell and you need to step back when it’s done. You HAVE to. Just run things behind the scenes and leave the dirty work to the people we’re paying. At least for a little while, okay?”

“Okay,” he agrees, and presses a kiss to the corner of her mouth.

“That’s it? ‘Okay’? You’re not going to argue with me or try to give all kinds of bullshit about being fine and how I shouldn’t worry about you and you know what your body can handle? None of that?”

“None of that.”

“You’re getting very sensible in your old age,” she teases, and rubs the tip of her nose against his. “Thank you. For finally agreeing with me on something.”

He grins. “Only took seven years.”

“Only,” she laughs, and then rests her cheek on his shoulder. Lulled back into a state of relaxation when the fingers of one of his hands gently massage the back of her head and the other drift up the back of her shirt; repeatedly brushing against the small of her back.

“Where’s Koen?”

“He had to go back for a while. Yaz wanted an in person update on how things went. He said he’d be back sometime in the early evening.”

“How did things go?”

Started and ended a bit rocky, but everything in between went alright. Better than I expected it to, actually.”

“I’m surprised you didn’t call. When you got out. So I’d know you were okay.”

“What?” she gives a small laugh and pulls back to look at him, hands clasped together at the back of his neck.  “I DID call you.”

Tyler frowns. “What?”

“How can you not remember? I called you when we got to the car. I told you how they had my picture at the checkpoint but Koen stepped up and saved my ass. I told you how I got the word out and saw Farhad. You don’t remember any of that?”

“Yeah...yeah…” he attempts a reassuring smile “...I do now. Now that you mention it.”

“How could you not remember any of that?”

“I just woke up. You know how I am sometimes when I first wake up. All disoriented and forgetful and shit. Something I don’t even know what day it is or where the hell I am. And my brain’s a little fucked, remember? Short term memory issues.”

“What is going on with you?”

Both his hands move to her legs, slowly rubbing up and down her denim clad thighs. “What do you mean?”

“You know what I mean.”

He chuckles. “No, babe. I don’t. What…?”

“Look at me…” Esme places a hand on the side of his face, nails digging into his cheek as she forcibly moves his head forward. “...what the hell is going on?”

“I don’t know what…”

“Have you looked in the mirror at all today? Your pupils are dilated, you’re sweating like crazy, your hands have been shaking for the last ten minutes. You’re looking at me, but it’s like you’re not even seeing me. What the fuck is going on?”

“Nothing. Nothing’s going on. I just woke up in a weird mood, I guess.”

“This is way beyond a weird mood. This reminds me of…” her eyes narrow, lips pursing tightly together. “...where are they?”

“What are you talking about? Where’s what?”

“The pills. Where are they?”

“What pills? What are you going on about?”

“Don’t play stupid with me, Tyler. The pills. The ones that Anil’s doctor gave you before we left. The stronger ones. The ones you requested because the old prescription wasn't cutting it.”

“It wasn’t. I had to take six just to take the edge off.”

“And how many of the new ones have you taken? You know dilaudid is pretty hard core, right? That is one of the strongest ones out there. And it’s easily addictive and…”

“I’m not addicted,” he irritably interjects. “Not even close. Don’t…”

“Don’t what? Worry?”

“Freak out. Don’t freak out.”

“How many did you take?”

“I don’t know. A few.”

“Bullshit. You’re completely fucked up right now.”

“I’m fine,” he insists. “You woke me up and I was disoriented and I forgot that you called. Fucking relax. It’s no big deal.”

“No big deal? You’re fucking tweaking on pain meds.”

“You know what? You’re losing your shit for no reason. You’re blowing this way or proportion and…”

“Don’t you do that,” Esme snarls. “Don’t you dare and gaslight me.”

“I’m not,” he attempts to tone down the harshness to his voice, and lightly squeezes her thighs. “I’d never do that to you.”

“So you’re just treating me like I’m stupid, then.  You think I don’t know what I’m seeing? That I haven’t seen this before? Where are they?”

“Esme…”

“Are they in the kitchen?”

“I…”

She shakes her head in both exasperation and disbelief, and then jumps off his lap and storms out of the room. “Where are they?  Where are you keeping them? With the rest of the meds?”

“What are you doing?” Fear and regret surge through him as he joins her in the kitchen, watching as she opens the lid on the plastic container holding a variety of medications and dumps them onto the counter. Anger causing her cheeks to flush; her eyes dark and wild and her entire body trembling. Hands visibly shaking as she picks up the bottles one by one and reads the labels.

“Where are they? They were in here last night; I was the one who put them with the rest of the meds. I know I put them in here. Where are they, Tyler?”

“Stop, okay? Just stop and let me explain.”

“Where are they? I will tear this whole fucking kitchen...this whole fucking house...apart until I find them. Is that what you want? You want to see me completely lose it?”

“No, baby. That’s not what I want. Just let me…”

“I’m not letting you explain shit! I am giving you two choices. You can either tell me where they are, or I toss this entire place until I find them. And trust me, the latter won’t end well for you. So you either start being totally honest with me or you let this escalate into the worst day of your life. Where are they?”

Sighing heavily, he reaches into the front pocket of his jeans and removes the bottle of dilaudid; fingers closing tightly around the plastic cylinder when she reaches for it. “At least let me explain. At least listen to me. Please? Give me a chance. That’s all I’m asking for.”

“You give them to me and I’ll let you explain until you’re blue in the face. And it better not be bullshit. I’m not Sarah; I’m not your dumb ass ex wife that didn’t have the  balls to stand up to you or even two brain cells to rub together. So stop treating me like that. Like her.”

He reluctantly releases his grip on the bottle, watching helplessly as she tears off the cap and dumps the contents into her palm. Brow furrowing as she silently counts the pills.

“Where’s the rest of them?”

“I don’t…”

“Stop lying to me!” Esme snaps. “You got this prescription yesterday. Sixty pills. You took two before bed last night. That left you with fifty eight. Even if you’ve already taken four today. There should be fifty four left. Why is there only forty two?”

“I might have accidentally taken too many today.”

“Accidentally or purposefully? Don’t bullshit me. Unless you want me walking out of here right now, don’t lie to me. You meant to take them, didn’t you.”

He nods.

“You’ve taken three times the daily dose and it’s not even four in the afternoon! What the hell is wrong with you?!”

“They weren’t doing anything. For the pain. They haven’t been scratching the surface.”

“So you just kept taking them? Hoping it would magically happen? Or were you trying OD on them?”

“No. I wasn’t. I just wanted the pain to stop. That’s all I wanted. I just wanted it to stop.”

“When it didn’t after the first four, you should have called the doctor and told him. Jesus Christ, Tyler! I don’t know if you’re practically OD’ing right now or if you’re high as fuck or if you’re in withdrawal. Look at you! Look at how red your face is and how bad you’re shaking and how much you’re sweating! Was it worth it? Was the high worth this? Was it worth me freaking out?”

“No. It wasn’t. And it wasn’t about getting high. It was about the pain and needing it to stop. And when it didn’t, I kept taking them and I kept waiting for them to make things better.”

“When were you going to stop? When you passed out? When you aspirated on your own puke and choked to death? Is that when you were going to stop? You didn’t get enough of that life before we met? You wanted a little walk down memory lane? A little trip back to the good old days? Or maybe you were nostalgic about when you back on the Oxy and we split up for six fucking months!”

“Baby...please…” He takes a step towards her, attempting to lay a hand on her shoulder, only for her to glare at him and shove him away.

“Don’t you fucking call me that,” Esme snarls.  “And don’t you dare fucking touch me!”  She dumps the pills back into the bottle; snapping the lid back into place and then angrily tossing them at him. “Take them! They’re obviously the most important thing to you if you’re willing to throw your entire life away for them.”

“I’m not willing to do that. I’m not trying to throw my life away,” the tears flow freely and easily; spurred on by regret, guilt, and pure shame. And the fear that he’s mere minutes...even seconds...away from losing the one thing...the one person...that seven years ago had made his life worth living. “It’s the pain. It’s the pain and it’s the worry and it’s the stress!”

“You don’t think I’m stressed?! You don’t think I’m worried? I can’t even be with my kids right now. My babies! Because I had to come here and help you. You brought me back to the one place I never wanted to come back to. Because you needed me. Because you needed MY help! And I gave in and I let you take me away from them. I left my children for you and what did you do? You turn into someone I don’t even know! I don’t know who this is standing right in front of me. It’s definitely not my husband, because he would NEVER do this. He’d never risk losing everything like this. How dare you bring me here...how dare you take me away from my kids...and do this to me!”

“I’m sorry. I thought I could stop. I thought I had it under control. I thought…”

“What was the one I think I told you I wouldn’t tolerate? What did I say was my breaking point?”

“Meds.”

“Meds. Exactly. I stuck by you seven years ago when you went into rehab; when you beat it the first time. And I tried to deal with it the second time and you got worse and worse and you wouldn’t get help and we spent six months apart until you decided to finally get your shit together! And you promised me, Tyler. When we got back together and you went through rehab again and you got clean again, you promised me it was the end of it!”

“I know. I know I did. And I’m sorry. I didn’t mean for this to happen. I didn’t mean for any of this to happen. Not Mahajan, not Asif’s people, not the meds. None of it. And I did think I had it under control. I didn’t think I was that bad.  I thought I’d just get over this hump and I’d be fine and I could stop.”

“I can’t do this.” She valiantly holds back the tears that shimmer in her eyes. “I can’t. I love you, but I just can’t. I love you with every fibre of my being. I love you with everything I am and everything I have. But I can’t be with an addict. And I told you I couldn’t. I told you I could handle  the drinking, but not the meds. And you said you understood and that you’d never go back to them.”

“I know I did. What do you want me to say? I said I’m sorry. Do you want me to tell that I’m a huge piece of shit? That I’m EXACTLY what your mother said I was? That I’m turning out ton be my single worst fucking fear? That I’m total garbage that doesn’t deserve you? Is that what you want me to say?”

“No! That’s not what I want you to say. Because none of that is true! You’re not any of those things and you never have been! I’ve never seen you that way and I never will you. I love you. I have loved you through every bad, shitty fucking thing we’ve been through. There’s nothing that could make me stop loving you. That’s not what this is about. This isn’t about NOT loving you. This is about loving myself and loving my children and not wanting this life for them. I won’t live with an addict, Tyler. I won’t. And I shouldn’t have to and neither should they.”

“They’re my kids, too. They’re not just yours.”

“Then do what’s best for them! Because this isn’t it! Being an addict is not what’s best for them! And you of all people should know that they don’t deserve this. After everything your father did to you and put you through, you should be the one person who knows they don’t deserve this!”

“I would NEVER hurt them like that. Like he did with me. I would never, ever, lay a hand on them. Or you. I’d kill myself if I ever even thought it.”

“You don’t have to hit people to hurt them. So you don’t raise a hand to them; you break their hearts instead.”

“I’m sorry,” he chokes out, unable to stop the vicious and bitter flow of tears. “I am so sorry.”

“Those kids love you to the ends of the earth and beyond. They idolize you. They practically worship the ground you walk on. And this is what you do? You hurt them like this?This is how you repay them for having all that blind faith and trust in you?”

He shakes his head. “I don’t know what you want me to say.”

“Neither do I,” Esme admits. “All I DO know is that I’m hurt and I’m angry and I’m heartbroken. Because I love you and I don’t want to walk away. It’s the last thing I want. But I can’t put my kids through this. I can’t, Tyler.”

“Are you going to leave?”

“I don’t know. I can’t leave right now, can I. Not in the middle of all this. I can’t leave you here alone to deal with it by yourself. I’d never do that to you. I said I’d help. So here I am. I can’t leave now. I won’t do that to you.”

“What about when we get back home?”

“I guess we’ll have to wait and see. I can tolerate a lot, but I can’t tolerate this. I just can’t. And it’s unfair of you to think I should. Or that your kids should.”

“What will you do? With them? Where would you take them? Would stay in Australia or go back to the States or…”

“I wouldn’t take your kids from you.”

“Well you kind of are if you take off.”

“I’d stay in Australia. So you could see them. I wouldn’t tear them out of your life completely. I would never do that to you. Or them.  They’re happy there. They love it. And they love you. I wouldn’t cut you out of their lives. You’re their father. I wouldn’t hurt them like that. Or you.”

“So you are. Going to leave.”

“I didn’t say that.”

“Sounds like your mind’s made up. Like you already made your decision.”

“I haven’t. Because this isn’t a decision I even want to make. Please don’t turn this around and so I look like  the bad person.”

“I’m not. I know I’m a huge pile of shit. That I’m a huge fucking failure. I know all that. And I’m sorry. I’m so fucking sorry.  That I turned out to be exactly what everyone I would be. A complete and utter fuck up.”

“Stop it!” she orders. “I don’t care what anyone says or thinks. You’re not any of those things. You’ve got issues. You’re an addict and you need help. You need to get your shit together and you need to get clean. And…”

The doorbell sounds throughout the house, bringing an abrupt end to the heated and volatile exchange. And that melodic chime brings an immediate -and enormous- sense of relief; lifting the tension and easing some of the fear and the  heartache and remorse that threatens to swallow him whole.

“Who’s that?” A smirk tugs at the corner of Esme’s mouth. “Your dealer?”

Tyler ignores the cheap shot. In fact, he knows he deserves it. In the same way he deserves every harsh truth she’s tossed his way. “Anil was sending a couple of guys. Said he had more gear for me.”

“You should get it then. It’s important.”

“It can wait.”

“If it’s things that are going to keep you alive, I’d rather you get it now. Because it’s important to me; you staying alive.”

He manages a small smile, then uses the heels of his palms to clear the tears away from his cheeks. And his heart gives a hopeful leap when she reaches out to grab his hands as he steps past her; her eyes locked on his as she briefly squeezes. Their fingers slowly grazing along each other as he walks away.

*****

She’s leaning back against the kitchen island when he returns; her eyes still glassy with lingering emotion but her tears long dried up. Hands trembling slightly as she tightly clasps a glass of water.

“That’s it?” she asks, regarding the lone cardboard box in his possession; his name written across the front in black permanent marker. “Where’s Anil’s guys?”

“Gone.” He sidles up beside her, setting the tightly sealed box on the counter top.  

“That’s kind of weird, don’t you think?  That they wouldn’t stick around to make sure you got it? And what kind of gear could be in a box that size? Other than ammo or grenades.”

“Definitely not either of those. It barely weighs anything. Addie weights more than this does.”

“What did you ask for?” She takes a swallow of water and turns her stomach to the counter, standing on her tiptoes in order to see over the top of the box as he begins peeling off the layers of tape.

“Nothing. He said he was sending stuff.”

“I don’t know who taped it shut, but it reminds me how you wrap Christmas presents.”

Tyler frowns. “I’m not THAT bad.”

“Baby, this past Christmas? You used a whole roll of tape for three things.”

“They were big presents.”

“Sure they were,” she chides, and playfully leans into him with her shoulder. “Would you hurry up? The suspense is killing me.”

“It isn’t even yours. Relax.”

“Maybe it’s new knee or elbow pads,” she suggests.

“I don’t need those.”

“Your other ones are a hot mess. They’re the same ones you had seven years ago. The first time we were here. You wouldn’t let me throw them out, remember?”

“I like those ones. They’re my favourites.”

“Kind of like your favourite red underwear? With all the holes in them and the frayed edges?”

“They’re not my favourite underwear. They’re my lucky underwear. I was wearing those the days we made Declan and Addie. So they’re VERY lucky.”

“That explains the day you’re currently having. You’re not wearing them, are you.”

Tyler grins. “You’re a smart ass.”

“But I’m cute. I’m a cute smart ass.”

“I’ll give you that.”  He peels off the last remaining layer of tape, feeling her hand on his back as she perches herself even further on her toes in order to see the content. “There’s nothing in there for you,” he teases.

“I’m curious. I want to see. It’s like when Amazon delivers something I forgot I ordered.”

He smirks, then pulls back the flaps on the box. Eyes widening and his heart hammering in his chest when he spies the content. The faded and tattered gray ‘fur’, the one coal black eye staring up at him. He feels nauseous; bile burning the back of his throat. And his jaw tightens painfully and his hands grip the edges of the box with such force that the thick cardboard tears and his knuckles turn white.

“What the fuck…” her voice is barely above a whisper, and she takes a shaky, unsteady step backwards. “...Tyler...what the fuck…”

All words escape him. Profanities being screamed inside his head yet never making it to his lips. And he takes his own step back when she frantically rushes the counter; scooping the well loved stuffed koala from the confines of the box. Tears brimming in her eyes and her entire body trembling as gentle fingers travel over the surface of the bear. It’s tattered and worn down fur, the space when it’s second eyes used to bed, the purple and pink ribbon that Millie had wrapped around its neck three months ago; right before presenting it to her brand new baby sister.

“Oh God…” she sobs, the bear falling from her hands; body teetering and swaying as shock turns to light-headedness. “...Tyler…”

“You need to sit down.” He wraps his fingers around her upper arm, steering her in the direction of the kitchen table. A hand moving to the small of her back as she guides her into one of the chairs. “Calm down, okay? Just try and calm down.”

“What the hell is going on? What the hell…”

“Settle down. Just breathe. Can you do that for me? Just breathe?”

“I think so.”

He runs a palm over the top of her head and down her hair, tightly squeezing her shoulder before stepping away to fetch her half empty glass of water and the bottle of anti anxiety meds from the container on the counter. The rage is profound; the desire for revenge and the news to get his hands -his BARE hands- around the necks of every one of Asif’s people stronger than it’s ever been. But he needs to hold it together. Despite everything that happened earlier...the intensity of their fight and the echo of harsh, heartbreaking words still hanging in the air...she needs him.  And he needs to stow his own shit and take care of her.

“I don’t need those,” Esme protests, when she sees the bottle of pills in his hand. “I don’t…”

“You do. And you’re going to take them. They’re safe; for the baby.”  He sets the glass of water on the table and drops to his knees in front of her, uncapping the bottle and plucking out two of the small, white pills. “Open up.”

“No, Tyler. No.”

“Open up,” he firmly orders, and then slips the meds into her mouth; a palm resting under her chin and gently pressing her mouth closed. Her hands still tremble violently, and he holds the glass of water to her lips; slowly pouring the liquid into her mouth, a hand cupped underneath in order to capture anything that escapes her mouth. “You need to stay calm, okay?” He returns the glass to the table, then takes both her hands in his; holding them as tightly as he can and placing them on her thighs. “Just breathe. I got you.”

“It hurts,” she winces. “My stomach.”

“Cramps?”

She nods.

“You want to go to the hospital? Get checked out?”,/p>

“We can’t leave. They obviously know we're here. If they leave, they’ll see us and they’ll come after us and they’ll…”

“Let them. I’ll fucking kill them. All of them. All that matters is you and that baby.”

“I can’t let that happen. I can’t let them get a hold of you and hurt you. I can’t…”

“I’ll call Anil. I’m sure he knows someone that can come here and check on things. You want me to call him?”

Esme shakes her head.

“Are you sure?”

She nods. “I don’t think it’s anything serious. I don’t think there’s anything wrong with the baby. I used to get cramps all the time with the others; when I’d get worked up or too excited.  I think it’s just that.”

“If it gets any worse…”

“I’ll tell you. I promise.”

He raises her hands to his lips, pressing a kiss to the top of one, then the other.

“They know where we are.”

“Yeah. They know.”

“How? This is supposed to be a safe house. How did they find us? How…?”

“I don’t know, baby. I honestly don’t know.”

“Fredrick…” she glances towards the bear on the counter. “...how...I don’t understand…”

“It’s fucked up, I know. It is so fucked up. And I’m so sorry. That this is happening. That ANY of this is happening.”

“That night you went into Addie’s room and the window was open, he was gone then, wasn’t he?”

“I don’t know. I never noticed. I was too busy worrying about her crying and being cold and the window being wide open. I didn’t think to look for the bear.”

“They came in through the window?”

“No. There’s no way. There’s no way they got onto the property. Not with all those guards keeping an eye on things. And I checked; during the day. There’s a garden right under her window and there were no footprints in the dirt, no indents from a ladder. Nothing. There was nothing there.”

“So it was someone inside?”

“Yeah. I’m pretty sure.”

“Which means they’re still there. And our kids are still there. We need to go back. We need to go back to Mumbai and…”

“Listen to me,” he drops one of her hands and lays his palm on the back of her head. “We can’t. We can’t go back. Not when they know we’re here. They’re watching us; they’re watching every move we make and they’ll see us leave and they’ll follow and we’ll lead them right back to the kids. We can’t leave.”

“What do we do? Whoever it is, they’re still in the house. With our kids!”

“I’ll call Anil. And Nik. I’ll let them know what happened and they’ll take care of it. I need you to trust me. I know that’s a lot to ask, especially after what went down between us earlier, but I need you to trust me.”

“I do. I DO trust you.”

“The kids will be fine. I promise you. Nothing’s going to happen to them.”

“Look how close someone got to Addie. They were right in her room. They got close enough to take Fredrick. He was right beside her. When I tucked her in, she was looking at him and I moved him closer so she could see him better and touch him if she wanted to. I was so happy because she’s always so alert; she was paying attention and engaged with him and that’s a huge milestone and she’s reached it really early. And I thought I was doing the right thing by moving him closer to her. I’m sorry. I thought I was doing the right thing for her. I’m sorry, Tyler.”

“What are you sorry for? You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“I left her there. Usually we let her sleep in the room with us but she finally started getting comfortable in the crib and I wanted to be alone with you and I left her there and I should have brought her in with us. I shouldn’t have left her there alone and I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

“You didn’t do anything wrong,” he firmly repeats, and presses his lips to her forehead. “There’s nothing to be sorry about. It’s okay. Just calm down. Everything’s going to be alright. You don’t have to apologize. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“Fredrick was right there. Next to her. They would have had to reach over her. They could have taken her. They could have grabbed her and they could have…”

“Shhh…”  He places a kiss to her temple, an arm curling around her waist  and the hand buried in her hair drawing her face down to his shoulder. And he feels her arms slip under his, followed by her palms against his back and her fingernails digging into his skin. “...just breathe...it’s okay, Esme. I got you. I’m right here.”

“They could have taken her. They could have taken Addie.”

“But they didn’t. She’s fine.”

“But they could have. They could have grabbed her. That’s our baby, Tyler. And they could have taken her from us and we never would have seen her again.”

“They weren’t going to take her. It wasn’t about Addie. They were never going to hurt her.”

Sniffling, she turns her head sideways and rests her cheek against his shoulder; nose presses into the side of his neck. “How do you know?” “It wasn’t about Addie. It was about fucking with my head. They don’t want to hurt her. They want to hurt ME.”

“I don’t want that happening either,” she whimpers. “I don’t want to lose her OR you.”

“I’m not going anywhere, baby. I promise.”

“When is this going to be over?”

“Soon. It’ll be over soon.”

“I just want to go home. I want to go and get our kids and go home.”

“And we will. Soon. I promise.”

“You have to make them pay, Tyler. Every single one of them. You have to make them pay for ever going near her. Every last one of them. You go in there and you make them pay.”

“I will,” he vows, and presses a kiss to the side of her head. “I’ll make them pay.”

*****

When he returns from calling both Anil and Nik, he finds her asleep on the couch. On her side with her knees pulled up towards her chest; cheeks raw from the tears she’d shed and the Addie’s bear tugged tightly against her. She’s exhausted; worn out by the hysterics surrounding the sudden appearance of Fredrick -and the unspoken message sent along with him- and their earlier fight.  He’s wracked by guilt and remorse; torn apart by the realization that he’d broken her heart. Hurting her when all he’s ever wanted to was protect her. And now he’s single-handedly destroyed the one person who’d given him a second chance; who’d seen past all of his damage and the weight of his demons and his mistakes and never once judged him for them or held his past over his head. She’d given him everything; a new life, a love he’d never imagined he could feel and thought he deserved, and five incredible, beautiful children. He’d taken all of it for granted; foolishly assuming she’d stick around no matter how badly he fucked up. And now he’s paying the price; filled with the very real -and terrifying- possibility that he’s already lost her. That the second they return home, she’ll be gone. Taking his kids and his entire heart with her.

He grabs the throw blanket from the back of the couch and spreads it over her, gently tucking it around her body and then gingerly removing Fredrick from her grasp. Lifting her head with one hand and then tucking the bear underneath her with the other; employing it as a makeshift pillow to place her cheek upon. He removes the holster and the gun from his hip and sets it on the coffee table, then retreats to the easy chair across the room. The pain in both his knee and shoulder are intense, causing him to wince and groan when he lowers himself into a sit and stretches his legs out in front of him.

There’s no relief for him now; flushing the entire bottle of pills the second he hung up the phone. As much as he wants them and craves them and NEEDS them, nothing good will come from having them even remotely close to him. He’s already on the verge of losing everything that matters, and he’s willing to take whatever steps he has to to prevent it from happening. He can’t lose her; life empty and meaningless without her. And he’d end up just as pathetic and worthless as he was before they met; spending his days in drunken and drug filled stupors.

Tyler rests his head against the back of the chair and closes his eyes. It will be a long while before he’s able to rest again; brain plagued with fear and guilt and immense regret. And rage. Insurmountable rage. The mere thought of anyone getting that close to one of his kids...his baby girl...causes both his jaw and his fists to clench. He’s never been a fan of revenge. Believing that the need and desire for it does more harm than good; putting yet another burden upon an already weary shoulders. But now he wants it. He NEEDS it.

He’s unsure of how long he sits there; eyes closed and pain radiating through his entire body, yet every once of his senses on high alert. Stomach twisting and clenching as his body tries to get used to not having it’s favourite vice. It’s alarming how quick it happened; how easily and effortlessly he became dependent on the drugs. But he’s optimistic that the side effects of sudden withdrawal won’t be that bad; he hadn’t been on them that long and the levels of the drug in his system are still relatively low. He’s battled worse. And won.

“Tyler?”  Her voice is groggy, and tinged with hints of confusion and sadness.

“Yeah?”

“You’re awake?”

“I’m awake.”

He hears the soft rustling of her clothes against the fabric of the couch, accompanied by the faint squeak of the springs as she climbs off of it. And within seconds he senses her standing alongside of him; eyes still closed as she pushes her fingers through his hair and then climbs into his lap. Turning her body sideways and draping her legs over the arm of the chair; both arms circling his neck and her head nestling into the space between his neck and shoulder. And he places a hand on her thigh and another on the small of her back, then turns his face into hers and presses a kiss to her forehead.

“You okay?” he asks, and runs his knuckles along her lower back.

Esme nods.

“Any cramps?”

“No. They’re gone. But I was scared.”

He rests his cheek against his forehead. “So was I.”

“Did you call Anil? And Nik?”

“It’s being taken care of. He’ll find out who it was. The kids are safe. Nik says they’re happy and having a good time. They miss us, though. And one of them’s a little...off.”

“That has to be Tanner.”

“That obvious, huh?”

“He’s just so sensitive. And he feels and he loves so deeply and so powerfully. He’s so much like you. You’re the same; you have all these emotions and all this love. And it’s beautiful. I just wish you were more like HIM; a little more about it all.”

“I’m trying. I really am.”

“I know. I know it’s hard. I know what it did; growing up with your father.”

“I don’t want to talk about that.”

“You don’t have to.” She kisses the side of his neck, lips covering the scar left behind from seven years ago. “Are YOU okay?”

“Not really, no.”

“Pain?”

“It’s bearable. I’ll deal with it. All I have to do is get through the next few days and then we can go home and I can get to the doctor and he can figure something out. Find out just what the fuck is wrong and fix it. Or at least try to.”

“Did you take any more meds?”

“No. I flushed them.”

“You didn’t have to.”

“Yeah, I did. I did have to. Because it was getting way out of hand and I couldn’t stop. I don’t think I wanted to. And I don’t want that; I don’t want to be that way again.”

“I’ll help you. You know I will. You know I’ll do whatever it takes to help you get better.”

“I don’t deserve that. I don’t deserve YOU.”

“And I don’t want to hear that talk. Because it’s bullshit. I love you and I’ll do whatever it takes to help you get past this. To help you get better.”

“I don’t want you to leave. I don’t want to get home and watch you walk out. I don’t want to go through all of this...Mahajan...Asif...all this shit...just to have you walk away.”

“I need a reason to stay, Tyler. I need to know that you’re clean and you’re healthy and the kids and I are safe.”

His heart aches at those words. At the mere thought she’d feel anything but safe with him.

“You’re always safe with me. You know that. I’d never do anything to hurt you. Or them.”

“When you’re clean, you’re amazing. You’re a ten. A ten plus, even. When you’re lucid and sober, you’re the one that keeps everything together. But when you’re using, I don’t even recognize you. You’re a totally different person. And if I see it, the kids will see it. Especially Millie and Tanner. You know how perceptive those two are. If things continue and they get THAT out of hand, you won’t be in control anymore. The meds will take over and you know what you’re saying or doing. And I can’t take that chance; that they’ll turn you like that. Because I trust you, but I don’t trust THEM.”

“I’ll do whatever you need me to do. Whatever you WANT me to.”

“You have to want it too. Because if you don’t, it won’t work. And you know it won’t.”

“I’m not going back to the way I was. I won’t be that way; none when I met you, not when we split up. I refuse to be that guy again. And I’ll do whatever it takes NOT to be him.”

“If you have to get clean, Tyler. Whether that’s on your own with just me helping you, or you check into a rehab. This is the last chance. This is the third time we’ve been through this. And if it doesn’t stick this time…”

“It will. I promise it will. I can’t lose you. Or the kids. I just can’t.”

She raises her head from his shoulder and laying a hand on his cheek turns her face towards her; covering his mouth with hers in a kiss that’s so soft and so sweet it brings tears to his eyes. He doesn’t deserve this. Her. Not after everything he’s done to break her heart. Yet here she is, so willing and eager to love in spite of it all.

“What happens now?” Esme asks, as her fingers move through her hair and then trace the scars that mar his forehead, the left side of his face, and the bridge of his nose. “With this whole Fredrick thing?”

“Anil’s sending some guys to keep an eye on the outside. Koen and Rata are going to come and stay here; in case we need them. Asif’s people try anything they won’t get very far. And I think they’d be stupid to even make a mouth. These are street kids for the most part; they’re way out of their element.”

“That’s what we thought about those little assholes that attacked us in the alley seven years ago. And look how that ended up.”

“That was a lucky shot. Farhad. I turned my back and he took advantage of it. I knew better than that. I knew never to turn my back on a situation that could still be hot.”

She frowns. “You’re not really blaming yourself for that, are you? Him shooting you?”

“I’m just saying that I knew better. That was a rookie mistake. And I paid for it. Big time. I’m still paying for it. So are you.”

“You were already hurt,” she reasons. “You were already messed up. You shouldn’t even have gotten up after that sniper got you. A lesser man would have died then. He would have  stayed down and given up. And you didn’t. It’s not in you; to give up.”

“Sometimes I think I should have. Given up that day. Just stayed the fuck down and given up.”

“That’s bullshit and you know it.”

“Would have saved you a world of hurt.”

“No. It wouldn’t have. Because I would have gone back home and I would have found out I was having Millie and I would have had to have gone through all of that by myself. She never would have known you. I didn’t even have a picture of you. All that would have existed was her, and my memories of you. What would I  have done when she got old enough to ask about you? When she wanted to know who her daddy is? So no, Tyler. You didn’t cause me a world of hurt, you saved from one.”

Swallowing around the lump of emotion wedged in his throat, he presses a kiss to the bridge of her nose.

“I don’t regret meeting you. I don’t regret what happened on the bridge. I don’t regret a single thing. I only regret I didn’t meet you sooner. Because THAT would have spared me a world of hurt.”

“That’s what you get for not taking a trip to Australia,” he teases, and she gives a small laugh.

“What was I supposed to do? Just fly there and try and find you? I wouldn’t exactly pick The Kimberley for my end destination.”

“Maybe we could have met somewhere else.”

“Like where?”

“I dunno. The grocery store? The beach? A bar?”

“Oh that would have been interesting. Both of us drunk in the same place.”

“I would have so picked you up.”

“Bold of you to assume I would have let you.”

He frowns, and she giggles and pecks his lips.

“I would have loved to have met you fifteen years ago,” she muses. “What did you look like?”

“Pretty much what I looked like when we did meet.”

“Same hair?”

“Different.”

“That would have been a bummer.”

“What is it with you and the hair?”

“I like it. It suits you. It’s very sexy. How about if we met...I don’t know...twenty years ago?”

“I still would have been in the SASR.”

“Sexy. A man in uniform.”

He chuckles. “I was far from sexy.”

“I highly doubt that. There’s no way you couldn’t have been sexy. What about high school?”

“I was tall and skinny. That’s about it. I had longer hair. Like TJ wears his.”

“You were cute as hell then. I would have had a crush on you, for sure.”

“I highly doubt that.”

“Why?”

“Because when I was fifteen, you were only ten.”

“That’s a very good point. I mean, I would have still crushed on you but it definitely wouldn’t have reciprocated. So to go back and time and meet you, I would have to meet military you. So, say I was nineteen, you would have been twenty four.”

“And married.”

She scowls. “Stop ruining it for me! Let’s pretend you weren’t married then. That you were still single. And we met in a bar. Or at the beach. Would I have liked what I saw?”

“Maybe. I don’t know. I didn’t look that much different back then, I guess. A lot less scars, not as much ink. Not as much hair; had a brush cut back then. And I wasn’t as big.”

“Were you jacked?”

“A little. I worked out. Not near as much as I do now.”

“I would have hooked up with you. Those eyes would have reeled me in. Then I would have heard the voice and I would have been a goner. You wouldn’t have been able to get rid of me.”

“I wouldn’t have wanted to.”

“I love when you say all the right things,” she declares, and then once more settles her head on his shoulder. Fingers slowly -and repeatedly- running through his hair. “We’re going to be okay right?” She sounds close to tears once again. “We’ll get past this, won’t we? Tell me we’ll get past this.”

He tightens his hold on her; then drops a kiss on the top of her head. “We will.”

[relativelyrational]

Anxiety - The Cycle of Me

Anxiety and my struggle with it have been present in my life for as long as I can remember. While for some the smells and colours of spring bring about ideas of renewal and growth they have always taken me back to weekly moments of panic brought on by whatever track meeting that I felt obliged to attend. This weekly cycle of tension and release gradually building as the events supposed importance increased. At the age of 10, I was unaware of what these feelings of fear and self-doubt actually meant and assumed they were a necessary part of the 'athletic' experience. It was only at 15 once I left sports behind did I realise that these feeling were not just byproducts of competition but personal aspects of my own being.

I can recall pinning the entirety of these intense sessions of panic on competition and team-related activities and assured myself that if I only gave up on these pursuits which I did not particularly enjoy I would be free of stress. I was naive. To my disappointment, the focus of my anxiety which as of then was yet to be named switched to social situations. I could no longer walk to a shop located mere yards away from my home without obsessing about the various people who I could meet along the way and the awkward interactions I could have with the owners who at this point had known me my whole life. It was also at this point I began to find myself obsessing about being attacked by groups of teenagers. If returning from a walk or home from school I would turn around if I noticed a group in the distance, I would try to find an alternative path home only to turn again when a new group appeared. This process would sometimes take an hour or more just to walk what would have been a few minutes.

I was 16 when I began to struggle with the friend group I had built in school. I had developed friendships built around common interests and ideas and at school and lucky to feel safe an included but I struggled to take this outside of this environment. My friends live further away, I will have to meet new people, walking home could be dangerous. I was constantly coming up with excuses as to why I couldn't meet them. Even after, pushing myself to my limits and making the effort to get involved after a couple of months I couldn't continue. The fear became too much. I retreated to my room.

At this point, my lack of effort was being noticed by my friends. My relationship with them in school became strained and I found myself being the butt of many of their jokes. They even coined a new term for backing out of something based on my nickname which would be used for years into the future. I didn't blame them then and I still don't. They presumed I didn't care about it and I couldn't tell them otherwise. Despite developing a distant attitude I yearned to be out with them. I would build myself up each week, let them know I would be there and then as the event grew closer develop an overwhelming fear and uncertainty and drop out, sometimes without letting them know. I would spend all night ruminating about what I had missed out on and have this confirmed on Monday mornings. When asked I would say I was busy again, despite wanting to let them know that I was sorry and I wish I could have gone. After a year of this, I was exhausted. I felt lost and alone and couldn't bring myself to tell anyone. Luckily, my parents had noticed and stepped in to guide me to help.

My relationship with my parents had always been great and I realise the privilege this gave me. They set up a meeting with a therapist and over the course of a few months, we learned about the anxiety I was facing as well as ways of helping me build passed it. Even now, I can clearly remember an underlying feeling of fear. A fear that if it didn't work out or last what would I do then, what would be next because I couldn't go back to the way I was.

Luckily, my therapy sessions gave me a new way of dealing with situations that scared me and I found myself able to return to socialising, being less fearful of what people thought about me and every possible danger I may face walking through Dublin on a Tuesday afternoon. It was freeing. A door was opened to a world I- never thought I would get to be a part of. I even managed to meet a girl. Which at the time seemed an impossibility. The new life I had created for myself almost matched the lofty goals I had set for myself on those weekend evenings alone in my room. I also succeeded in getting accepted to a university studying science which had been a goal of mine since I was a child. Everything looked so bright and the fear that things would return to how they were subsided as that idea felt less realistic each passing day.

[gingerpeachtae]

Concentric [5]

masterlist

Words: 6.2k

Genres: fantasy!AU, angst, fluff, enemies to lovers, eventual smut (?)

Warnings: none

Summary: You had been ready for the end of the semester. You had been ready to spend time away from your best friend, Jimin, and finally move on from the feelings you harbored. Yet, after your friend was forced to reveal a secret, you found yourself in a new world that was chock full of magic, war, and wonder. So, here you were, basically thrown into your own fantasy novel, with your best friend on one side, and six male warriors on the other.

A/N: LMAO I said I cut this chapter in half but it’s still long as h e c k... why am I like this 😅 anywayysssss ENGOY 🥰

The light from the setting sun pierced your eyes as you emerged from the tent, causing you to squint. In an attempt to save your corneas, you raised a hand to shade your face. As you blinked to refocus your sight, you saw Jimin in what appeared to be an argument with Jungkook. Although it seemed that all of the actual arguing was only stemming from the former.

“Where is she!? Why didn’t she come out with you!?” You could hear the panic seeping into his voice.

Jimin went to move around his brother, but Jungkook stepped into his way.

“I told you she’s fine. Just give her a damn minute, okay?” Though you couldn’t see his face, you could still picture the roll of Jungkook’s green eyes.

“Why the fuck does she need a minute? I swear, if something happened-”

“For Exia’s sake, nothing happened! She’s okay, she’s safe, and she’ll come out when she’s ready.”

“When she’s ready? Why the hell does she need to get ‘ready?’” Jimin’s voice was now laced with anger. “Answer me, Jungkook!”

The rest of their argument faded into the background as you fully stepped out from the shadows of the tent, which caused the rest of the kiela to notice you. Their concerned faces shifted to relieved as they took you in, though some of their eyes lingered on your bloody hands. They looked at them curiously, wondering why Jungkook had been so messy in dispatching the male. He was usually clean with his kills. You saw them glance at your hands, so you nervously rubbed them against your legs, trying to remove the red stains. But you didn’t say anything. Instead, you glanced over them, doing a quick mental count. You counted up to four, five…

“Little scorja!” A weight suddenly plowed into your side and pulled you into a tight hug, squeezing the air from your lungs.

Six.

You smiled into the chest of the grey-haired Saeni, holding him just as tight as he swayed your bodies. Since you were smooshed against Tae, you missed the way Jimin’s head swiveled over, his non-swollen eye welling up with tears. He whispered your name like he was unsure if you were really there.

You let out a surprised grunt as another body slammed into you.

“Y/N!”

You shut your eyes, enjoying the moment. “Hey Hobi.” You tugged them both closer.

After a few seconds, you stepped back and gave each of them a serious, but happy look. “I’m really, really glad you’re okay.”

Then, your gaze shifted to over their shoulders. To where Jimin and Jungkook were watching. Jungkook merely gave you a nod before walking off. Jimin, on the other hand, quickly burst through the two Saeni and engulfed you in his arms.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m so fucking sorry Y/N.” He almost sounded broken, both in tone and in his inability to say anything else.

You pulled back and gently took his face in your hands, slightly wincing at the busted state of his features. Seeing the tears falling down his right side and leaking down the other made your own eyes blur. Taking a deep breath to maintain your composure, you wiped his tears away with the pad of your thumb and let out a teasing chuckle.

“If you don’t stop, I’ll have no choice but to make a sweater with your tears.”

“A SpongeBob reference? Really, Y/N?” He let out a sad excuse of a laugh, which made him hiccup.

“Yeah, well, it got you to smile didn’t it?”

Pressing your forehead to his, you went on to whisper how you were okay. He was okay. The kiela was okay. You were all okay. Everything was going to be okay.

A hand came to rest softly against your shoulder. You looked out of the corner of your eye and saw Namjoon. He gave your shoulder a squeeze as you shifted your attention to him. Keeping one arm around Jimin, you turned to face the brown-haired Saeni. Right behind him, you saw Jin, who gave you a grateful smile before bowing his head.

The leader of the kiela raised his other hand to rest upon Jimin’s shoulder but kept his yellow eyes on you. “Thank you. Thank you for warning us, for risking your life to do so.” He then bowed his head before continuing.

“Without your help… I don’t want to imagine what might’ve happened.”

You offered him a sheepish smile. “You don’t have to thank me. You guys did all the work.”

Jin’s dark eyes met yours. “If you hadn’t given us that information, there wouldn’t have been anyone left to do work.”

“I just did what I had to do.” You shrugged.

“But that’s just the thing… You didn’t have to,” Jin replied.

“Why would you risk yourself for people you barely know?” Namjoon asked.

“Look, on a basic level, you’re Jimin’s family, so that makes you important to me too.” You felt Jimin’s hand around your waist give you a squeeze. “But beyond that, even though we just met a few days ago, I care about each and every member of this kiela. I’d be damned if I just let you die without trying to prevent it.”

Jimin hugged you closer, murmuring into your ear about how much of a Mama Bear you could be. He may have been teasing, but you knew that he really appreciated what you said. Namjoon and Jin both smiled at your declaration and nodded their understanding before backing away. Tae and Hobi, on the other hand, cooed at you and jumped in on your and Jimin’s hug, creating one, big cuddle huddle.

Up in a nearby tree, where you couldn’t see, was Jungkook. He hadn’t wanted to watch the others dote on you, so he had chosen to try to ignore you instead. Yet, as the Saeni listened among the bugs and the bark, he had to fight the corners of his lips from upturning at your words.

“…he was born during an eclipse, hence why he is able to do magic. Saeni born during eclipses, solstices, equinoxes, and similar phenomena are the ones who are able to manipulate Illain’s energy.”

You listened to Hobi attentively while he told you about his and Yoongi’s past as you made your way back to camp, where the mint-haired Saeni himself was waiting.  You couldn’t fathom how worried and anxious he must be.

You winced as you raised your right leg to step over a fallen tree. You were pretty sure you tweaked a muscle at some point during the day. Both your legs were sore, your arms were sore, hell your entire body was sore.

That’s what happens when you don’t stretch before running through the woods, dumbass. You chastised yourself.

After successfully hobbling over that damn tree, you glanced up to Jungkook. Not to check on him. He may have been somewhat gentle with you inside the tent earlier, but he was still a coconut-headed asshat. No, you were checking on the person strung across his shoulders. Your eyebrows lifted as you watched Jimin’s apricot head bob with Jungkook’s steps. Not long after you all began trekking back to camp, he had passed out. Because of course. What more could happen on this stupid, forsaken day? After he had collapsed, you had gawked at his unconscious body for the second time that day, wondering how you were going to carry him. Without a word, Jungkook had walked over and hoisted him over his shoulders without a second thought. Apparently, since he was the strongest out of the kiela he was also the designated carrier for whenever someone was unconscious... or at least that’s what Tae told you. But it was also Tae, so you weren’t sure how seriously you could take his comment.

After verifying that Jimin was still securely hanging from the male’s shoulders, you returned your attention to Hobi.

“Unfortunately, there is a… stigma around eclipse-born Saeni. They’re surrounded by a lot of superstition pertaining to bad luck.” The white-haired Saeni took a deep breath and started playing with one of his many knives. “Because of that, his parents didn’t want him and threw him out of their home.”

You look at him in shock as he continued.

“They just… didn’t care. They didn’t want him. He was only five.” Hobi’s chest was rising and falling rapidly, like he was trying to reel in his emotions.

When you saw him clenching his hand into a fist, you reached out, grabbed it, and gave it a squeeze. He let out a shaky breath. Tae, who had been listening in on Hobi’s other side, gently pried the knife out of his brother’s hand, returned it to its sheath, and took ahold of that hand so that Hobi was getting sandwiched in comfort.

“One day, my dad found this skinny, little Ilto kid hanging around the outskirts of our village. His clothes were in rags and he was all skin and bones, eyes basically sunk into the sockets.

“It took a long time for him to trust us, but eventually, we got him to move into our home and join our family. He’s been with me ever since. Since he was seven and I was six.”

You continued to hold his hand as he described how Yoongi transitioned from stranger to acquaintance to friend to best friend to brother over the years. He didn’t voice his… other feelings toward Yoongi. He really didn’t need to. It was evident that Hobi cared for the other Saeni beyond words.

A year after they joined each other’s lives, they both started training as BTS Saeni. At first, the other kids tried to antagonize Yoongi for starting a year later than usual, but they quickly learned he was not easily bullied due to his scrappiness in a fight. A byproduct of his time living on his own. And once they learned he was an eclipse baby, most did their best to avoid him. 

After just a few months of training, he started becoming quite skilled in hand-to-hand combat. Not to mention that he was also working on his control over Illain’s energy. The combination made him one of the most terrifying trainees, especially with his grumpy disposition.

Along the way, the mint-haired Saeni garnered a high level of control over his magic. After some tinkering, he found a way to teach Hobi how to harness small amounts of Illain’s energy too. Something the white-haired Saeni explained should not be impossible, since he was born on a regular, Opitax morning. It was even more strange, because Yoongi had tried teaching the other members of the kiela, but none of them were successful. Only Hobi was.

“Maybe you were conceived during an eclipse,” you joked.

You gave Hobi a nudge with your shoulder, which in turn, caused him to bump into Tae. The archer retaliated by giving Hobi a nudge of his own. But that brat made his so much more forceful than yours. The domino effect of Hobi then knocking into you most likely would have made you fall on your ass if it weren’t for Hobi tightly clutching your hand. You sent Tae a playful glare.

“Do you think that could be the reason, hyung?” Tae asked.

“Ewww. Stop. I don’t want to think about my parents doing… that.” The Saeni between you two visibly cringed.

You frowned, not at his words though, but because his voice sounded weird. It sounded muffled.

Deciding not to think anything of it, you teased, “Oh, ‘cum’ on! Don’t tell me sex embarrasses you?”

You were proud of yourself. You even think Jin would praise you for that one.

To the contrary of your smugness, Hobi’s light brown eyes slowly turned to you. He looked utterly humiliated, but whether it was because of (in your opinion, great) horrendous pun or because he was actually embarrassed that you were talking about… that, you weren’t sure.

The other Saeni, however, started cackling. But the sound was even quieter than before. It was like you were listening under water. Your confusion grew as the sound of Tae’s laughter faded even though it looked like it was still going strong.

What the hell?

“Uh… Hey guys?” You were beginning to get worried.

Both males gave you their attention, Tae even said something. Or at least you saw his mouth move. You couldn’t hear him anymore. Neither of them. But you could still hear the forest around you. Just not the two Saeni right next to you or the others walking nearby.

So apparently, more could happen on this stupid, forsaken day. Great.

Your walking companions’ eyebrows furrowed. Hobi’s mouth moved but you had no clue as to what he was trying to say.

Freaking out, you stopped walking and through your linked hands that meant you forced them to stop too. You brought your free hand to your ear and shook your head to indicate that you couldn’t hear them.

They stared at you blankly for a few moments until Hobi’s eyes light up. It was like you could literally see the lightbulb go off over his head. He wrestled his hand out of Tae’s grasp, who’s face looked betrayed, and started turning around while searching the forest floor. You let him yank you around until he finally stopped and pointed to a small flower then pointed at his tongue.

“You want me to eat that?” You inquired skeptically.

When he repeated the gesture, you repeated your question.

He rolled his eyes at you and pulled one of the petals off the flower and placed it on his tongue. It really reminded you of what you had to do every morning with-

My freaking petals wore off!

Seeing the lightbulb go off above your head, Hobi spit out the petal and gave you a dimpled grin. Walking you both back over to a pouting Tae, you could see Hobi begin to explain to him what was wrong. Once he understood, the grey-haired male scrunched his nose at you before reaching down to grab Hobi’s hand again. After the three of you were securely linked, he pulled you forward to start catching up with the others.

As your trio galivanted your way through the forest, you saw Jin look over his shoulder and shout something toward you. Obviously, you had no idea what the fuck he was saying, so you didn’t respond. After a couple seconds of silence from you, he fully turned around and shouted again. You looked to the Saeni next to you, hoping they would yell back for you about your predicament. But nope, they just snickered and kept their mouths closed.

Little shits.

You returned your gaze to the eldest Saeni who was just staring at you in bewilderment. By now, Namjoon and Jungkook had stopped moving as well. The leader looked at you with concern while Jungkook looked at you like you were the biggest dumbass on Illain. Sighing, you brought your free hand up to cradle your head to wonder what you ever did to deserve this shit today.

Finally, you dropped your hand and yelled to Namjoon, “My petals wore off, so I can’t hear any of you! Or, you know, speak Saeni anymore!”

Thankfully, Namjoon was a doll and informed Jin and Jungkook of the situation… unlike the two little shits next to you. You just thanked whatever higher being was out there that Hobi had only done a spell to conceal everyone’s voices. It would have been a real bitch if there had been a glamour too.

After another hour or so of dragging your legs while Tae and Hobi dragged you, the group finally made it back to camp. As you brushed a leafy branch out of your face you saw Yoongi pacing around and muttering, a scowl plastered on his face. He was so caught up in his head to even notice everyone’s return. That was okay, though, because as soon as he came into view, Hobi let go of both your and Tae’s hands to rush forward and yank the magic user into his arms. A bright, but brief, flash of mint-blue light erupted from Yoongi’s hands before he recognized who had pulled him close. The hands that had been about to perform some spell instead went around the white-haired Saeni and hugged him back. You couldn’t help but smile at the reunion.

Namjoon and Jin greeted Yoongi next, not by giving him a giant hug as Hobi had, but by clasping each other’s forearms. While Jungkook gently lowered Jimin down on to the ground, Tae made his way over to the mint-haired Saeni and gave him a hug despite the elder’s attempts at shoving him off. As the archer reluctantly retracted his arms to allow Jungkook to do the forearm clasping thing, Tae gestured back to you while speaking with Yoongi. The latter’s petal pink eyes darted over to you and you gave a tiny wave, not wanting to interrupt his moment with his kiela. He kept his eyes on you as he nodded at Tae’s words and brought his hands up, which began glowing.

Realizing that Tae had told Yoongi about the petal’s magic fading and that he was probably about to make more, you quickly shook your head and hands.

He paused, the light not fading but not glowing brighter either as you turned to Namjoon to say, “He doesn’t need to waste his energy making more right now. Please. I’m just going to sleep anyway. It can wait until morning.”

The yellow-eyed Saeni translated for you and you let out a sigh of relief as Yoongi shrugged and lowered his hands, their light completely fading away. Assured that he wouldn’t be wasting any energy on you, you approached the magic user. Ignoring his protests, you wrapped your arms around him to give him a careful hug. He was up and moving now, so he seemed to be all healed up, but you weren’t totally sure yet, so better safe than sorry. You let him go after glancing at his grumbling face. Once released, he shifted his gaze downward, though doing so didn’t fully hide the small smile that graced his lips. You let out a light laugh when you saw it, but still moved away to give him space.

While the kiela went about starting a fire and Jin took out his cooking utensils, you wandered over to where Jungkook had placed Jimin. You laid down next to your best friend, doing your best to ignore his beaten features as you looked at his face.

Love you Slim Jim. You thought fondly before closing your eyes and drifting off to the sound of rustling leaves and a crackling fire.

When you cracked your eyes open the next morning, you registered that you were laying on a mat instead of the dirty ground and that someone had placed a blanket over you. You wondered who had done that for you. You were definitely thankful. Sitting up and stretching, you glanced next to you to see Jimin curled into a ball, still snoozing away. Your lips quirked up while you looked at his softly snoring form. After brushing some of his orange hair back from his face, careful not to apply too much pressure to his injured face, you straightened and meandered over to where Yoongi, Tae, and Namjoon were sitting. You really wanted to talk to Jimin, but you didn’t want to disturb him from his rest.

“Morning.” You yawned when you reached the others.

“Good morning Y/N.” Namjoon said.

Yoongi extended a fist, which revealed a pink petal and a yellow petal resting in his palm when he opened it. You thanked him and popped them into your mouth, body locking up momentarily from the sensations they conjured. After your vision cleared, you thanked him again so that he could understand you. He hummed in response.

“Morning little scorja.” Tae handed you an apple when you sat next to him.

“Mmm good morning Tae Tae.” You said as you booped him on the nose, precisely on his mole.

He gave you a big, boxy smile at the nickname, blue eyes brightening with joy. As you finished your breakfast, he asked if you wanted to watch him shoot. Curious to see what he could do, you agreed. Plus, it would be a good way to pass the time while you waited for Jimin to wake up.

After walking a little way into the forest, you sat against the base of a tree while you observed Tae practice. It was hard to call it practice, though. The fluid and precise movements of the Saeni as he effortlessly notched arrows and sent them to his targets was pure art. He didn’t just stand still and fire at the same tree either. Instead, he ran around, constantly in motion. Jumping, diving, rolling. Anything to make the shot more challenging. And he still hit every one on the mark.

It distracted you for a good while. Until he had to stop to collect his arrows. That’s when THE question sprung back into your mind. The one you needed to talk to your snoozing friend about.

Unable to contain it any longer, you spoke in the most unsuccessful nonchalant voice to ever grace Illain, “So… Jimin’s a prince?”

Tae’s hand stilled as he went to grab the shaft of an arrow. “It’s, uh, probably better if he explains it.” He yanked the arrow out and didn’t look your way.

The fact that he refused to look at you now brought up another question you had been wanting to ask but you weren’t quite sure how to.

It was silent for a few heartbeats until…

“Hey Tae?”

“Yeah, little scorja?” He still didn’t look at you, choosing to focus on returning his arrows to his quiver.

“Do you hate me?”

That got his attention.

He instantly shot his head up. “What?”

“Well, um…” You still weren’t completely sure how to say it, but you decided to just rip the band aid off. “Jungkook said that I’m the reason your kiela isn’t whole. That I’m the reason your family is broken.”

Your head lowered to look at your twiddling fingers as you finished. You hoped he didn’t hate you, but with what Jungkook had said, you wouldn’t hold it against him. You still hoped he didn’t, though. You really, really hoped he didn’t.

“Y/N, look at me.” It shocked you to hear your real name from his mouth.

You lifted your gaze to him and flinched when you saw how serious his blue eyes were.

Here it comes… You thought glumly and braced yourself.

“I don’t hate you and the others don’t hate you. None of us do.”

Your jaw dropped. “But Jungkook-”

“Can be immature with his feelings since he’s the youngest. But please believe me when I say that what he said is not true. He just blames you because he thinks there needs to be someone to blame for Chim having to leave. It doesn’t make it right but just know that I don’t think he actually resents you.”

“You didn’t hear the things he said to me, Tae.”

He approached silently, plopped down next to you, and wrapped an arm around you. “I’m sure it was absolutely horrible… but also completely false.” The Saeni sighed. “Jungkook may seem like this strong, confident hard ass, but that’s because he’s been through a lot, so he feels like he needs to be a lot. If you get to know him, the real him, he’s not like that.”

“I don’t know... but you obviously know him better than I do, so…” You took a deep breath. “I’ll believe you. He’s still an asshat though.”

“Can’t completely disagree with you there.” Tae rose to his feet and pulled you up with him. “Enough of this sad talk. What’s something that makes you happy?”

Food. Discounts. Finding a fic I forgot the name of after an extensive search. Food.

“Oh! You’re a dancer too, right? Like Chim?”

“Yeah I am.” You smiled. “Dancing makes me really happy.”

“It’s decided then! Teach me some dances.”

You braced your hands on your knees as you watched Tae do the Soulja Boy dance as you sang the lyrics for him. Granted, your “singing” at this point was more like wheezing due to your heaving laughter, but whatever.

You had first taught him one of the simpler hip hop routines you knew, not wanting to make it too difficult for him. Turns out, that was unnecessary because the Saeni could easily keep up. And not only could he keep up, but he was also good. Sure, he had this weird, but oddly sexy, habit of sticking his tongue out as he did the routine, but to each their own.

Since he had gotten the steps down fairly quickly, you moved onto a more difficult routine, which he also mastered. After that, you decided to just teach him a few funny dances, the current one being the classic Soulja Boy.

Your laughing was interrupted by the sound of someone clearing their throat. You looked up from Tae’s boxy smile to see Jungkook standing several yards away looking rather awkward. His hands kept fidgeting, apparently not knowing what to do with them. He settled for crossing them over his chest.

You raised an eyebrow at him. “Oh, hey Coco. What’s up?”

You watched his eye twitch at the nickname, but he didn’t comment on it. “What are you doing?”

“Teaching Tae some dances… wanna learn one?” You asked hesitantly.

The grey-haired Saeni had said that Jungkook truly wasn’t this aggravating “Chad” of a guy when you really got to know him. So, you decided to pull up your big girl panties and to try to extend an olive branch.

Tae gasped in excitement at your offer. “Come on Kookie! It’s so much fun!”

“I’d prefer not to get skinned alive by Hobi hyung when he finds out you’re dancing without him, so… no thanks.” Jungkook’s green eyes shuddered as if recalling some horrific memory.

Likewise, Tae immediately stopped his giggling and started to panic. “Shit, shit, shit. He got so mad last time!” He ran over to Jungkook and fell to his knees in front of him. “Kookie, please, please, don’t tell him. I’ll do anything!”

You blinked a couple times at the exchange.

Good lord, what did Hobi do to them!?

Jungkook tipped his chin toward you. “Give me a few minutes alone with Y/N and I won’t say shit.”

The Saeni archer dropped his exaggerated act and rose to his full height to stand evenly with Jungkook.

“Not if you’re going to yell at her. She doesn’t deserve that, and you know it.”

Your eyes ogled in disbelief as you watched Tae stand up to his own brother for you.

He really doesn’t hate me…

You felt like you could cry from happiness and relief. Yet, as honored as you were by Tae’s act, you also knew that something good could come from a talk with the burgundy head. Or you really hoped it would be good. You walked up behind Tae and placed a hand on his shoulder, telling him it was okay. He turned to look at you, but found you were facing forward, your eyes glued to the pea-green ones in front of you. Jungkook met your challenge and stared right back.

Neither of looked away even when Tae threatened, “If I hear any shouting, I’m coming back and kicking your ass Kookie.”

As he left the two of you alone, you copied the youngest Saeni and crossed your arms over your chest. Then you waited. And waited… and waited.

“So, are you just going to stare at me?”

His green orbs widened and he suddenly looked to the side then at the ground. He mumbled an answer, but it was too quiet to hear.

Geez. Who is this guy? What happened to the asshat?

“What was that?” You asked in a prodding tone.

Jungkook groaned, bringing his head up to look at the sky. “I-I just…”

“You just what?” Yes, you were sort of provoking him, but the boy needed a push if you’ve ever seen a need for it.

He shot his head down to look at you in annoyance. “Ijustwantedtothankyouforyesterdayyoudon’tneedtobesomean.” As soon as he finished his face heated up and his gaze darted away again.

You gaped at him. Both because of his thanks and because he had the audacity to call you mean. You!

“Excuse me?”

At your question, he raised a hand to rub the back of his neck while the other went over his mouth to cover a forced cough.

He still refused to look at you, but sighed and said, “I just wanted to say thank you for risking your neck for us yesterday.”

“Oh, um, you’re welcome. It’s really no big deal. I just did what I had to.” You rubbed your arms at the awkward tension in the air and pursed your lips.

“I want to offer you a deal.”

“Huh?”

“Look, your technique sucks, and you’ve obviously never been in a fight, but you helped us, and I can’t ignore that. I’m the best fighter here, so I can teach you if-”

“If you’re about to say something like suck your toes or worship the ground you walk on, it’s gonna be a no from me, dawg.”

“First Coco, now Dog?” The Saeni scoffed. “Make up your mind, human. Also no. I don’t want your mouth anywhere near me and I don’t need your worship. I already know how good I am.”

There’s the asshat.

“Riiiiight.” You drawled out. “So, what’s the ‘if?’”

He smirked. “I’ll teach you how to fight if you can last a single minute against me.”

You paused to weigh his offer. Yes, you wanted to learn how to protect yourself. You didn’t want to be a liability to others anymore. You wanted to prove yourself. Plus, it would also just be super badass. On the other hand, you also knew how extremely skilled Jungkook was. While you had only seen glimpses of him fighting, you had heard the others’ comments, so you knew that he was a force to be reckoned with. Which would probably make him a good teacher but...

“Just one minute?” You verified.

You weren’t an idiot. One minute in a fight may sound short, but it seemed like a long time. Granted, you’d never been in a fight, but Jimin made you watch a few MMA matches before and-HOLY SHIT!

Jungkook’s fist appeared out of the corner of your eye and you instinctively ducked, falling down on your butt. He didn’t even laugh at you, as he was already gearing up for another hit. You quickly rolled backwards over your shoulder and got up on your feet, squeaking when you felt the air of another punch, kick, or some other flying appendage miss you. Not bothering to waste time to look at the Saeni, you took off running. Weaving around trees and leaping over logs, you did your best to lose Jungkook in the forest. You couldn’t hear him, but you just knew he was right on your ass. The thought made you pump your sore legs faster.

“Ya! Little human!” He called out to you as you continued to scurry away like some rabbit evading a fox. “You’re supposed to be fighting me, you idiot!”

“You never said shit about fighting! Just that I had to last a minute, you dickhead!” You screeched in return.

You sprinted around another tree. Slid down into a ditch. Jumped over a tangle of roots and sharply veered to the left.

In the back of your mind, you knew that there was no way you should be standing right now. If he was really trying, he would have KO’d your ass on the first punch. He was going easy on you. Way easy. But why? While you were preoccupied trying to deduce why he wasn’t just finishing you off, you failed to notice his figure stepping out from a tree ahead of you. Not realizing his presence until you were basically on top of him, he reached out a hand and wrapped it around your throat as you ran past. 

The throat again? AGAIN!?

You did your best to dance out of the way, but it was absolutely futile. Your forward momentum came to a sudden halt as he threw you down. Landing straight on your back, all the air in your lungs was forced up and out.

Your mouth moved like a fish as you tried to get oxygen to return to your lungs. Jungkook glanced down at your heaving form before turning away.

“It’s only been 40 seconds… seems like you won’t make it.”

Like hell I won’t.

Before you could think twice, you rolled to your side and tripped him with your arms. As he stumbled, you got your ass up and ran off again. By now, you should only have 10 seconds remaining.

You went left around a tree, then right, then right again.

4… 3… 2… 1…

You rounded left around one last tree and folded your body due to there being a low branch at your head’s height. Unfortunately, that meant that the fist meant for your stomach connected directly with your face instead.

You heard Jungkook curse just before his fist made contact and then everything went black.

“What were you thinking Jungkook!?”

“Chim, I already said I’m sorry! It’s not like I was aiming for her fucking head!”

“Guys, if you’re going to scream at each other, can you at least do it somewhere else?”

“He knocked her out, hyung! How can you not be yelling at him!?”

“It was an accident!”

“And he already apologized… even though you’re not the person he owes it to.”

The delightful sound of yelling, angry, and frustrated voices infiltrated your ears as you became conscious. Groaning, you opened your eyes and tried to figure out what was going down.

You were laying down with your back on a mat, a blanket folded beneath your head. You were back at where you assumed was camp, due to the blackened and ashy wood that you could see piled nearby. Hovering over you was Yoongi, who gave your head a pat when he saw your y/e/c eyes open. Toward your feet was Jimin and Jungkook, glaring at each other.

Yoongi gave you a final pat before rising and walking into the trees. “Well, I’ll leave you children to figure this shit out.”

“Hyung! Where the hell are going? Y/N-”

“Is already awake, you dunce. I’m going to find Namjoon.” He sent a wave over his shoulder without looking behind him.

At his words and exit, Jimin whipped his head to you to find your eyes on him. You gave him a sheepish smile.

“See!? I told you she was going to be fine!”

No matter how badly you wanted to smack Jungkook in that moment, you had to do some damage control before Jimin literally went crazy. You hastily stood up, although that wasn’t the smartest move on your part. Immediately, you went dizzy and had to grab ahold of Jimin’s arm to steady yourself.

After collecting yourself, you said, “Slim Jim, it’s fine. It was an accident. If he had actually wanted to hurt me he would have done it on the first swing.”

“The first swing!?” Jimin was seething.

“You didn’t tell him about the deal?” You addressed Jungkook.

“Deal? What deal?”

Jungkook’s let out a nervous laugh as he rubbed the back of his neck. “I, uh, offered to teach her to fight if she could last one minute against me.”

Jimin slipped out of your gasp and got into his brother’s face again. “Are you insane!? You could’ve killed her!”

“Whoa. Whoa. Whoa.” You stepped between them, putting a hand on each of their chests. “As much as I appreciate you looking out for me, Jimin, you don’t get to decide what I do or do not do. You’re my best friend, not my keeper.”

He dropped his head to look at your hand resting against his chest, apricot locks hanging over his forehead. “I-I know. I’m just worried about you.”

“And I’m thankful for that, but you also need to step back a bit, okay?” You patted his solid frame and he nodded.

“Okay.” You turned to face the other Saeni. “Now, you.”

His eyes widened at your “let’s get down to business” tone, but he didn’t back down.

“You seriously need to stop making me unconscious. It’s the second time in like four days, dude.”

The burgundy head tilted his head. “Maybe if you knew how to throw a punch you wouldn’t be so easy to beat.”

You rolled your eyes while Jimin growled. “Well, now it’s your job to teach me, Coco.”

“Seems like it.” Jungkook snorted. “You barely lasted the minute, so we’ll have to work on that.” He turned to leave but paused and looked over his shoulder.

“Hey, little human. You… you weren’t as helpless this time.” Emotion flashed in his green eyes but before you could determine exactly which, he faced away from you. “Just be up two hours earlier from now on to train.”

With that, he left. It was only you and Jimin now. Just as you went to say something to your best friend, a sudden revelation dawned on you.

“I don’t have an alarm! How the hell am I supposed to do that!?”

previous [4] — next [6]

[whumptasticwednesday]

Insult to Injury ft. Dadneto (Peter Maximoff - X-Men)

Author’s Note: Hey, ya’ll. I’ve been burning the midnight oil to get this fic out on time, AKA 2 consecutive nights of staying up till’ 3 am. I’ve had the idea for a Peter-centric Dadneto whump fic for a decent amount of time, and after receiving a lovely anonymous prompt, I decided to incorporate both my idea and theirs. Here we’ve got Peter after the events of Apocalypse, debilitated, and accidentally giving himself a nasty case of salmonella, before Erik comes to help. I’m pretty proud of this one, so I hope you enjoy it! This fic is unedited, sorry, so please let me know if there’s any glaring issues. For my next fic, I’m shifting away from X-Men for a hot sec so I can write a nice Detroit: Become Human whump fic with our favorite android son, Connor. I’ve been super excited about my plot concept, so I’m ecstatic to start writing it. Anyways, I hope you like this one, I worked very hard on it, and I hope you’re all excited for the DBH fic coming soon!

-Ash

Word Count: 6299

Warning: Emeto and decently graphic descriptions of physical illness

Setting: Post-Apocalypse/Pre-Dark Phoenix

If there's anything Peter Maximoff knew in this moment, it was that not being able to do the one thing your body was genetically enhanced to do, sucked. A lot.

It had been only a few days since the X-Mansion had been rebuilt and things all fell back into this synonymous routine as if the entire building hadn't exploded a short while ago. In Peter's opinion, it was all kind of creepy how easy it seemed for these kids to all just go back to learning when their home and school just got eviscerated in a hellfire, but he didn't think much of it.

All he could think about in this moment, was how immensely bored he was. Peter always had something going on with him; he was either thinking about his impending dad-related issues, plotting a prank, or deciding to go off and steal an entire Walmart's worth of Twinkies in the blink of an eye, there was always something.

Yet now, the rest of the X-Men were off with Charles helping cover up heat from the international press by cleaning up all the damage and destruction in Cairo and showing what Charles had dubbed: "diplomacy", which was too huge of a word for Peter to ever use in an everyday sentence; too many letters, and Peter was left back at the mansion since he really couldn't use his powers effectively at the moment, so it would be pretty useless for him to be tagging along.

Peter normally wouldn't have given a damn, maybe even excited at the prospect of being able to rig his friends' rooms with elaborate traps with Jello and staplers or something of the sorts while they weren't around, yet now, when faced with inescapable boredom that followed him wherever his broken leg did (everywhere), he was dying to have anything to do. As the team was suiting up to get on the jet to go back to Cairo, Peter had pathetically hobbled down to the X-Men bunker on his crutches, begging to be taken with. But they'd simply gassed up the plane and flew off, leaving Peter alone, and oh so very bored.

Which brings us to Peter now, attempting to create an omelette with 6 different cheeses, 8 different and poorly-diced peppers, a heaping assortment of minced tomatoes, and a sprinkling of those off-brand fruit snacks that are always better than the on-brand ones for some reason. It wouldn't be a Peter breakfast without some form of sweet, and in his eyes, it stuck to the healthy-ish theme. It had fruit in the name for a reason, didn't it?

The kid always had a massive appetite, and everyone that knew Peter knew this as well. You'd be hard pressed to find him without some snack or form of sustenance in his hand, scarfing it down like there was no tomorrow. It was all a byproduct of his enhanced metabolism. All that energy to run had to come from somewhere, didn't it? Little did he know, this super stomach of his would come to kick him in the ass in a few short hours. But for now, the silver-haired man child of a mutant was limping around the mansion's kitchen making a very... exotic breakfast for dinner meal.

Peter plopped the strange looking (decently gooey) excuse for an omelette into a large plate with some Twinkies and orange juice on the side. As he devoured his dinner, Peter thought anxiously about Erik. It had taken him 10 years to connect the dots, work up the courage, and even think of confronting the man to tell him of his true parentage, yet wimped out at the last minute, leaving the ambiguous: "I'm here for my family too." Peter groaned audibly to himself as his mind once again replayed the events he'd already replayed a million times before. It was embarrassing as all hell. Luckily, nobody that did know told Erik anything, which Peter was very grateful for.

Imagine learning about a woman you left 2 and a half decades ago actually birthing a son you had no idea existed and just now learned of... but not from him, despite several encounters beforehand where he had ample opportunities to do so. It'd make Peter feel like even more of a loser than a 27 year old who still lived in his mother's basement. But, to be fair, Peter was no longer a grown man living with his mom, he was a grown man living in a school where he was many years past the oldest enrolled student, while not teaching a single class; it was a step up from the basement, trust me.

Once finished with his omelette, Peter quickly washed his dishes and made his trek up the small flight of stairs to reach his room on the second floor. Over the past few days, Peter had learned just how high a set of stairs could be, especially when you end up falling down them on several attempts to slide down the handrail (and failing miserably while being laughed at by dozens of impressionable pre-teen children.) What a loser.

After reaching his room, particularly winded from this dinner excursion, Peter was grateful to see that he hadn't unplugged his television from the wall after his embarrassing fall in an attempt to get to the bathroom by himself, without his crutches, or the lights on. A simple recipe for disaster in nearly all circumstances, yet for some reason, the universe held pity for Peter and his debilitated state, and decided to not make his day any worse than it already was.

Peter ultimately decided to entertain himself with a good night-long play session of Pac-Man on his Atari 2600, also still miraculously undamaged from last night's fall. He booted up the inferior version of the game (seriously though, he'd have to get Kurt to help him teleport his arcade cabinet from his basement to the school, playing this one was getting a bit tiring on the eyes.) It sufficed, he thought as the TV harshly flashed on.

Now normally, Peter would have been up all night with his video games and rock music blaring in the background, yet tonight, something (besides his immobile leg) felt really off. Each distinct 'WOMP' from the console as the yellow circle man consumed the dashes and dots felt like a sledgehammer into Peter's eardrums, leaving a resonating ache at the base of his skull. He didn't think much of it and brushed it off, simply turning down his music a notch and backing away from the TV a few inches.

The next confusing sign that something wasn't quite right was the disconcerting shivers wracking his body. A chilly breeze seemed to sweep the room as if the AC was on full blast with the windows open on a November midnight, yet it was July and all the windows were closed and when he went to check if his AC unit was acting up, nothing seemed out of the ordinary. That's whack, Peter thought to himself as he plopped onto his bed, Atari abandoned on the rugged floor.

He didn't know how long he spent staring at the unmoving chandelier hanging lamely from the ceiling, but it felt as if seconds later, the room was not only freezing, but spinning, and suffocating. Everything felt way too close. Peter could feel every fiber of his shirt rubbing against his jacket, the itchy inside of his cast pressing up against the entirety of his right leg, and the presence of his goggles resting on his neck, now seeming like a noose closing in on his throat. He hastily tore off the eyewear and tossed them on his nightstand before deciding to shed his jacket and weakly throwing it across the room. Another move he regretted.

Without the jacket to keep his arms warm, the newfound seemingly frosty atmosphere felt like a icy flurry against his skin. In spite of his mind's confused wishes, Peter ripped the heavy blanket off the end of the bed and closed it around himself like a caterpillar ready to emerge as a butterfly the next time it saw the daylight. Peter sure as hell didn't feel like a caterpillar, but if the feeling of metamorphosis was a growing sense of intense nausea and cramping in the stomach, then hell yeah, he was crushing this butterfly business.

Fuck, what's wrong with me?! He thought to himself as he rolled onto his side. Peter rubbed at his eyes, hoping to clear the dizziness, yet only further irritating them. God damnit, he sighed internally as his face scrunched up in discomfort, releasing one of his hand's hold on the blanket to cradle his aching stomach.

"Is this karma for all that shit I stole when I was younger? That's just mean, man," Peter rasped to nobody in particular. He thought about it more though and responded to his own question, "Then again, I think that's pretty fair. Haha...Shit, man. Never thought I'd say this, but I think... I think I need help."

The sledgehammer-like headache was pounding with every bass drum beat lightly emanating from the sound system Peter hadn't turned off, another move he regretted. He couldn't decide if the pros outweighed the cons: hobbling through the dark to possibly remedy a source of his suffering, but relinquishing his hold on the only thing keeping him from feeling like freezing. Peter played it safe, much to his cranium's dismay.

Peter stared off towards the wall at nothing in particular as he tried oh so hard to draw his mind's focus from how terrible he felt to literally anything else. It wasn't working out so well. And so, Peter laid there, blanket tossed over himself, single leg drawn up to his chest, shivering like a leaf in a rainstorm, as nauseous as a toddler who just rode their first roller coaster, feeling like he was about to cry, and alone. What a miserable way to spend the night.

------

If there's anything Erik Lehnsherr knew in this moment, it was that he was beyond irritated that Charles wasn't at the mansion to run his own school. Despite leaving the school once he'd helped rebuild it to try and seek solitude to wrap his mind around his place in the world and everything that'd happened to him, Erik was back at the mansion once again. He was ready to lay down the foundations for his new mutant hideaway, Genosha, and needed Charles's connections to the government to help smooth over his charges and get clearance to have his isolated society where he might truly find happiness and solace. The universe had spoken, and he obviously wasn't cut out to be a nuclear family kind of guy.

Unbeknownst to him, Erik had once again meandered into a setting with his unrealized son. Also unbeknownst to him, that son was currently cooped up alone in his room, feeling like death.

Erik uncomfortably paced around the mansion, checking Charles's office, the X-Men bunker, and all the other places he might have been, yet the telepath was nowhere to be found. Erik sighed, he knew coming this late was a bargain, one, it turns out, he'd come to lose. The school itself was eerily quiet. It was if the entire mansion was empty or something. Peaceful, yet unsettling for a man who knew nothing but chaos.

Erik was about to borrow a book someone had abandoned in the foyer when he heard the muffled melodies of American rock music echoing from the upstairs floor. It must be that problematic Peter child, Erik thought to himself. From what he told himself was a civil duty to the rest of the sleeping kids in the school (but was actually his own way to cope with his curiosity) Erik decided to check up on the snarky young man to ask if he'd turn down the tunes.

As he approached the door, Erik was bracing himself for something extremely untamed. Perhaps a messy, greasy slophole of a living area, or maybe a drunk and uncontrollably obnoxious man dancing to his music in the nude. You never really knew with Peter, and Erik had come to expect the strangest out of the boy from the few genuine interactions they've had.

Erik gently tapped his knuckles against the door, waiting patiently for a 'come in', or something along the lines of those words, yet it never came. Raising a questioning yet not too surprised eyebrow, Erik knocked again, using slightly harder bangs, not wishing to make a ruckus and wake anyone else in the hallway up. Again, nothing. Although it could have simply boiled down to Peter not hearing him from his loud and abhorrent music, Erik was growing slightly irritated with the lack of a response. So with his last reserves of patience, he knocked one final time, once again listening for a signal or cue to enter. He was met with nothing yet again.

Wondering for the worst and fully expecting to meet a blackout drunk Peter when he opened the door, Erik tentatively jiggled the doorknob, which just so happened to be unlocked, and stepped inside. Thankfully, he was not met with a naked dancing or woefully drunk mutant speedster, but most would probably argue that what he was met with was quite worse. And that being a rancid stench of sick and sour nastiness lingering in the air, a poorly plopped pile of blankets draped over the culprit of the odor, and the culprit himself lying pale and flushed on the floor beside his bed, covered in his own vomit.

Erik's nose crinkled up from being met by the strongly nauseating smell of the room, reaching for the light switch on the wall to aid the sad little table lamp and glow of the TV in illuminating the room. Now he truly saw the pity-worthy situation for what it was. Peter laid in a heap on the ground next to his bed; he'd clearly trying to make it to the en suite bathroom just a few feet away. However, with his dizzy mind and immobile leg, he didn't make it very far and ended up expelling his dinner in a much less... dignified location (if you could consider a toilet bowl a very dignified location), that undignified location being all over his lap and onto his faded Pink Floyd t-shirt.

Not knowing how to really handle the situation, Erik called out a soft, "Peter?" hoping to elicit a response. Yet, just like at the door, he was met with nothing. As he approached the boy, thoughts of anxiety and panic circled through his mind. What would he say to him when he woke up? Would he be uncomfortable with Erik of all people coming to help? Would he be confused? Would he not care? He felt undeniably and inexplicably awkward. Erik shook the thoughts from his conscious as he knelt down to try and meet Peter's face.

"Peter?" he asked again. Erik tentatively reached over to tap the boy's face, which was contorted in a pinched expression of discomfort, marred further by the vomit drying in a trail down his chin.

Once Erik's hand made contact with Peter's cheek, he wanted to retract it. From the split second interaction, Erik had felt the clammy, sweaty, and scorching hot skin and was growing concerned. The slight physical prodding finally made Peter respond.

"Mom?" he asked groggily, voice cracking, "I'll put my dishes in the sink in a minute... I'm tired..."

Erik let out a harsh sigh, bending his neck in an attempt to make eye contact with the boy.

"Peter, I'm not you-" Erik was cut off.

"Yeah yeah... I'm not your maid. I know, Ma. Just... give me five."

"Peter." Erik stated bluntly yet with a hint of unease, unsure if Peter was delirious or just messing with him, "look at me, please."

Peter cracked open his eyes and blearily met Erik's stoic and collected face. He blinked a few times, slowly and deliberately, calculating who was kneeling in front of him, before letting out a weak and wheezy chuckle, "hey there, refrigerator ornament. Wassup?"

Erik rolled his eyes, responding with, "I came to ask you to turn down your atrocious music so you won't wake any of the other children who are trying to sleep. When I came in here, you were passed out on the floor. Would you like to explain to me what happened?"

"Nah... it isn't all too interesting"

"Peter, can you please act like an adult for 2 minutes? Please?"

"Oh man, the Nazi-hunting, president-killing, horseman of the Apocalypse is bustin' out the PLEASES. Look out, world, Lord of the Vacation Souvenirs has a new tactic... MANNERS!"

Peter burst out laughing at his own adolescent joke, ending in a wheezy struggle to catch his own breath. Erik couldn't tell if he was just screwing with him or genuinely needed help. This behavior seemed pretty normal for the immature mutant.

"Look, Peter, I really just need to know if you're okay. Can you answer that simple question, please?"

"Man, your tactics are workin' like a charm. I guess I'll tel-" Peter was cut off by a repulsing gag, hunching over and expelling his stomach's contents... again, this time, however, onto Erik's shirt, quickly travelling in a sad trail down onto his freshly-ironed pants. Peter's bloodshot eyes went side with embarrassment as he quickly transitioned his gaze to the floor.

Erik's face was caught frozen still as his mind caught up with what had just happened. As repulsed as he was, it wasn't like he hadn't seen worse. But that still didn't make the fact that he was just puked on any less disgusting. After audibly exhaling through his nose, Erik once again focused on the miserable man child in front of him, who was now anxiously tapping his fingernails on the hard plaster of his cast, deliberately trying to avoid eye contact.

God damnit, Peter, He thought to himself as he continued tapping, it's bad enough leaving him with a painfully ambiguous response during a battle to save all of humanity, ultimately ruining a perfectly good chance to fess up, but now look what you've done. You fucking threw up on him. Peter felt himself growing smaller as his subconscious shamed him for his uncontrollable bout of illness. It was stupid and ultimately all in his head, but it didn't make him feel any less shit about his situation.

After taking the few quiet seconds, Erik stood up, and whether it was out of pity or some subconscious moral quest, grabbed Peter by the armpits and dragged him to the bathroom.

"W-what the?" Peter asked, confused by the harsh white light of the bathroom and the sudden shift in scenery.

"Well I'm not going to let you sit in your own disgusting clothes. I have standards, you know. Can you undress yourself? I'll get us both some clean clothes."

Peter grunted in response. It meant: yeah, I think I can take off my own clothes, bro... once the room stops spinning. Erik, however, had already up and left, stripping off his own soiled shirt and rifling through Peter's dresser drawers, and taking the opportunity to flick off the television and silence the music that had been awkwardly filling the room's background space up until now.

Peter didn't have much variety in his clothing, dark jeans and band logo t-shirts were most of his dresser's arsenal. Not wishing to be clad in a Metallica shirt for the rest of the night, he dug a bit further into the seemingly endless assortment of shirts till he found a plain white short sleeve, sighing in relief. He grabbed a random shirt from the top of the assortment which just so happened to have the Journey logo on it, and set off to find new pants for the boy.

Back in the bathroom, Peter was still laying slumped against the bathtub, shivering. Everything around him had seemingly slowed to a halt, not unlike when he was running past the speed of sound, but this time deceleration just felt... wrong.

The crashing rhythm of the rock music had come to a halt, yet it didn't cease the incessant throbbing ache in his head, as if the bass riffs and the harsh taps of the snare were on a permanent loop with earbuds permanently glued to his ears. He was trying his best to prevent himself from groaning or whining as to not sound like even more of a child in front of Erik, but honestly, he didn't want his nonexistent father right now, he wanted his mom.

Peter was snapped from his self loathing by Erik's footfalls growing progressively louder as he approached him. Erik had thrown on a pair of track pants and a random white shirt. He was holding a pair of sweatpants and another shirt for Peter so he could be free of his sweat-slick and vomit-covered clothes.

"Hey, you don't get to keep those. I like those pants," Peter stated sarcastically, still trying to put up a front, although he was unsure why. He'd needed help, it was painfully obvious, so why was he still pushing his father away? Resentment? Anger? Pride? No... fear.

"Arms up," Erik instructed, preparing to take Peter's shirt off for him.

"Yo, you know I'm not a toddler, right? I can take off my own god damn shirt."

"You sure don't act like you're a day older than one, and I don't wanna risk you accidentally suffocating getting stuck in your own clothing so... arms up."

Peter sighed and did as he was told. Erik swiftly peeled the top off the boy and felt around his back, finding it clammy and warm. As if he'd just went from the tropics to Antarctica, the shirt leaving his skin exposed his skin to a whole new level of cold. The sensation ripped through his spine as his teeth started chattering. Hoping Erik had a brain underneath that skull, Peter was (im)patiently waiting for the man to save him from the frosty winds of his newly installed Arctic bathroom and slip the new shirt over him already. However, much to Peter's dismay, Erik turned on the tub's faucet, soaking a hand towel in cold water before leaning over and placing it on Peter's exposed back.

The second the frigid cloth made contact with his skin, Peter recoiled, back arching backwards, arms frantically bending to try and remove it. Erik sighed, slightly out of pity, and continued holding it down.

"Is this some cruel punishment? What did I do?" Peter pleaded, hoping to distract himself from crying by use of humor.

"You're scorching and sticky and it's just disgusting. I'm cooling you down, so relax," Erik explained. "It'll be a few more seconds, I just needed to get all the sweat off of you."

And as quickly as it had begun, the endeavor was over and Erik was threading Peter's strikingly pale and flimsy arms through the shirt holes. Peter audibly sighed, feeling like he'd just spent an hour in an industrial freezer and was now back into a normal temperature.

Erik's eyes drifted to Peter's legs, immediately noticing a flaw in his plan. How was he going to change Peter's pants with that full leg cast?

"Peter, how do you typically change your pants considering your current... situation?" Erik asked.

"It's pretty simple. I don't," Peter replied bluntly.

"W-what?"

"Well, after I got my leg set a few days ago, I changed into jeans, not wanting to be in flight suit pants for the next week of my life, and I haven't swapped since. It's like, physically impossible."

"So... you've been wearing the same (disgustingly dirty) pants all week?"

"Yeah, pretty much. Hank says I should be grateful that it'll heal in a couple days, most people you'd find passed out on their floor covered in vomit with a full leg cast would have been wearing their nasty pants for weeks."

Erik sighed, tossing Peter's soiled shirt and the sweatpants back into the bedroom before meeting his gaze.

"Alright, Peter, I'm going to set you up in bed now."

"Sounds grea-" Peter was once again, clamping his hand over his mouth, pathetically dragging himself over to the toilet to prevent throwing up all over himself again.

Erik saw his distress and lifted the toilet lid and seat, prompting Peter to start heaving into the sad and dreary porcelain bowl. Each dry or productive heave sent another pulsing wave of pain and violent nausea from his stomach to seemingly every conceivable inch of his body in a viscous cycle of suffering. Erik could do nothing but watch as the silver-haired boy wretched in agony, each heave causing his breath to hitch, caught in his throat, as another bout of sick rushed up past his lips, crashing into the toilet bowl.

Erik wanted to reach over and rub Peter's back or offer a semblance of physical comfort for the anguish he must have been feeling. He'd often do this for his daughter, Nina, whenever she had a stomach bug. Erik reached out his hand, only to quickly retract it, shaking haunting thoughts from his mind. This boy was not his child, and in no way would he ever come close to being Nina. What was he thinking?

Guilt quickly overtook the memories as Peter finished his session of sickness. He sagged limply against the side of the toilet, face still partially hidden by the rim of the bowl. When he looked up at Erik, he looked awful. Beyond awful.

Red-rimmed eyes, clearly there as Peter attempted to stop the obvious tears from spilling over, met cool yet collected ones, the former's being full of pain, not just from this embarrassment or the physical turmoil he'd just endured, but something else. Erik knew those eyes. He knew them because for so long, they were the ones he'd stared at in the mirror, day after day, for years, until he'd found Charles, only to come face to face again with those demonized eyes in the form of an immature mutant puking his guts out on his bathroom floor. They were the eyes of a young man who was lost, feeling alone, hiding a part of themselves they wanted to let go, to set free, so they could truly be happy, yet he couldn't possibly decipher what could be internally destroying the boy.

"I-I'm sorry you had to watch that..." Peter said softly as his head lolled over.

"It's fine," Erik replied with a tone to match that of Peter's.

"I'm pretty sure... that I'm done. For now?" It came out as more of a question, but at this point, Peter wasn't trusting any signal his body was sending him. Every impulse had been smudged and cloudy in his mind, and paired with the seemingly endless headache and the relentless chills racking his body from the fever, Peter was sure that if his mind were a computer hard drive, it would have self destructed out of a deadly virus slowly hacking into the hardware.

But alas, Peter was no computer, and so he was stuck with this mystery illness, cooped up in his room, unable to run, with Erik mother-hecking Lehnsherr. His fever-addled mind was barely functioning at this point, so he didn't register anything but dizzying blurred images swirling around his head and slightly-grumbled voice swimming in his ears as Erik scooped the kid up like a newlywed bride and carried him off to bed.

Peter had never been more grateful to grace the comfort of his duvet, ready to sleep. He halfheartedly grabbed at it in an attempt to cover himself and finally warm up. Erik sighed with pity, grabbing it for him and draping it over his shoulders before moving over to stand by the nightstand and awkwardly watching Peter try and get comfortable.

Despite the obvious fact that his body wanted him to sleep, Peter's mind was racing everywhere except the realm of unconsciousness. Every thought was emphasized ten-fold as it bounced around his head until the only things remaining were his want, heck, his need, to tell Erik the truth, and the hesitant and unsure anxiety lingering in the background of his subconscious that was stopping him from doing just that.

Fevers, though, as Peter was quickly learning, tended to do weird shit to what your brain was really trying to accomplish, often scrambling any message you tried to expel to the point where it may or may not have even been your true intentions. And hell, it was an even bigger gamble if you'd remember any of the dumb shit you'd done or said. It was as if the heat had boiled all the potentially embarrassing memories away, which was at least kinda nice.

With everything happening, Peter thought it best for Erik to just pack up and scoot from the premises, as not to accidentally say or do something stupid that might come back to bite him in the ass later, but Peter wasn't about to pull an asshole move on the man who'd just helped him despite not being obligated to at all.

So, instead of verbally asking, Peter did the next most "mature" thing he could have in his debilitated and helpless situation. He pretended to be asleep in a pathetic hope that Erik would leave on his own. He didn't. Peter ended up looking like he was trying way too hard to be asleep than any real asleep person, and after a few minutes, Erik caught on.

"Peter, I know you're not actually sleeping," Erik said, not putting on any sort of specific emotion.

Peter cracked one red and tired eye open, meeting Erik's gaze yet again. Peter sighed and turned over onto his side, back to the other man, bleary eyes trying to focus on anything that wasn't Erik. Sleep, a seemingly effortless task for most, eluded Peter as he let out an a low whine. This was miserable.

"Hey, Erik?"

"Yes?"

"I umm... never mind..."

"What were you going to say?"

"It's nothing... I just feel stupid since I can't even do the easiest thing on the planet."

"Is there anything I can do?"

The question struck Peter like a cold dagger to the heart, it sounded so much like something his mom would say, who was practically the only person he wanted in that moment. Peter didn't like to be weak or expose any of his fears. He preferred to be distant and reserved, to hide all that insecurity with stupid dry humor and sarcasm. His mom and his sisters were really the only ones who he'd truly been open with, and when faced with these new circumstances, finally able to reconnect with the father he never had, he was frozen in place, and after pushing people away and closing himself off for so long, not knowing what to do to reach out and truly face what he needed to.

Completely internally and externally overwhelmed, Peter let his dam of pride burst, letting his emotional flood pour out of his eyes in the form of earnest, choked sobs. He bit his lip and weakly rubbed at his eyes in an attempt to hide his distress.

Erik was taken aback, taking a step towards him, before backpedaling as fast as the initial paternal instinct had seized him. He didn't know what to do. Erik was conflicted, scared of overstepping boundaries, but wholeheartedly wanting to comfort the clearly suffering boy lying in bed in front of him.

And in a flash of instinct, an unspoken, deep-rooted, yet unknown draw towards the silver-haired boy, Erik sat down on the mattress, back meeting Peter's, and leaning over his shoulder to rub his back

Erik's hand was shaky, unsure if it should truly be there. He felt the heat radiating off Peter's skin through his t-shirt. Erik glanced down further to Peter's face, and despite the hands trying (and failing) to cover his eyes, saw it covered in a new sheen of sweat quickly mixing with his tears, pale and pasty with angry crimson patches sitting pretty as pictures on his cheeks and forehead. Everything in that moment accentuated both how awfully awkward Erik and truly terrible Peter felt.

Erik didn't even know if Peter was lucid anymore. He was breaking down into tears, shivering and being comforted by someone who was practically a stranger. Eventually, the sobs dwindled into whimpers and Erik's nerves were starting to taper off himself. The room fell into a weirdly calm silence as the two decided to not say anything. Until Peter's shaky voice cut through the room.

"Y-you know... when I was a dumb little kid, I thought I-I could outrun germs. Look at me now. I can't even cook a f-freakin' omelette without making myself sick... I never needed to cook for myself, it was always my mom, or Hostess cakes."

"..." Erik wanted to say something, anything, but he was unsure what, or if Peter would understand.

"I can't do anything right... life tosses me chances and I just fuck em' all up."

Erik soon realized Peter was no longer talking about his omelette, but something deeper.

"I just wish... you could've d-done this for me when I was still that dumb little kid. I wish for so much to be different. I'd always wanted a d-dad, and when I finally figured out who he was, I learn he'd gone off to kill the president! I-I don't know..."

"W-what?"

"I m-might not be able to outrun germs, but my entire l-life, I've outrun everything. The law, my responsibilities, adulthood... But now, the one time when I finally can't run from anything, out of all of my problems, I gotta face you of all things. N-not the way I thought this would happen..." Peter's words died out as he fell silent.

Erik wasn't sure he'd heard Peter properly. Until something in his mind clicked. Everything he's done up until now: "my mom once knew a guy who could do that..." and "I'm here for my family too..." Oh my god, he thought, I'm... I-I'm Peter's... father? Who else had he been with before his wife... Magda. Oh god.

Erik pulled his hand away from Peter's back. This caused Peter to moan and flip onto his back, staring directly at Erik, eyes cutting straight to his heart like knives.

"W-why'd you stop? It was nice..." Peter admitted shyly.

"I-I need a second, Peter. I'm sorry," Erik sighed as he pushed himself off the mattress.

Peter said nothing as his eyes drifted back to his bedspread. Disappointment lurking behind his bloodshot irises.

Erik walked off to the bathroom, closing the door behind him with a soft click. He stared up at himself in the mirror, hands gripped tightly around the basin. This couldn't be happening. Not after Nina, not again. Erik was just... terrified. Terrified of the idea of getting close again. Anyone who's ever been a part of Erik's family... had died. His parents, his wife, his daughter; he didn't want Peter to join the list of people the universe was just deemed to kill. He knew that Peter was far from dying, it was a simple fact that the kid couldn't cook and he'd fed himself something underdone. Yet, it was all happening, it was all too fast, and everything felt so damn scary.

He knew, deep down, that this was the truth. It only made sense that the Magda didn't wanna tell her son that his dad was an internationally targeted terrorist that's murdered dozens of people, and this kid had no reasons to lie about it. God... Erik didn't know how to feel, what he should do, but he did know that had a need to comfort Peter, who'd just confessed a secret he'd been hiding for who knows how long, and was now laying alone, probably feeling abandoned again, after pouring his heart out knowing full well it might be shot down.

Whether it was all intentional was yet to be seen. Again, fevers did weird shit.

Erik let out a low sigh and opened the door, finding Peter curled up on himself as best he could, softly whining, mumbling incoherently to himself. Erik stepped over and sat down on the bed again, the entire mattress dipping from his weight.

"I'm sorry, Peter. I am very happy you told me..." Erik was searching for the right words, "the truth."

" 'r welc'm" Peter mumbled as his puffy eyelids slid over his tired brown eyes.

"Is there anything you need me to do for you right now?"

"J'st... stay please. I-It's embarassin', I know, but I just... my mom used to do it..."

"Alright, Peter. I'm not gonna leave, so just try to sleep, okay?"

Peter didn't need to be told twice as his mind and body worked in harmony, finally allowing Peter to be lulled off to the realm of unconsciousness. And although he knew it wasn't necessary, Erik wished to add to the intimacy of this quiet moment, a type of moment so rare and inconstant in both of their lives, so he pushed himself up against the headboard, laying out flat on the bed, and carded his fingers into Peter's silky silver locks. And out of habit, maybe a sort of tendency he'd developed from doing it with Nina, or an obligation to share what he felt Peter deserved, he began to hum his family lullaby, ever so slowly and softly, drowning out any other thing the world wanted to toss at them. Because in that moment... Erik and Peter had found something they'd both been missing for so long, peacefulness and contentment. And for that short night, it was all they needed.

[danwhobrowses]

Whatever Happened to: Sheska?

So, as promised, the first of hopefully many posts of the ‘Whatever Happened to’ series, where I bring up characters that just, fell off the map. For our first one we will begin with a character disappearance that always confused me, Sheska from Fullmetal Alchemist Manga and the Brotherhood anime There will be Spoilers for the story so if you haven’t read/watched it then...maybe you should

When was she last Seen? While in the 2003 anime series Sheska maintained a recurring role as Winry’s female friend and helping uncover the dirty secrets hidden by the Homunculi and in turn the Military. However, in the Manga and Brotherhood anime, Sheska is last seen in Chapter 34/Episode 16, both titled ‘Footsteps of a Comrade-in-Arms’. In it she is revealed to be covering for Mustang as he digs for information regarding Hughes’ death - mainly out of solidarity since Hughes did give her the job that pays her bills and keeps her mother in a nice home, and the least she can do is assist in helping find the culprit. She unfortunately lets this slip to ‘Captain Focker/Fokker’ who is Envy in disguise (but still a Focker if you ask me), which leads to the whole Maria Ross frame-up. From there we never see or hear from Sheska again, we don’t see her at Central when it’s attacked by Briggs, we don’t see her fall victim of the countrywide transmutation circle and do not we see her in the Chapter 107 splash

Which, frankly, is ridiculous given that characters dead, alive and barely in the story like Sheska was are here, including Fu, Hughes, Grumman, some no-names in the bottom and one no-name at the top right corner, Rebecca, Mustang’s old Ishval squad and Henschel. An oversight maybe, but it still leaves the question mark, what DID happen to Sheska? Theory 1: Sheska was Murdered Leaking that she knew about Mustang’s digging, covering for him and her photographic memory is two very dangerous tidbits of knowledge for one person to have, even if the Homunculi look down on humans up to this point they have been extremely efficient in not leaking their own information. So a worst case scenario could be that the Homunculi killed Sheska, quietly disposing of her and maybe even covering it up, she was on a heavy workload and could’ve ‘crumbled’ and disappeared to work in a nice undisclosed village. The fortunate thing that goes against this theory is that Mustang would notice, and since Hughes’ death she had been a lot more relaxed with her workload, it would also be in the Homunculi’s nature to only take care of things when it looks like a critical moment.  Another plausible way Sheska may’ve died is via the Mannequins or when Our Father freaking Kamehameha’d half of Central Command, but then she would have to be fighting the Mannequins and not escaped Central when the Briggs soldiers gave them a chance, and Sheska would run if she were there. She may’ve also suffocated under a mountain of books like how she almost did when we first saw her, if she ever actually gets to go home anymore. Theory 2: Sheska was Dishonorably Discharged Given that Mustang is treated with contempt for digging into the Hughes case and his actions in making people believe that he scorched Maria Ross, it would be possible that the higher ups would use this as an excuse to discharge her from the military, to sever a connection Mustang would have in Central who could provide him information on Father’s plans. Envy may’ve been a lighter hand as Focker but Focker himself or any other members of Bradley’s high council may opt to picture it as harboring criminal activity. Sheska isn’t exactly one to come crying to the Elrics about this either so it’s not like it’d be huge news, the reason this may not work however is that Sheska still has all the dots Hughes had, she just hasn’t connected them yet, and the Homunculi keep tabs on people like that.  Theory 3: Sheska was Transferred Like most of Mustang’s crew, Sheska may’ve been moved by association. Her absence from Central Command would fuel this and after she’s finished completing all the records there’s not much else she is useful for in the eyes of the military. Since she has no career goals, she could’ve simply been moved to a smaller military office - her ignorance to the happenings protecting her from being in warzones but not out of the country circle’s range. She may’ve also been transferred normally, maybe another library got burned down or maybe they rebuilt the Central Library and had her repopulate that with all the normal books and secret alchemy cookbooks and actually declutter her apartment with all the books that are there (okay it bothers me, where does she sleep? Does she have a book bed, next to her book oven and book fridge and cooks book eggs for bookfast in her book pan in her book kitchen?). Theory 4: Sheska left the Military on her own accord While she never expressed displeasure in working for the Military we leave Sheska in a pivotal moment in the plot, the next episode/chapter Mustang supposedly burns Maria Ross to a crisp. Not knowing it part of the plan, Sheska may’ve felt partly responsible in the ‘murder’ of Ross and disgusted by Mustang’s actions, which could have led her to leave the military. There are other reasons she may’ve quit her job also, she may’ve found a new calling or as said before the Library could’ve been rebuilt and she could’ve gotten her old job back from that or another closer-to-mother library/general job, she may’ve left to tend to her ill mother if her condition worsened or simply moved to a job with a career track - hell if you wanna go wild maybe she went to become an Alchemist, that photographic memory would be handy if she had the aptitude. The backdrop of this like the previous theory of her leaving the military is that this’d prevent the Homunculi from keeping tabs on her, while it is possible that Ross’ death would’ve prompted her to leave, the military may’ve offered an alternative of transfer or another government job so to keep and eye on her. Theory 5: Sheska slept through the whole thing A comical theory, but the records department isn’t something one would frequent in a lot, I mean Mustang was able to sleep in a storeroom for a bit completely undetected. It would be funny if Sheska did miss all the action from falling into a comatose sleep in a basement or something having been overworked, and given the isolated placement completely missed the Mannequin Soldiers, thought the Circle stealing her soul was a nightmare and then napped again through the whole Father fight. This is unlikely because it obviously didn’t happen, as I said Sheska’s workload doesn’t take a huge toll on her anymore so she wouldn’t pass out...not until after the Father Fight when she has to rewrite all the paperwork destroyed by Father’s Kamehameha, it’d be a good laugh though. Theory 6: Sheska was there, you just didn’t see her One of the most plausible theories is simply that it happened but there was no need to focus on Sheska while it was happening. Falman also had a great memory and worked with the Briggs men and the Armstrongs had worked in Central for months, so her talents weren’t exactly needed for the situation, she likely escaped the mannequins and left Central Command intact. It’s likely but it’s still annoying, we could have shown her in this scenario, even if it’s when Buccaneer saved those women (imaged in manga since I couldn’t find a screen of the scene in anime) they could’ve thrown in Sheska, could’ve shown her losing and regaining her soul, at least some closure on that would’ve been nice given that we saw every other player and the people of Liore during the Promised Day.

Theory 7: Sheska still works for the Military, she just wasn’t There The final theory that is as plausible as the prior, Sheska was basically away that day. We saw it with Brosh who only arrived at the scene because he was disgusted by Mustang and then elated that Ross was alive, a ‘bookworm’ like Sheska may’ve taken time off to witness an eclipse, and if she didn’t she may’ve simply had the day off. Another thing she could’ve done is gone on holiday, I doubt she went to Xing to meet the Armstrongs while they were statue hunting but maybe she went out of Central. She could’ve visited her mother, visited other family, gone to a place with other libraries and stuff she may have hobbies in. The downfall of this theory is that none of it escapes the circle, hostilities with Creta, Aurego and Drachma mean the only way out of the country is by crossing the desert, which doesn’t seem up Sheska’s alley, which means we circle back to why didn’t we show her? We showed Liore, Kanama, Resembool and Rush Valley, the latter just to specifically show Paninya - someone who had less screen time than Sheska, no offence to Paninya but if we gave time for her lying on a random floor (lucky she wasn’t fixing a roof) we could’ve just put Sheska in a room face first in a book for a second and that’d be that. So yeah, the mystery of Sheska racks my brain, mainly out of desire for closure but also because she still played a valid part in Ed and Al’s journey. Without her they would’ve never obtained Marcoh’s notes, which meant they would never have found out the properties of a stone, they would’ve never gone to the Fifth Laboratory and thus never learned about the Homunculi marking them as a sacrifice - since Ross got framed because of her, Ed would’ve never gone to Xerxes either, meaning he wouldn’t have figured out the transmutation circle or found the Ishvalan slum to discover that Scar killed the Rockbells, that discovery led to the confrontation that became a turning point for Scar’s redemption arc too. Sheska also inadvertently was necessary for Mustang’s plot also; had the brothers not gone to the Fifth Laboratory they would’ve never gotten Barry the Chopper as an ally (who in turn busted Ling out of jail, meaning everything Ling contributes to is a byproduct of Sheska’s action) but if she hadn’t have told Envy about Mustang’s digging they would’ve never framed Ross, which meant that they never would’ve had opportunity to capture Gluttony, kill Lust or discover that Bradley was Wrath. These are big things as well! Could someone just like, poke Arakawa for an answer? Or are we just gonna expect a Launch situation (save her for another day). Out of the 7 theories I would rank them as Most to Least Likely: 6, 7, 3, 4, 2, 1, 5 Most to Least Preferred: 3, 5, 7, 4, 6, 2, 1 Maybe one day we’ll find out, but for now it’s all headcanon, but whatever did happen to her, she is not forgotten.

[honeypiehotchner]

Trust -- part eleven

I kept getting distracted. This was supposed to go up hours ago, but I literally (no joke) got distracted by this Benedict interview. I’m a mess. Anywho. Here this is.

Some revelations from both parties (I’m afraid John will choose to remain oblivious for a while), though it isn’t going to result in anything right away (this is a slow, slow, slow burn, if you hadn’t known already).

John returns home to find you fast asleep in his chair under two blankets, one of which is Sherlock’s. He smiles at the sight, ignoring the fact that once again, Sherlock is sharing something of his with you that he normally doesn’t share with anyone.

           And as usual, Sherlock is nowhere to be found. Almost. One more step forward and John can see Sherlock in the kitchen quietly examining…thumbs. He’s experimenting with thumbs now. For God’s sake, they’re thumbs.

           “What are you—”

           “Shh!”

           John blinks.

           “She’s just fallen asleep,” Sherlock explains, keeping his eyes trained on a thumb nail.

           John nods, regardless of the fact that Sherlock isn’t looking at him. He shakes his head as that same thought resurfaces, trying not to think too much of it. Even if there is something, neither you nor Sherlock appear to know about it – or you refuse to acknowledge it.

           If John believes in the latter, he would be correct.

           You’ve noticed it. Sherlock picking you up and essentially hugging you, comforting you after Allen was found. Sherlock carrying you into the flat just minutes later and lying you down in his bed rather than on the couch where you normally lay. Sherlock comforting you on the roof, talking you off the ledge, letting you take his hand which didn’t have a glove on. Sherlock soothing you to sleep with his playing, even when you hid yourself away in your flat after Tony was found. And now, letting you sleep underneath his blanket.

           You’re not an idiot. These small tells are obvious when you really think about it, but the thing is that you haven’t given yourself much time to really think about it. Firstly, because he’s, well, Sherlock Holmes, and you’re almost positive a relationship isn’t something he is even capable of. And secondly because he’s Sherlock Holmes. You have a feeling that if he fancied you, he’d tell you, because he’s that type of man – blunt, to the point, without filter.

But again, you aren’t even sure those types of feelings are something he’s able to feel. These tells you’ve seen, they’re obvious for normal people. Ordinary people. And Sherlock Holmes is far from ordinary.

Which leads you to the excuse you’ve been telling yourself the past few weeks: He feels bad for you.

It seems logical, doesn’t it? He’s the only one who can see through the façade you’ve put up for John – the façade is also for Sherlock, but you should’ve known it wouldn’t work on him. He’s the only one who saw that your mother was an addict – even John still doesn’t know – and judging by Sherlock’s reputation, he probably knows about your old habits as well. He can see all of the pain in your past, and the pain in your present, so it only makes sense that he would be kinder toward you because of all that.

           But then you feel stupid for even considering these thoughts in the first place because Sherlock Holmes is perhaps the last person on the planet you could ever see wanting to have a relationship with you – or a relationship at all, for that matter.

           So, you’ve ignored all of it. Because it’s the easier thing to do.

~~~

John barely has two seconds of alone time in his room before Sherlock is bursting in, shutting the door behind him.

           John turns around from his closet. “Can I help you?”

           “Why did you phone Mycroft?”

           John sighs. “She told you. Listen, I didn’t want to—”

           “Why?” Sherlock barely tolerates the involvement Mycroft has in his general life. He doesn’t need John consulting Mycroft behind his back for no reason – especially not to spy on you like that.

           “Because, Sherlock, today is the sixth day since Allen was found and I guess you could say I’m worried.”

           “Worried? Why would you be worried?”

           John gives him a tired look.

           “It doesn’t fit the pattern, John, there’s nothing to worry about.”

           “Fine. But I phoned Mycroft when she said she was going out for the day.”

           “So he could spy on her.”

           “He spies on everyone, Sherlock, I just wanted someone to keep an eye on her while she was out.”

           “And the two of them having tea together? Was that part of your arrangements?”

           John blinks, trying to process Sherlock’s tone more than the words. He heard the words perfectly, but his tone…that’s something else. John opens his mouth to speak, pausing as he hesitates, before he says it anyway. “Are you jealous?”

           “Jealous? Why would I be jealous?”

           Immediately defensive, John thinks. But then again, that is kind of Sherlock’s thing. “No reason at all. But no, it was Mycroft’s. I just agreed.”

           “Why?”

           “Because! You said they were drugged days before they were murdered. I wanted to be sure she wasn’t drugged.”

           “I could’ve told you if she was,” Sherlock scoffs.

           And John did think of that, but for…reasons he didn’t think Sherlock would be fit to tell. “Right. Sorry. You’ve just been…absent lately.”

           “Absent?” More defensive tone.

           “Occupied, I don’t know!” John chuckles out of hysteria. “For God’s sake, are you alright?”

           “Of course. I’m fine.”

           “Okay,” John shakes his head, a little frustrated.

           Sherlock nods, his way of finishing the conversation before opening John’s door and leaving in the same way. John blinks at his now closed door, wondering if that conversation really did just happen.

           Probably nothing.

           John returns to putting up his laundry, his ears perking up when he hears Sherlock begin to play the same piece he’s been playing. It’s something new he’s composing that doesn’t have a name yet – John stole a look at the paper earlier – but it must be important if he continues to revisit it.

           Whatever it is, it’s pretty. And soothing enough to chase your nightmares away.

 ~~~

By the time you wake up again, the sun has already set and the only light in the room is that from the fire.

           Sherlock sits across from you in his chair, thinking. You aren’t sure about what, but he seems intent.

           Not that you would ever guess this, but Sherlock is, in fact, thinking about you.

           John’s “Are you jealous?” comment from earlier had Sherlock’s mind starting to race. He didn’t feel jealous, but then again what did jealousy feel like? It’s a byproduct of sentiment, isn’t it? And since Sherlock doesn’t feel that, how would he know if he was jealous?

           He doesn’t exactly think he is. Jealousy wouldn’t be the right word. Concern, sure. Everyone is concerned for your safety, even Mycroft. That’s not abnormal if his own brother feels it, too. But Sherlock still doesn’t like the idea of you and Mycroft having tea. Granted, Sherlock doesn’t particularly care for his brother in the first place, so it makes sense that he’d rather you not become friends with him.

           Especially not after Mycroft corresponded with you under an alias, which ultimately resulted in your hospitalization. The thought of you lying unconscious in a hospital bed – or lying dead in an alleyway like Allen – or lying dead on the sidewalk somewhere like Tony – all of it gives Sherlock an unsettling feeling. One that he wishes would go away. It messes with his focus.

           His eyes shoot open then, not noticing your awakened state as he continues thinking. That’s it. He can’t focus when you’re around, just like he can’t focus when he deals with his cigarette addiction. Comparing you to cigarettes is hardly an equal play, but it works well enough. Sherlock sees this as a problem solved. He cut cigarettes out so he could focus, so the logical solution here is to distance himself from you.

           He stands abruptly, causing you to give him a strange look as he stalks off to his room, the door slamming shut behind him.

           “Okay,” you huff out. It’s not like you wanted his company, anyway.

           You shift around in John’s chair, sitting yourself up. You yawn as you stretch your arms over your head, relishing in the feeling. You never understand why you like sleeping curled in a ball until you stretch yourself back out after a long rest.

           Glancing at the time on your phone, you see it’s just past ten. And as if his big brother senses were tingling, John comes padding into the room in his pajamas.

           “Hey,” he smiles when he sees you’re awake. “How are you feeling?”

           “Better now that I’ve slept,” you admit. Depriving yourself of sleep is no longer a go-to. You’ve absolutely got to sleep.

           You tell yourself this, of course, but you aren’t sure how easily it’ll be to practice.

           “That’s good,” he chuckles, sitting down in Sherlock’s chair. “Are you hungry?”

           “Kind of,” you confess with a sheepish smile.

           But John seems thrilled. “I’ll make you something.”

           “It’s late.”

           “And you’re hungry, so I’m gonna make you something,” he pats your shoulder lovingly as he walks past you into the kitchen.

           You smile, turning around to poke your head over the back of his chair. “Hey Johnny?”

           “Hm?” He turns to put the kettle on.

           “Thank you.”

           He pauses, turning his head to look at you. “It’s no problem.” You watch as he pauses again, hesitating, and you don’t know it, but he’s thinking about his conversation with Sherlock from earlier. “I’m sorry again, about phoning Mycroft.”

           “It’s fine,” you shrug. “I’d just prefer not to sit through another tea session with him. He was acting so strange.” You pause, giving John a look. “But I guess that has something to do with you.”

           “Yeah,” he grimaces. “I noticed today was the sixth day, so I asked him to keep an eye on you after you said you were going out. The tea wasn’t my idea – well, it was Mycroft’s, but I agreed.”

           “His idea?” You scoff. “He even apologized to me. About before, with The Congregation. Did you talk to him about that or something?”

           “No,” John shakes his head. “But I’m glad he apologized. He owed you a bloody apology.”

           You chuckle at John’s attitude. “I guess.”

           Tired of talking from his chair, you make your way into the kitchen, plopping yourself down in the chair at the end of the table, moving some of Sherlock’s experiment out of the way so you can prop your elbow on the surface. You watch John as he cooks, snickering when he opens the fridge to find an entire hand on the shelf.

           “Christ—!”

           “Come on, that’s funny!”

           He turns around to glare at you.

           “Do you need a hand with cooking?” You go further, practically reducing yourself to a giggling mess. “There’s one there for you.”

           John eyes you weirdly as you continue laughing, muffling the noise with your sleeve. “Are you okay?”

           “I think I got too much sleep.” You calm yourself down with a deep breath. “How was Mary?”

           “Good, good,” he nods.

           “Have you asked her yet?”

           “No…”

           “What? Why?”

           He blinks. “I want you to meet her first.”

           Now it’s your turn to blink in bewilderment. “Why?”

           He sighs, having to remind himself that your idea of family is, well, nonexistent. So, this kind of thing has likely never come up in your life.

           “Well, she wants to meet you, and you want to meet her,” he shrugs. “I’d like to know what you think of her first.”

           “Do you love her?”

           The question startles him for a moment before he gathers his senses, nodding. “I do, yeah. I do.”

           “Then why does my opinion matter?”

           “Because you’re—You’re my sister. And I wanna know what you think of her first.”

           Right. That must be another family thing you forgot about. “Well, I think she’s lovely.”

           He gives you a look. “You haven’t met her.”

           “No, but you seem quite enamored with her, so therefore, I think she’s wonderful.”

           “Fine,” he sighs. “I will ask her. Your opinion be damned.”

           “Good,” you grin, glad to have come to this conclusion. “When do I get to meet her?”

           “You just—” He nearly throws something in frustration, giving you another one of his infamous looks. “You’re definitely feeling better.”

           “A little,” you tease. You actually are. A few – and by a few, you mean nearly ten hours – good hours of restful sleep will do wonders. And for right now, sitting here, talking to Johnny, you can ignore everything. At least for this moment, it all feels okay again.

           Not again. It all feels okay. For the first time.

           You just can’t help but wonder how long it will last.

[sylviesanctum]

     [ Howdy guys Thought I’d give a bit more of an update on things for anyone curious. Warning: it’s...not very positive and has a lot of me complaining but uh...what else is new, eh?

     So I’m still working on getting Cocoa comfy with me milking her. She IS getting a lot better, but also still has a ways to go, too. Due to lack of funds and time and resources, we don’t have an actual area set up to milk her in, aka a stanchion. I might try to build something out of scraps this weekend when I can have help. The biggest thing is her still being nervous and wanting to move, and having a stanchion (which is basically a stand with sides and a front / back to hold her in) would help tremendously. Before she calved she was fine with me touching her, but I think the stress and lingering pain of birth is making her antsy, so...we’ll see how that goes.

     On that same note, milking is...pretty much killing me OTL Since she moves so much, I can’t really make use of a stool, so I’ve been kneeling and squatting, and lemme tell ya...doing that for any extended amount of time is hella painful :’D My butt and my thighs and my knees are just...(no pun intended) on their last legs. My arms are also pretty sore from reaching, and my hands are dying cuz her streams are just so small, it takes forever to get anything out. But I have to keep up with it.

     If a cow doesn’t keep having milk expelled, be it by milking or a calf suckling, she’ll dry up, aka stop producing, and...we can’t afford to have that happen: we NEED the milk to save money buying it, let alone the byproducts we’ll be able to make. it’s the primary reason we got her (even tho I have a feeling I’m paying about as much in feed as we would for milk but...semantics I guess). And before she dries up, she can develop mastitis, which is inflammation of the udder due to having too much milk at once, and that can lead to infections which is obviously...not good. And since we don’t have her calf to help keep her down, it’s all on me, which...obviously I wasn’t planning on. I might have to break down and invest in a milker cuz this is killing me @~@ But again, if I had a proper area, I’d be fine...I think. I just figured she was so comfy with me before I could do it in the field, but...a lot has changed since then.

     So for now I’m just kinda...dying, ahaha. My left knee (which gets the better angle to work) is red and swollen and...not happy. I tried switching but it makes reaching SO much harder, which in turn makes my arms more tired. So there’s really just...no winning right now. And I’m the only one she’s comfy enough with that she’ll let touch her. Just...gods, I really, really wish the calf wasn’t stillborn. Between upsetting her and having that to fall back on to keep her milk down (let alone the extra income it would have been), just...wow it’s really hurting. Let along upsetting. But...nothing I can do about it now.

     So in short, if I seem crabby (I’m trying REALLY hard not to be), I’m just...really frustrated and upset and in a lot of pain and just...not where I thought I’d be right now. In a lot of ways. Life has already been (excuse my French) really shitty the past 5+ months, and I wasn’t expecting this on top of...everything else. I try really really hard to keep my head up (and keep my complaining to Twitter), but I’ll admit...the last few days have me really, really down. I’m trying to out-stubborn it and keep my mind elsewhere, but that’s proving harder than I thought. So forgive me if I’m slow, or moody, or absent. I’ve just got a lot on my plate right now and as much as I want to be present and happy-go-lucky, even I can’t manage it ALL the time.

     That said, for anyone turning in from the RP sphere, I’ll be keeping more personal thoughts / updates to this blog, at least regarding this situation. I don’t like getting TOO personal about my home life since a family member (at least last I heard) stalks me online. I don’t like them snooping into my business. So unless I make a password protected blog to keep them out, I won’t get too far into things, but...I don’t wanna clog up my RP blog with stuff that’s not RP, nor do I want to sympathy pander. This is meant to just be an update with a side of venting. Though internet hugs are always appreciated~

     Anywho...gonna try to get some writing done, I guess. No idea if I’ll be able to wrangle my brain, but I’ll try. See y’all soon~ ]

[jbuffyangel]

The Good Soldier: Arrow 7x19 Review (Spartan)

Uhhhh....

Let’s dig in...  

John Diggle

It has taken seven years and 157 episodes, but we are finally getting John Diggle’s backstory and IT’S JUICY.  

Diggle and Oliver procured an A.R.G.U.S. vault drive during a run in with Virgil. For the life of me I cannot remember that guy’s connection to Emiko and her super villain organization, so I’m just slotting him in the “henchman” category. Does that work for everyone? Fabulous. Moving on.

Unfortunately, Felicity is unable to hack the protocols protecting the drive.  Feel free to roll your eyes. A drive Felicity Smoak can’t hack? Please. 

She does, however, recognize who created the protocols – the Department of Defense, or Arrow’s fake version which is the Defense Intelligence Agency.

Source: paigeOTA 

John says something like, “Hey I know a guy.” OH YOU DO? John knows a guy at the Department of Defense? Not just any guy, but a GENERAL. 

Gee, Diggle this information would have been super handy all the times Team Arrow has been fighting ARMIES like Slade and the Mirakuru soldiers, Ra’s Al Ghul and the League, or pretty much any bad guy to grace Arrow’s screen during May sweeps. 

But okay, Season 7 he’s coughing up this info. Great. Helpful. Thanks big guy.

John is super nervous prior to the meeting with said General and even Oliver is wondering, “Dude what’s up with you?” So obviously this is an authority figure for Diggle, which means parent of some kind. This is all, but confirmed when General Stewart starts criticizing John’s career choices. Oh yeah, this guy is definitely a parent. 

General Stewart is Diggle’s stepfather. Get it? Stewart as in John Stewart aka the Green Lantern. It’s completely okay if you missed that detail. I was about 15 minutes into the episode before I put that puzzle piece together.

General Stewart: I’m sorry to say you’ve lost your way.

I like this guy. Not for nothing, but “lost” is how I would also describe John the last couple seasons of Arrow. The more evolved and independent Oliver becomes the more adrift John becomes. Sure, he ditched A.R.G.U.S. to keep Lyla safe (Thank goodness. That storyline was terrible), but it doesn’t mean the General is wrong about his stepson. John needs direction outside of Oliver Queen and he’s been searching for it for awhile now.

Diggle: I left to protect my family and that’s not something you would understand, is it sir?

SHOTS FIRED! Daaaaaamn. Diggle is extra salty about this guy. What gives?

The Ninth Circle steals Archer from Smoak Tech (shiiiiiiiit), but General Stewart’s DIA soldiers save Felicity and Alena. Stewart is aware there’s a Ninth Circle mole inside A.R.G.U.S., so he’s been tracking their activity which led them to Smoak Tech headquarters aka the loft. The drive contained a list of DIA assets, which is why Emiko stole Archer. She’s planning on using the program to track them down and gain access to their intel.

Alright, that’s enough bad guy plot. Let’s get down to the goodies. Diggle is super pissed step daddy didn’t share his wealth of information, but Stewart argues it was classified. Oliver is basically a family counselor this entire episode and he slides in between to break up the tension. It’s hilarious.

Source: paigeOTA

Diggle leaves in a huff. 

Source: paigeOTA 

This is a theme throughout the episode. John Thomas is quite huffy. Oliver finally gets a chance to ask if there is any reason why John failed to mention during the last seven years that he has a stepfather at the DIA, particularly since he’s been up Oliver’s ass about honesty. But Oliver says it in a much nicer way.

This is why I love this man. 

Source:  1-crazy-dreamer

He’s not a hypocrite. John never spilling the stepdad details over a glass of vodka is hinky and Oliver knows it. However, he’s not going to rub Diggle’s face in it because Oliver also understands he’s told much bigger lies through the course of their friendship. Oliver makes many mistakes, sometimes repeatedly, but it makes him an incredibly compassionate person.

SO HERE’S THE TEA. Stewart was John’s father’s best friend and commanding officer.  An op went bad and John’s father stayed behind to hold off insurgents, saving the whole unit in the process. Stewart survived and Diggle’s father didn’t. John blames Stewart for his father’s death. He believes Stewart, as commanding officer, should have been the one to stay behind. AND THEN six months later, Stewart married John’s mother.

Excuse me, where has this soapy goodness been for the last seven years? The Young & the Restless writers are taking notes y’all! As @callistawolf pointed out this sounds a lot like Diggle’s history with Carly, his brother Andy’s wife. Diggle may hate his stepfather for marrying his best friend’s wife, but he kind of did the same thing with Carly. Sure, he didn’t marry her, but they definitely had a relationship. It seems this behavior runs in the Diggle family. John was always very uncomfortable with Carly being Andy’s widow and this backstory certainly brings another level of understanding why he felt that way.

Stewart is a total hard ass too, which doesn’t help his relationship with John or Andy very much. He focused on running “Spartan” survival drills with the boys and by the time John turned 18 he couldn’t wait to leave home. The whole nod to Spartan is interesting. This might be the first time we are given any background for why John’s helmet looks like a Spartan warrior. Felicity anointed Diggle with the code name, because she is Queen, but I think John was involved in designing the initial suit with Cisco. So, the overall Spartan look would have come from him and General Stewart is why.

Emiko kidnaps Diggle and General Stewart and thus they join the prestigious line of kidnapping OTA and their parents. 

Source: ebett

This almost feels like parental initiation on this show. You can’t bond with your kid until you’ve been tied up by a mad man or woman in this case.  Moira and Mama Smoak send their sympathies General.

Source: ebett

Dante tortures Diggle to get some codes out of Stewart and he folds pretty quick seeing his son in pain. Stewart being willing to do anything to keep John Diggle safe is quite an endearing quality and it makes me feel all the feels.  What can I say? I like this guy.

Dante wants access to a secret DIA experimental weapon called CYGNUS X-1. It’s genetically engineered bacteria which can consume the byproduct of nuclear fission or as Felicity explained, “It’s a biological weapon that can literally eat through anything. That’s terrifying.” Listen, if she’s scared then I’m scared. Where Felicity Smoak goes so goes my nation.

Oliver: Archer. They are going to use the intel they get from the assets to locate the DNA of the people involved with CYGNUS X-1.

Nothing Oliver said sounds good,

but I’m only half paying attention to the bad guy plot, because I am way more focused on Oliver dropping the daddy bombshell, which he does after finding Diggle brooding about his father. Superhero Jesus to the rescue! John’s father didn’t die saving everyone. He died because he was negligent and took two marines with him. The reason the rest of the unit survived was because of John Stewart. He was the real hero.

Again, this is quite reminiscent of Diggle’s relationship with Andy. Maybe Stewart and John’s father weren’t biological brothers, but they were best friends just like Oliver and Diggle. So, they were brothers all the same. There seems to be a generational thread of the good brother and the bad brother in the Diggle family. One we find that continues in the flash forwards.

Stewart: I know you might not feel the same way, but you will always be a son to me.

Felicity is able to stop Emiko from using Archer, but she’s still able to steal the weapon. John confronts his stepfather with the truth after the mission is over. Diggle cannot understand why Stewart let John hate him for all these years. And the answer is simple – because that’s what parents do. General Stewart didn’t want to take the memory of his father away from John. Diggle believed his father was a hero, so he became one. Stewart believes the lie made Diggle who he is, but John disagrees.

Diggle: If I’m a hero it’s all because of you, sir.

The Stewart last name is no accident. The man who made John Diggle a hero has the same last name as one of the greatest heroes in DC history. If John ever truly wanted to honor the General he could change his last name and become John Stewart, 

but I doubt we’ll ever see that happen nor do I think it’s necessary. John will always be Diggle. Our Diggle doesn’t need a ring because he’s is already a hero.

Source: @oliverqsmoak

John calling General Stewart “sir” is no accident either. Diggle, always the good soldier, has refused that courtesy the entire episode. But now he softens his voice; his eyes filled with tears, and calls the man who made him a hero, “sir.” John is showing respect, but also trust. He finally sees his stepfather for who he truly is. Diggle knows General Stewart is not only a good soldier, but a wonderful father. This “sir” carries more significant than “I love you” for these two men.

The gifts General Stewart gave Diggle go beyond merely survival. John is a good solider because that’s how General Stewart raised him to be. Just like Diggle’s father would want him to be.

The two hug and part with a deeper bond than the one they had before – a tradition when it comes to OTA and their parents. “Call your mother” is probably the best exit line of any character on Arrow. I loved it. Ernie Hudson was an absolute delight.

Unfortunately, we are seven years in. I’d rather have this episode in Season 7 than not at all, but there is an element of too little too late. “Spartan” makes sense in Season 1 or Season 2 at the latest. Felicity’s backstory episode was in Season 3 and I thought that was late.

It’s hard to understand why Arrow waited so long to give us this story. The only reason I can think of is DC. They have a long history of shooting down John Diggle storylines because they intend to use them somewhere else. The Suicide Squad springs to mind. David Ramsey has been very honest about DC’s refusal to allow John Stewart/Green Lantern on Arrow in the past, so they finally must have signed off in some capacity.

Do I think the Stewart name is important enough to wait seven years for an episode like this? No. I don’t, particularly if Arrow can’t develop the Green Lantern storyline for John any further. If they can then I understand holding off, but if “John Stewart” is just another Green Lantern Easter egg then I don’t think it was worth putting off the storyline.

Arrow did their best to explain this massive hole in John’s backstory. Oliver and Felicity were understandably dumbfounded by the revelations, but John’s explanation was pretty weak. How is a stepfather in the DIA not pertinent information? Of course it is, particularly when Diggle so strongly advocated for Oliver to clean out the skeletons in his closet. It just puts the episode in an awkward position and while I enjoyed it, the writers didn’t overcome the timing hurdle for me.

Flash Forwards

The Flash Forwards are rapidly becoming my favorite part of the show. If I don’t get a spin off I’m gonna… well I don’t really know what I’m gonna do because I don’t actually have any power but I’ll do something!

Felicity needs a thingamajig to fix the helmet Laurel helped Mia procure, so the Princess That Was Promised heads into Star City to track it down for Mama. Connor comes along because he’s in love with Mia and can’t stand to be separated from her for more than five minutes. Yeah, I know this hasn’t been explicitly stated, but it’s facts. #SmoaknHawke

Source: amunetblack 

Mia has to get the thingamajig from the Deathstroke Gang. Can we just take a minute and appreciate there’s a Deathstroke Gang? That’s kind of amazing. I mean… it’s bad.

We’re in luck because Connor knows the leader of the Deathstroke Gang who is… drum roll please… John Jr. Diggle aka JJ!!!!!!! 

YAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAASSSSSS!!!! According to Connor, Lyla and Diggle’s hero gig put some pressure on the kids. Connor went one way and JJ, in an attempt to rebel, went the other. This continues the good brother/bad brother Diggle family tradition!

Source: amunetblack 

Listen, I was seriously just kidding around when I said there should be a Connor, Mia and JJ love triangle like Stefan, Elena and Damon, but if the Arrow writers want to take me up on it then FINE BY ME. 

I have an opening in my television viewing schedule for a good brother/bad brother and the woman they both love storyline! 

They are totally going there because Mia asks, “When do I get to meet him?” The “him” being JJ of course. Oh girl, you gonna meet him alright. Just you wait.

Oliver’s baby girl will have her pick of Diggle brothers and I CANNOT STAND IT BECAUSE IT IS TOO PERFECT. Why you ask? Because we don’t have to take sides. You can ship both sides of the love triangle because no matter which way you shake it Oliver and Felicity’s daughter ends up with one of Diggle and Lyla’s sons. THIS IS THE SHIPPER DREAM!

But we aren’t meeting JJ until the spin off. So settle girl. All in good time. There needs to be some surprises left for this show. Even though they haven’t cast the role yet, I bet you dollars to donuts there will be a chemistry read with Katherine McNamara for whoever they cast.

Source: amunetblack 

In the meantime, we get to watch Kat and Joseph steam up the television screen with moments like this. Damn kids. It’s getting warm in here. Wowza.

I absolutely adore how the writers are flipping the expectations. It’s almost as if they anticipated some kind of resistance to William or Connor because they aren’t biological children. Trust me I’ve seen plenty of “William isn’t really Olicity’s kid” or “Connor isn’t really Dyla’s kid” crap out there. It’s pretty horrifying the perspective some have about non biological children, so consider me thrilled the writers took those opinions and shoved them where the sun doesn’t shine. William is Mini Felicity and the good solider is Connor, not JJ. It’s amazing.

Felicity Smoak and Alena

“Felicity Smoak now entering Smoak Tech."

This gives me a happy every time I hear it. Smoak Tech and Archer are basically Felicity’s babies before she has a baby. I particularly love the part when Felicity says she needs more than Team Arrow. Yes, she loves being Overwatch, but she wants to save the world as Felicity Smoak as well. She essentially wants to go hoodless too.  

I think it’s great the writers are exploring a legacy for Oliver, Felicity and Diggle outside of Team Arrow. Felicity thus far is the furthest down the road, which is good because the character is leaving in three friggin episodes. 

But we’ve seen in the future John finds an outlet for his passions as well with Knight Watch. We also know Oliver is going to save the universe (such an underachiever that one).

But it’s particularly important with Felicity because we have a tendency in our culture to pigeonhole women into one thing. You’re a mom or you’re *insert career choice here.* Once we pick a path then it’s our only path. 

The reality is women, like men, can be many different things all at once. 

Yes, the mind reels at the thought. The fact Felicity is still searching for something when she’s found happiness as Overwatch and as a wife & mother isn’t a radical concept, but it’s one rarely portrayed by television characters. 

Nor do Felicity’s interests have to happen one at a time. I think the reason Felicity is exploring these multi faceted aspects of her character is because Emily is leaving the show and the writers didn’t want to leave anything on the table. But I’m not complaining. Even when the actress is about the leave the show this exploration seldom happens, so I’m taking the wins where I can find them.

Alena wants Felicity to sell the company and this irks me. If I’ve said it once then I’ve said it a million times I DO NOT TRUST ALENA. Girlfriend is there all of five minutes and she’s already trying to sell Felicity’s baby to the highest bidder. This is my essential problem with Alena – she always has an angle. 

Felicity’s hactivism was about making the world a better place, but when it comes to Alena I cannot help but feel her motivations are more selfish. Even if that’s wrong and Alena has altruistic intentions, her morality line is deeply skewed particularly when compared to Felicity’s morality. It makes this partnership dangerous in my mind. Alright. Alena rant done.

Or maybe not because Alena just did something super sketchy!!!! 

After Emiko steals Archer, Felicity realizes how incredibly dangerous the program can be.

Source: paigeOTA 

I love how Alena sweetly reassures Felicity she is not a mad scientist. 

Source:  arrowdaily

I would have added she’s a cupcake genius with extra sprinkles, but that’s me. It’s moments like these I wish I trusted Alena, but I don’t.

Felicity is literally the furthest thing from a mad scientist or her father, but she is self aware. She understands her genius can create miraculous things, but that people can use those miracles in ways she never intended. It’s basically the “With great power comes great responsibility” hero code. Felicity accepts the responsibility of her superpower and is completely altruistic with it. If her creation hurts innocent people then she will destroy it even if the intent was to help. That is selfless heroism.

Unfortunately, Alena does not share this code. And this is my essential problem with her. Yes, I love the adorable banter and a female friend for Felicity to geek out with. I particularly love that Alena replaced Curtis Holt’s mansplaining ass. But Alena has no problem crossing lines to get what SHE wants regardless of who it hurts in the process.

This is why Felicity’s arc this season is so crucial. Felicity thought she was that kind of person. Someone who would do whatever is necessary to get what she wants. It’s incredibly important to remember Felicity was trying to save her family, which is nowhere near the same as Alena trying to save a computer program that can make billions. The two don’t equate. 

However, Felicity discovered she retains a moral integrity even in her darkest moments. She has the capacity to do “whatever it takes” like we all do, but ultimately Felicity realized holding to her morality makes her strong. Alena is different. She has no integrity, which is why she cannot be trusted.

And yet, it seems like in the future Felicity blames herself for how Archer was used and not Alena. Sometimes she is just like her husband.

Stray Thoughts

I love that even though I know Felicity will pull that trigger, and she did, her hand was shaking. It’s so beautifully human and one of the reasons I connect to this character so much.

This girl can really zero in on the point of the episode, can’t she? Source:  arrowdaily

“That’s not very fair John.” Indeed. Very un-Yoda like behavior.

Diggle wore a shirt during the kidnapping scene. I’m extremely disappointed Arrow. You had one job!

Oliver racing to Felicity’s side the minute she says, “Hey!” will always be amazing and a trick I need to teach my husband. Source:  lucyyh

Olicity finishes each other’s sentences. Your OTP could never. Source:  1-crazy-dreamer

“Normally I’m off by myself staring into nothing.” Oliver jokes about his broodiness now. Oh how far we have traveled my friends.

Oliver not saying "I'm glad you're both okay" took a lot of self control. Way to keep a lid on it Superhero Daddy. Source:  olicitygifs

Felicity hacks the helmet while Mia and Connor look on mind blown. 

Oliver is so chill when people insult him. 

My poor babe is used to being dragged by these ungrateful twats. #OLIVERQUEENDESERVESBETTER2019 Source:  1-crazy-dreamer

The foremost expert on robotics wouldn't call Felicity back when she was CEO of Palmer Tech & now he wants to BUY Archer. I guess Ray didn't have anything he was interested in. Yes, Arrow is saying Felicity Smoak is way way way way smarter than Ray Palmer. The sky is also blue.

Even when it’s not an Olicity focused episode, Emily and Stephen do such a wonderful job of showing us Oliver and Felicity’s love and connection in the small moments. These little touches are among the many things I’m going to miss the most next season.

Source:  lucyyh

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